'ONCE IN A BLUE MOON...PART III"

Call it the "Luck of the Irish" or "providential" or "mere coincidental"...or "out of this world!"...

Mary and I began our plans for our August trip to Iowa way back in November of 2009 when she remarked, off-handedly over Turkey and the Trimmings at the Brea home of son Denny and wife, Trish, that she would like to once again visit Iowa. With her busy schedule, how would that be possible? What I thought was a guest's heavy hand on his fork and knife at the dinner table was actually an Earthquake of great proportion but 300 miles from us and so we felt only that back-and-forth movement which is discombobulating when it comes to spearing a piece of turkey and other goodies! That was my second surprise! We would make it happen!

We chose August 16-August 30 which, just so happened, would include the date of the AHS Class Reunion for the years 0-1956, though this was unknown to us until March when the date was set in cement. Chalk this up to one of the four in the first paragraph. See where I am going with this?

The 1943 Class Reunion held in 2008 was supposed to be my last Reunion, ever, as I was getting too upset, or excited, over all that body searching that seems of late to be zeroing in on us innocent-looking (wherein the danger sometimes lurks) grandmotherly types. I called a halt to traveling alone after the 2008 trip and was happy with that decision, no matter how much Dale Anderson, Class President, would beg or beseech...Nope! But, oh, how I loved Class Reunions, getting together with those guys and gals of yesteryear...

Mary's desire to visit Atlantic for a two-week period was a most-excellent reason to ticket Allegiant Air as our airline of choice (straight through to Des Moines) immediately before minds were changed. Never have those months passed so quickly ... the fact that there would be people (and a horse named "Jesse") in Des Moines and Atlantic just as eager to see us as we were to see them was heartwarming. Mary, Denny and Dana had accompanied me to Iowa in 2008 but had only five days to spend there, not nearly enough time to revisit family and friends and places they came to love during our family vacations.

Mary and I were determined to visit the five scattered cemeteries, lay flowers on each and every loved one's gravesite; tour the famous Hitchcock House in nearby Lewis, partake of refreshments at the Tea House in Audubon, consider possibility of getting a Tattoo in Omaha, meet up with Del's "removed" cousin, "Doc" Derry to hear more about his Aunt Rhoda's poignant story and the Documentary being filmed of her bittersweet life and, of course, sample as much food as possible at the Pizza Ranch, the China Buffet, The Downtowner, Hy-Vee and The Burger King, going back twice or thrice as the taste buds demanded. Nieces Sherry Cranston and Mary Barnholdt Ray quickly scheduled their hospital work days to have Wednesday, Thursday and Friday free to transport us in the four directions...it is nice to have professional medical people in the family and not have to worry about "billing" should the need arise. Randi and Liz Cranston, daughters of Sherry, went along for the ride and what fun those two young ladies proved to be, bubbly personalities at full tilt. Nick Kern, Liz's fiance, was our male escort to the Tea House in Audubon as well as a welcome dinner guest other times..and I am sure he is still wondering: "How in the heck did I manage to inherit this family?" (Again, refer to that first sentence, Nick! You're a perfect fit!)

Now about that All-Class Reunion up to and including the class of 1956!

More than 175 graduates of AHS were in attendance at the August 29th festivities with the oldest a lovely 98-years-young lady who drove herself to the Atlantic Community Center. How's that for intestinal fortitude? The Class of 1947 hostessed the event, The Downtowner catered the delicious lunch (ham balls or chicken with a nice sauce, delicious buttery small potatoes flavored like no other I have ever tasted, a vegetable that was not "forgettable" but one that I can't remember right now, rolls, beverages and dessert, a generous slice of cake and don't ask me what color! The Committee and its Chairman, Donnas Helbourg, deserve kudos for a Reunion that will be remembered for a long, long time...the Class of 1943 was represented by Janice Clithero Williams, Howard Paulson, Wayne Ullerich and myself out of our class of 101 strong back then. It was great seeing some of those guys and dolls who had traversed the halls of the old (WPA-built) High School before us, and to once again, reacquaint ourselves with the "youngun's" who sat in the very same seats we did so very long ago. I brought home two souvenirs of the event... black and gold pens...one that will forever remind me of that very special day and one sent on to the Topeka, Kansas home of Dale. Go Trojans!

For all the 23 years I lived in Atlantic and just down the road from The Hitchcock House in Lewis, I had heard about its history as being a part of the Underground Railroad transporting fugitive slaves from the Kansas Territory with the help of Reverend George Hitchcock, a Congregational minister during the mid-1800s time frame. The House was abandoned during the 1960s and deteriorated to a very sad state of affairs. But...you should see her now! Grants from organizations and with the help of a group of dedicated citizens from the area, the house is now restored as it was thought to have been in those early days. Tours are given, and we were not about to head back to California without seeing this House which is now a nationally recognized site (2001) on the National Park Service Underground Railroad Network to Freedom and which is one of only 2,500 historic properties in the United States to be designated (2006) as a National Historic Landmark by the Secretary of the U.S. Department of the Interior, its highest honor.

I have always been intrigued by the often-told stories of workmen uncomfortably seeing/feeling "presences" around and about the House as it was being restored. Mark Crum repeated a story over a lunch at The Machine Shed where a relative had, indeed, witnessed such an occasion. Mary and I believed him! It was not what you might call a "busy" day when we paid a call to the premises. Others of our party had seen the House (I in 2008 with the Class of 1943) and it just happened that there was a guide who was willing to show Mary the House as a party of one. My daughter took tens of pictures which she would not have been able to do if there were others taking the Tour...policy and such. It was an experience that Mary is not likely to forget for a long, long time...and she has the pictures to prove it. Rather, on the digital Memory Card.  For on the Memory Card were shadows of four or five people, some standing, some sitting, as if they were "at home at another time, some light and some dark in skin color." Could it possibly be? When Mary returned to her home and posted the pictures to the computer, the figures did not develop as such which is what we were hoping would happen. It's hard to convince the occasional non-believer what we were trying to show them on the digital camera. And, we don't try. Question... Are we, on a daily basis, surrounded by "friendly spirits"? I vote "Yes"...It was not my "imagination" that recognized a little girl in a dress of that period, an older woman seated in a chair with hands folded as if in repose, and of others. Mary has the Memory Card to back up our claims, you have only to ask! "Out of this world" ... hands down.

A funny thing happened to The Trio after our Sloppy Joe dinner at Alan and Molly Cranston's home in Marne. We had enjoyed good food, good company, a tour of the Masonic Lodge of which Alan is a "head honcho," meeting Gilbert, the family cat of immense proportions and beauty, a warm and balmy evening spent in this small community of 149 home-loving citizens, all good stuff for thinking about come winter time.

It was all going rather well for us...no need yet to call out for The Guardian Angels...HOWEVER, the evening was not over yet, by any means!  When it came time to leave and while driving cautiously out the driveway, we noticed a car was coming up the road. Peggy stopped to let the car pass, and then proceeded to continue backing while turning the wheel of the Saturn to get us into the direction to go back to Atlantic. With no street lights shining down upon us and with the dark of night upon us, and evidently the Guardian Angels at that moment were eating Sloppy Joe leftovers in Molly's kitchen, the car somehow managed to find itself in a slightly tilted position on the bank of a ditch that had the night before been saturated with rain, therefore, it was slippery. I first realized we might be in for a bit of excitement when I found myself "tilted, too"...leaning way too far back in the front seat was my first clue. The two Marys (the other Mary being my sister-in-law and widow of my brother Ben, also of Marne) were also leaning thataway. Peggy had hold of the wheel which kept her from sliding into my space. We were at such a tilt that if anyone had slid or tilted further than they had, the car would have, no rocket science here, flipped over with us inside and possibly rolled. Into the fence of the baseball field on the other side of the street. Ok, I will give this one to "The Luck of the Irish" grouping. Of course, we giggled a tad nervously, for fear of any movement, but it was kinda funny in a way that only three sober Irish scrubwomen would fully understand....

Alan, the Grand Tyler of all 30,000 Iowa Masons in 322 Lodges the year 2001-2002, now a volunteer everyman for Heritage House, the Hospital, Gilbert's seatmate, and Molly's handsome 72-year-old husband...tonight would become legendary! Just like Superman in the comics, Alan held the car upright with both hands, with ONE when he opened the door for us on the right-hand side, as we exited so gingerly. Never have I wished I weighed less than at that moment! Once all of us were safely out of the car, it was a question of what way would be the safest way to remove the car from the side of the ditch. Remember it was slippery and the car could have dislodged at any moment. Molly suggested that Alan run over to the nearest and only bar in town to get help from those (see Plan B) who were visiting the friendliest place in town...they could easily have lifted or moved the car with little or no effort OR, here's another thought Molly came up with, call a friend with a John Deere Tractor. She's so darn cute!  Plan B was to entice the entire Motorcycle Club to do The Deed! 

A wise thinker always, Alan figured out just how to do it, using Einstein's Theory and Newton's Law of Gravity and common sense, and brought the Saturn back safe and sound to where we were standing at the side of the road...we were in a fit of laughter by this time as all was well...for the moment! We gathered up the Guardian Angels and off we went, down that lonely country road that leads to Atlantic and the Super Eight; and now you are reading about it in this Blog, and Alan and Molly will probably get a great big chuckle out of this experience as they relive it when I send them an e-mail telling them...it is written! I think of this occasion as payback time for when Mom, Dad and I were his big brother, Dick, and his "guardians" during World War II when his Dad was in Italy in a foxhole. Molly, with your gentle and sweet soul and Alan, with your great big dark brown eyes that sparkle with "life!" ... how I love you! And, oh yes, Gilbert...you ARE precious! Meowww!

The first woman I saw sporting a pair of pierced earrings was a darling little old lady by the name of Fanny who lived one short block from my house, heading east on Third Street. (No, not Fanny Brice but of that era.) The minute I saw those sparkling baubles sitting so daintily on those two little old earlobes, I swore I would one day sport pierced ears ... if I could ever muster up enough courage to actually withstand all that piercing pain! That day came, but in a most unprofessional way and in the unprofessional hands of "Sonny". (I must confess here that I have never called Del "Sonny" in conversation with others or to his face and why I am doing it now in this Blog, I can't explain...is there a psychologist in the house?)

We had only recently moved to Pasadena, dinner was over and the dishes washed, we had no television but did have a small radio and pretty much had seen all the movies being shown that week. Bored! One of the fascinating aspects that drew me to Del prior to our marriage was his one pierced ear which, as a sailor during WWII, he gave himself. Courage personified! Looking at that now-healed-over wound, I remarked I had always wanted pierced ears. "I can do that!" ... those words from "Sonny's" mouth prompted quick action. He quickly gathered up all his medical needs: a raw potato, a sharp and sterilized needle and a piece of straw, probably unsterilized because it is highly flammable around flames. With more determination than courage, I displayed one hour later: one small hole and one small straw, to be twirled every 15 minutes and soaked with rubbing alcohol at said intervals, in each dainty earlobe. I had reached Womanhood! I hesitate but must say that these wounds were slow in healing, and I was getting impatient. Straw does not sparkle, looks ugly, and my one broom was looking rather sparse and straw-bare. Time to take action!

Downtown Pasadena was not that far in walking distance from our apartment and so, one fine morning, I took $10.00 out of my purse, plunked it down on the counter of the jewelry store near Lake and Colorado, and walked out of the store with my first pair of earrings, 14 kt. gold studs (today's market value - $100.00) and I still have them as we speak. My ears healed immediately, and now I wear 14 kt. gold earrings for medicinal purposes and do not feel one bit guilty...thank you, Fanny!

Now Mary Barnholdt Ray must have inherited the same "vanity" affliction a lot of the Cranston Women have...we don't like pain, but will suffer the moment if it takes a "little" courage and the result looks mighty fine when observed by the naked eye. In her case...a Tattoo! This was the Plan: The women folk would pile into her car on Friday, head for the Tattoo Parlor in Omaha, get that butterfly embossed on her curvaceous lower leg, hit the Antique Store across the street, lunch at Harrah's and do a bit of gambling on the now-anchored Boat that used to travel up and down the muddy and mighty Missouri. No room for Plan B...and it all worked out so well. The one most disappointed was daughter, Mary, who was hoping for an open appointment. For reasons I will explain later, we will both be getting butterflies sometime soon...ours will be black with highlights. Some of the money left at Prairie Meadow was recouped at Harrah's...all even and that means I "won" in gambling language. Mary's Tattoo is now completely healed and is envied by those of us who are mustering up enough courage and moola to enhance body parts rarely seen by others. I am going for the ankle...

If these writings are the ingredients for a Recipe on "How to Have a Very Excellent Time With Family and Friends"...and I do believe that it is a "dash of this and a dash of that" that make the tried-and-true ordinary vacation extra-ordinary...then the special condiments for this vacation time are places, people and properties heretofore not included and if left out, said Recipe would turn out just a tad short of being "yummy" for the reader. We can't have that!

For instance...meeting up with "Shorty" Parrott and ex-Sheriff Bob Vogesser at Hy-Vees during our Bill Auerbach episode. Brothers of childhood friends, their stories and laughter added flavor to the tales that were being spread around fast and furiously, some true, others?...who knows! I'm betting "true" as there are no secrets from the past in a small town the size of ours; maybe some embellishment, of course, but all in great fun. My brother, Perle, would have loved this as he could "embellish" with the best of 'em! At the Class Reunion, we reconnected with Ardythe Anderson Hanson of Altoona (the cute cheerleader I was telling you about?) and Robert (Ozzie) Paul who, at the age of 86, drove all the way from Michigan alone to attend the Reunion. Ozzie was at one time a "near relative," his sister having been married to said Perle in their early twenties. The "topping" came in the form of a still-beautiful woman of 90 years of age who approached my table with a gleam in her eye and a smile on her face that forecast I was in for a "I don't believe it!" kind of moment. For sure! When she announced as her first name "Ethel" I knew it was the gorgeous gal that Perle introduced to our family when I was all of 10-11 years of age, and whom I had not seen since their relationship ended after about two years when her family moved. Ethel Sorensen (a widow now with family) was one of those early friends who took me under "her wings," in a most nurturing of ways: how to apply Tangee lipstick with a liner brush, how to put more bounce in my curly locks, tips on how to grow out of my tomboyish stage into more of a ladylike pre-teen...I adored Ethel for her wisdom and friendship when it wasn't really necessary. Well, for me it was! Perle was her first love, she told Mary and me at the Reunion, and I kinda think she still thinks of my brother as I do...with tender affection.

The whole town of Walnut was on our "must visit" list as all of that small town has been turned over to Antiques and is world-renowned for its treasures. Mary found several while Peggy and I waited in the Saturn and nibbled on the best home-made pecan rolls ever tasted from the bakery on the corner where we parked. Back in Atlantic on another day, we paid a quick trip to the super big Walmart which is just across the street from Super Eight to pick up some personal necessities..okay, snacks...and to Oinkers, more commonly known as The Pines, where they serve the cutest piggy-shaped pork chops on a French Roll that is out of this world when topped with their special barbecue sauce. Peggy took several bottles of that back to Des Moines, and I wished I had some in my refrigerator right now....good!

I remember The Pines in a more vivid way...when it was kinda okay for the teenagers to visit The Pines in the early 1940's for dancing (no imbibing)...I happened to be there (my one and only time and it was a peer-pressure thing) when the young and vivacious wife of a prominent lawyer actually got on top of a table and danced, in a twirly skirt. Have I told this story before? I do remember that I had seen my cousin, the Sheriff at that time, eating dinner with friends, but evidently he and party had left before this "scandalous act" took place. Nothing in the newspapers the next day, so I am supposing that this show-stopper was either not that unusual or not that well received. So, there you have it! In re-reading my notes so that this reporting will be complete, I must note that the very first thing we did after registering at Super Eight was to get into the Saturn, exit onto Seventh Street, proceed in a westerly direction, turn right at the First Presbyterian Church on Chestnut Street and drive slowly down the lately-renovated main street of town to the Atlantic Chamber of Commerce (the old railroad depot) at the end of those city blocks, then turn around to slowly trace our car tracks up the street that I had trodden on foot so many years ago...to school, to the Tyler Coca Cola plant, to the Whitney Bank, to shop at, among many, the J.C. Penneys, Spurgeons, Hoffman's Hardware, The Vogue, Bullocks and Abe Baker's Super Market, to the homes of friends who did not have that extreme privilege of living in Buck Town. Through misty eyes, I remembered it all...

A single-sentence inquiry early in the year 2001 to a young man, then living in Wasilla, Alaska, about a possible Derry "connection" has led to an exchange of paragraphs, letters, face-to-face conversations and, now, a book on the Family that binds us together. Yes, I am talking about D. "Doc" Derry, currently a resident of Atlantic, and without whom my three kids would not know the historical background of this very unique family. "Doc" has dedicated his life to digging into the Derry past and what a story he has to tell...in fact, "Letters from Aunt Ethel" will soon be in print, with pictures. Doc is also working on a second book while working full time at Heritage House...an amazing man! (And before "Doc" knew he was going to be a "subject" in this Blog, he nicely included on the cover a picture of a young Betty, age 19 or 20, next to one of Mt. Rushmore...they haven't aged a bit!)

In an e-mail exchange we promised to get together in August to learn more about Rhoda Derry, "Doc's" great-great aunt, and to introduce Mary to her cousin, several times removed. We met up with "Doc" and his love, Jeri, following our Omaha trip just described, at the China Buffet just down from Hy-Vee...we learned in detail about "A. Manual Bookbinder" (his sympathetic story is now on CD and once was played on YouTube) and about Rhoda, a tragic figure whose life of despair serves as an inspiration long after her demise. Brandon Camprecht, a young film producer/director in Peoria, Illinois, is now completing filming a story about her confinement as a mental patient in an Illinois facility and where "Bookbinder" played an important role in the telling of this poignant story. These are "bittersweet memories" as "Doc" likes to describe the life and times of his Aunt Rhoda who is not likely to be forgotten by those who have come after her.

And...neither will you "Doc!" Mary says her dad, Del, and "Doc" share a family resemblance around the eyes. "Doc's" family line and ours are well documented online through MyHeritage.com (family members are invited to join, just ask) but it is that personal connection on Friday, August 27, that will always remind me of how much we owe to one very personable young man who now carries on the family name of Derry (after 62 years following our departure) in "Sonny's" and my hometown....providential?

"As you have loved us, we love you..."
For whatever psychological reason I know not, I have never really felt a "pull" to visit the gravesites of cherished family members on any of the many trips we have made to Atlantic. Why was it so terribly important that all of our plans were made around visiting the five cemeteries this trip? On August 16th, I had no answer. On August 30th, I did. Delivered on the delicate wings of two very beautiful black butterflies...

With nieces Sherry at the wheel and Mary riding shotgun this time, we spent the morning and afternoon visiting the five cemeteries, and doing the odd jobs that my sister, Trudy, and her two kids, Peggy and Bus, would do prior to every holiday...pull weeds around the tombstones, leave flowers and in brother Kenny and Betty's case...leave Twinkies! I covered up Kenny's wrapped Twinkie with grass, and Peggy came along and uncovered the sugary delight..."It's for the birds, dummy!" "Oh, right! I knew that!" My thought was that the birds might think this was a scavenger hunt...I don't think Peg bought that for a minute. This was all new to me, remember. That bit of levity was parlayed into a most delightful and meaningful time of being with those "who had loved all of us" in that small party so well. And, so it went as we completed our mission at both sections of the Oakwood Cemetery near Lewis, at the Marne Cemetery, at the Flint Cemetery near Griswold, the Atlantic Cemetery, and finally the Wiota Cemetery where Del's parents rest side by side.

For reasons known only to herself, Del's Mom did not want a marker or headstone. Del and Mary had returned to Atlantic for her funeral, but in all the commotion, Mary could not remember the name of the cemetery, and I had not read the obituary for many years. Turning to Linda of the Carnegie Library we found that she was buried next to Harvey in the Wiota Cemetery and were given explicit directions on how to find her gravesite. Go to the east fence, walk down 21 rows and there would be her place. Not that easy...each one of our party taking off in every direction, looking carefully at every headstone (not knowing hers was unmarked at that time) we searched. This is what Mary Ray wrote in an e-mail to me just recently: "This is where the butterfly found Delbert's mother's grave and gently led Mary to her grandmother's and grandfather's graves. It is where we stomped through high grass and weeds."

I was farthest away from the girls when I heard someone cry out, "Here it is!" "Here" being Harvey's headstone. No sign of Mom's, and we knew not where to look from there on. Seemingly out of nowhere and attempting to fly into the brisk wind, came the first simply huge black butterfly, hovering over the space next to the tombstone. Not believing what we were witnessing, Mary took several pictures as the feeling began to sink in that where the butterfly was so determined to settle upon was sacred ground, Mom's gravesite. We left Wiota Cemetery with more determination than ever that our future Tattoos would be butterflies...black for me.

Oh, the second butterfly? The next morning I came out of the exit door of the Super Eight to store some stuff in the Saturn prior to being picked up by The Ensemble and heading for Omaha. As I opened the back passenger door, I heard a very slight "bump", looked down on the pavement and saw another most beautiful black butterfly which somehow had become entangled with a bit of black mass and could no longer fly. I hastened back to our room and told Mary and Peggy of what had just happened and Mary, with a box in her hand, gently scooped up this second buttefly. Yes, the butterfly did expire during the night and yes, it is now safely stored in Mary's curio that contains her treasures. A hard fact, we saw no other black butterflies before or after this occasion.

I am still pondering this as I write about this unbelievable experience: If this second butterfly was also the first butterfly, and we are talking two different makes of cars here, and if we left the first butterfly in Wiota and we are now in Atlantic, a few miles away...how is that possible? OR...in another scenario where this is a case of "two distinct and separate" butterflies, what force of nature led this second butterfly to become attached to the Saturn for us to discover? The parking lot was filled with every make of car at that time of the morning and yet...the Saturn? Confirmation of what transpired at the Wiota Cemetery? Some things are not meant to be understood completely but accepted in Faith and that is good enough for me...

Having flunked "Farewell 101" lo' these many years, the test of saying "Good-by" to the Cranston Clan in Atlantic and Des Moines was one I had, again, few hopes of "passing"....but if it took meeting at Perkins on our last Sunday evening (6 p.m. and be there) following our Class Reunion in Atlantic and a buffet breakfast at Prairie Meadow in Altoona on Monday (the 30th) and a last lunch at The Machine Shed at noon to boost my grade, then so be it! There is just something about "The Cranston Ambiance" that exudes over any "happy meal" we share, whether it be for "food for thought" or "soul food." We all played our roles to perfection and if anybody deserves an "A" for Comportment, I am your girl. The welcomed hugs, kisses and "So Long!" sent us on our way to the Des Moines Airport in time to catch our evening flight...comforted by the fact that our California family would be waiting.

The return trip home to California would have been uneventful except for the very thorough security search given to me free gratis at the Des Moines Airport. Had they heard we were denuding the landscapes of Iowa of rocks? I was given the most thorough of searches by the most courteous of guards...is my name on some sort of register that comes up each time I fly? In a joking remark to another fellow passenger, I said I got everything done but a massage. At which time, my new best friend came over and gently rubbed my right shoulder; and I said, "Thank you!" and exited laughing...

To all the friends and family we have left behind in Atlantic and Des Moines, please know that Mary and I will treasure all the moments you shared with us ... "As you have loved us, we love you!" 'Til we meet again!