Friday, January 30, 2009
Ellen
I guess Ellen is some better. She went to work this morning and called me from Walmart at lunch.
TIME MARCHES ON
Wow! Ryan has gone from dragging himself across the floor with his arms to crawling on all fours and standing alone in less than a month. It's the Broyles genes.
I have 60 days until I retire. It's kind of scary. Were doing it on a shoe string and still don't know what we'll have to pay for housing. I like the idea of maintenance free apartments but don't like the idea of living elbow to elbow with 1000 people of varying lifestyles. I give it to God and know that he will lead if we will follow.
Our house has been on the market for less than a week so we have no clue what's going to happen there.
Please pray for us to make the right decisions and recognize God's will in our lives.
I have 60 days until I retire. It's kind of scary. Were doing it on a shoe string and still don't know what we'll have to pay for housing. I like the idea of maintenance free apartments but don't like the idea of living elbow to elbow with 1000 people of varying lifestyles. I give it to God and know that he will lead if we will follow.
Our house has been on the market for less than a week so we have no clue what's going to happen there.
Please pray for us to make the right decisions and recognize God's will in our lives.
Thursday, January 29, 2009
MORE MENTOR MEMORIES
I just remembered some more folks on Mentor Street. Across the vacant lot where the red bull calf roamed was and elderly couple named Jeters. He was a large man who wore overalls and let me sit with him on their screened in porch.
The other neighbor was an ooooold, stooped lady who lived behind us. She raised a garden and the bull calf helped himself to the vegetables. She would run out of her house screaming, chase the calf out of the garden and complain to my parents. The bull calf couldn't have cared less. Eats is eats.
The other neighbor was an ooooold, stooped lady who lived behind us. She raised a garden and the bull calf helped himself to the vegetables. She would run out of her house screaming, chase the calf out of the garden and complain to my parents. The bull calf couldn't have cared less. Eats is eats.
WE MOVE TO THE FARM
In January 1933 Franklin Roosevelt became President of the United States. The country was deep in a depression. In March 1933 FDR closed all the banks to reorganize them, fend off a run on the banks and establish the Federal Depositors Insurance Commission.
My brother Jimmy was born March 3, 1933 and FDR closed the banks the next day. My brother was born at home and my parents couldn’t get to their money in the bank to pay the doctor. Mother said the doctor was drunk when he delivered Jimmy and was supposed to come back later and finish the job. He never came back, Jimmy never became Jewish and I don’t know if the doctor ever got his delivery fee or not.
Many people were out of work. My father had lost his job (probably delivering beer) and jobs were hard to come by. He got up one morning and went out to find a job. It got later and later in the day and my mother got worried about what might have happened to him. Many men in that day were robbed and left for dead, walked away from their families out of frustration and hopelessness or even committed suicide not being able to face their failure and inability to provide even the basic needs of their families.
Mother was distraught and called her father, my grandfather “Gaga” asking if he could help find my dad. Gaga checked around to see where they were hiring and found my father at the bottom of a hole deeper than he was tall digging footings for the buildings at the state fair grounds. My father said you can always find a job if you are willing to work.
Daddy was always willing and rarely went more than a day or two without work.
NOTICE : CORRECTION - WE LIVED ON MENTOR ST. NOT MARSALIS.
came along. By this time the economy had improved and the family was financially stable. In another three years I came along and by the time I was two three years old we had settled in to our life on Mentor Street.
The Second World War was raging and Daddy was a Neighborhood Air Raid Warden. He had a white metal helmet with an emblem on it designating him as an o-fishul Air Raid Warden. When there was an air raid, Daddy and his fellow wardens would patrol the neighborhood at night to see that everyone’s shades were pulled tight so that no light could be seen and that no subversives were signaling the Axis powers to drop bombs on Mentor Street.
Around 1942 my parents, the son of a sharecropper and daughter of a small businessman, decided that they should go “back to the land”. After an undetermined time of searching, they found a farm in eastern Denton County about 40 miles north of Dallas and 6 miles east of Denton. Two miles north of State Highway 76 (Now US 35E) and near the small community of Corinth.
I remember the cold winter day when we drove to the farm from our home in Dallas to show Gaga and Momma Wright the farm. It was a gray dreary and we came to the farm from the east. My first sight of the house was from a break in the trees that lined the sandy road .
The farm was described legally as “80 acres, more or less” no matter what Gene Brown says. It had a 60 year old farm house (6 rooms and a path) with a hand dug 20 foot deep well at the edge of the back porch that had never gone dry in over 60 years. About 10 yards from the back of the house was an outhouse with a honeysuckle trellis in front. Helped kill the odor in the summer. The privy drew flies and the honeysuckle drew wasps and yellow jackets.
Mother couldn’t resist swatting at the wasps and yellow jackets and once when she went to use the facilities a wasp got in to the privy and Mother began to swat at it. The wasp got mad and Mother decided to retreat. As she pulled up her slacks the wasp dropped into the opening and stung her on the hip. The result was a football sized swelling, very painful and lingered for many days.
West of the privy and just east of the lane that went from the driveway to the barn was a semi-submerged, sand stone root cellar. The cellar stood at the base of a large mulberry tree. I once built a tree house in the arms of the mulberry and lived many an exciting adventure in my mind.
At the entry to the driveway stood an ancient oak tree. Sherrill says she saw it recently and it is not as large as we remember it. I know it was to big for me to get my arms around and once Daddy hung a block and tackle from one of it’s lower branches and pulled the engine out of a ‘30 something Pontiac to work on it.
The farm also had a barn with hay loft, corn crib and milk shed. There were 2 small ponds and about 1/3 to ½ of the acreage was in black jack and post oak.
When we moved to the farm there was a crop of peanuts in the field which belonged to the previous owner. That was probably the last successful crop ever planted on the land. My dad, at various times tried to raise peanuts, corn and chickens with little success.
After two or three years Daddy went back to work in Dallas selling beer. He would get up early in the morning, drive to Corinth and catch a Continental Trailways bus to get to Dallas and bus back to home after dark and a full day of humping cases of beer.
I think we lived on the farm from the time I was 4 to my freshman year in college.
In January 1933 Franklin Roosevelt became President of the United States. The country was deep in a depression. In March 1933 FDR closed all the banks to reorganize them, fend off a run on the banks and establish the Federal Depositors Insurance Commission.
My brother Jimmy was born March 3, 1933 and FDR closed the banks the next day. My brother was born at home and my parents couldn’t get to their money in the bank to pay the doctor. Mother said the doctor was drunk when he delivered Jimmy and was supposed to come back later and finish the job. He never came back, Jimmy never became Jewish and I don’t know if the doctor ever got his delivery fee or not.
Many people were out of work. My father had lost his job (probably delivering beer) and jobs were hard to come by. He got up one morning and went out to find a job. It got later and later in the day and my mother got worried about what might have happened to him. Many men in that day were robbed and left for dead, walked away from their families out of frustration and hopelessness or even committed suicide not being able to face their failure and inability to provide even the basic needs of their families.
Mother was distraught and called her father, my grandfather “Gaga” asking if he could help find my dad. Gaga checked around to see where they were hiring and found my father at the bottom of a hole deeper than he was tall digging footings for the buildings at the state fair grounds. My father said you can always find a job if you are willing to work.
Daddy was always willing and rarely went more than a day or two without work.
NOTICE : CORRECTION - WE LIVED ON MENTOR ST. NOT MARSALIS.
came along. By this time the economy had improved and the family was financially stable. In another three years I came along and by the time I was two three years old we had settled in to our life on Mentor Street.
The Second World War was raging and Daddy was a Neighborhood Air Raid Warden. He had a white metal helmet with an emblem on it designating him as an o-fishul Air Raid Warden. When there was an air raid, Daddy and his fellow wardens would patrol the neighborhood at night to see that everyone’s shades were pulled tight so that no light could be seen and that no subversives were signaling the Axis powers to drop bombs on Mentor Street.
Around 1942 my parents, the son of a sharecropper and daughter of a small businessman, decided that they should go “back to the land”. After an undetermined time of searching, they found a farm in eastern Denton County about 40 miles north of Dallas and 6 miles east of Denton. Two miles north of State Highway 76 (Now US 35E) and near the small community of Corinth.
I remember the cold winter day when we drove to the farm from our home in Dallas to show Gaga and Momma Wright the farm. It was a gray dreary and we came to the farm from the east. My first sight of the house was from a break in the trees that lined the sandy road .
The farm was described legally as “80 acres, more or less” no matter what Gene Brown says. It had a 60 year old farm house (6 rooms and a path) with a hand dug 20 foot deep well at the edge of the back porch that had never gone dry in over 60 years. About 10 yards from the back of the house was an outhouse with a honeysuckle trellis in front. Helped kill the odor in the summer. The privy drew flies and the honeysuckle drew wasps and yellow jackets.
Mother couldn’t resist swatting at the wasps and yellow jackets and once when she went to use the facilities a wasp got in to the privy and Mother began to swat at it. The wasp got mad and Mother decided to retreat. As she pulled up her slacks the wasp dropped into the opening and stung her on the hip. The result was a football sized swelling, very painful and lingered for many days.
West of the privy and just east of the lane that went from the driveway to the barn was a semi-submerged, sand stone root cellar. The cellar stood at the base of a large mulberry tree. I once built a tree house in the arms of the mulberry and lived many an exciting adventure in my mind.
At the entry to the driveway stood an ancient oak tree. Sherrill says she saw it recently and it is not as large as we remember it. I know it was to big for me to get my arms around and once Daddy hung a block and tackle from one of it’s lower branches and pulled the engine out of a ‘30 something Pontiac to work on it.
The farm also had a barn with hay loft, corn crib and milk shed. There were 2 small ponds and about 1/3 to ½ of the acreage was in black jack and post oak.
When we moved to the farm there was a crop of peanuts in the field which belonged to the previous owner. That was probably the last successful crop ever planted on the land. My dad, at various times tried to raise peanuts, corn and chickens with little success.
After two or three years Daddy went back to work in Dallas selling beer. He would get up early in the morning, drive to Corinth and catch a Continental Trailways bus to get to Dallas and bus back to home after dark and a full day of humping cases of beer.
I think we lived on the farm from the time I was 4 to my freshman year in college.
Tuesday, January 27, 2009
STEP ONE
Friday the 23rd we met with Kathy Macintire, the realtor who is listing our house. We now have a sign in our front yard saying, in effect, that we are moving to Tulsa as soon after April 1st as we can. Between now and then we have to get signed up with Medicare on me, finish some minor repairs on the house and find an apartment in Tulsa that will be in a location we want at a price we can afford. It’s getting a little spooky but we are really excited about retiring, moving our membership to Park Plaza and being closer to the kids.
It’s really been cold today. I don’t think it got up to 35 degrees all day. Bobby Johnson, a brother at church, gave me a nice red sweater that is too large for him. I am sure I will have plenty of opportunity to wear it before spring
IN THE BEGINNING
I haven’t found my unfinished autobiography yet. Hopefully it will show up when we start getting ready to move. In whatever case, I guess I’ll start over in case it doesn’t show up.
My earliest memory is a sound. The sound of a tin toy shovel scraping against a rusty tin can buried in a sand box at our house on Marsalis Street on the southern side of Dallas, Texas. I was about 3 or 4 years old and playing with a neighbor boy in a pile of sand west of our house.
Our house was a small (though it seemed very large at the time) frame house with a single car, dirt floored garage. The only thing I remember about the interior is that there was an archway between the living room and the dining room and a door that swung both ways between the dining room and the kitchen.
I have images of sitting in the dining room at lunch listening to Mother’s soap operas and eating Campbell’s Cream of Tomato Soup and grilled cheese sandwiches. The radio soap operas, 15 minutes I think, included: Our Gal Sunday, Portia Faces Life, When A Girl Marries, Just Plain Bill and Stella Dallas. There was one called ----- Back Stage Wife but I don’t know if that was Stella Dallas or someone else.
Other early memories include my mother making me a Porky Pig Halloween mask out of a brown paper bag so that I could go to a Halloween party with my sister (she loved taking me --- Not!) Two little girls that lived down the street gave the party. I remember bobbing for apples and a Piñata I think.
We had a red bull calf that was staked out in the empty lot to the west of our house. I had to cross the lot to get to a friends house and the calf would try to run and butt me when I crossed the lot. I was terrified of the calf.
On the east side of our house lived Mr. Johnson, a Dallas Fireman, who had a big stallion in his back yard. The horse got in to a shed or garage where the oats were kept and foundered on the feed. I remember going with my dad one evening and keeping a vigil with men of the neighborhood as the horse slowly died.
I also remember the time the city paved the street with tar. The tar came in large rolls wrapped in heave paper. When needed, it would be chopped into manageable chunks and put into a cooker, which melted the tar so it could be spread on the street. Until it was used, the cylinders stood unguarded by the side of the street waiting for little boys to gouge are cut off chunks and chew it like gum. I don’t know whether this was a macho thing or whether we thought it tasted good. We did it either way.
My dad had a friend who lived nearby named “Cub” Mitchell. Mr. Mitchell had worked in Panama in Central America who came back with tales of seeing donkeys being swallowed by Boa Constrictors.
Next time: MOVING TO THE FARM
Friday the 23rd we met with Kathy Macintire, the realtor who is listing our house. We now have a sign in our front yard saying, in effect, that we are moving to Tulsa as soon after April 1st as we can. Between now and then we have to get signed up with Medicare on me, finish some minor repairs on the house and find an apartment in Tulsa that will be in a location we want at a price we can afford. It’s getting a little spooky but we are really excited about retiring, moving our membership to Park Plaza and being closer to the kids.
It’s really been cold today. I don’t think it got up to 35 degrees all day. Bobby Johnson, a brother at church, gave me a nice red sweater that is too large for him. I am sure I will have plenty of opportunity to wear it before spring
IN THE BEGINNING
I haven’t found my unfinished autobiography yet. Hopefully it will show up when we start getting ready to move. In whatever case, I guess I’ll start over in case it doesn’t show up.
My earliest memory is a sound. The sound of a tin toy shovel scraping against a rusty tin can buried in a sand box at our house on Marsalis Street on the southern side of Dallas, Texas. I was about 3 or 4 years old and playing with a neighbor boy in a pile of sand west of our house.
Our house was a small (though it seemed very large at the time) frame house with a single car, dirt floored garage. The only thing I remember about the interior is that there was an archway between the living room and the dining room and a door that swung both ways between the dining room and the kitchen.
I have images of sitting in the dining room at lunch listening to Mother’s soap operas and eating Campbell’s Cream of Tomato Soup and grilled cheese sandwiches. The radio soap operas, 15 minutes I think, included: Our Gal Sunday, Portia Faces Life, When A Girl Marries, Just Plain Bill and Stella Dallas. There was one called ----- Back Stage Wife but I don’t know if that was Stella Dallas or someone else.
Other early memories include my mother making me a Porky Pig Halloween mask out of a brown paper bag so that I could go to a Halloween party with my sister (she loved taking me --- Not!) Two little girls that lived down the street gave the party. I remember bobbing for apples and a Piñata I think.
We had a red bull calf that was staked out in the empty lot to the west of our house. I had to cross the lot to get to a friends house and the calf would try to run and butt me when I crossed the lot. I was terrified of the calf.
On the east side of our house lived Mr. Johnson, a Dallas Fireman, who had a big stallion in his back yard. The horse got in to a shed or garage where the oats were kept and foundered on the feed. I remember going with my dad one evening and keeping a vigil with men of the neighborhood as the horse slowly died.
I also remember the time the city paved the street with tar. The tar came in large rolls wrapped in heave paper. When needed, it would be chopped into manageable chunks and put into a cooker, which melted the tar so it could be spread on the street. Until it was used, the cylinders stood unguarded by the side of the street waiting for little boys to gouge are cut off chunks and chew it like gum. I don’t know whether this was a macho thing or whether we thought it tasted good. We did it either way.
My dad had a friend who lived nearby named “Cub” Mitchell. Mr. Mitchell had worked in Panama in Central America who came back with tales of seeing donkeys being swallowed by Boa Constrictors.
Next time: MOVING TO THE FARM
Friday, January 23, 2009
Thursday Group
Ellen & I spent yesterday evening at the home of close friends & bro./sis. in Christ Larry & Janice Garrison. We are in a group of about a dozen Christians who meet every Thursday night at someones home for fellowship and Bible study. We have been meeting for about 2 1/2 years and have become very close and supportive. We will miss the group and may have to come back on Thursday night once in a while. I know that we will make many new friends at the Park Plaza but we will cherish the memory of our family here. (These are silver, those are gold)
The realtor is supposed to come by this afternoon to talk about listing the house, selling price, need for improvements etc. The closer we can get to $100,000 the better. Pray for us please.
The realtor is supposed to come by this afternoon to talk about listing the house, selling price, need for improvements etc. The closer we can get to $100,000 the better. Pray for us please.
This is my daughter "Cole" who got me started on blogging. Ain't she purddy? She's purddy inside too. It's pretty grainy because I cropped it from a picture of my extended family. Maybe she will put a photo on her blog site so I won't have to use this one. Huh? You think?
Well, now I'll have to edit this sense my purddy daughter put in a new pitcher. Hits purddy tho ain't it?
Well, now I'll have to edit this sense my purddy daughter put in a new pitcher. Hits purddy tho ain't it?
Guess I opened a hornets nest with my first blog. I thought most people here knew by now that we were planning to move to Tulsa. Seems I was wrong. Haven't found my autobiography yet. It's buried in some box of books somewhere. Hopefully I will find it when we move. Sure don't want to start all over again. That covers a lot of territory. (almost 71 years)
Wednesday, January 21, 2009
phurst thyme
I have no idea what i'm doin but my daughter told me to get a blog. i'll b doin my lif story soon. This is my youngest grandson Ryan. His mama made me do this. He's 9 mo. old and just started to crawl. nothing is safe anymore.
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