The Haasienda on Shroyer…

On a chilly July 1981 morning at Smith-Wallbridge Drum-Major Camp near Syracuse, Indiana, Rick and I quietly rose by 4:00 AM, and took a radio out to one of the pavilions to listen to the royal wedding of Prince Charles of Egland to Lady Diana Spencer.

It was fascinating to listen to the details and to later see them in the magazines that published photographs.

At one point, Rick looked up and said, “Princess Diana is only two years older than us.”  I guess that seemed pretty cool to two midwestern teenagers.

This morning, the world seemed captivated by the marriage of Prince Harry to Hollywood beauty, Rachel Meghan Markle.  To be honest, I paid little attention to this wedding and knew very little about England’s newest princess.  It kind of snuck up on me during a busy time of my teaching year.

While waiting for a show to begin, I scrolled through photos of this morning’s royal wedding, getting caught up on the royal events.  This one photograph reached out and tugged at my heart.  It is stunning!

Doria Ragland, yoga instructor and social worker, and mother of England’s newest princess, Meghan Markle Windsor, Duchess of Sussex.

Doria Ragland, the mother of Meghan Markle.  I love the strength and tenderness in her smile and expression as if to say, “My daughter is marrying a prince! My daughter will be a royal princess of Great Britain.”

Ms. Doria Loyce Ragland was born in Cleveland, Ohio and is a yoga instructor and social worker!  Meghan’s father, Thomas Markel, was a lighting director in Los Angeles, most notably, MARRIED WITH CHILDREN.

Look at Ms. Ragland’s expression… proud, poised, dignified, and beautiful.

I am listening to several accounts of today’s events which seemed to come off beautifully.  Still, I keep finding myself glued to this particular photo.

Stunning.

MIAGD: Make it a great day

Spontaneous trips.

Some of the best memories and experiences of my childhood. I guess my childhood has lasted 53 here because I’m still very spontaneous.

It was nothing uncommon for my family, on any given weekend, to quickly pack up for a surprise excursion of 2 to 3 days.

Our spontaneous trips.

I can remember sitting down to breakfasts on a Friday morning in the summers and someone would suggest, “hey, let’s go to St. Louis,” or “we should go visit Holland Michigan.”

And, we did.

What I loved most about these trips was when my grandfather pulled out the propane grill to cook breakfast. I must say, they were some of my most favorite breakfasts. There was absolutely nothing more delicious than eggs and small sausage links prepared on this grill while enjoying the surroundings of a state park or even a a rest stop by the interstate.

My spontaneous trips extended through my college years. I loved nothing more than to gather a group of friends to go explore something interesting and fun.

After moving to Dayton Ohio in August 1990, I was blessed to find several friends who, like me, were just as adventurous on the spur of a moment. My dear friend and teaching colleague, Susan Cook, was my best partner in crime for these adventures. I would barely have the first few words of a “let’s go” sentence spoken before Susan would blurt, “I’m already packed.”

Fatherhood did not diminish the spontaneous trips as I feared it might. In fact, it only heightened the need for more spontaneity. The boys loved these trips and I felt they were vital, not only for quality family time, but for the extended education I believed my sons should have in exploring things that interested them, individually, and as a family.

In the summers, I only taught my private lessons on Mondays , Tuesdays and Wednesdays, all the students packed into three long days. It was worth it because I had my Thursdays and Fridays free, along with my weekends.

It was not uncommon for me to say during supper a Wednesday evening supper, “Plan A.”

There were only 30 minutes to implement this plan.

• The boys knew what to pack for themselves.
• Someone knew their assignment was to grab the food tub which contained a toaster, napkins, paper plates, and and endless supply of plastic silverware. Even on planned vacation/trip, we almost always on the go.
• Another son made sure that the dog items, also kept in a travel container, were in their rightful place in their car/van.
• Another son attended to our cat, Logan, making certain there was plenty of food and water, and a scooped litter box.

By 9 PM on a Wednesday night, we were on the road to the Outer Banks of North Carolina (or somewhere else that was fun, but generally we enjoyed the Outer Banks the most). There was always a dog friendly room at the Dare Haven Motel on Roanoke Island. Although we spent nearly every day down around Cape Hatteras lighthouse beach and Ocracoke Island, we never passed up the inexpensive and spacious accommodations of the rustic pine paneled walls of this favorite hotel.

Upon our arrival we immediately stopped at the grocery store to accommodate our in the hotel room breakfast of bagels and yogurt, as well as items to prepare our sandwiches and other snacks to be kept in the cooler for lunch.

But what about a propane travel grill?

Personally, those things scare me. I never even turned on the Bunsen burner’s in my high school chemistry class. My lab partner always took care of that task.

But I can, even now, mentally taste those delicious breakfasts prepared by my grandparents on both our spontaneous and planned adventures.

As a child, I grew up around the corner from my maternal grandparents, Leroy and Donna Clary Barmes.

I spent many glorious hours with my beloved grandparents who were still young, 42 and 40, at my birth. To add to their youthfulness, they still had sons, ages 12 and 10 years old, at home when I was born.

Grandpa Leroy and I went on many excursions throughout the city of Elwood, and even to nearby Alexandria and Anderson, Indiana, which was about twenty miles away.

Grandma Donna also took me with her to run errands throughout the city, and I remember often going to downtown Anderson when she shopped. She also rode me around on the back of her bicycle, but what I remember most is spending time in the kitchen with her as she prepared meals, or baked for endless hours.

I was her sous chef, or probably more along the lines of her mess maker in whom she indulged tremendous patience. As we busied ourselves in the kitchen, I was often perched on a stepstool to reach the top of the cabinets where I was afforded the opportunity to roll my own noodles or assist her with the annual Christmas cookies.

Obviously, since my baking and cooking skills are worthy of an entire comedic blog shelf of its own, what I remember most is the conversation with my grandmother. I don’t ever recall my grandparents, like my mother, talking down to me; they always engaged me in adult-like conversation. I was born a little adult.

Our cooking sessions were also my lessons in family history. I don’t know if my grandmother felt it was her duty to pass on so many important and precious stories, or if I was just that child who asked tons of questions.

I do know I asked many questions and loved listening to stories told by my grandparents, their parents, all my great uncles and aunts, and even my great/great-great uncles and aunts that I was blessed to know throughout my life.

Ronald Monroe Clary, 15

My grandmother was two years younger than her brother, Ronald Monroe Clary. Uncle Ronald, whose namesake was also my mother’s younger brother, Ron Barmes, was the mystery great-uncle, much like my great-great Uncle Glennard who died on Iwo Jima during WWII at age 19.

Uncle Ronald died at age 15 following a fall or being thrown from a horse at the family farm.

Ronald & Donna Clary, 1927

Ronald & Donna Clary, 1931

I’ve been working on a lengthy, but inspiring project, and the past few days the focus has been on the events surrounding his tragic death. It’s probably been 48-50 years since Grandma Donna told me the story of Ronald’s death. I finished 90% of the project this evening and it occurred to me I’d never seen his obituary.

Ronald Clary’s obituary

My first reaction, upon locating the obituary in a 1937 edition of The Elwood Call-Leader, was very similar to my grandmother’s response upon learning bad news, a loud, “Dear God, Almighty.”

Since first hearing this story fifty years ago, I’d suddenly found his death in print. It no longer seemed to be just a story told me by my grandma as we baked in her South A Street kitchen.

Seeing the announcement/obituary hit me. Hard.

My next reaction confirmed the consistency of my lifelong study of my family’s history and genealogy quests. I’d remembered Grandma Donna’s story clearly, all these years.

Ronald, almost 16, and soon to be a senior graduating from Summitville High School in the spring of 1938, took the horse back to the woods on that Friday afternoon, June 18, 1937, and never returned.

There’s speculation as to the cause of his death: did the horse trip over a rock or had Ronald been thrown?

My great-grandmother, Belle Jones-Clary, barely standing 4′-10″ and my even smaller grandmother at 13, carried Ronald’s limp, unconscious body back up the lane from the woods, and trampled a wire fence to lift his body over into the yard.

I don’t know the following details other than a snippet of a conversation my great-grandfather, Garrett Clary, shared about the incident when I was perhaps around kindergarten age.

“We were standing there by Ronald’s bed there in the hospital and a catholic nun came in. She checked around with some things and got ready to leave. I asked where the doctor was and she pointed to the end of the hall. I stepped out and found him over by the window. ‘Doc, my son is in bad shape and you’re standing out here doing nothing to help him.’ He looked up and he says, ‘Mr. Clary, I’m sorry but there’s nothing else I can do. Your son is dying.’ I know I reeled back a few feet. It was the first time it occurred to me that my boy was not going to make it. I had to tell Belle but I waited until her parents got there so they could help us through it.”

Grandpa Garrett’s account is one I had never shared when discussing Ronald’s death. For some reason, it felt too personal to share a parent’s personal sorrow. Now, that I’m deep into this project, Ronald’s story seems to finish up a chapter for me, personally.

Grandma Donna always said I had her older brother’s kind personality. From all accounts, Uncle Ronald was a kindred spirit to his mother: kind, gentle, always smiling and loving to all. He wasn’t the prankster like my grandmother, their Uncle Alphie, or their maternal grandparents, Joel Monroe “Roe” Jones and Anna Greenlee Jones.

Only one person, Harriett Mock Church, is still living who remembers Ronald. Grandma Donna’s sister, Aunt Joyce, nine years younger than Grandma, was about three or four when Ronald died.

The story of Uncle Ronald, who died twenty-seven years before my birth, will always be a mystery with only enough hints to weave together his story. This evening, a section of his life-quilt was pieced with others after locating his obituary.

June 1987.

I was standing next to my great-grandfather, Grandpa Garrett, as we bid farewell to my 35 year old uncle, Ronald Barmes. Through his sobs, I heard Grandpa Garrett cry, “I lost both my Ronalds in June… fifty years apart.”

I have two uncles named Ronald. One, I knew and dearly loved. The other I never knew but seem to find him, like my Uncle Ron, a part of my life, and still with me.

WHEN GOD CREATED MOTHERS

When the Good Lord was creating mothers, He was into His sixth day of “overtime” when the angel appeared and said. “You’re doing a lot of fiddling around on this one.”

And God said, “Have you read the specs on this order? She has to be completely washable, but not plastic. Have 180 moveable parts… all replaceable. Run on black coffee and leftovers. Have a lap that disappears when she stands up. A kiss that can cure anything from a broken leg to a disappointed love affair. And six pairs of hands.”

The angel shook her head slowly and said. “Six pairs of hands…. no way.” “It’s not the hands that are causing me problems.”

God remarked, “it’s the three pairs of eyes that mothers have to have.”

“That’s on the standard model?” asked the angel.

God nodded.

“One pair that sees through closed doors when she asks, ‘What are you kids doing in there?’ when she already knows. Another here in the back of her head that sees what she shouldn’t but what she has to know, and of course the ones here in front that can look at a child when he goofs up and say. ‘I understand and I love you’ without so much as uttering a word.”

“God,” said the angel touching his sleeve gently, “Get some rest tomorrow….”

“I can’t,” said God, “I’m so close to creating something so close to myself. Already I have one who heals herself when she is sick…can feed a family of six on one pound of hamburger…and can get a nine year old to stand under a shower.”

The angel circled the model of a mother very slowly. “It’s too soft,” she sighed.

“But tough!” said God excitedly. “You can imagine what this mother can do or endure.”

“Can it think?”

“Not only can it think, but it can reason and compromise,” said the Creator.

Finally, the angel bent over and ran her finger across the cheek. “There’s a leak,” she pronounced. “I told You that You were trying to put too much into this model.”

“It’s not a leak,” said the Lord, “It’s a tear.”

“What’s it for?”

“It’s for joy, sadness, disappointment, pain, loneliness, and pride.” “You are a genius, ” said the angel.

Somberly, God said, “I didn’t put it there.”

The Human Race Theatre Company of Dayton, Ohio gave The Miami Valley a splendid Mother’s Day gift for the past several weeks celebrating motherhood and humanity through the work of local author and humorist, Erma Bombeck.

AT WIT’S END, directed by Heather Powell, was a humorous home run with a season’s championship of heart.

I laughed.

I cried.

I personally celebrated my own parenthood.

I personally celebrated being a human being.

Throughout the one-woman play recounting Ms. Bombeck’s daily life and rise to the top of the over-filled laundry basket of life, I kept thinking of the former Bombeck home on Cushwa Drive in Centerville, Ohio.  How lucky we Daytonians are to claim Erma Bombeck as one of us!

Jennifer Joplin

I’ve aimed the spotlight at Erma Bombeck in several blogs and social media posts, so today, I am spotlighting actress Jennifer Joplin who brought to life an international icon and my own personal inspiration.

Ms. Joplin owned the stage.  It felt like Erma was in the room, right there in front of me.  It would not have surprised me if Ms. Bombeck was actually hanging around, admiring the smiles and laughter as her words were brought back to life through Jennifer’s work.

I figured I’d not witnessed this actress’ work prior to AT WIT’S END, however, I discovered I’d fallen in love with her work through a previous Human Race Theatre production, ON GOLDEN POND, in which she portrayed Chelsea.  With further reading, I guess I’ve been watching Ms. Joplin on stage since her Wright State University days since the early 1990s.

“One thing they never tell you about child raising is that for the rest of your life, at the drop of a hat, you are expected to know your child’s name and how old he or she is. “Erma Bombeck

The hour-long production could have gone on for several more hours as I sat with beloved college friends, Linda and Dave Lewis.  Before the show began the three of us reminisced meeting at Ball State University’s marching band camp, July 1983.

THIRTY-FIVE YEARS AGO!

Erma, through Jennifer’s stellar portrayal, took the three of us right through birth, grade school, college and the start of our music careers.  Erma Bombeck, with her columns and later, her books, had been with us from the start.

The great thing is: Erma Bombeck is still with us, today, and her words are relevant, timeless.

Thank you, Jennifer!  Thank you, Heather!  It was a wonderful Mother’s Gift for this single dad of five sons!

My community’s newly remodeled and technologically updated public library, a part of the Dayton Metro Library system, is rather bewildering, as well as a disappointment.

It feels more like a community room or some kind of teen country club. No longer does it have that sense of, “Oh, my gosh! Something wonderful is inside because this building holds treasures of knowledge.”

It’s a library, all right, but our community library is far from being a true library as many of us have known. There are only a handful of books in each section, if any, and most of the space feels like someone’s basement family room. It is very trendy and comfortable and just missing a ping pong and pool table.

Technology wise, I couldn’t ask for anything better; however, the books, once the heartbeat of almost every library, are a faint flicker of the past.

There always seems to be an ample amount of staff manning the floor, but when not reaching out to actually be of service to patrons, they stand around like they are attending a viewing at Tobias funeral home. There’s no personal warm greetings and friendly interactions, if any are shared, are robotic at best. It’s very sterile and I always feel as though I’m in a scene from a concentration camp with the guards watching my every move. It’s not paranoia; just the lack of warmth.

Independence is the latest fad at bank ATMs and Uscan checkouts at stores and our libraries are now a part of the fad. For me, it is fine as I seldom wish to interact with employees, but there are a good many older folks who do appreciate the personal interactions which were once a part of our world.

One staff member, standing next to me as I attempted to check out books for the first time with the new checkout system, actually snapped at me, grabbed my books to actually do the scanning, then proceeded to treat me as though I was an unattended first grader with whom she’d begrudgingly been straddled.

I was so taken aback that I actually was at a loss for words and I think the last time that occurred I was either 6 months old or under sodium brevitol in the dentist’s chair.

Gone is the warmth of the staff that was once one of the hallmarks of this particular library.

I do miss being able to go in and peruse the shelves, running my fingers across the spines of books before grabbing a comfy nook in which to scan through my finds. There are numerous comfy nooks, to be sure, but no books. Now, I peruse/search all my books online from home and receive a notice within a few days that I can retrieve them from my local library. If I want intimacy with books, actually holding them in my own hands, I go to the downtown library, which is actually my new favorite haunt.

I don’t mind the new technology but I find it peculiar how we want to encourage children to read or go outside, yet, we provide them with more reason to remain inside staring at a screen.

This is the Carnegie library building in my hometown, Elwood, Indiana. I was a patron many years before working here all four years of my high school tenure. I loved this building and it was the best job for a high school student.

MIAGD: Make it a great day

Friday. My Saturday.

It’s 62-degrees at the moment with an expected 82-degrees later in the day. A gentle breeze crosses the yard up to the deck where I am surrounded by five differently tuned when chimes. I love the metallic accompaniment with the clear blue sky and nature blooming all around.

I’ve breakfasted, completed a few minor business tasks, and I’m now resting in my chase lounge on the deck as the dogs stand guard over the backyard, awaiting any intruders: a bunny, a squirrel, a bird that just lands to search for a worm or seeds.

Needless to say, I feel very protected with my fury sentries at the gate.

I still continue to battle muscle pain in my upper right arm. It’s been going on for several weeks and there is little I can do to appease the pain gods. My doctor’s appointment is not until the Tuesday after Memorial Day. My pharmacist has been super in assisting with suggestions for pain management.

Until the appointment, it’s forward harch with tons of things to do and enjoy.

Today, a number of my senior students are walking through their high school halls for the last time as students. Next weekend begins the rounds of graduation parties. The final concerts wrapped up last night.

In the meantime, I am busy myself with a few household tasks, but mostly enjoying my time on the deck with the three dogs surrounding me.

Enjoy the spring and make it a great day!

At the last minute I caught the 6:49 PM bus to Danbury South Cinemas to see CHAPPAQUIDDICK.

For the most part, it was good. It brought back many reminders of my childhood in July 1969 as the world focused on the moon landing and Neil Armstrong’s first steps on the moon’s surface.

First of all, Kennedy clan matriarch, Rose Kennedy, was never seen not mentioned. A Kennedy cousin, Ann, attended to Joseph Kennedy, Sr..

Where was Rose?

The movie led us through the events of the tragedy beginning Friday night, July 18, 1969.

The moon was full.

Sunday night, July 20 came around in the movie and former members of John Kennedy’s cabinet celebrated Neil Armstrong’s first steps on the moon.

Outside the Kennedy compound at Hyannis Port the moon was half.

The very next scene hovered over the Edgartown Bridge where the wreck happened and the moon was full, again.

Was Neil Armstrong throwing a damn switch up there?

I am not an expert on the moon but it seems it may have been half by the time the events of Chappaquiddick unfolded.

Check out the moon’s phase for July 1969:  July 1969 Moon Phases

I give the movie an A.

Wait… where was Rose Kennedy throughout all this?

B+

Oh… and that damned moon!

B-

When I moved to Dayton, Ohio, August 1990, I was excited that I lived in the same town in which novelist and humorist, Erma Bombeck, grew up.

Wright Brothers? (Yeh… I knew who they were… big whoop!)

Paul Laurence Dunbar?

Charles Kettering?

Martin Sheen? (when WEST WING came out, I became a fan)

Dorothy Gish? (Yeh, I knew who she was)

Nancy Cartwright? (Bart Simpson is a girl?)

This list could go on until Yoko Ono is the operatic lead at The Met!

Erma Bombeck was a hero to me and the only important Daytonian as far as I was concerned.

Mother took me to our local public library in our small town of Elwood, Indiana.  I went downstairs to the children’s library while Mother looked at books upstairs.  I had read through all the history biographies and everything of interest to me and could not wait until I was old enough to begin reading the really cool things upstairs in the adult library.

I hurried upstairs with my checked out books and joined Mother who was holding two books by Erma Bombeck, JUST WAIT UNTIL YOU HAVE CHILDREN OF YOUR OWN, and her newly 1974 published, I LOST EVERYTHING IN THE POSTNATAL DEPRESSION.  Mrs. Stiner, the librarian, and an old family friend was chatting with Mother about the book and how funny Erma Bombeck was.

After a few days, Mother had finished one of the Bombeck books and I asked if I could read it.

“There’s some humor you might not understand as a fourth grader but, I think you’ll get most of it,” said Mother handing me the book.

Within a few days, I was asking to read the other book.

“I didn’t know moms could be so funny!” I said, accepting the next book from my mother.

Mother located Ms. Bombeck’s AT WIT’S END written in the late 1960s. I began reading her syndicated column in our newspaper and trying to find anything she wrote.

Before long, I began watching her on GOOD MORNING AMERICA before heading off to school. A year or so later her next book, THE GRASS IS ALWAYS GREENER OVER THE SEPTIC TANK, was published.

For the next twenty years, 1976-1996, I read every Erma Bombeck book, watched her on every television interview of which I was aware, and loved meeting Dayton folks who had known her as a neighbor or in general.

Bombecks’ Centerville home

One of my students had their graduation party at her grandparents’ home on Cushwa Drive in Centerville, Ohio; they had been neighbors with Bill & Erma Bombeck and talk show host, Phil Donahue.  I spent a good deal of time walking back and forth, stalking the former Bombeck home (they had moved to Arizona in the 1970s).  It was like standing in The Church of the Nativity in Bethlehem, the Church of the Holy Sepulchre in Jerusalem, or one of President Lincoln’s home.

Ironically, the home has been recognized as a historic place!  Bombeck Home

I still get a little excited each time I see the Centerville street sign, Cushwa Drive.

Bombecks’ Arizona home

I was in Manhattan on a Monday morning, April 22, 1996.  I breakfasted, late, with several friends at Popover Cafe on Amsterdam Avenue before heading off to the 10:00 AM meeting site where I was assisting two writers on the sagging book of their musical, passing through Times Square.

I was accustomed to seeing folks standing about, reading the familiar news ticker, but I had long abandoned my own interest in the sidewalk pass-time.  For some reason that morning, I glanced up as I strolled by.

I stopped.

I felt as though I’d stepped in cement-quicksand and was being pulled downward. I felt sick to my stomach, and some vertigo set in.  Within a minute, or so, I had regained my composure and hurried along to my meeting.

“I just cannot believe she is gone. I loved her work so much,” I heard one of the co-writers say as I entered the working space.

I was relieved I had a few minutes to digest Ms. Bombeck’s death with others before settling down to work.

Later that afternoon I spent several hours in a corner of the 5th Avenue Barnes & Noble store reading several Bombeck classics. I left with seven books that became increasingly heavy as I walked 1.9 miles (about 40 minutes in rush-hour foot traffic) to my apartment at East 76th and Third Avenue.

The remainder of the evening I read through her books, laughing, crying, but realizing how grateful I was to still have the work of this wonderful writer.

Ms. Bombeck was buried near the entrance to Dayton’s Woodland Historic Cemetery and Arboretum where other Dayton notables are buried: The Wright Brothers, Paul Laurence Dunbar, Charles Kettering, James Cox, and many more.

A boulder from her Arizona home was transported to the cemetery and only a fraction of it is seen above ground.  Ms. Bombeck loved to sit on this rock to do some writing.

Sometimes, I sit on this rock to write.

Ahhh… forty-four years ago I was introduced to this wonderful writer, Erma Bombeck.

I still love this lady.

Today was the funeral service for former First Lady Barbara Bush.

I watched most of it, remembering funeral services of previous First Ladies during my lifetime:

• Bess Truman (not televised) (1982)
• Mamie Eisenhower (1979)
• Jackie Kennedy (1994)
• Lady Bird Johnson (2007)
• Patricia Nixon (1993)
• Betty Ford (2011)
• Nancy Reagan (2016)
• Barbara Bush (2018)

Nancy Reagan funeral, 2016

A funeral for a former First Lady brings together The Sorority: the current and any surviving former First Ladies.  They come together in solidarity despite current or past political war fronts.

Sitting presidents tend to not attend funerals for former First Ladies; therefore, our current sitting president is not stomping on any traditions.  In fact, for a former First Lady’s funeral, there are no traditions like the traditional state funerals for presidents.

Bess Truman funeral, 1982

Bess Truman, the wife of President Harry Truman, was one of our most private modern First Ladies. Margaret Truman Daniel, the only child of Harry and Bess Truman, was quite surprised when two former First Ladies, Betty Ford, and Roselyn Carter, as well as the then current First Lady, Nancy Reagan, appeared at her mother’s funeral.  Margaret had banned all press from Bess Truman’s services, and it was her husband, newspaper editor, Clifton Daniel, who eventually convinced his wife to allow this one photo, for history’s sake, to be taken.

Throughout history, these sitting presidents attended the funerals of these former First Ladies:

• President Zachary Taylor attended Dolley Madison’s funeral, 1849
• President Theodore Roosevelt attended Julia Grant’s funeral, 1902
• President Theodore Roosevelt attended Ida McKinley’s funeral, 1907
• President John Kennedy attended Eleanor Roosevelt’s funeral, 1962
• President Bill Clinton attended Jacqueline Kennedy’s burial, 1994

11 Nov 1962, New York State, USA — Original caption: Three Presidents were among mourners at graveside services for Mrs. Franklin D. Roosevelt at Roosevelt esate in Hyde Park November 10. From left to right are Jacqueline Kennedy, President John F. Kennedy, Vice President Lyndon B. Johnson, former President Harry S. Truman, Bess Truman, and former President Dwight D. Eisenhower. — Image by © Bettmann/CORBIS

26 Jun 1993, Yorba Linda, California, USA — Reverend Billy Graham and a grieving Richard Nixon arrive at memorial services for former First Lady Pat Nixon, at the Nixon Presidential Library in Yorba Linda, California. Pat Nixon died June 22 and was buried at the library. — Image by © Reuters/CORBIS

(Left) Funeral service for Eleanor Rooselt; (Top Right) Luci Johnson kisses the casket of her mother, Lady Bird Johnson; Rev. Billy Graham escorts former President Nixon from the funeral service for former First Lady Patricia Nixon.

A touching tribute came in the way of tender loyalty as First Lady Barbara Bush’s secret service detail stood vigil during the public visitation.

As a young child, I can remember seeing teenagers demonstrating against the Vietnam war.

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

Today, I attended the student rally in Lincoln Park with my friend, Nicole.  It was my first rally to attend.

I was impressed with the speeches. They were well-thought out and delivered; not rhetoric, but individual thoughts with great vision.

I was impressed with the attentiveness of the several hundred students. They listened and were involved; they courteous and polite.

I was impressed by the fact that in fifty years of my own recollection students still need to come together in this fashion to plead for their young lives. During the 1960s and 1970s young men knew that when they graduated high school they’d be sent off to fight in Vietnam; thousands would not return. Today, these students were pleading with the gathered politicians to protect them in their classrooms, and in other places. 

I was moved by their voices.

I was moved by their posters.

I was moved by the fact they are scared… “Am I next?” was a poster that kicked in the gut.

I support these students. I am proud of these students, and students everywhere, for standing up, for crying out, for visualizing a better tomorrow than the days of fear we’ve given them.

Fountains with hope….

Neko has died.

Last night he was animated and full of entertaining fun for everyone.

I came downstairs this morning and saw him sleeping in the guest bed. I didn’t think much of it. I returned home at Noon and discovered he had not moved.

We have no idea why he died but it appears he did go peacefully in his sleep.

The dogs are all cowering in my study, and Clyde is on the piano bench with his face inside a section of bookcase.

We are going to dreadfully miss this little fellow.

Rest In Peace, my little fellow.

Know you are, and always will be loved.

Mrs. Johnson, Mrs. Nixon, Mrs. Carter, Mrs. Ford, (standing) Mrs. Reagan & Mrs. Bush

This is one of my favorite photographs: a 1991 grouping of The Sorority of former First Ladies.  These were all the first ladies from my life because it captures of my First Ladies I had come to know in my lifetime.  Of these six Sorority members, only Mrs. Carter survives.

I was born ten months after Pres. Kennedy’s assassination and Lady Bird Johnson was my first First Lady.  So I have known:

1. Lady Bird Johnson
2. Patricia Nixon
3. Betty Ford
4. Roslyn Carter
5. Nancy Reagan
6. Barbara Bush
7. Hillary Clinton
8. Laura Bush
9. Michelle Obama

Our current Sorority includes Roslyn Carter, Hillary Clinton, Laura Bush, and Michelle Obama.

The current Sorority of former First Ladies prior to Mrs. Barbara Bush’s passing.

One of my favorite first ladies has passed away.

What an incredible first lady and beautiful soul you were, Mrs. Barbara Bush.

Rest in peace, Dear Lady!

My Barmes ancestors immigrated from Bavaria, Germany to Hope, Indiana in 1834, and established themselves as carpenters and home builders.  Much of their work can be seen today throughout Hope, today, as you drive along and see steep Bavarian-esque gables and the beautiful carving inside the Hope Moravian Church.

Their main farm still remains and is easily identified by the numerous steep gables.  Margaret Damm Barmes and her daughters went into the Bavarian forests and collected all types of seeds to build their own Bavarian fairy forest on their property. Today, school children, when taken on their Hope History Tour, venture through the several acres of trees from my family’s native land.

They were also well-known farmers and their produce and dairy products were shared with the students of nearby Hartsville College.

Hartsville College

It was at Hartsville College in the 1850s where a young up and coming minister of the United Brethren Church, Milton Wright from Rush County, Indiana, was appointed Supervisor of the Preparatory Department at Hartsville College, a United Brethren institution.  Milton met, and fell in love with a literature student, Susan Koerner whose family’s farm and wheelwright business were near Fairmount, Grant County, Indiana.

Milton and Susan would eventually marry and produce seven children, two of whom would enter the annals of aviation as The Wright Brothers.

Susan Koerner Wright

Bishop Milton Wright

I’ve often wondered my Barmes ancestors ever had interactions with Milton and Susan, perhaps through their farm produce offered to the college students and faculty.

I just learned another connection through my paternal line with my great-great grandparents who moved from Butler County, Ohio where several of my Jolliff ancestors are buried on a lovely rise just south of Hamilton, Ohio.

John Jolliff.  B. Jun 1856; Decatur, County, Indiana.  D. 4 Sep 1922; Waynesburg, Decatur County, Indiana.

Sarah Wolf Jolliff. B. 3 May 1849; Butler County, Ohio. D. 17 Mar 1926; Geneva, Shelby County, Indiana.

Of their seven children, one included my great-grandfather, Perry Willard Jolliff.

Both John and Sarah are buried in the Hartsville College Cemetery, Hartsville, Bartholomew County, Indiana.

This is a note and the obituary for John Jolliff:

John Jolliff was the son of James Jolliff and Ruth Harper, a couple who married in Butler Co., Ohio April 8, 1847.

The father apparently died young. John Jolliff was living with other people in Butler Co. in 1860; and residing in Franklin Co., Indiana in 1870.

He married Sarah Wolf Jan. 1, 1874, in Decatur Co., Indiana.

John’s death is sometimes reported as March 17, 1925, but it is documented in the Norman Funeral Home records, #1473, died March 17, 1926, buried March 19, 1926.

Obituary:
Greensburg Daily News
Greensburg, Indiana
Thursday, March 18, 1926

John Joliff, 74, died Wednesday at the home of his son, Lora, near Geneva, Shelby County. His wife, who was Sarah Wolf, died three years ago. Four sons, Lora, Alonzo of Grammer, Perry of Alexandria, Frank of Hartsville, and a daughter, Mrs. Dayton Gross of Alexandria, survived. The family lived at Waynesburg.

This was a perfect Friday despite some initial downers: a friend’s cat scampered off to Rainbow Bridge and dealings with the IRS over my youngest son’s adoption.

Off I went to Centerville to lunch at La Pinata, shop at Kroger, visit the clinic, and back home in a dash which concluded in a brief nap with the pets.

By 5:30 PM I was off on the bus with my camera, hopping off at the multiple intersections where Brown Street and Far Hills Avenue interset with others.  I began with some cool shots of the mansion built by Governor James Cox who made an unsuccessful bid for president in 1920 with running mate, Franklin Roosevelt.  Then, I moved on down Brown Street to view the lovely mansions.

The Brown Street pike was packed with University of Dayton college students beginning their weekend.

It was quite the hike along Brown Street but I loved every minute of the evening air.

I ventured into The Oregon District before settling into a cozy booth at the 416 Diner where I enjoyed a delicious Blue Burger and their own twist on twisty fries. The service is second to none!

I was out the door with my camera focusing on various shots of the district before settling onto a bench at the bus station to work on some writing projects while waiting for the bus for home.  Within a few minutes, I received a text from Nicole Melin inviting me to join she, Scott, Ian, and Beck at The Neon Movie Theater for ISLE OF DOGS which was absolutely delightful.

My evening is wrapping up with this blog post and downloading several batches of photos to post.

Tomorrow is a busy, busy day.

LOGAN  13 Apr 1994 – 13 Oct 2011

June 19th, 1994, I adopted my first pet, an eight-week-old kitten which I named, Mr. Logan, in honor of my directing mentor, the wonderful teacher, Joshua Logan.

Several weeks later I learned Logan was actually a girl. Friends and students insisted Logan was a girl, but the Centerville band mom from whom I acquired this pet, said my selected kitten was a boy.  For some reason, I kept telling everyone, “things just haven’t dropped, yet.”

Logan highlights for seventeen and one-half years…

• It was the veterinarian who finally convinced me Logan was a girl
• The first night I thought she had a respiratory infection and called my mother in Indiana who assured me Logan was actually purring
• Logan was trained like a dog: walked on a leash, responded to commands, etc – I didn’t know you did not train cats
• Logan went everywhere with me – outdoor concerts, car trips in the area, visits to Indiana (Logan loved my mother), rode on my shoulders when I rollerbladed
• Logan answered my messaging system by pushing the button to re-hear the caller’s message – but she didn’t hit the SAVE button which resulted in messages being deleted
• Logan knew how to hit the SPEAKER button on my phone and then hit one of the SPEED DIAL buttons; she frequently called McCutcheon Music and friends who were saved on speed dial
• Logan had a featured role as Doc’s cat in WEST SIDE STORY
• Logan was an indoor cat until we moved to Shroyer Road in 2003; after that, she was both an indoor and outdoor cat (90% indoor) and loved…
  • entering Fairmont High School, next door, seeking out my students and sitting on their desks during class
  • finding me in rehearsals in the high school’s choir room or auditorium
  • attending concerts at the Fraze Pavillion during the summers; she crossed Shroyer Road on her own and laid on the stage watching the performers, or even joining them on the piano bench like she did with me at home; she also loved sitting in the audience begging food from the audience, or sitting on their laps to enjoy the music
• Logan was highly intelligent
• Logan was comical
• Logan was sometimes a bitch
• Logan communicated “yes” with an open sound/meow, and “no” with a closed sound/meow

I held Logan the morning she passed.  She stretched out her body, let out one last loud cry, and drifted to eternal sleep so she could enter the portals of The Rainbow Bridge.

All in all, Logan, was one of the finest cats, and best pets in the world.  We’ve had three more cats since Logan’s October 13, 2011, passing: Neko, Flanagan, and Clyde.  I’ve loved all three of these fellows, dearly and devotedly, but Logan will always have a special place in my heart.

April 12, 1945, President Franklin Roosevelt was sitting for a formal portrait when he suffered a massive stroke and died.

Read about FDR’s Unfinished Portrait

Ric Burns

Burns has done it, again.

But not the famed documentary director, Ken Burns.  His brother, Ric Burns.

Nearly eighteen hours of wonderful stories and the history of New York City from 1609 through 1999.

The programming is outstanding and narrated by David Ogden Stiers who recently passed away last month.

David Ogden Stiers

Another edition has been added to update the episodes of 9/11.

It is one of those videos that is perfect for turning on while working.  However, there are many wonderful photographs and film footage of NYC through the years.

I have watched this documentary via Netflix discs.  For more information:  New York City Documentary

They’re here.

Every year of early April, thousands of winter guard performers, directors, staff, parents and friends descend upon Dayton for the WGI – Winter Guard International – Championships.

And, I love it!

At Walmart I ran into a gaggle of guard moms from Reno, Nevada, having the best time.

“We just love Dayton, Ohio. You are the nicest people.”

Yes, we are.

I may try to see a contest at Nutter Center or UD Arena.

Next weekend, the winter/indoor percussion ensembles will arrive for their finals.

Today, April 9, 1865, generals Robert E. Lee and Ulysses S. Grant meet to agree on terms of surrender thus ending the United States’ Civil War.

MIAGD: Make it a great day

It was a fast moving front that laid down a heavy snow across The Miami Valley.

The sun makes this April 2nd. look appealing, even with the heavy snow that blankets the ground and trees.

Make it a great day whether you like snow or not. Some things, especially the weather, are not in our hands. Make the most of it and be happy!

I discovered this genealogical tidbit on my great-great-grandfather, Joel Monroe Jones.

JOEL MONROE JONES

In Boone Township, located on the rural delivery route No 22 out of Alexandria, Mr. Jones is one of the prosperous young farmers and is engaged in the operation of one hundred and twenty-five acres in his home place, and owns considerable other land in this township.

He started out without much capital, did hard work as his preparation for his successful career, and in later years, has come into a plane of quiet prosperity and the esteem of his community.

Joel M Jones was born March 8, 1872, in Monroe Township of Madison County.

His parents were John Henry and Mary M Vinson Jones.

The father was also born in Monroe Township and the Jones family has been identified with this county since pioneer times.  The father was a farmer, owned considerable land, and grew up and was educated in Monroe Township.  He is now deceased and his body was laid to rest in Mt Pisgah cemetery.

There were only two children and the older, William E, died in young manhood.

The mother now makes her home in Alexandria on Lincoln Avenue.

Joel M Jones as a boy attended the Mount Pisgah School and while going to school also worked at home and acquired a thorough knowledge of all the activities of farming.  His schooling was completed in Boone Township.

At the age of twenty-two, he had come into possession of a farm of his own, formerly owned by his grandfather, Joel Jones, who had come to Madison County from North Carolina.

Mr. Jones was married February 3, 1893, to Miss Anna Greenlee.

They are the parents of four children, Henry, deceased; Mary Belle; Alpha; and Harry.

The family attends church at the Christian denomination, and fraternally, Mr. Jones is affiliated with the Improved Order of Red Men Tribe No 149, the Independent Order of Odd Fellows No 475, and the Knights of Pythias Gas Belt Lodge No 361.  He is a Democrat in politics.

His progressive industry has wrought many improvements in his rural home, and he and his family have a comfortable home, and one of the features about the place is the large new barn.

Family line:

1. Joel Jones
2. John Henry Jones
3. JOEL MONROE JONES
4. Mary Belle Jones Clary
5. Donna Mae Clary Barmes
6. Diana Kay Barmes Haas
7. Darin Lee Jolliffe-Haas

Several years ago, the Melin family gave me money and an information so I could plan a visit to the nearby Frank Lloyd Wright creation, Westcott House, in Springfield.

I decided I would go with my friend, Jim Buxton, who introduced me to the world of famed architect, Frank Lloyd Wright.  In 2014 I finally visited Falling Water thanks to the generosity of the Houser family as a pre-50th birthday gift.  

Jim and  I never got around to planning the trip to Springfield.  Several weeks ago, Nicole Melin, the originator of this visit, suggested we go over spring break and then we pulled Jim into the mix.  It was set.

Although I did very much enjoy touring the Westcott House I was more appreciative of the time spent with Nicole and Jim at our four-hour lunch following the tour.

It was so enriching to share a Frank Lloyd Wright excursion with Jim and I do hope we follow through with our proposed plans to visit Falling Water together, hopefully with the Melin family.  Jim is a fount of knowledge and he filled in several informational gaps throughout the tour.

This was another fantastic day!

Thank you, Nicole and Jim, for sharing it with me.