White Stone Scavenger Hunt on Davis Street

Stones with questions that had to be answered. 

Families on our street recently completed a White Stone Scavenger Hunt where 12 white stones with questions were hidden along the street.  Finders had to answer the questions and then leave the stones for others to find.  Some of the stones were Souvenir Stones and finders could keep one of those each.

Souvenir stones that had no questions to answer and could be kept by the finder.  

Nine families participated and all found the stones and answered the questions.   Each child who participated received a prize.  A drawing was held for family prizes.  The Cliftons won first prize (a $25. gift certificate to Local Fresh Ice Cream), the Roses won second prize (a $10. gift certificate to Local Fresh) and the Anders won third prize (a $5. gift certificate to Local Fresh).

Teddy with Salem and his prize. 

Cleary and Will with their prizes.

The Rose family Elvis and Bjorn with Dad and Grandpa. Second place winners. 

I think I had more fun than the children as I watched folks hunting for the stones on the street.  My next project for July is to have a treasure hunt for the street.

Treasure chest ready to be filled with treasures.  

Stay tuned.

Letters to my Grandchildren Summer 1951

Joan and George. 

While I loved to pick cotton, I was not too fond of chopping cotton, de-weeding, and thinning out the plants.  However, in the summer of 1951 I was chopping cotton for a neighbor down towards Pink Lovelace's store.  Donnis Ashley and I were working in a field down there.  For lunch, I would always go back home where Mama would have a great lunch ready for me, and then I might rest awhile and go back and chop some more if it got cooler.

When I went home for lunch that one June day, Mama had lunch but she was also all a twitter regarding a letter that she had received from my Aunt Elsie who lived in Maryland.  Elsie's daughter, Joan, my first cousin was getting married, and she planned to have the wedding in August down at our grandmother's house.  She wanted me to be her maid of honor.  I was more excited about it than Mama was.  I'm not sure I had ever been to a wedding and I know for certain I had never BEEN in a wedding.

Beautiful Joan. 

Many of our purchases in those days were from the Sears Roebuck Catalog that arrived at our house in the mail every season.  That was the source of the evening dress that I would choose to wear in the wedding.  It was a lovely pink dress with a few rhinestones embedded around the front of the bodice and a sheer cape covering the shoulders. We told Aunt Elsie that I would wear pink so she could choose a picture hat as an accessory for me to wear.  She and Joan came down several days before the wedding day, and when I opened the hatbox from Hecht's in Baltimore that they brought there was this beautiful pink picture hat.  The prettiest hat I had ever seen.  It matched my dress perfectly.  That hat was a birthday gift for me too, my birthday was on the 23 of August, and the wedding was on August, 25.  I had just turned 14.  Joan was only 20.

Cheryl, the flower girl, and me. 

My Dad built an altar that was placed out in front of the beautiful Spirea bush ablaze with white blossoms in front of Grandma's porch.  The piano was pulled out on the porch.  I don't remember who played the piano, but our cousin Virginia Greene, who was an accomplished musician, sang. Our little cousin Cheryl was the flower girl also dressed in pink.  Chairs were placed out on the lawn facing the porch where a large number of aunts, uncles, and cousins who attended sat.

The wedding party in front of the altar in front of Grandma Greene's front porch.

I was happy to be in the wedding, but at the same time, I was sad that Joan was getting married.  She always came down to Grandma's in the summer for a long visit, and I knew she wouldn't; be doing that now.

After the wedding, there was a reception up the road at our Aunt Edith's house.  Joan knew I was sad because she wouldn't be coming in the summers to play, but she told me that I wouldn't be interested in playing for many more summers.  She was right.  It wasn't too many summers until I became interested in boys.

Hanging Out With Rebecca, A Clothes Horse, on Patreon

Apple blossoms by Rebecca A Clothes Horse.

It is such a dreary, rainy, cool day here that I spent some time this morning on Patreon enjoying Rebecca's photography and musings, and that always lifts my spirits.  Rebecca is my first cousin twice removed.  Her grandmother Joan and I are first cousins.  Rebecca's Mom Robin is my first cousin once removed. This information is for those of you who might be fond of Geneology.


I am a patron of Rebecca on Patreon and that means that I am allowed to share her posts as long as I give her credit, so that is what I am going to do today.  All photography here is from Rebecca, A Clothes Horse from what she shares on Patreon.

She often shares some of her favorite quotes. Photography by Rebecca. 

January wallpaper.  

February wallpaper.  Rebecca is a book lover as am I.

The Rhodos bloom much earlier in Northern Ireland than they do here in NC.

Rebecca's inlaws in Northern Ireland have apple farms.  So she makes lots of pictures in these orchards.

These apple blossoms are making my rainy day much brighter. 

One should always have a little book handy. 

Rebecca makes beautiful crowns and this one is made of apple blossoms.

Rebecca has lived in Northern Ireland since she married a charming Northern Irishman, Thomas.  Northern Ireland is really a fairyland and Rebecca captures it all with her photography.  Patreon is a platform and way for artists to share their beautiful work and get paid for it. I get more than my money's worth by subscribing to A Clothes Horse on Patreon.  I check in with Rebecca there almost every day especially when I am feeling down and out and need a boost.  Thanks, Rebecca, you are wonderful.

You might find an artist that you would like to support on Patreon so why don't you check it out https://www.patreon.com/

Ice Cream, Ice Cream, We All Scream for Ice Cream

Homemade ice cream.

My friend, Libby, recently commented on homemade ice cream, and that prompted me to think back on when and how I have had ice cream in my life.  I can’t remember the first time I had ice cream, but I remember when our neighbors, BJ and her parents, moved next door. In the summer they would often go visit Aunt Reba, the sister-in-law of Margaret Hamrick, and her family who made homemade ice cream.  Martha and I usually were invited to go along. Eventually my family began making homemade ice cream. 

The mixture (milk, eggs, sugar, flavoring, sometimes fruit) would be prepared, perhaps just vanilla, but often chocolate, strawberry, or during peach season peach ice cream.  The mixture would be put into the metal canister of the ice cream maker, the dash would be placed in the mixture, the top was put on and the handle for turning was added. Ice and rock salt would be packed around the outside of the canister.  Salt made the ice melt faster causing the mixture inside to freeze.  The crank had to be turned constantly, and sometimes a child would sit on top of the ice maker to stabilize it when someone was turning the crank.  At first, the crank turns easily, but as the ice cream hardens, it becomes very difficult to turn.  That tells you the ice cream is ready. Kids would often fight over who got to lick the dash as it was taken out of the ice cream.  There is nothing better than ice cream made this way.  I need to see if I can find our old ice cream maker. 

Ice cream maker. 

At school, at least beginning in the sixth grade when we were over in the high school building, we could buy ice cream from the school store which was just across from Mr. Padgett’s office.  Someone would collect our money and we could order a fudgcicle, a chocolate-covered Popsicle, an ice cream sandwich, or an orangecicle. Maybe some other things.  My favorite was chocolate covered Popsicle. I think most were 5 or 10 cents.  Looking back I think I always had ice cream money, but I bet there were some kids who never had the money for ice cream and there we sat eating ours while they watched.  That seems cruel now.

                                                                        

As an adult, I still have enjoyed more than my share of frozen desserts.  Breyer’s Ice Cream and Klondike Bars are among my favorite commercial desserts.  But when I had my first Maple Walnut Ice Cream at COWS down on the waterfront in Halifax, Nova Scotia I was sure I had found the “Golden Fleece” of ice cream.  Maple walnut has become my very favorite flavor, and it is difficult to find down here in the south.  But lo and behold several years ago Local Fresh opened up over on Glenwood, and now it is my all-time favorite ice cream shop.  Occasionally they make maple walnut, but not as often as I would enjoy.  But they will make me a special order of the maple walnut if I purchase a gallon.

                

I’ve had gelato in Italy and crème glacée in France.  I like ice cream in the old fashioned kind of cone, but I also like milk-shakes, ice cream floats (particularly made with Cheerwine), banana splits, and chocolate nut sundaes.  And there are those many flavors of Cook Out milkshakes.                  

                                                               

I also like frozen custard.  When I was still teaching one of my students told me he was working at Goodberry’s in Raleigh.  I had never heard of Goodberry’s, but I discovered it was actually more or less on the route I took going home from work each day.  After that, I would stop every Friday and have an ice cream treat.  My favorite there is a Carolina Concrete, vanilla with wet walnuts and caramel sauce. 

                                                               

Alas about a year ago, I became dairy intolerant so that put a kibosh on my eating ice cream that I love, but there are now many plant-based frozen concoctions that are equally tasty.  Of course, sherbet has no dairy so I can eat that, and there is “ice cream” made from cashew milk and almond milk.  Even my Local Fresh has almond milk ice cream.   My recent discovery is Revolution Cardamom Spice plant-based delight. Boy it is delicious. 

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                

But every now and then I have to sneak away to Local Fresh and have a serving of real ice cream.  So good!!!!

                                                                  

Hanging out in the Eighth Grade Letters to my Grandchildren

May 15, 2020
Dear Grands,

In the summer of 1950 I became a teenager, although I don't believe teenagers were the dreaded lot that they have become in the eyes of some.   Upon entering the eighth grade I was pleased to learn that Miss Sarah Blanton who was my sixth-grade teacher had become Mrs. Sarah Dedmon and she was now teaching the eighth grade.  And our room was in the basement of the high school just as it had been in the sixth grade.

As I recall she continued to take our class to the old tin can gym to play basketball whenever we had recess in rainy or cold weather.  Remember I told you how she had been the one that got me interested in basketball, and by the time I was in the eighth grade I had improved quite a bit from my sixth grade days.  By this time I had an official basketball goal and basketball with which to practice at home.

In Mrs. Dedmon's class, we had art classes.  The one project we had was making a puppet out of papier-mache, actually, we made just the head of a puppet.  I remember we used strips of newspaper that we would dip in water and then cover with starch or maybe it was dilute Elmer's glue.   Then we painted eyes, lips, maybe added hair, I don't remember.  I do remember that we had devised a little stage where we could sit behind and put on a play with our puppets.  My friend Libby and I were apparently pretty good playmakers because we were asked by the other students to put on another play after the required one. (Looking back, I bet our classmates were just trying to get out of having other less fun classes.) We would sit down and hold our puppets up and just make up a dialog as we would go.  I'll have to ask Libby, who is still my friend if she remembers this.

I also learned to type in the eighth grade.  Mrs. Rudasill came to our school to teach typing, and we had to pay to take the class.  Eighth graders were allowed to sign up, and I think my friend Shirley and I were the only eighth-graders to take the class.  We were allowed to leave our class during what was the last period for the high school classes and go up to the room that was adjacent to the stage in the auditorium where the class was taught.  I was a little apprehensive being in a class with high school students, especially since my first cousin Douglas was a senior that year.  I was determined to do as well as he did.  I can remember typing, "The quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog."  It had all the letters of the alphabet.  I learned to type fast and accurately and did as well as most of the high school students.

I had no typewriter, but our book had a template of the qwerty keyboard, and I would practice on the template in the book.  But "Santa Claus" brought me a reconditioned Underwood Typewriter for Christmas and I could really practice after that.  I loved the class, and it has been one of the most useful classes I had during my twelve years of elementary and high school.  I'm still doing a lot of typing, guess it is called keyboarding now.  I find that I don't type as fast nor as accurately as I once did as I get older.  But I manage.  I never was good with numbers.  I still have to look at the keyboard when typing numbers, and I never learned to use the number pad on the keyboard.

An Underwood Typewriter similar to the one I learned to type on. (Still have one like this in Shelby.)

Not only do I credit Sarah Blanton Dedmon with my interest in playing basketball, but she arranged in the spring of that year (1951) for us to have what would be my first boy-girl party.  She arranged for us to have a party over in the elementary school one evening in the room that had been my third-grade room.  Perhaps that room was no longer used as a classroom.  Up until the eighth grade I had considered boys a nuisance at best, but that changed when a cute little blond-haired boy moved into our school district in the eighth grade.  I'll call him Joey (not his real name).  I had a"crush" on him, but I tried to be very cool and nonchalant about it.  Some of my friends had said, "Joey likes you."

Anyway, at this party, we were playing some kind of game, maybe Spin the Bottle.  Bet you have never heard of that game.   A boy would spin the bottle and the girl that the bottle was facing when it stopped spinning was the one that he could go with for a walk outside.  So on one spin, Joey's spin landed on me, and he and I went out with other pairs to have a walk.  As we walked on that spring night, he reached over and put his arm around my shoulder, and no he didn't kiss me.  I never thought of boys as a nuisance after that.  Thank you, Mrs. Dedmon, you were a wonderful teacher!

I'm sure you grandchildren will find this letter particularly amusing.

Love, GrandPat

Washing Windows Then and Now

My squeaky clean windows, inside and out. 

With this beautiful weather, I have washed my bedroom windows inside and out this morning.  These days I use Windex and paper towels.  Usually, I get a professional company to wash them outside, and I probably will call them for doing all the other windows, but I thought washing these few windows would be a change of pace for me and might relieve the monotony of these days.

Growing up my sister Martha and I would help Mama wash windows inside and out.  One of us would be on the inside while the other would be on the outside and we could see if either of us left a spot.  Bon Ami was what we used on a wet cloth, and when it dried we would wipe it all off with pieces of newspaper.  No paper towels for us back then.

Bon Ami was my friend when I washed windows growing up. 

As I remember the kitchen windows required that we get on a ladder.  Although I'm afraid of heights, I didn't mind getting on a ladder, but I was terrified of getting on the roof.  Sometimes I would want up on the roof if Daddy was working on the roof, but then I was afraid to get down the ladder.  Soon I learned to just stay off the roof altogether.  Now I have learned to stay off the ladder altogether. I'm sure you are happy to hear that.

Clothespins my grandmother probably used. 

Clothespins I used and still use when I am in Cape Breton. 

We did lots of chores around the house.  Dusting, sweeping, mopping, I didn't mind.  Mama always did the washing, but I  or Martha would often hang the clothes on the line and take them off as well.  I miss having a clothesline, but we do have one in Marble Mountain and the clothes smell so good after drying in the sun. As a kid growing up, sometimes the wet clothes would freeze on the line and then dry by sublimation.  I thought that gave the clothes a delightful aroma.

Growing up Martha and I did most of the ironing I recall.  The dried clothes would be sprinkled with water and rolled up tightly until there was a bundle ready to iron. The damp clothes would iron out with no wrinkles if you did the ironing properly.  No steam iron back in the day.  These days I don't iron clothes.  They usually come out of the dryer pretty wrinkle-free.  Only occasionally might I need to press something.

Ironing in the 50s. (Photo from an image on the internet.)

It is rather amusing that I really dislike house cleaning now, whereas growing up I didn't mind it at all.  The one thing I didn't like was to wash dishes.  Mama always did the cooking, she just didn't want us in the kitchen so I didn't learn to cook until I was grown.  But Martha and I had to do the dishes. We would often argue about whose turn it was to wash the dishes. Looking back I believe I did more than my share because she was younger.

Now I have squeaky clean windows in my bedroom, and I can open the shutters and have a nice view of my climbing fig and other plants outside my window. And today I can even leave the windows open it is so nice and fresh and cool outside.

I wonder what chores you have done during this lockdown my dear grandchildren?

Love, Grandpat

Jump Down Turn Around Pick a Bale of Cotton

Cotton plant with the bolls open and ready to be picked.  

Farming and textiles were the main sources of income in Cleveland County, NC during the 40s and 50s and cotton was the main crop of the farmers. I think I was perhaps the only person in the county who really enjoyed picking cotton.  Although we lived in the country surrounded by farmers, my father was a machinist at the Dover Industries Cotton Mills so I did not have to pick cotton as many of my friends did.  But I couldn't wait to get in the cotton fields. I actually got PAID for picking cotton for neighbor farmers.

My older cousins were picking for a neighbor farmer when I was quite young, preschool age, probably five.  They took me with them to the field that was near my house and I picked for a short time, and I got paid with a check for $5.00.  This would have been in the early 1940s, and I certainly didn't pick enough for that big paycheck.  Perhaps the farmer thought that as a child if I picked any amount of cotton it was worth $5.00.  Taking that check home was one of the proudest moments in my young life.  So proud that I didn't want to cash the check, but finally Daddy convinced me to go with him to the bank, and we cashed the check. I had to stand on tip-toes to hand the check to the teller, and I wasn't too happy about cashing the check.  For some reason, the check represented more money than the cash did in my little mind.

I was probably ten or eleven when I started picking cotton on a regular basis.  I could hardly wait for school to be dismissed for six weeks of cotton-picking season.  In the summer, we were in school for six weeks to make up for the time we would miss in the fall while picking cotton.  Most of my classmates were children of farmers and they had to help their families with cotton-picking, for me, it was a way to make money.

We were surrounded by cotton fields.  The closest neighbor had a daughter (BJ) who was about the same age as I and she was my best childhood friend.  So that was the family that I and my sister Martha mostly picked for. My grandmother would make me a cotton-picking sack every season using a burlap sack to which she attached a soft strap that went over my shoulder.  (I don't know why I didn't keep them from year to year.) We would go down a row picking until our sack was full.  Our sack of cotton was dumped onto our own personal "sheet" which was also made of burlap sacks sewn together.

By afternoon there would be a large pile of cotton on the sheet, and with the sun beating down it made a pleasant place to have a little rest, or maybe even a nap.  One could bury her nose in the cotton and the distinctive fragrance emanating from the warm cotton was comforting.  So comforting that when I was in my early 50s undergoing chemo for breast cancer and was told to think of something pleasant as the toxic chemicals coursed through my veins, I would pretend I was lying on a big pile of cotton warmed by the sun and imagine the soothing aroma of warm cotton.

One of the hazards of picking cotton was the stinging Pack Saddle a caterpillar that fed on cotton leaves.  A sting from this little creature was very painful.  There was often a telltale sign that a Pack Saddle was in a stalk of cotton because there would be little black drops of poop left on the leaves or on the ground.  This forewarning would usually prevent one from being stung because you could locate the caterpillar and remove it from the stalk. But I was stung nevertheless many times.

Pack Saddle on a cotton leaf. 

At the end of the day, the sheets full of cotton were tied up and weighed and the farmer would write down the weight of cotton for each person for the day.  At the end of the week, the daily weights were added and it was payday!  The sheets of cotton were emptied into a wagon and taken to the barn. I think the pay was usually something like $2.00 for each hundred pounds or fraction thereof up to $4.00 per hundred.  So I could easily make $15.00 per week, which was good money I thought for a hard-working kid.

Once a farmer had accumulated around 600 to 800 pounds of cotton, it would be time to take the cotton to the local cotton gin to be baled.  The first time I went to the cotton gin in Lattimore, BJ's father allowed us to ride in the wagon full of cotton that was pulled by a mule.  At the gin, the wagon was vacuumed up under a big suction apparatus, and I was a bit scared that maybe we would be sucked up too.  It was safe.  The cotton was baled, weighed, and I suppose the farmer was then paid for the bale.  Soon the mule was replaced with a Farmall Tractor and that made a much faster trip to the cotton gin. I'm sure it made plowing of the fields much easier as well.

A Farmall tractor very similar to the one BJ's father had.  

The cotton-picking season began in early September about two weeks before the James Strates Cleveland County Fair would come to Shelby. This fair was the biggest in the state excepting the State Fair in Raleigh.  The money I made during those two weeks I saved to spend at the Fair.

After the Fair, I would save my money to buy new school clothes for the winter. 

I suppose I picked cotton until I was 16 years old.  I was a fast picker, and I remember the most I ever picked was 210 pounds in one day. Once I was sixteen and could drive I saught other jobs.  But I still have the fondest memories of my years in the cotton patch. 

As we were picking in the fields we would often sing this song among others.  There would be BJ, my sister and me, BJ parents, sometimes her Grandmother, and sometimes her aunts.  It was great fun.

Hanging out in the Seventh Grade

Dear Grands,

May 1, 2020

Back to my school days.  In the school year, 1949-50, I had turned 12 and was in the seventh grade at Lattimore School and our room was in the basement of the high school building just as when we were in the sixth grade.  Mrs. Hugh Harrill, a preacher’s wife, was our teacher. 

One thing that stands out in my mind is how we would have reading class.  Students would have to take turns reading in the order of how we were seated, and the teacher would call our name when it was our turn to read.  It seems that my row was the last row and I had to listen while most of the others read in their turn. I would read much faster and would go ahead and read further along, but I also had to be sure I knew where we were as a class so that when it became my turn I would be in the correct place. Today this seems more frustrating to me than it did at the time.  If we were called on to read and didn’t know where in the story we should begin reading, the teacher was not happy.  I wonder if I remembered anything about the reading lesson of the day. Despite that awkward way of reading, I never gave up my love of reading. 

Back in the day, perhaps it is still the case, 12 and 13 year-old girls formed little cliques.  There were five of us that usually hung out together and would go spend the nights with each other on occasion.  For some reason, our clique often had someone in our little group that we would decide to shun.  I was occasionally the odd man out in our group, but there was one girl that we regularly shunned.  I will call her “J”.  J would get very upset and hurt and would cry so that once when we were shunning J, our teacher called the others in the clique in during recess, one by one,  and scolded us and Mrs. Harrill would sometimes cry she was so upset about how were acting.  I think maybe she would read a passage from the Bible to us.  Looking back, I think that was the only time I can remember being mean to someone, and I so regret it.  By the time we were in high school, we were no longer forming cliques and J was one of the more popular girls in the class. 

Martha Mason, my friend who had polio, returned home that year spending most of her time in an iron lung.  She had missed the sixth grade while she was hospitalized, so after she was back the teachers would go to her house (she lived near the school) and teach her.  Sometimes I and some others would go visit her and she could be out of the iron lung and be on her bed for a short time as we visited.  I recall she was always cheerful and interested in what we were doing. 

Hanging Out in the Sixth Grade

Letters to my Grands

April 26, 2020

Still Quarantined because of the Covid 19, so I will continue writing letters to you.  Last night Grace missed her Senior Prom and I was so sad about that, but I sent her a little nosegay of flowers which I think boosted her spirits.  Brooks is home from Austin, and I am waiting for him to come over for a social distance visit. 

Nosegay I sent to Grace on the night she missed her Senior Prom because of Covid 19.

I thought I would continue to write about elementary school.  Sixth grade in 1948-49 was a very new experience for me because our class was a combined class with the seventh grade and our classroom was in the basement of the Lattimore High School just across the way from the Elementary School.  One of the sixth grades remained at the Elementary School. I do remember there was no summer Session that year because of the Polio Epidemic.

Our teacher was Miss Sarah Blanton from Lattimore, and I remember during that year she became engaged to Hal Dedmon. I knew most of the seventh graders that were in my room but being in the same class with them was different.  When they were having their classes I would listen in, and by the time I entered the seventh grade much of the material was not new to me.  And I was bored.

Sarah Blanton was the one that got me interested in basketball.  She would take our class over to the Tin Can, that's what the gym was called, on the grounds of the Elementary School to play basketball during recess. Actually, the gym was made of tin except for the frame and the floor.  The gym was heated with two wood-burning potbelly stoves at each end of the building,  and it was where the high school basketball team played. It was not heated when we were there for recess. 

I became to love basketball, and I went home and found a metal ring (hoop) from an old barrel and asked my Dad to nail it up for me.  He nailed it up to my Grandma's barn,  and I played basketball with Martha and Betty Jo or many times I just went out and kept shooting by myself.  I can’t remember if we had a real basketball or perhaps we played with whatever ball we had around the house.  I got where I could hit that “basket” with no trouble at all.  

The first basketball goal I had when I was 11 was a very stiff metal ring from a barrel, called a hoop. 

So Daddy bought a real basketball goal and mounted it on a post at the proper distance from the ground out in the space between our house and Grandma’s.  Now I had a basketball, a goal and a dirt court.  I could then play to my heart’s content, and I did with a passion.  When I reached the ninth grade I was ready to make the basketball team, and I did.

When we weren’t playing basketball during recess, we played Kick the Can or later softball.  I liked Kick the Can, but never really caught on to softball.  For the life of me, I can’t remember the rules for Kick the Can.  But I know it involved running very fast which I could do.

My memory of what we were doing academically that year fails me. Basketball was what I remember most.  

Hanging Out in the Summer of 1956

My Summer as a Waitress. 

After I finished my freshman year in college at Gardner-Webb, I was looking for a summer job, and there were no jobs in Shelby.  By that time I wanted to do something other than pick cotton.  My uncle's wife in Statesville said they were looking for a waitress at Gray's Restaurant in Statesville where she worked and that I could live with them or with my Grandmother.  I guess Daddy must have taken me to Statesville and I applied and became a waitress at Gray's Restaurant.  At the time this was one of the best restaurants in Statesville.

Waitresses were required to wear a white uniform so I went out and bought ONE uniform.  To save money I was planning on wearing it each day and washing it each night and have it ready to wear the next day.  That's what I did.  As soon as I got home, at my Grandmother's house where I was staying, I would change clothes and wash the uniform.  By morning it was dry because it was hot in Grandma's house with no air conditioning.

I usually worked the morning shift which began at 6:00am if I remember correctly.  Of course, I had no car and would walk the mile from Connor Street down Front Street to South Center Street to the restaurant.  Two free meals came with the job, so I would leave at 5:00am and walk in the early dawn hours to have breakfast before I began my morning shift.  I got off work at 3:00pm and then I could eat another meal before I left.

In those days, waitresses didn't have a large tray to carry the dishes to the tables of the diners.  We had to learn to carry four plates at one time if we had a large order.  I can't believe I learned to do that. But I did and I didn't once drop a plate.

This is how I felt. Though as I recall I never had to carry a plate on my head. 

The early morning shift was usually easy, and Jay Huskins, who was then editor of the Statesville Record and Landmark came in every weekday morning to get just a cup of coffee.  I was serving him, we chatted, and when he learned that I was working to make money for college, he began tipping me $1.00 every single day.  That was a big tip for a 20 cent cup of coffee. For most orders of just coffee, I didn't even get a tip. I missed him on weekends.

I had a lot of freckles on my face, and the owner whose name I can't recall. I thought I would never forget that, the way he teased me all the time.  He would say, "She's got freckles on her, BUT,  (he paused here) I love her just the same." and I would always blush.  I could feel my face get red hot.  I never got used to it.  He was a good boss though, and he and his family would come in on Sundays after church to eat, and sometimes I would be the one to serve them. 

Gray's Restaurant was the stop for the Greyhound Bus Schedule in Statesville, and a bus came in around noontime when we were already rather busy with customers.  People would get off the bus, come in to order in a hurry, I think they had only about 30 minutes before the bus would depart.  I dreaded that, it was so hectic, and the bus customers usually did not leave a tip.  Regarding tips, I just want to say that since I experienced life as a waitress, I ALWAYS tip generously whenever I eat out. Brooks now you know why I tip the way I do.

Each day when I got back to Grandma's I would empty out my pockets on her kitchen table and count my money.  She was always so happy when I made a lot of tips.  I offered to share my tips with her since I was boarding at her place, but she would not hear of it. Bless her heart.  It was great for me to spend time with my Grandma.

I don't think I made much money that summer, but it was a great experience.  An experience that would benefit any young person growing up.  Grace, maybe you would like to try it sometime before you finish college.  Waitresses in some of the Chapel Hill restaurants probably make pretty good money these days.

I saved almost all that I made that summer, but I did splurge on getting a photograph made at a professional photography studio.  The same studio that my mother had had a photo made when she was about 19, the age I was at the time. Mama had grown up in Statesville.   Not the same photographer I am certain.

Me at 19 in the summer of 1956.

Mama, your Great Grandmother at 19, 1920

When summer was over, I had matured a lot and returned home eager to begin my second year at Gardner-Webb College.


Love, love, love, GrandPat
April 24, 2020

Hanging Out At Gardner-Webb My Freshman Year

The Gardner-Webb Yearbook my Freshman Year. 

Dear Grands:     I’ve decided to write to you about my first year in college, and as you will see it was quite different from what yours have been and Grace what yours will be come September.

When I graduated from high school in 1955, I knew I didn’t want to go very far away to college, yet I did want to stay on campus.  Gardner-Webb Junior College (it was a two-year college then) was perfect, only twelve miles from home.  Shirley McSwain a Lattimore classmate and I were going to room together.  So at least I would know one person. Looking back, I think I had led a rather sheltered life and was perhaps shy. 

My photo from the Anchor my freshman year. 

Although I had some scholarship money, I knew I needed to work on campus while I was there to help defray my expenses.  My first work assignment was serving in the cafeteria which meant I had to eat early with other students working there before the cafeteria opened for the student body.  My best friends that I had made ate later, and I missed eating with them.  Homesickness had already set in.  I remember President Elliott saying in Chapel that it spoke well of us if we were homesick. I thought “that really speaks well of me then.”   So I called home on the one payphone that was in HAPY Dorm.  I tried to be brave when I talked to my parents and then I burst out crying saying I didn’t want to work in the cafeteria.  They told me I could quit, but I knew I needed to work.   

Mrs. Dorothy Hamrick, the Registrar, was someone I knew so I thought maybe she could perhaps find me another campus job.  Sure enough, I got switched to the Library, a job I loved.  I had to go in early and open the library before the Librarian came in and check out books, and shelve books.  Often we were not busy in the morning so I could actually study while I worked.  Now I could eat meals with my friends.  I was still homesick, but not so terribly.

But as time passed, I began to love college.  Our rules were very strict though compared to today.  We had to have lights out by 11:00 pm, we could only leave campus on Saturday nights and Sunday.  If we dated on Sunday nights we had to go to Sunday Night Service at Boiling Springs Baptist Church on campus.  Of course, we had to be back in our dorm by 11:00, and perhaps 10:00 on Sunday night.  We had to sign out on cards and then if our cards were still in the signout box after hours the Dean of Women would call us in and we would get demerits for being late. 

When we had to go across campus to the gym for our physical education classes, we would have to wear a raincoat over our gym outfit so that our legs wouldn’t show.  Now that is pretty strict. 

I had gone to college thinking I would major in English.  At the beginning of the year, we were given tests of different kinds, and I remember one of my tests indicated that Law would be a good choice for me to pursue.   I had never heard of a female lawyer, but looking back, I think I would have enjoyed law.  But after I took freshman biology with Dr. Paul Stacey, I knew then that biology was for me, and I did choose a major that proved the right one for me. 

I made the basketball team, because of my GPA I was selected as a Marshal, and in the Spring was elected President of Stroup Dorm for the Sophomore year and thus would serve on the Student Government for the upcoming year. The induction for members of the Student Government was held in Chapel (we had required Chapel and because we had assigned seats alphabetically, Dorothy Hamrick would come up the aisles checking off those absent.)  As we were inducted we had to “swear” that we as leaders, would follow the rules, would set a good example, and would uphold the values of the College.

 Now in the spring, the guys on campus would go swimming over at the Broad River where there was a sandy beach.  Of course, this was off-limits for female students.  Near the end of the year, on a pretty summer day, I happened to have my boyfriend’s car, and I and about four of my friends decided we would drive over and sunbathe at that beach.  We had a marvelous time as I remember. 

But the next day I and my partners in crime who were also elected to the Student Government were called in by the Dean of Students.  One of the maintenance workers had been out at the River and had seen us, females, out there, and turned us in for being off-limits.  I was so humiliated because we had to get back up in Chapel and renew our vows that we would uphold the rules and values of the College.  At least we didn’t get kicked off the Student Government.

I was a bit sad at graduation that year because some of the good friends that I had made were sophomores and were graduating.  I did enjoy serving as a Marshal at the graduation that morning though, and when I got home, I was pictured in the Shelby Daily Star with my white dress and sash as I was about to lead the Faculty in the processional. 

Photo from my scrapbook of picture in Shelby Daily Star. 

Love you very much, GrandPat

April 23, 2020

Hanging Out with My Grands During the Covid 19

A Letter to My Grandchildren

A Typical Day at Home during the “Stay at Home” Covid 19

I’m going to go through what would be a typical day during these days of Covid 19 so that I can remember when it’s all over, and so that you, my grandchildren,  and perhaps my great grands will know what it has been like.

I still like to get up at about the same time each day 7:00 to 8:30 depending upon when I when to bed.

Feed Maggie, take meds, let Maggie out, put in “ears” (hearing aids), drops in eye, get dressed.

Eat breakfast usually cereal, oatmeal, or yogurt or sometimes toast with peanut butter or guacamole

Run dishwasher (if full), wash clothes (if needed), straighten up kitchen, plug-in cell phone to charge it

Think about what I’ll prepare for dinner (lunch is just yogurt, or a sandwich, or soup, or something light) Sometimes this involves my checking to see what’s in the pantry and freezer and what needs to be used first.  Prepare anything that needs to be done in advance.

Check my email, answer mail, make telephone calls to family, especially my sister, and friends (I try to call PJ every other day) By this time it will be at least 10:30 or 11:00.

Work on some indoor or outdoor projects depending on weather and my inclinations for the day.  I much prefer doing something outside.  Weed my garden, trim shrubbery, sweep off patios, Because I have lymphedema in my left arm (breast cancer in 1990) I am not supposed to do heavy yard work and I have a yardman that comes about once a month.  Indoor projects will be housecleaning chores.  I miss Bea our wonderful person who kept our house immaculate. (Bea retired before this Covid 19 arrived, and my friend Boguska had been helping me with cleaning occasionally. I am in need of a regular cleaning service and that is one of the first things I shall do when this is all over.) Sometimes I get a real inspiration and tackle cleaning out a closet or straightening the pantry or the freezer, and of course, eventually, the fridge has to be cleaned. I have discovered that I really detest housework, except cooking.

I read what little there is in the N & O and then do some reading in general.  I find that I am now reading the New Yorker each week from cover to cover, and I usually have a book in progress that I am reading. I am currently rereading E.O. Wilson’s book Naturalist, his autobiography. Wilson was a friend of Dan’s when they both served on NSF panels in Washington. I remember Dan telling me about a joke that Wilson once told.  “A man is traveling and at the airport, he sees a hole in the wall with a sign that says ‘Your wife away from home’ The man decides to try it out, and ouch he gets a button sewn on his penis.”  Did I just share this joke? Why yes I did. Blush, blush.

Then I also do some writing either in the morning or in the afternoon.  Right now I am writing in the morning and it is 11:00.  Since I started writing letters to you, that keeps me doing something that I enjoy, in fact, writing you is really getting me through this cabin fever.  It’s fun for me to have to think hard and jog my memory about things.  There are certain things that have stuck in my mind for years, thankfully I can recall most of them. I am lucky that way and am glad that I have an opportunity to get some of them in print before I become demented.

Lunch will be something light between 12:00 and 2:00. 

I usually have a cup of hot tea either midmorning or early afternoon.  Dan introduced me to drinking hot tea, and I can have my tea and remember him.  It sure would be wonderful to have Dan with me during these days though.  I wonder if we would have begun bickering if we were cooped up together for days and days?  Maybe a little, but I’m sure not for long.

The afternoon consists of chores, doing my exercise, reading, or writing or sometimes playing WWF although I’ve taken a break from that for a while.  Maybe calling friends. I always take Maggie for a walk in the afternoon unless the weather is very bad, and she goes in and out during the day to play in the fenced backyard. By 4:00 I start getting things ready for supper, by 6:00 I will have supper ready.  These days I eat while I watch Judy Woodruff on PBS news for an hour.  This is the only news I try to watch or hear.  The news is so disheartening!!

 During the week Patrick comes over at 7:00 and we watch Jeopardy together and we play along.  He usually beats me because he is so well-read and he watches a lot of the History Channel, and he has a much better memory and is faster off the mark in answering that I am.  He is really good.  I told him he should take the test to try to get on Jeopardy himself, but he would be too shy to go. Interestingly I never was fond of Jeopardy until this “stay at home.” Then we may watch something else if there is something worthwhile like Vivian Howard.

I usually spend an hour or two in the evenings paying bills, updating my Quicken accounts, and trying to get my study in order.  My study is definitely not in order right now.  Maybe more reading or more writing or more calling friends.  Oh, I forgot, I do spend time on Facebook (too much time) and Instagram and usually take some photos of whatever during the day. 

Shower and bedtime between 10:00 and 12:00.  If 10:00 I usually have time to read in bed or sometimes I do watch Brian Williams from 11:00 to 12:00. 

This is kind of a stream of consciousness (I think. Omg that makes me think of James Joyce and Ulysses which I could never finish.  I should get that out and try again) or just what was going through my mind this morning.

Love you, GrandPat xoxoxo

April 15, 2020 (And I have already sent in my income taxes. Yeah.)