The Road Runs Both Ways

Not sure.

What is this?  Are these segments fiction?  Did you make up all this?  What are you going with this? Is there more following?  So many questions, so here is a scanty explanation. 

When I visited my parents back “home” until my father’s death in 2005 and mother’s in 2011, we always did these few traditional actions, without fail. I had a sense that these were essential rites that we absolutely must do.

We always went to Pam's Cafe, and ate catfish or buffalo carp “fritters”, deep-fat fried, served with two slices of white bread, a big slice of strong onion, and cocktail sauce at Pam’s, the best and only restaurant in their town. Dad always had a cup of the blackest coffee I had ever seen at that time.

The waitress, usually a wild exotic teenager who grew up to be a worn-out waitress--Wanda?  Betty?, brought refills of coffee by.  She never asked if my father wanted a refill; he would tap the cup on the saucer to let her know.

My folks always sat in the same corner table that gave them the best view of the front door.  That way they would know who came or left, and then they would tell stories about them to me.  Oh, those stories. What these old wrinkled people who walked through those doors did with their lives could make a sailor blush.  

We always went across the “new” Missouri-Illinois Pike Bridge that spanned the Mississippi River (The River)to drive up Hwy. 79 in Mih-zer-uh (Missouri).  

The bridge was built in the early 1920's and opened up for traffic with a Gala Potluck. He was only six years old and had to pee.  Badly.  "Ma" told him to pee over there on the slope next to a tree.

Well, then.  He was  in his best clothes--knee pants, high socks, seersucker jacket--and just as he was getting his business done, he slipped on the long grass, sliding down the slope into the mud.  That is all he told me about that.  

We would drive up and around that road until we came to the places to stop—could stand there and look down The River and its spots of little islands.  Each stop gave us a new love for The River.

And we always went to visit  the cemeteries.  My father’s side of the family was buried in the small Nebo Cemetery in Illinois, while my mother’s side were buried in the sizable Crescent Cemetery in Pleasant Hill, Illinois. The farm where we lived for 40 years was a mile north of Nebo Cemetery.

The most interesting things about these places are that I did not know 97% of its occupants, and I really didn’t care.  My folks would walk around looking at headstones, talked about what those people did in life, and my father would speculate whether or not if they made it to Heaven. 

His staunch opinion was they did not.  In fact, my father generally believed that most of the people he knew were damned to hell.

Nebo Cemetery became interesting to me when two of my brothers were buried there in 1997 and 1999. I would go by myself in my rental car to place silk flowers at their graves, talk with them a bit, and look around the corn fields, at the rusted abandoned train tracks, and try to remember the town as it was in my childhood.

Now, I cull volumes of photos of those visits and re-live it all with stories my folks told me. Connecting those memories with faces, and reading letters not meant for my eyes have connected me with a totally different world one hundred years ago.

*The stories here in following posts are non-chronological and have a strong basis in truth.  A few tidbits here and there have been added for the story's sake. But, I have to say, just a few. 

** This is actually a re-post from years ago, which now can be called a back story.  I apologize for not providing readers with this cement.

***My mother told me other stories--oh my goodness, the stuff she knew!  Another day. 

And then...

Happiness and Ever After should be a requisite in unexpected love stories.

After Amy’s family forgave her, throwing a big reception for the wedded couple, things settled down.  Theodorus informed his family about the wedding, and they were thrilled.  A little shocked perhaps, but thrilled. 

Amy in her modern traveling suit

His parents set about building a new house on a portion of farm land they deeded to Theodorus and Amy.  For Amy, this was beyond her hopes.  Living in a town or city in a shared bedroom with her two sisters and supporting the family had been her future.  And now, Amy would have her own home, her own husband, and even farm land.

Theodorus traveled ahead of Amy, kissing her good-bye passionately at the train station in Detroit.  “Soon!” was the word they whispered.

He arrived and inspected the progress.  Like Amy, a house of his own had also been beyond his hopes.  He sent a telegraph, and she arrived within days.

Theodorus with Helen

That was 1919.  In 1920, a daughter Dorus Helen was born to them.  Life was wonderful.  Theodorus was president of the town’s bank; his parents were prosperous with ever increasing farm land.  In 1922, my father Louis Edmund was born.  In 1925, William was born. 

Helen and Louis "Bud"

Smiles on my grandmother’s face in old photos say everything:  Life is wonderful, Love is wonderful…

son Louis, Amy Peck, her mother-in-law Laura Peck, and  Theodorus with their new car

The Stock Market Crash of 1929 punctured the big balloon.  The bank was closed and land had to be sold.  But, still, Theodorus and Amy were together.

And, then…I hate those words.

Theodorus had never been a robust man like his two brothers.  Over the next two years, he began to grow more fragile.  He lived in constant pain, on aspirins.  Amy worried over him.  She unpacked her boxes of medical books and sought answers. 

In 1932, his doctor decided that Theodorus had to be admitted into a hospital. 

People seldom went to hospitals in a rural area.  Those who were admitted were suffering from serious life threatening issues.  This usually resulted in death.  Which is what happened.

Theodorus was taken by ambulance to a hospital over sixty miles away.  After his admission, plans were made for surgery, as a kidney tumor was suspected.  The night before the surgery, while Amy sat at his bedside, Theodorus suffered a massive cerebral hemorrhage.  Death came quickly.

Amy L. Peck as a widow

Amy was about 40 years old, and the only love of her life was buried.  The next decade for Amy and her three children would be harsh.