Monday, May 14, 2012

The Book of Love


                Sixty four years ago today my parents stood together in a simple wedding at my Aunt Nellie’s home in Illinois to pledge their love and to promise a life together.  They proudly upheld those vows for 62 years, until Mom’s passing in 2010.  Their 25th anniversary had been greeted with a surprise party, and their 50th had brought the extended family and neighborhood friends together for a wonderful luncheon.   But their 60th anniversary posed more of a problem.  In 2008 my mother was in the grips of advanced dementia, robbing her of both physical and mental capabilities.  Most of her days were spent in a quiet fog, sleeping or staring blankly out the window.  Although she still new us, day to day events seemed lost to her, and I was not convinced she would even know it was their anniversary, let alone grasp the significance of it being their 60th.  On top of that, both of my parents’ immediate families had passed as had most of their friends.  So there were few left to invite to celebrate with us.   I feared that the day would be difficult for my father because I knew it was a milestone he had wanted to attain, but he would not be sharing it with his beautiful bride in the fashion he had always envisioned.  I wanted to find a way to honor their achievement and at the same time bring a little joy into my father’s life.
The wedding day
                It was about a year prior that I launched a plan which turned out to be a much bigger success than I had ever imagined.  The seeds of the plan originated a decade earlier when my sister had written to a few celebrities to see if they would inscribe a picture to my parents for their 50th anniversary.  A couple, such as Bob Hope and Dolly Parton, sent signed photos and Wynonna Judd even wrote them a brief congratulatory note.  It was nothing big, but it was fun for my parents to receive mystery envelopes from time to time with an autograph inside.  One very unexpected result of this was a surprise phone call from then First Lady, Hillary Clinton.  At the time the White House had a policy of sending a card to anyone celebrating a 50th anniversary, so my sister had written requesting one.  What we did not realize was that evidently, from time to time, a card was chosen at random and the First Lady would call the couple personally.  So on the afternoon of their anniversary the phone suddenly rang, and Dad answered to a person asking him to hold for the First Lady.  Then Hillary came on the line to wish them a happy anniversary and to say she was sorry “Bill” could not call because he was out of the country on business.  My father was quite skeptical and almost made some unfortunate jokes at the first couple’s expense, but thankfully he thought better of it.  Mrs. Clinton was extremely friendly and gracious, even though she was talking to a pair of incredulous, old people who were also very hard of hearing.  I suspect the conversation was quite a challenge for her, but she stuck it out.
My parents at the time of their 50th anniversary
                I started thinking that perhaps I could try something similar but on a much larger scale and more personalized.   I started making a list of celebrities and politicians, both local and national, who had meant something to my parents in one way or another through the years.  I then researched their addresses and began a letter writing campaign in which I explained my parents’ life together, their achievement of 60 years of marriage, and the struggles then facing them both.  In addition, I tried to incorporate how that particular person had touched my parents’ life or our family’s life through the years.  In the end, I asked if they could send a brief note of congratulations and included a self-addressed-stamped-envelope to make it as easy as possible.  In doing so I had hoped to garner a few notes to share with Dad on their anniversary.  It was my way of trying to lift his spirits on a rather bittersweet day.
                I sent out about a dozen letters initially, and it wasn’t long before I recognized one of my SASE’s in the mail.  I opened it to find a very nice, full page, hand written note by the former game show host, Bob Barker.  The Price is Right was one of the shows my mother had continued to watch until her final days at home, so I figured Bob Barker was someone she might recognize.  While I had always expected to receive either a picture with “Happy Anniversary” written on it or a simple one line greeting scrawled upon a card or scrap of paper, I was caught off guard by such a personal touch.   I was thrilled beyond words, so I immediately sat down and wrote another dozen or so individuals to see what would follow.  The response was overwhelming and encouraged me to write more and more.  I now want to share with you the generosity and caring of a group of strangers whom I believe most of us would have regarded as being too “big” or “important” to respond to such an obscure request, but who opened their hearts in a remarkable way.  I have not shared this broadly with the public until now because I did not want anyone to take advantage of these particular individuals.  However, many of them have since passed on themselves, so I feel I am free to discuss it.  Since I can no longer remember the order in which they were received, I will group them into broad categories for discussion.  I wish I could reprint each and every letter and photo, but there are just too many.
The letter that started the whole thing.

                The first broad category would be that of political figures.  I sent a letter to former President Carter (because I knew my father admired him as a decent man,) as well as to the governor of Indiana, to Hoosier senators and to past and present mayors of Indianapolis.  I also included a letter to the current mayor of my father’s hometown of Tuscola, Illinois.  I suspect most of my replies in this category were secretarial, but who knows for sure.  In the end, I received a letter from Jimmy Carter saying he and Rosalyn wished my parents a “happy  62nd wedding anniversary” (which was actually the number of years the Carters had been married,) a note from former Vice President Al Gore sending his and Tipper’s congratulations, and letters from Governor Mitch Daniels and Senator Evan Bayh.  Indianapolis Mayor Greg Ballard was running late with his letter, so he had his secretary personally deliver it along with lapel pins in the shape of the key to the city to my home.  A much beloved former mayor of Indianapolis was William Hudnut III, and he sent a very personal note discussing my mother’s health issues and wishing the pair a very happy anniversary.  Senator and former astronaut John Glenn sent an interesting note.  Certain numbers got mixed up in his replay so the letter was dated May 14, 1948 (my parents’ wedding day) and he congratulated them on 85 years of marriage (which was actually Dad’s age at the time.)  Former Secretary of State, General Colin Powell, who my father held in high esteem, sent a nice hand written note congratulating my folks and thanking Dad for his past military service. 
Jimmy Carter's note
John Glenn's "interesting" response
Colin Powell's surprising reply
                But one of the more fun replies in the political category was that of Tuscola mayor Daniel Kleiss.  He sent me a letter thanking me for writing and informed me he was declaring May 14, 2008 to be “Walter and Ruby Fifer Day” in Tuscola.  This came with an official proclamation with many statements outlining my parents’ life, announcing the special day in Tuscola and wishing them a happy anniversary.  It was one of a few truly unexpected but incredibly uplifting surprises that I received in this endeavor.
Mayor Kleiss's proclamation of Walter and Ruby Fifer Day in Tuscola
                The next broad category is that of general entertainers such as comedians and actors.  This is where the old standby autographed picture was a little more prevalent.  I received autographed photos with additional anniversary greetings from such individuals as Bill Cosby, Jay Leno, Bob Newhart, Don Rickles, Dick Van Dyke, Tim Conway, Debbie Reynolds (who made her first movie appearance the year my parents were wed,) Lauren Bacall, Fess Parker (early on he played Davey Crocket in the television series that Dad and my brother had watched and later Daniel Boone in the series that Dad and I shared together) and game show host Bob Eubanks (The Newlywed Game being an old family favorite.)  Having grown up watching I Love Lucy, I decided to write their children to see if they would add their greetings.  Lucie Arnaz wrote a nice note discussing her parents’ 20 year marriage, her then 28 year marriage to Larry Lukinbill and his parents’ 53 years together.  These personal touches really meant a lot to me, and I think they meant something to Dad, too.  Her brother, Desi personalized a photo to them.  Fellow Hoosier Florence Henderson sent them an autographed photo as well as a second personalized photo from the entire “Brady Bunch.”  The aging exercise guru, Jack LaLanne, who I used to watch in the mornings when I got up for school, sent a personalized photo of himself flexing his muscles.  And Graham Kerr, who my mother and I knew as the “Galloping Gourmet,” sent an inscribed photo of him and his wife wishing them a happy 60th and extending their prayers.  Tom and Dick Smothers, known collectively as The Smothers Brothers” sent a note congratulating the couple and saying how they had been working together for 49 years and hoped they would still be doing so at the 60 year mark.  It was always interesting to see how each celebrity would try to relate some aspect of his or her life to my parents or to highlight important parts of my letter to them.
Comedian Don Rickles
Nice note from Lucie Arnaz
Bob Newhart
Dick Van Dyke- a longtime family favorite
One of Florence Henderson's replies on behalf of the Brady Bunch
                A couple of people in this category stand out to me, however.  The first was Kelly Stewart, the daughter of Jimmy Stewart.  My father always loved Jimmy Stewart, the actor, but he had an even higher regard for Jimmy Stewart, the war hero.  My father was a radio-operator on B-24 Liberators in England in WWII.  Jimmy Stewart was a B-24 pilot at a base not far from Dad’s.  While he could have safely spent his service selling war bonds and making propaganda films, he chose instead to take an active part in the war effort, risking his life as a command pilot.  Obviously, Mr. Stewart had already passed by the time of my parents’ anniversary, but I tracked down one of his daughters and wrote her.  She responded with a handwritten letter to my parents.  Additionally, she included with the letter an inscribed copy of a biography of her father.  She wrote in it that if he were here he would join her in wishing them a happy anniversary. 
The note from Jimmy Stewart's daughter, Kelly
                Another special response in this category was from Nick Clooney.  Most people now know him as George Clooney’s father or Rosemary Clooney’s brother, but to my family he was the guy who came over from Kentucky to host the Indiana State Fair show in my childhood days.  He, too, chose to send a hand written note with words of encouragement to my mother and an uplifting message to my father, calling him his “newest hero.”  It was very personal and remains one of the favorite replies I received.
One of my favorite responses (Nick Clooney)
                There were a number of singers and musicians who also responded.  My parents were country music fans, and together we had seen many of the older performers.  So of course, I wrote to several that we had seen in concert or to whom my mother had listened while playing albums during her housework.  Roy Clark sent a signed photo, as did Andy Williams, George Strait, Steve Lawrence and Eydie Gorme.  Barbara Mandrell personalized a photo for them, but she also sent a note talking about the World War II airman and the cute little punch press operator he had married.  A country singer who started out locally in Indiana before becoming a Grammy awarding winning artist in Nashville is Steve Wariner.  Steve wrote a note (on Veteran’s Day) first thanking my father for his war service and stating that he had just called his own Dad that day to thank him, too.  He then went on to congratulate the pair, acknowledged my father’s struggles and asked him to give Mom a hug for him. Another country star, Mel Tillis sent a personalized photo, but he also included one of his cd’s as a gift.  It would be a prophetic move because when Mom passed and we were looking for music for her services, Dad asked us to play Mel’s song, Beyond the Sunset, in which the singer is speaking to his spouse who has passed before him and telling her to walk slowly so he can catch up when his day also comes. 

“Should you go first and I remain to walk the road alone,
I'll live in memory's garden dear with happy days we've known.
In spring I'll wait for roses red and shades of lilacs blue,
And in early fall when brown leaves call I'll catch a glimpse of you.

Should you go first and I remain to finish with the scroll
No lenghtening shadows shall creep in to make this life seem droll
We've known so much of happiness yes we've had our cup of joy
And memory is one gift of God that death cannot destroy.

Should you go first and I remain there's one thing I'd have you do
Walk slowly down that long path for soon I'll follow you.”

Mel Tillis who shared his CD with my folks.
It was a perfect song for the occasion and would never have been known to us had not Mr. Tillis shared his cd with us.

Jimmie the Kid back in my Mom's youth
     As a boy, I enjoyed looking through my parents’ box of old photos.  Among the snapshots of long lost relatives was an autographed picture of a young boy in cowboy attire playing with a dog by an old wooden fence.  It was autographed by Jimmy the Kid.  My mother had seen him perform as a young man, and decades later he was still entertaining people under the name of Little Jimmie Dickens.  So I wrote him and he sent back a current photo with a greeting to my parents.  One of my mother’s favorite singers had always been Eddy Arnold, and the aging singer pecked out a greeting on an old typewriter and sent it back.  Brenda Lee also sent a hand written note congratulating the pair.  Don Reid, one of the Statler Brothers, sent a nice letter, as did singer and actor, Pat Boone.  My wife and I have long followed a female pianist from Wisconsin named Lorie Line.  She was kind enough to inscribe a photo, as well. 
Little Jimmie Dickens today
            
Note from singer Brenda Lee
Letter from local boy who made it big, Steve Wariner
Letter from my Mom's favorite, Eddy Arnold
      Watching the news had always been a part of our television routine, so I wrote some anchormen, both local and national.  Tom Brokaw sent a brief, hand written note congratulating Mom and Dad and thanking them for being part of “the greatest generation.”  My Dad especially loved Tim Russert, and he, too, quickly jotted them a congratulatory note.  A longtime local news anchor, Mike Ahern, sent an amusing but very heartfelt handwritten letter, and a favorite weatherman, Bob Gregory, likewise replied with a brief note.  The former Today Show host, Jane Pauley, was once a local news woman here in Indianapolis, so I had to include her.  In reply, she also sent a letter.  But no reply stands out more than that of one of the greatest news men and journalists of my life, Walter Cronkite.  Discussing his own marriage to his wife, Betsy and acknowledging the difficulties my parents were facing, Mr. Cronkite sent one of the warmest letters my parents were to receive. 
A very fun note from a former local news anchor, Mike Ahern
Tom Brokaw's reply
One of our proudest responses, Walter Cronkite
                Although not a newsman, another person who had occupied the television screen my whole life was Art Linkletter.  He too wrote a long and moving letter in which he discussed the joy of his 73 year marriage to his wife, Lois, his children and grandchildren and the pain of losing their daughter.  Mr. Linkletter was a motivational speaker at the time, and it showed in his words of encouragement to my dad.  Like Walter Cronkite’s note, his is also one of my most cherished replies.
A very thoughtful response from Art Linkletter
                In the sports field, the people I contacted were limited because sports had not been as big a part of our lives as other forms of entertainment.  Dad enjoyed following the Indianapolis Colts, and Coach Dungy was one of the first to respond with an inscribed photo.  Also from the Colts roster, tight end Ben Utech wrote a very nice note as did center, Jeff Saturday.  They were both hand written letters and each player discussed his own family to add a personal touch.  Indiana basketball legend, Larry Bird, sent a very simple note of congratulations.  My mother was originally from the Owensboro area of Kentucky, as is the Waltrip racing family, so I wrote Darrell Waltrip who signed a photo to them. 
Indianapolis Colts Center, Jeff Saturday, showing his softer side
                In a category all his own, Survivor competitor and fellow Hoosier, Rupert Boneham sent them a nice letter and photo.  Likewise, a local author (one of my dad’s favorites) and Quaker pastor, Phillip Gulley, was also kind enough to send my father a letter.
Rupert adding his own special touch.  He also sent a nice letter.
                Finally, there was the response of Thomas and Skinner, Inc.  My parents met shortly after World War II in Indianapolis.  It just so happened that they were both employed at a local steel and magnet factory called Thomas and Skinner – Dad running the centerless grinder in the shop while Mom ran a punch press.  In fact, many in my mother’s family also worked there.  And although they officially met outside of work, I claim this to be the beginning of their relationship.  When I related this to the company, the president of the company wrote me back saying they wanted to issue a special certificate honoring my parents.  And so a plaque was created recognizing their service to the company and their 60 years together as a couple.  Again, I was touched that a company would go out of its way in the fashion that it did to celebrate a couple that no one working there today even knows.
The plaque created by Thomas & Skinner
                My sister, upon seeing my great success, also dove into a letter writing campaign, and her efforts returned some nice replies.  Supreme Court Justice, Sandra Day O’Connor, whose husband was also battling dementia, wrote a warm reply.  The actor Karl Malden sat down on his 85th birthday to pen a note of encouragement to my mother.  Ernest Borgnine also sent an encouraging hand written note to my sister and an inscribed photo to my parents.  Sydney Poitier sent a lengthy letter discussing Mom’s great pies which Dianna had mentioned in her note to him. The beloved child actress, Shirley Temple even sent a rare reply in the form of a card wishing my folks a happy anniversary.  Former First Lady, Betty Ford, wrote a note as did George and Barbara Bush, although I’m sure their reply is secretarial as are most presidential replies.  Actors from the Waltons television show, Ralph Waite and Michael Learned, each answered her, as did Phyllis Diller, Betty White, Ken Berry, Jimmy Dean, James Arness, Jon Provost (Timmy of Lassie fame) and Jim Stafford.  There was also a signed anniversary card from Billy Graham. 
Karl Malden's letter to my mom written on his birthday
I was surprised when my sister got a reply from Sidney Poitier
Ernest Borgnine's note of encouragement to my sister, Dianna
                The stack of replies soon became a mountain and eventually I had to decide on how to best present it to my parents.  I finally decided on the idea of a large scrapbook, something I had never done.  I spent hours at the craft store looking for background paper for each of the pages, searching for decorative touches and relative quotes.  I scoured the Internet for yet additional quotes to augment the theme of some pages.  Then I had to go through all the family photos and scan and copy dozens upon dozens of old photographs, print them out, cut them, organize them and affix them to the appropriate pages.  Many nights I was up until midnight or later trying to organize all of this, and I suspect I put in 100 hours all told.  What I finally produced was a book telling the story of their lives and including all the replies.  As one looks through the book, the left hand page is a collection of photos outlining various points in the timeline of their lives.  It begins with my father’s early years, goes next to my mother’s life, then on to their dating, their marriage, their children (each in turn,) their homes, their extended families, their friends, their recreation, family meals, prior anniversaries, and grandchildren before eventually concluding with their current life.  I included a letter I had received years earlier from my Dad’s late sister describing their wedding at her house.  I also included snippets from a brief memoir my Dad had written about his life.  On the right hand pages I mounted the photos and letters we had received.  Whenever there was only a letter, I found photos of the person on line to print and include with the letter so Mom would know (hopefully) from whom it came.  In the end, I had a book 12 inches by 13 inches and 3.5 inches thick. 
The finished product
Some vacation pictures opposite the letter by Indianapolis Mayor Ballard
My Aunt Nellie's letter about my parents' wedding opposite the letter from former Mayor Bill Hudnut
Pictures of my brother (child 2) opposite Jane Pauley's letter
                On the day of their anniversary, the family gathered at my house and we presented them with their book.  They sat together and paged through it with Dad turning the pages and pointing out the various people.  Mom sat and carefully studied the pages, but she kept her usual unexpressive look.  I was not sure if she knew what she was looking at, but when I quizzed her about a couple of the old photos, she could tell me who they were.  Then something happened that made it all worthwhile for me.  Dad was having trouble reading a name on one of the letters when my mother looked over and read it to him.  We had all thought that Mom had lost her ability to read, and to see her do it one more time nearly brought me to tears.  For days afterwards, Dad would pull out the book and together they would sit, look at it and try to reminisce together.  My goal had been met.  I gave Dad something that made the day a little happier, and I sparked in Mom some lost memories.  But it would never have happened had not dozens of celebrities taken the time to jot down a few thoughtful words for a couple they would never know, but whose lives they had long impacted.  I thank them one hundred times over.  More importantly, I thank my parents for creating the perfect model of what a marriage should be. 
Mom and Dad looking at the book with family gathered around
And that is why today I say, "Happy Anniversary, Mom and Dad!"
* click on any photo for a larger view

Saturday, April 7, 2012

A Walk in the Woods

               
                  I took a walk today, leaving the constrained, manicured limits of my backyard to slip off into the woods for a while.  Stepping off the lawn, I pause at the top of the hill, halfway between the large but dying sugar maple and the grand, old beech and peer down at the creek that has carved a deep path through the back third of my property.  The sun sits at a perfect angle to illuminate the depths of the creek’s clear, cold water.  There in the shallows below I watch a large carp tracing lazy circles near the shoreline.  In the middle swim schools of smaller fish, some of them obviously young carp but others are not so clear cut to me; perhaps a group of small mouthed bass, or maybe just another family of carp that I’ve misidentified.  The water is at its usual summer level, most of it being only knee deep but in areas it drops to about three feet.  After a heavy rain, the creek becomes a raging torrent, rising five to ten feet over night, spilling over its banks, scouring the hillside, and sweeping away all loose debris including large trees.  However, this year our spring has been mild with only light showers, so the creek is well behaved.
The creek in its relaxed state
                  The remains of another beech tree lay decomposing on the ground behind me.  When we built our house, the tree was still standing, although its branches were truncated and the top half was missing.  Then one day several years ago, it toppled in a storm and fell into the woods.  Then it was just a hollow trunk, but now it has collapsed upon itself.  Its once silvery bark is gone, and the wood is dark and crumbly.  In places it is hard to tell where the tree stops and the soil begins.  Already cherry seedlings and dog-toothed violets push their way through the rotted wood.  The dog-toothed violets are still too young to bloom, but their dappled foliage creates a pleasant contrast to the dark ground below.

A rotting beech tree giving life to new plants
                I leave the hilltop beeches behind and begin my descent.  I’ve not traveled the path for many months, and it is covered with leaves, empty hickory nut hulls, and many small branches fallen from the canopy above.  The sandy soil is dry and covered with small, loose pebbles which give way under my feet and threaten to send me skating down the hill.  Yet I manage to hold my balance, and shuffle my way down the steep embankment.

                Here the earth flattens into the lowlands, that area that finds itself under water with even a moderate rainfall.  The beeches have given way to cottonwood, sycamore, poplar, elder, maple and cherry.  The foliage of the cherry trees is nearly fully emerged while the maples and oaks have only recently broken bud and the cottonwoods still stand bare.  Many of the trees, left undisturbed for decades, are quite impressive with trunks so large I would be unable to wrap my arms around them.  The air here is heavier and cooler and has the earthy smell of clay and water.  Running parallel to the creek is a break between the trees that resembles a road.  It is inaccessible by any sort of vehicle and spends much time underwater, so it does not seem plausible that it would actually have ever been used as a roadway.  Is it just a natural clearing?  I doubt I will ever know the answer.
The road-like pathway along the creek

                I start picking my way through the newly emerging plants that comprise the undergrowth.  Most are unknown to me, but I am shocked and saddened by the number of invasive plants which I do recognize.  I’ve long been aware of the problem of Japanese honeysuckle taking over the woods.  It is always easy to spot, being one of the first bushes to leaf out in the spring and one of the last to lose its leaves in autumn.  It literally dominates the land around me.  But this year I am surprised by the amount of garlic mustard, another exotic invasive, covering the hillsides and bottomland.  I pull a few of the plants as I walk by, but there are too many for me to make any sort of impact.  I act more to assuage my guilt than to remedy the problem.  Ahead, I notice a red admiral butterfly has also found the garlic mustard, so I leave that plant for him.
Red admiral butterfly exploring the garlic mustard

Most of the spring show of flowers has passed, but the violets and phlox are still in bloom as are the round leaved ragworts and star chickweed.  The wild ginger is growing in healthy clumps, thriving in the moist, fertile soil.  I lift a velvety leaf to study the small, hidden, burgundy bloom below.  Close by is a clump of hepatica, but only its glossy, tri-lobed foliage remains.  The Solomon’s Seals are shooting up, but it will be some time before their fragile, bell like blooms droop from their stems. 
Phlox
The hidden bloom of wild ginger
Hepatica shining in the sun, but no blooms

My stoney path to the sandbar
Battered trees clinging to the sandbar
                I walk around fallen logs and low growing shrubs, following the path worn by animals making their way to and from the water.  Looking for the one low spot that gives me access to the sandbar in the middle of the creek, I notice how the moving water has slowly eaten away at my side of the river.  Large sections of the bank have been undermined and have collapsed into the water.  Suddenly to my right, there is a splash followed by the sound of fluttering wings and a distress call.  It is a pair of wood ducks taking wing from the far side of the creek.  It seems this is about the only view I am ever afforded of wood ducks, given their wary nature.  Finally, the trail I’m following lowers itself to water level and a few of the larger stones protrude high enough above the water to create a pathway to the rocky island.  I tiptoe across and soon I’m exploring the river rocks that have been deposited here for so many years.  Tall grasses poke up between the stones, hiding small frogs that jump back to the water at my approach.  This area always fascinates me, as it is my natural treasure chest.  Unusual mineral formations, fossils, long-discarded human trinkets are what I seek.  Today is uneventful.  Nothing unusual catches my eye, other than a small stone with the fossilized imprint of a long ago shell.  There were the usual bits of old glass, polished smooth by the tumbling action of the water and the abrasiveness of the sand and surrounding rocks.  Growing among the rocks are the twisted and battered trunks of a few small elms and locust trees.  There are times of the year when they sit totally submerged as the current threatens to rip them from the soil below.  At other times when the water is only mildly elevated, the flotsam and jetsam carried by the creek gouge their trunks and catch in their branches.  And yet they persevere, their bent and contorted forms reminding me of the bristlecone pines that cling to the mountainsides in the far west.     

Plants finding root in a piece of driftwood
Remant of tumbled glass
One of the frogs that jumped back into the water at my approach
My private little beach
                Finding nothing unusual, I make my way back to the wooded edge and proceed further downstream.  I find a quiet resting place where a multi-trunked box elder stretches over the water.  The ground below is open, but instead of a sandy beach, I am again on rocky soil.  Here the stones are much smaller, but it is rocky nonetheless.  The water is quiet and deeper here, but the shallows beyond still ripple and bubble with the current.  Below me a large dragon fly makes a slow pass while upstream small fish are jumping clear of the water.  I sit on the pebbled beach and watch the water flow past and listen to the birds.  There is something hypnotizing in a small river.  The continual murmur of the water, the play of light on its surface, and the unending movement all work together to relax me and lower my heart rate.  I focus now on the bird calls.  Cardinals are plentiful and their single peeps echo all around.  A kingfisher rattles in the distance, as well.  But from high in one of the large trees on the hill comes another call I do not recognize.  I believe it is an early migrant, probably a warbler or vireo.  I can see it flitting from branch to branch, but without binoculars it is nothing more than a dark shape.  Its identity must remain a mystery for now.
Hanging on to the hill
                 I pick up an old, rusted scrap of metal which has been deposited with the gravel, and begin scraping the ground.  The hill is nothing but coarse sand and pebbles, and the digging is easy.  Finding nothing of interest, I soon tire of this and refill the hole.  Locating a flat stone, I try my luck at skipping it along the water, but my throw is poor, the stone skips once, then turns sideways and plummets.  Finally, I rise and brush the sand off my pants, then turn and head for home.  I take a higher path back, admiring the large trees clinging to the hillside.  This time the trip upward proves easier than the one that had taken me down, and soon I am back in the tamed part of my yard.  The excursion has been brief, but it has given a much needed boost to my sensibilities.  I have returned relaxed and refreshed, and for the moment anyway, I am ready to tackle another week. 

Saturday, March 24, 2012

Happy Trails

     We pushed our way through the crowd, the sheriff’s deputy leading the way.  Stopping outside a door the officer announced we had arrived at our destination.  He briefly peeked in to verify that those inside were ready for us, pushed open the door then assumed his post outside in the hall.  Gary and Bill had been in the lead or our small procession, but now they both instantly pulled up and faced the uniformed officer.  “I want to be a policeman someday,” Gary offered enthusiastically, more impressed with the deputy and his uniform than the pair who awaited him inside.  

     Not wanting to create a backlog in the hallway, I continued into the room as the first of our party to enter, and there was Roy Rogers, still in his heavy stage make-up, standing with a big smile on his face and extending his hand to welcome me.  I gave him my best firm handshake then moved deeper into the room with my sister close behind.  Dianna’s hair hung in a long braid down her back, and this instantly caught Roy’s attention.  Reaching out, he gently touched her braid and said, “You have mighty pretty hair.”  Little by little, our colorful crew made their way into the surprisingly nondescript dressing room.  As they entered, each person got a warm greeting and a hug, a pat on the back or a hearty handshake.  I looked over and there was Mom standing with Dale Evans, and the pair of them looked like a couple of proud mothers watching their children at play.  But it was Roy who really caught the group’s attention.  I suspect it was the flashy cowboy outfit that had most interested them, but regardless of the reason he was soon surrounded by a grinning, talking, touching mob.

     Dianna had received her teaching degree from Indiana State University in the very early 70’s, but rather than the traditional classroom, she chose instead to work with individuals with intellectual and developmental disabilities.  At the time she was employed by the Hollis Adams Foundation, an organization created in 1969 for those individuals in their 20’s and 30’s who had outgrown the regular school system.  I had come to know some of these people through occasional visits to the school and an evening or two of bingo.  My personal favorites had always been Gary, a small, slip of a person with a pronounced overbite and an internal engine that always seemed to be revving at high speed, and Bill, a tall, handsome man who (to me) seemed very quiet and friendly, but who I had later learned could be prone to temper outbursts.  Thankfully, I never witnessed this side of his personality.  The two came from very different backgrounds.  Gary’s family was a close-knit, supportive, loving group.  His brother would always be there at the evening bingo games, and I can still remember on one occasion his teasing Gary about witnessing some recent streakers, bringing a bright red flush to Gary’s face.  Bill, on the other hand, had lived a much more sheltered life, growing up at a time when mental disabilities were still considered a social stigma.  Once his father passed, however, the family felt freer to allow him out in public, and so he too finally joined the group at the foundation.  His time isolated away at home had allowed him to self-educate himself on various topics including nature, and when the group of students took a field trip to a local nature preserve, it had been Bill who had answered nearly every question.  There were many others whom I enjoyed, but my memory always goes back to Gary and Bill.
The Rogers Family

     This day’s activities were the end result of a letter my sister had written to Roy and Dale some months earlier.  The couple had a long history of helping children with special needs which was born of their own personal tragedy.  When they were originally married, the pair already had a total of four children from their previous unions.    At the time it was believed that Dale would be unable to conceive any more children, but at age 37 she gave birth to a daughter whom they named Robin; however, the child was born with Down Syndrome and died shortly before her second birthday.  Typical of the times, many had originally pushed for the Rogers to institutionalize her, but the couple would have none of it.  They persevered and blessed their young daughter with a warm, loving, family-oriented household during her short two years.  Forever changed by the gift of Robin, the family did not stop there.  They later adopted Mary Little Doe, a healthy Native American girl.  This was followed by the adoption of John David (Sandy) Rogers who was a battered and malnourished orphan from Kentucky.  On a trip to England, they visited another orphanage and fell in love with yet another girl, Mimi, who eventually came to live with them in the United States as a foster child.  Finally, they added a daughter named Debbie, who was a seemingly unadoptable war orphan due to her mixed Puerto Rican and Korean ancestry.  Dale, especially, became active with special needs children, penning the book Angel Unaware, which told the story of their daughter, Robin.  Due to her efforts, the Oklahoma County Council for Mentally Retarded Children eventually became known as the Dale Rogers Training Center.
Roy entertaining young heart patients

The old puzzle
     And that is how it came to be that on this warm August afternoon in 1978 I was standing and rubbing elbows with Roy Rogers and Dale Evans in a little backstage dressing room in the Coliseum at the Indiana State Fairgrounds.  How many times had I come home from school in the afternoon and turned on reruns of the Roy Rogers Show on our little black and white television?  Usually, Roy would find himself in some sort of dangerous jam from which he must escape with the help of Dale on Buttermilk, his German shepherd, Bullet, the beautiful and talented palomino, Trigger, and (my favorite) his humorous sidekick, Pat Brady who traveled the West in a beat-up, old jeep named Nellybelle.  Unfortunately, Mr. Brady had passed six years earlier, so he was not a part of the program that day.  Yet after the bull riding, barrel racing and calf roping of the rodeo were over, Roy rode out on his current version of Trigger, with Dale riding at his side.  Although not as talented as the original, Roy put Trigger Jr. through a series of stunts and tricks- bowing, dancing and rearing in that classic western pose.  Then in his mid-60’s, Roy still looked every bit the cowboy to me that he had on our old family jigsaw puzzle I had pieced together over and over again as a small boy, and which showed Roy from an early western standing on a stairway with gun drawn.  Later, Roy and Dale were joined by the Sons of the Pioneers on stage to sing their classic western tunes like Tumbling Tumbleweeds and Cool Water.  Of course the show concluded with them singing the song Dale had penned and with which the pair always closed their television show.  As Happy Trails filled the air, the young people in Dianna’s group joined the crowd in singing along. 
A still from the old Roy Rogers Show
 
     It was this sing along that brings back my final memory of that day.  With the group gathered around them, Gary blurted out, “I was singing with you, Roy and Dale!”  To this, Dale replied, “I know you were, honey.  We could hear you.”   We were certainly in no position for the famous pair to have heard us, but this statement meant the world to those young people.  The entire way home they kept saying, “Roy and Dale heard us singing!”  There was such pride in their voices.  It had been a simple gesture on Dale’s part, but it was the greatest gift I think she could have given those individuals. 
Roy looking every bit the hero on Trigger

     With his white hat, which my mother once pointed out to me never seemed to fall off even in a vigorous fight, Roy was always the hero in the movies and on his television show, but on that day he and his wife, Dale, became real life heroes to me and my family.  The love and respect they showed my sister’s students was totally genuine, and my only regret is that I never got the opportunity to thank them personally.  I’m sure my sister did, and years later we both independently wrote and related the story to their son, Dusty, and extended our thanks to him.
Roy and Dale closer to there era in which I met them.
My autographs on a scrap of paper mom had in her purse

     And so I end this as they did their weekly television show, with a song…

Happy trails to you, until we meet again.
Happy trails to you, keep smilin' until then.
Who cares about the clouds when we're together?
Just sing a song and bring the sunny weather.
Happy trails to you, 'till we meet again.

Some trails are happy ones,
Others are blue.
It's the way you ride the trail that counts,
Here's a happy one for you.

Happy trails to you, until we meet again.
Happy trails to you, keep smilin' until then.
Who cares about the clouds when we're together?
Just sing a song and bring the sunny weather.

Happy trails to you, 'till we meet again.