Jim, the second son in his family, was an artist and craftsman. He was a tireless worker. He also became a outdoorsman early and loved to hunt and fish as often as he had a chance. He attended a SIU work shop program to develop skills for manufacturing goods of all kinds. He attended only one semester and applied and was accepted as a trainee for becoming an agent for the New York Central Railroad company. His dad was an agent and sponsored and trainedJim. Jim wanted a good job, to get married and have children. He married Sue Abbot after he completed his short training. He was 19, she was 17. They had three sons, Kevin, Scott and Kent. Jim’s interests were hunting/ fishing and becoming an artist. He became an expert in all of the fields he tried. He painted on canvas, wood, rock, paper, He hunted deer, small game, and fished, becoming a legend in his hobbies. Jim started a sign business. He painted for commercial businesses and excelled at painting trucks, (name, addresses, logos, etc). He earned a reputation as an outstanding sign painter. When his rail road job ran out his painting company flourished. Jim wrote a book about his hunting experiences and development of skills. It was self published but only a few books were printed. I have read only a smidgen of early notes. Wil (he changed his name from William Robert to Wil) was the third son. He worked alongside with George and Jim when they lived in Tunnel Hill. They were a team and liked to work together on income producing jobs. George left first and Jim next. They were on their own so to speak and that was what Dad wanted. Wil went to SIUC and became a United States Air Force officer. Wil’s career was one of love and achievement. He spent 23 years in the service of the United States and was awarded numerous (13-25) medals and ribbons. After receiving his commission as a 2nd Lieutenant from SIUC he was stationed in (or near Baton Rouge, Louisiana.) Wil married Robin. She was widowed and had two young children, Neil and Beth McCasland. Both would have exceptional careers. Neil became a General in the Air force and is now retired. Beth works as a civil engineer for the government. She is a naturalist. She fits her role. Alyson was Robin’s and Wil’s only child. I know very little about her. She and Beth are close friends.

for lunch. Jim eats to get by and what is convenient. He has an appetite but he eats too much junk food. I have encouraged him to eat better and have taken several fresh items for him — peaches, pears, apples, oranges, pineapple, beans, slaw, lettuce, tomatoes, macaroni, red sauces- chicken, and encourage him to eat often, even if light. Jim will eat what is in front of him if someone will fix it. He is not a picky eater. He just won’t fix it himself. He needs to eat better and fresher and more often or somewhat regular. I know he would feel better if he did.

Barbara explained that he would get a prepared solution before chemo that would last about 20 minutes or so and then chemo (chemo medicine was prepared in the pharmacy room that adjoined the chemo area) for about two hours and if extra fluid was needed it might be longer than that. Jim seemed a bit more anxious than at first and I attribute that to the Physician’s assistant and Doctor’s visits and their matter-of-fact explanations of his cancer and treatments. Jim’s cap never left his head all day and he was chilled. Barbara brought him a light blanket (not enough) to keep him warm in the 72 degree (set) room. His home is set at 74 degrees and he uses blankets, etc. It was about 12:15. It looked like he would finish between 2:30 and 3:00.

I went to lunch and returned at 1:45 and Jim met me in the parking lot. He had finished 15-20 minutes before I arrived. He looked good and said he felt OK..

The ride home was rather quick as I drove slightly faster than Jim and with hardly any traffic. We discussed things like turkeys, deer, and not about medicine, etc.

At Harrisburg he and I swept up the basement and packed deer meat to send to Rex. He gave me a package of salami and slim-jims that were thawed and the same that was frozen. I got home (160 miles) at 7:35.

John

On Monday I spent practically the whole day cleaning, organizing, and throwing away stuff in the basement. I looked at bags of goods carefully and discarded very little. I placed the goods on platforms and table tops to keep them off of the floor. I took three bags of old clothes two small boxes of junk to the Salvation Army. I put a lot of the things in drawers of chests, dressers, and shelves in the basement. | ironed shirts and pants and hung them on hangers and placed them in Jim’s closet. Some of them he had not seen in a long time, but they were still good and his size.

My projects have been the kitchen and making it less cluttered and better organized. I moved smaller plates, saucers, bowls and cups into the cabinets. Pans, pots, dishes, storage containers, were organized and made easier to use. I’ve encouraged paper and plastic plates, bowls, etc. I have encouraged cleaning plates/glasses of food and rinsing them and putting them in a large pan to wash later and not linger to spoil on counters. I have changed canister sets to smaller ones and use the larger ones to store cookies, snacks.

I have encouraged using the goods in pantry’s can goods, packaged foods, looking at expiration dates, etc. I believe that the kitchen is a better place to be now that it is less cluttered. Cooking can be easier, cleaning too.

Jim wrote a book. It was about his hunting and fishing experiences. It too, was self published, but only a few copies were made. I read only an unedited portion of his book. I believe it was becoming too expensive and time consuming for him to continue. Jim was an excellent self taught hunter. He would be in the woods two hours before sun up and one hour or more after the sun went down. He preferred to hunt alone. Kevin, his oldest son, was not committed to hunt and never became more than an occasional hunter and fisherman. Scott, the middle son, was a good hunter, and liked it very much. He adopted Jim’s ways in the woods, liked to hunt alone and was very successful. Kent, Jim’s youngest son took to hunting with a zest. He loved to hunt and was also a very successful hunter. Kent liked to take his friends hunting and shared his knowledge with them. They were his buddies, he led them. Kent, I believe could run down a deer. He had a sense of where a deer would be, a trail he liked, and used often. Kent could run through the woods carrying a heavy shotgun and prepare to take a shot at long range, if necessary. Jim and Kent competed with each other, both in hunting and fishing. They boasted about their success. Jim may have killed as many as 300 deer during his hunting days. He expanded his limit of squirrels and rabbits, fish, and birds. He considered himself above the law. He could dress a deer, a squirrel, a rabbit and clean a fish about as fast as anyone could ever do. Jim’s knives were sharp, his hand steady, his nerves in control. Wil wrote a book. He was named William Robert Casey after his paternal grandfather. We called him Bill or Billy Bob. He would change his name to Wil. Wil’s book was mainly about himself and his career in the United States Air Force. He reached the rank of Lt. Colonel before retiring after 23 years of service. His career was outstanding. He earned medals, praise, and achievements of high order. He was driven. His book was written in six months. It was self published. I have read it several times. I’ll not comment on it further. George, my oldest brother, did not write a book. He was an excellent writer, a journalist, a researcher, and a story teller. He wrote about his travels, people he knew and friends he admired and members of churches. He liked to fish and was competitive. He did not hunt.

Mop “

Jim’s barn wood painting of a pair of large blue gills, one after a spinner, is an excellent art piece. He likely painted it in the early 60’s. I’ve had it for over 50 years. Its appeal is for those who love fishing and outdoors. It’s Value? | estimate it at $250 – $300. | considered donating it to a fund raising cause.

I'd swap it for Wil’s painting of the home stead of Randolph and Edith Casey. Jim didn’t own the painting. It was never given to him as it was intended and served well at reunions as a memorial of Tunnel Hill and the Casey family who lived there.

You own the land it was on. Dad gave the 1-2 acre site to Jim. Perhaps the buildings; house, smoke (laundry) house, coal shed, brooder house and hen house were gone before you were born and likely the huge maples around the house were broken and rotting and the two wells covered. There is no physical reminder left. Perhaps it will fetch you a tidy sum if you sell it.

| have written several stories and journals about Jim and his family. They date back to his childhood and some of the journals are very recent and about his illnesses. They were about his relationships with his boys, wife, friends, you and his great grandkids. The stories were also about his relationship with hunting and fishing. Jim was very revealing to anyone with a keen eye of observation and patience to listen to his stories. His stories were often sensitive and personal and always told with confidentiality.

Why not accept my offer to give you the bluegill painting in return of the painting of the Tunnel Hill home? It surely would be a good trade for you. Should you wish to receive stories of JIM

SK hale Md Oe bse fev

Jim’s barn wood painting of a pair of large blue gills, one after a spinner, is an excellent art piece. He likely painted it in the early 60’s. I’ve had it for over 50 years. Its appeal is for those who love fishing and outdoors. It’s Value? | estimate it at $250 – $300.

I'd swap it for Wil’s painting of the home stead of Randolph and Edith Casey. Jim didn’t own the painting. It was never given to him as it was intended and served well at reunions as a memorial of Tunnel Hill and the Casey family who lived there.

You own the land it was on. Dad gave the 1-2 acre site to Jim. Perhaps the buildings; house, smoke (laundry) house, coal shed, brooder house and hen house were gone before you were born and likely the huge maples around the house were broken and rotting and the two wells covered. There is no physical reminder left.

| have written several stories and journals about Jim and his family. They date back to his childhood and some of the journals are very recent. They were about his relationships with his boys, wife, friends, you and his grandkids. The stories were also about his relationship with hunting and fishing. Jim was very revealing to anyone with a keen eye of observation and patience to listen to his stories.

Why not accept my offer to give you the bluegill painting in return of the painting of the Tunnel Hill home? It surely would be a good trade for you. Should you wish to receive some stories Jim was in, indicate which ones below.

The Price of Courage

Casey’s of Harrisburg, two 8 lb bass, bag limits, poaching, oil rig in TH, Family Chart, Jims Report, Jim’s visit, two men in a boat, self-publishing book, Casey’s name meaning, Arkansas trips, two Shirley’s, Kent Allen Casey, Rednecks and Cowboys. Casey books, hunt with jim in 2014, 2011, Edith and Jim, Wil and Jim, Stop smoking, Scot’s Dilemma, Fight in the living room, Kevin’s case, knives, lures, Sue, Johnny, Pansy, Abbot, Jim in 2015, Skye Casey — last of the Casey’s, Turkey Hunt, Jim’s first deer, John Vinson, a whittled Nigger Flipper. Bounty hunter, A pistol in Jim’s lure box, Trout fishing with Jim, A tub for Sue, Skye’s hooded sweat shirt, He didn’t love us enough, A cap on Jim, Lusk Creek encounter, “Big Butt”, Melissa and Candice, Strawberry Bandit, first job, Limping home from the cemetery, The shooting of a turkey hunter. Taxes. Jim? Kevin? Scott? Kent?

Jim’s house is better than it has been in a long time. A new door in the living room, less furniture, clean tops on tables, etc. Bedrooms are a bit better too, so are the bathrooms. Touches and finalizing organization will help the appearance. A clean house that smells fresh is healthy and makes living there easier for everyone, including guests. The little bedroom needs attention badly. It is stuffed with boxes and lots of toys, games, clothes, and gizmos that need to be packed away or organized. There are 20 or so pillows that need to be thrown away; closets that need cleaned out and dresser drawers cleaned out. This room can be a good utility room to iron or do projects, a real play room for the kids.

Ny The basement project was needed to make it a place that can be used for storage and putting seasonal items and tools, etc. and Christmas items, baggage, large pans, folding chairs, etc. It was a filthy mess and dank and unhealthy. It isn’t now, but it still has lots of bags, dishes, etc. All of it is on shelves or stacked off of the floor and swept. The refrigerator can be used for extra food. It is not clean enough to use now, but won’t take much to get it real clean. The freezer is packed, mostly with deer meat, and is somewhat organized, but it would not take long to get it spic and span.

Jim’s space in the workshop is organized and the big shop has a lot of stuff that is not hard to get organized. It’s in good order otherwise and would be quick to get nice. The fridge is a good one, but it is not always clean. The back part of the workshop/shed has lots of junk that should be thrown away. It is a collection of beds, mattresses, bags, toys, and just junk from everyone. A dumpster is needed to haul it off. It is where the four-wheeler and large tools, mowers, etc, can be stored easily. Craig and Candice have used it to pitch things they don’t want but might want in the future.

Jim is going to feel worse as time goes on and he will not have the energy or desire to improve his surroundings. He will have more company. He will feel like inviting them into his house if it is cleaner and comfortable.

Jim has had several rough years and it has taken its toll and I believe contributed to his health issues. He has had virtually no help. Sue couldn’t do it either as her health failed, but she also refused to ask or direct it either and Jim let her alone in the house while he worked and spent his time in his comfortable quarters in his shop. He has made knives, painted and ran his business there. He has a collection of 800 lures, 20 rods and reels, dozens of guns, 50 + hand-made knives and countless mounts of deer, turkey, fish and photos. His personal area is neat and his house is getting there.

Jim wrote a book. It was about his hunting and fishing experiences. It too, was self published, but only a few copies were made. | read only an unedited portion office book. | believe it was becoming too expensive and time consuming for him to continue.

Jim was an excellent self taught hunter. He would be in the woods two hours before sun up and one hour or more after the sun went down. He preferred to hunt alone. Kevin, his oldest son, was not committed to hunt and never became more than an occasional hunter and fisherman. Scott, the middle son, was a good hunter, and liked it very much. He adopted Jim’s ways in the woods, liked to hunt alone and was very successful. Kent, Jim’s youngest son took to hunting with a zest. He loved to hunt and was also a very successful hunter. Kent liked to take his friends hunting and shared his knowledge with them. They were his buddies, he led them. Kent, | believe could run down a deer. He had a sense of where a deer would be, a trail he liked, and used often. Kent could run through the woods carrying a heavy shotgun and prepare to take a shot at long range, if necessary.

Jim and Kent competed with each other, both in hunting and fishing. They boasted about their success. Jim may have killed as many as 300 deer during his hunting days. He expanded his limit of squirrels and rabbits, fish, and birds. He considered himself above the law. He could dress a deer, a squirrel, a rabbit and clean a fish about as fast as anyone could ever do. Jim’s knives were sharp, his hand steady, his nerves in control.

Wil wrote a book. He was named William Robert Casey after his paternal grandfather. We called him Bill or Billy Bob. He would change his name to Wil. Wil’s book was mainly about himself and his career in the United States Air Force. He reached the rank of Lt. Cornel before retiring after 23 years of service. His career was outstanding. He earned medals, praise, and achievements of high order. He was driven.

His book was written in six months. It was self published. | have read it several times. I'll not comment on it further.

George, my oldest brother, did not write a book. He was an excellent writer, a journalist, a researcher, and a story teller. He wrote about his travels, people he knew and friends he admired and members of churches. He liked to fish and was competitive. He did not hunt.

Judi doesn ’t feel well It’ s Christmas Eave at Seth and Hannah ’ s h/o_me in West Palm Beach, Fl/o_rida. Judi is curled up on a couch and watches TV. Her family is celebrating the holidays. There is laughter and conversations going on. Delightful snacks and drinks beckon party goers to try this and try that Laurie Lovely was bustling in the kitchen preparing pasta dishes, salads, a Christmas punch, and desserts, A table was set. On it were beautiful fresh flowers and holiday plates; colorful china, and shinning utensils were wrapped in a christmas napkin. Glasses were raised and toasts were made and everyone cheered. Shan’s pop top wrapped funnels released a gold crown and a present I got a silver pen. Lila, the dog, waved at everyone with her happy tail and nibbled a snack from Seth. Seth’s M-3 entertained us as it rocked, waved, turned it’s lights on, and rolled it’s windows and truck lid up and down. It got a cheer. Judi sat quietly.

Kent Casey -12/24/1961 — 12/22/2011 His death preserved his youth.

Blue jays in the woods near the edge of the cemetery were calling noisily as mourners begin to gather near the coffin of a dear son, nephew, cousin, and friend who would have been 50 in two days. Christmas was three days away. Cold damp, misty air carried voices of birds to anyone who might be listening. Few were, as they were in deep thought of the departed. The minister said a few comforting words. Soon the mourners would leave and head back to destinations leaving only sextons in the cemetery. It would be only a few minutes until dusk, then darkness.

My funeral time started after I arrived in Harrisburg and before I reached the funeral home when I put on a blue shirt and begin tying on one of Dad’s favorite ties; A dark blue tie with geometric patterns that was more than 50 years old. I’ve worn it before when I needed an anchor.

Candice drove herself and me to the funeral home. Upon entering the parlor I saw my oldest brother who was looking out a window. His shape was unmistakable, as was his light combed back hair. He acknowledged me, we met, shook hands, and said hello.

During the next few hours softly spoken words drifted throughout the rooms. Greetings of family and friends sprung up and strangers greeted strangers. In the entrance hall visitors looked at photos arranged on a long table and adjoining wall. Mainly, they were photos of a smiling Kent, my nephew, with fish and game trophies and usually with a smiling hunting friend or relative. The visitors signed their names in a journal, and sat down on cushioned chairs in the main parlor. A few visitors came for a few minutes, greeted the family and left. I heard bits and pieces and unfinished prose, but never a full story about Kent Casey. There would be stories later. Throughout the funeral my mind was never distracted from memories of Kent. I remembered him as a tiny baby, a skinny blond haired boy of summer, becoming a hunting and fishing machine and a man of substance and character.

The minister was soft spoken. He had clear eyes, white hair and a full white beard. Mainly he spoke to Jim and Sue, Kent's dad and mom. (My Brother and Sister-in- law) Mary Ellen sat next to Jim, her arm around his shoulder. Liz sat next to Sue. Candice sat next to Liz. George, Jerry, Aaron and I sat in the second pew just behind them. When Kent’s mom and dad needed special comfort, the minister left the lectern and knelt next to them. Rex’s written message, delivered by the minister, was clear and comforting. Rex was in Florida, but his presence was felt. A lilting sweet voice filled the parlor. Words were distinct from a singer I did not see.

After the service eight pall bearers slid the casket into the white hearse. It slowly pulled away from the funeral home and into the street and onto the road. Cars that had been lined up behind the hearse; motors started; lights, heaters and windshield wipers were turned on. The drive to the cemetery twenty five miles away started. In respect, motorists did not pass the slow moving vehicles and those meeting the procession pulled their vehicles to the side of the road.

When the procession stopped at the cemetery it took a few minutes for mourners to gather under the funeral tent. A few umbrellas were unfolded but many of the people were bare headed. A few minutes elapsed from the start of the gravesite service until its end. No sounds came from the nearby woods. It was the quietest funeral I have ever attended.

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oo og Slat . se Sum Little Bitsy Bones to Knaw

We were hungry little boys, Phil, Danny, Arnold and myself. We were also over two miles from our homes in Tunnel Hill, IL. We were exploring Sugar Creek, a north / south tributary that was just east of town. It was a pretty little creek that meandered through pastures and wooded lots, around bends and tumbled down smooth rock ledges. There was an occasional deep pool, all named, that provided shelter for small fish, frogs, water skippers and snakes.

The creek was a virtual haven for everything small boys liked to do in the spring and summer. We waded in the clear stream and tried to catch minnows and frogs. We dammed narrow places in the creek and built small pools. We could even swim in some of the larger pools. We made leaf boats and put ants or bugs in them and sailed them down stream. We made small wooden boats out of cheese boxes and powered them with rubber bands for a paddle wheel effect. We skipped rocks, threw at water skippers, stirred up mud to see the color of the water change, dug clay from banks and rr rocks into the creek. We enjoyed the creek.

e had our nigger flippers *with us at all times and some of us were pretty good shots: good enough to hit a bird now and then or a frog on a bank. Notches on our ruiggerftipper stalks were made on Kills just like the notches on gunstocks of the Westerners.

After two or three hours of creeking we had worked up a bit of a hunger and decided to hunt birds in earnest to eat. We had cracked nuts, mostly walnuts and hickory nuts, with rocks and ate the fresh meat, but it was only a morsel. We wanted game and birds were all over the place. Finally one of us using a piggerflipper hit a bird and down it came. It was a Robin. A Robin is a pretty good sized bird, counting song birds, and we decided to dress it and roast it over a small fire we would build. We had also killed a couple of small frogs and everyone knows they are good to eat.

After several struggles in getting the fire going – we used fox grass and small twigs for kindling — we were ready to feast on the game of the bird and the amphibians we had skinned. They did not look very big when they were skinned, but we stuck the pieces on small, sharpened sticks and held them over the fire to roast. I suspect there must have been at least an ounce or two of food (total) on the game we cooked.

We shared the food and I remember getting a leg of a Robin. It was rather small and I had to bare my teeth and bite gently on the seared flesh and it was gone. Nothing but bone was left. Total calories were about 3, I guess. Not one of the fellows got more than the other and in a few minutes we had doused the fire and headed back home. I could tell that everyone was hungry. We didn’t talk much and went straight to our respective houses, but not before promising not to tell anyone that we had eaten the only Robin we would ever eat.

John Casey

9-10-02

*Acathor’s ote: The nigger flipper was really a slingshot. Remember that we were small boys in a small rural villagi dee| ‘hern Illinois. The word was used inngcentl li

and had no knowledgg€ of the prej Mice associated with the slingshot.dIt was to be years later, when I learned that the slingshot was used by slaveholders (the field bosses) to plink a slave who may have not been working or working at less speed than desired.

AMiVve

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Liz, Terry and Mary, were not proli fic writers, but had they wanted to be they would have had interesting stories to tell. I am writing a book. It will be self published if I finish it. It is half way done now and I’m stuck a bit. My start was about my home town, Tunnel Hill, Illinois. It’s about people I knew and remembered. I recalled 84 names of residents of the small village. I will weave them into my book. Dennis Wilkerson, Edith’s husband, remarked to me one day that he had never seen or heard of a family like ours where everyone was a writer, a story teller, a poet, and a friend of nature.

Mary’s Birthday Card Today, NOVEMBER 1, 2021 I received a card from my sister Mary. Hi John, Hope to hear you are all set to celebrate You! Takes me back to when one of your birthday parties was at the Lodge hall at the bottom of the hill. How did you even arranged to be in that place, as it was considered as holy grounds. A slam. Mary is religious. My thoughts were: First, I don’t recall a birthday party for me at the Masonic Lodge. I know I did not arrange it. The lodge was not a holy place. It was a fraternal organization that trace their organization to their origin to the guilds of stone masons at the end of the 13th century. Every member professes belief in a Supreme being, that no women be admitted, and that the discussion of religion be banned. EACH GRAND LODGE IS INDEPENDENT.

Mary ends the second paragraph with: ‘as it was considered as holy grounds.’ This is a grievous remark. Grievous is defined as being something very serious, grave or severe. Dad was a Mason. Wil, his son, was a Mason. I believe that her remarks meant that I was not religious and not entitled to arrange my own birthday party at the lodge. Mary is 10 years younger than me. I don’t believe any birthday party for a boy of 12 or 14 (dates may not be exact), including me, was ever held at the Masonic Lodge in Tunnel Hill. In the third paragraph Mary wrote; ‘it was good to see your picture with your buddy, and how healthy you My friend. Buddy is slang. looked. Keep it up. I appreciated her well wishes. The photo taken with my iPhone was of myself and the man in a Super Hero costume was my neighbors handy man who had erected the neighbors decorations. I spoke to him, not knowing who he was. He had told me two weeks before he was coming to the party and would be dressed as a Mexican. He is a Mexican citizen and an American citizen. It was a fun moment. His beautiful wife and their four month old boy were there. She took the photo. My smile was real and I may have looked healthy, but my bones were hurting.

Mary’s card to me continued about her and Lee visiting Ocean City, the deserted beaches and seeing Victorian homes. She and Lee would be heading to Aaron’s, (her son’s) home and go to the football game between West Virginia and Notre Dame. She added, We will once again be in the President’s box which means oodles of food and good times. Jen’s position as #3 at the university comes with special perks. I’m thankful we will be seeing the game and staying warm. Mary’s sign off was: wishing you God’s best- love you, Mary. Does Notre Dame’s football team play Navy on November 6, 2021? I asked Siri. NOV. 6, 2:30 NAVY 2-6 – NOTRE DAME 7-1 NBC Mary doesn’t know football. Sending me A BIRTHDAY CARD AND information about an upcoming big football game and describing being in the President’s box, being warm and cozy, eating oodles of food with elitesIt, to me, was like a rich city mouse telling a poor country mouse, how great life is. Score: Navy 43 West Virginia 3.

Mary wrote an email to me that was sharply critical of me and my actions.

“you do not have permission from me to write anything about me. I may call and talk to the editor and censor you.” “Are you still stewing about something that happened in May? * Does that make you feel better? “Ik makes me mad and it makes me sad, sad” “Wil may

never send you an email again.” “You know how the Casey's are” I dont sweat the small stuff, I just do the right thing and doing good.” Mom would nok Like what you write, She would not Like your letting everyone, neighbors how poor we were.” “You made fun of Baptists.” x ‘Wil's first email was 6/2/.20 – the Last note was %/2/20, Berkner called me an idiot, His Last word:

“whoopee! “

When Wil forwarded Berkner’s e-mail regarding George Floyd to me, he included Mary, Liz, Rex, Eric, Craig…etc. I asked them if they knew Berkner? Liz; No. Mary, no reply. Rex, he didn't recall reading it. I e-mailed Wil “ Don't send forwarded hate mail to me." don't send messages he did not write. June 2020. Wil send an e-mail regarding the investigation of Biden. I sent Wil an e-mail that he not forward emails. he did not write. He did not reply.

Kerkner and his wife, Dot (perhaps the real author) are friends of ‘Wil. Berkner knew this. I sent a short note about recognizing ‘Wil’ for his service in the Air Force. “Veteran's Day". Wil replied: “Thanks John." “A Christmas card – signed Wil & Cat (NO MESSAGE)

Recording my thoughts is how I deal with situations. Should I need it.

Dear Mary:

Thanks for the kind letter and for your interest in what I’m doing. It sounds like you are quite busy doing things that make you happy and looking forward to more of what life offers. Great.

It would bore you to find out what’s it like in mouse town USA. But, hey, you asked.

Real estate is, well, full of stuff. We don’t work longer and harder than any other profession, but it takes us longer to get our daily work in. I think I work about 7-8 hours a day, but it takes me about 12-14 hours to do it. Getting to work at the crack of 9:00 takes a commitment. It’s dark-thirty before the day ends regardless if we are on slow or day light savings time. I don’t cater to not being busy with a few balls in the air, but it is like pushing a rope when you’re trying to find customers let alone clients. There is a difference.

I have been scathed, accused, ridiculed, blasted, attacked, and belittled. And, most of that comes from other Realtors! Losing a few friends, finding out about loyalty, sharing, being kind, ducking bullets> consoling, crying, and learning stuff you don’t need to know is part of it. The fashions I see are different. Fast food has new meaning to me and carrying a hammer to knock signs into rock hard ground is OK. I’ve seen a bunch (lots and lots) of houses in the past few months and am beginning to tell the difference between a bungalow and a ranch, eat in kitchen (doesn’t everyone have one of these), finished basements, but I have had a tough time with 1 % car garages. ???

Golf is what I used to play. Now I hit balls and walk under beautiful trees, around lakes, and over bridges. I pick up walnuts and hicker nuts. Occasionally, | will actually play a semblance of a game with some great-to-be-with friends. Yes, | made a hole-in-one again (#3) this year with a borrowed 6-iron. | also, well that’s another story.

You should see my outfit today. Pam (more about her later) helped me pick out some elevator, black, buckled shoes. Now I’m just over 5’5”. The 1 % inch (I understand 1 % inch stuff) black belt (synthetic leather) is fastened around my 34” (maybe 33” waist-stress diet helped reduce it). My top (real estate term) is a maroon and blue plaid shirt. The standard dark khakis complete my ensemble. I have on progressive eyewear too. My $9.95 Milan watch is about 5 minutes fast to help me get somewhere on time. All of this stuff goes (I’m told) with my short grey, uncombed hair. What a sight.

No deer hunting for me this year. It’s not that I’m tired or bored with it, but it is not something that excites me right now. Soft living I guess. This morning’s fog is very nice though and probably this time next week I will long for the woods, the feel of the shotgun, muddy boots, cold feet, and a glimpse of a monster buck.

Did you have any other questions?

I’ve read tons of books and generally have about 5 or 6 in various stages of completion all the time. I have even read some fiction. My cooking has tapered off, but my eating habits are pretty good with fruit and veggies being important to me. Leaves are piling up, and I mean piling up — like $50 worth of work for the neighbor boys if the wind doesn’t pick up soon. Shanon declined an offer to help me. He thinks I will also ask for a hair cut.

Tell you what, I will nd this letter now, but send other junk mail to let you know about my eclectic life style. You should see my house and it’s décor. Wolf sounds (CD), a large wolf picture and a howling wolf in a snow storm (when you turn over the crystal ball) and jungle like bed coverings would scare anyone, and that’s just one bedroom. Did I tell you I have 5 desks in my house and a touch light lamp?

Nothing changes. Thanks for communication. I miss seeing everyone and remember almost everyone and things. Have a ball, no one will care. They will just be envious.

John

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Miss Beulah's desk was in the front of the room, A large solid oak desk with

only a single middle drawer, In front of her desk and facing her was two fold- ing benches. One for the younger children and one for the larger ones, When

a class was held in the rear of the room, some of the older students would conduct reading and spelling classes for the earlier grades.

A large ba: phano was located in the fron near the teachers desk. The flag with fort; ars was on@the front wall, A roll of ten maps were hung over one of the six black boards.

There were approximately thirty students in the school every year. One year

there weye thirty four, the largest, and another twenty four, the smallest. Severed darze families would have several children in school at the sane time. Being from a family of eight, there were as many as four of us in the same school. Six of the oldest, I am the fifth, graduated from this school. Another family had six children in school at the same time. Many had three. My graduating Glass numbered seven, a large class, Of all the kids who attended the Tunnel Hill Township school, I can recall only eight who later attended college. Six, includ- ing myself, were in my family.

The age difference ranged from the bright kids of five to the sixteen and seventeen year olds that had difficulty in passing their grades.

Sehool began at eight thirty. The pledge of allegiance to the faag was the first order of the day. From our yellow paper back song books we would sing three or four songs with the teacher playing the piano and leading the singing. Some of the favorite selections were "When Johnny comes marching Home", "Old Black Joe",

"My old Kentucky Home™ and "Old Susana", Then Miss Beulah would read, to everyone's enjoyment, a chapter or two from books. Miss Minever, Betram, Jack Londons books and Albert Payson Terhunes Books about collie dogs.

Lessons came next, Miss Beulah would start with the first grade reading class.

The first graders would march to the front of the room, set on the small] bench and in turn would struggle through the red covered Tick and Jane primer. A progress through the other grades would follow. While one class would be taught by the teacher the other classes would study for the next subject.

Bbout ten fifteen a recess was called and everpase would head for the outside and games would commence, If not soft ball or keep away football, we would fly kites, have snow wars or play our invented games of Darebase, stinkbase, old bear and no gum cowboy. Cn particularly good days and if everyone was playing good the teacher would allow us to stay out longer.

At lunfh time many of the town kids, of which I was one, would head home on a run for a hot lunch. Some of the country kids would eat and go to the general store in town for a soda or a dixie cup. The cloak room and the front porch was the best place to open the dinner pails and swap and trade sandwiches. The older kids would manage to trade the younger ones out of the more desirable items such as oranges and bananas. Tears on the young faces usually indicated forced trades were made.

Aftar the lunch hour was over the teacher returned to the progression of lessons. Because of the distance to school and also to lessen the chance the big kids would beat up on the smaller ones, when the last class was finished the teacher would dismiss the grades in progression. The first graders might go home at two o'clock and the eighthgrade would get out around three fifteen.

MOM Raised An Only Child -8 ofem

GOEORGE, was number one, her first. Mom's love for him made him fairly burst.

JIM was mons farorite artist son. He felt he was her only one.

WIL was loved like no other. My brother knew he was the only son of my mother

EDITH, I know, felt her special love. Now they are together-above

JOHN, that'me, thought it was easy to see That the one mom loved best was me

LIZ’ knew that mom loved her the most Liz was tops, mom would boast

TERRY, so kind, was mom's pet. That he was an only child, he would bet

Mary Ellen, her last and best Knew she was loved more than the rest.

We were all raised – AN ONLY CHILD -or such, BECAUSE, our mom loved us so very much.

j.casey

MOM Raised An Only Child ~ 8 of em pq acdedoresstekoroletekeresereksrossene

GOEORGE, was number one, her first. Mom's love for him made him fairly burst.

JIM was mons farorite artist son. He felt he was her only one.

WIL was loved like no other. My brother knew he was the only son of my mother

EDITH, I know, felt her special love. Now they are together-above

JOHN, that'me, thought it was easy to see That the one mom loved best was me

LIZ’ knew that mom loved her the most Liz was tops, mom would boast

TERRY, so kind, was mom's pet. That he was an only child, he would bet

Mary Ellen, her last and best Knew she was loved more than the rest.

We were all raised – AN ONLY CHILD -or such, BECAUSE, our mom loved us so very much.

MONAHAN Derived from the word Monk.

Monahan comes from the Irish name, O’Manachain. Means you are descended from Manachain. Variants are Monahan, O’Monaghan, and even Minihon.

Our family motto is “The Stroked Cat is Gentle”. Our family shield is powder blue, carried by related fellows, And it has an upside down “V” and three yellow stars.

Jack Monahan

My dog Jiggs Got Run Over By a Truck.

When dad brought home a Border collie pup I claimed him and named him Jiggs. Jiggs grew into a sturdy 55 pounder and became my perfect companion. He loved the creek behind our house and ponds in nearby pastures. He would leap off of pond banks into the water and swim with me. He liked to run with me and when I slowed down he ran circles around me. We went through culverts together and when I caught crawdads I tossed them to him; and he would pick them up with his teeth and fling them over his head.

It was % of a mile from my home to school. Along the way I threw rocks, walked backwards with siblings and friends and wrote my initials in the dusty road. Jiggs went with me every day.

One morning Jiggs and I were running in the road when a pick up truck came upon us. I jumped out of the way, but Jiggs didn’t. The right rear tire of the truck rolled over him. The truck didn’t stop. For a moment Jiggs lay still and I though he was dead, but he sprang up, yelped, and started scooting away. School was about to start and I had perfect attendance and was torn between going to school and going back to find Jiggs.

Tearfully, I went to school. When school started my teacher came over to my desk, knelt, and put a hand on my shoulder. She said, “I’m so sorry I ran over your dog”. “Do you want to go and find him” she asked. I nodded yes. Go, you won’t be marked absent.” I slipped out of my seat and left the schoolhouse and ran home hoping to find Jiggs

Mom was surprised to see me and recognized my anguish. I said, “My teacher ran over Jiggs”. Mom consoled me, then she and I hunted and called out for Jiggs but he wasn’t to be found.

At lunch, mom spoke gently to calm and prepare me to accept potential failure of not finding Jiggs. She said it was an accident and my teacher was not to be faulted. She also inspired me with hope and encouraged me to “hunt until dark”.

There were 23 homes and buildings, in Tunnel Hill (pop. 49 in 1949), and I was prepared to visit each house hoping I’d find Jiggs. At dark he had not turned up. Tomorrow would be Saturday. If need be, I planned to hunt for him all day.

I was up early to go on my hunt for Jiggs. Going to the post office was my most enjoyable chore. It was located just across the cinder street from the New York Central Railroad warehouse that was built over a small creek. The building had a three foot clearance at the front; less in the rear. It was cool under the building where bright red clay was found and used by the kids of Tunnel Hill for modeling. When I picked up the mail, the Postmaster, Mrs. Cavitt, told me that when she came to work that morning she thought she heard a sound coming from under the warehouse.

My Introduction to Education 196-195)

Mrs. Beulah Simmons was my first teacher. She was fortyish, a big woman with light grey hair. She wore rose colored framed glasses. Dresses of consertative nature was her general costume. Many were home made and she tended towards navy blue. Her voice was strong and showed her emotion as her face would remain almost expressionless in the most trying times.

She was my only teacher for eight years. light years! The first thru

the eighth grade, "Miss Beulah" as we affectionately called herg taught

me to spell, the alphabet, to count, to read, arithmetic, geography, english, orthography and history. Or was, it I learned? I'm sure she taught and

I learned without knowing exactly when we did each, I can safely say no other teacher had as much to do with my education as did "Miss Beulah."

Tunnel. Hill was and is a small hamlet type community located in Johnson County in extrmme Southern Illinois. The population was approximata@ly seventy five in 1946. It has dwindled now due to the young people moving to areas where a living can be made. The surrounding area was dotted with small farms.

The township school was located a quarter of a mile West of Tunnel Hill on a hill overlooking many of the homes that the children attending lived in. This one room school served the purpose of education for eight years (often the only education) to those attending, It was a large building and there were three small ante rooms that were called cloak rooms. One for the girls and one for the boys. The cloak rooms were full of coats, jackets, overshoes and dinner buckets. litterally just that because most of the kids carried their lunches in two quart Bize lard buckets.+ They were yellow and would hold two sandwiches and an apple or orange. The other room was a supply room holding a supply of folding chairs, enc tables and miscellaneous items.

A large coal furnace was in the rear of the room and most of the winter several pair of jersey gloves were lying close by to pick up the warmth and to dry.

There were eight rows of desks. Small desks for the first grades graduatihgg

up to the large desks that had ink wells. The ink wells were usually used to store paper wads, and pencils. In the spring we would place yellow Laster flowers in the wells and watch the ink creep up the stem finally discoloring the entire flower. Beginning about the fifth rww the desk tops were autographed by former and present occupants. Carving a desk top with a pocket knife was the thing to do. If you started in the earlier grades there may be as many as five desks that had the initials of a carver. Only when someone was caught did the sandpaper come out and soon a smooth desk would appear,

rior Oe thee We n the north side of the ro n WS _aneeindews, Holloween, Thanksgiving, Christmas,

and Easter decorations covered the windows during their seasons, Rain, snow, sleet, and hail were about the only diversions the big kids could see through the windows, but nevertheless much gazing was done.

The rear wall had four baack boards, These boards were usually reserved for the seventh and eight grade students to put arithmetic problems. Near the back of the room was the study area and library. ‘The entire library was kept in a single upright metal cabinet and the lone reading table was a cafeteria type with six metal chairs. Only four were allowed to study at the table at one time. During Christmas plays, recitals and occassionally a pie supper, extra chairs were put up for the crowd,

Miss Beulah's desk was in the front of the room. A large solid oak desk with

only a single middle.drawer, In front of her desk and facing her was two fold~ ing benches. One for the younger children and one for the larger ones. When

a class was held in the rear of the room, some of the older students would conduct reading and spelling classes for the earlier grades.

A large bi pkano was located in the fron near the teachers desk. The flag with fort; ars was on@the front wall, A roll of ten maps were hung over one of the six black boards.

There were approximately thirty students in the school every year. One year there weye thirty four, the largest, and another twenty four, the smallest. Severetlarge families would have several children in school at the same time. Being from a family of eight, there were as many as four of us in the same school. Six of the oldest, I am the fifth, graduated from this school. Another family had six children in school at the same time. Many had three. My graduating 61lass numbered seven, a large class, Of all the kids who attended the Tunnel Hill Township school I can recall only eight who later attended college. Six, includ- ing myself, were in ny family.

The age difference ranged from the bright kids of five to the sixteen and seventeen year olds that had difficulty in passing their grades,

School began at eight thirty. The pledge of allegiance to the faag was the first order of the day. From our yellow paper back song books we would sing three or four songs with the teacher playing the piano and leading the singing. Some of the favorite selections were "When Johnny comes marching Home", "Old Black Joe",

"My old Kentucky Home" and "Old Susana", Then Miss Beulah would read, to everyone's enjoyment, a chapter or two from books. Miss Minever, Betram, Jack Londons books and Albert Payson Terhunes Books about collie dogs.

Lessons came next. Miss Beulah would start with the first grade reading class. The first graders would march to the front of the room, set on the small bench and in turn would struggle through the red covered Dick and Jane primer. A progress through the other grades would follow. ‘hile one class would be taught by the teacher the other classes would study for the next subject.

Bbout ten fifteen a recess was called and everpure would head for the outside and games would commence. If not soft ball or keep away football, we would fly kites, have snow wars or play our invented games of Darebase, stinkbase, old bear and no gun cowboy. On particularly good days and if everyone was playing good the teacher would allow us to stay out longer.

At lunth time many of the town kids, of which I was one, would head home on a run for a hot lunch. Some of the country kids would eat and go to the general store in town for a soda or a dixie cup. The cloak room and the front porch was the best place to open the dinner pails and swap and trade sandwiches. The older kills would manage to trade the younger ones out of the more desirable items such as oranges and bananas. Tears on the young faces usually indicated forced trades were made.

Aftar the lunch hour was over the teacher returned to the progression of lessons. Because of the distance to school and also to lessen the chance the big kids would beat up on the smaller ones, when the last class was finished the teacher would dismiss the grades in progression. The first graders might go home at two o'clock and the eighthgrade would get out around three fifteen.

Whenever our school scheduled a ball game with a neighborhood school the game would begin at one thirty or two O'clock, The whole school would let out to see it. When we had to travel, Miss Beulah would drive her farmer husband's stakebed pickup truck and the team would pile in and enjoy the ride. The rest of the kids got to go home early. Our team was made up of both boys and girls because we could not muster a team without combining both sexes. My older brogher, Jim, had started softball in the school and with his teaching and the books I had read it was only natural that I would be the coach or manager, I was in the fourth grade when I inherited the job. The zeal and desire I had for ball playing was not always matched by other members of the team and sometimes it was necessary to beg, plead, bribe and even threaten some into playing on the team.

As this is the first time I have attempted to review and write about my first introduction to the American Education System I have omitted unintentionally many aspects of the school. In no way have I regretted the education, in fact I am

proud of this heritage. The magnitude of the job of teaching such a group in the facilities provéded and with the diversified group to teach cannot be measured. It had to be a dedicated person who really wanted to teach, who would give everye@ffort towards giving the students an education. She gave far more than the eight years

I spent under her guidance, She imparted knowledge and a desire to learn and continue with an education. She was partial to some of her students, but I believe in a

fair way,

Learning was as difficult I'm sure. Not everyone went on to high school. I was amohg the fortuante who did. Without®conscientious teacher and a family environment perhaps I too would be finishing up my high school at night.

What makes some students continue and continue to seek knowledge? Not knowledge for knowledge sake, Jt is a hunger. A desire to improve.

The education I have and do not have males me sweat.

My Introduction to Education 19h6-195),

Mrs. eulah Simmons was my first teacher, She was fortyish, a big woman with light grey hair. She wore rose colored framed glasses. Dresses of consertative nature was her general costume. Many were home made and she tended towards navy blue. Her voice was strong and showed her emotion as her face would remain almost expressionless in the most trying times.

She was my only teacher for eight years. light years! The first thru

the eighth grade. "Iiss Beulah" as we affectionately called herg taught

me to spell, the alphabet, to count, to read, arithmetic, geography, english, orthography and history, Or was it I learned? I'm sure she taught and

I learned without knowing exactly when we did each, I can safely say no other teacher had as meh to do with my education as did "Miss Beulah."

Tunnel. Hill was and is a small hamlet type community located in Johnson County in extrame Southern Illinois. The population was approximataly seventy five in 1946, It has dwindled now due to the young people moving to areas where a living can be made. The surrounding area was dotted with small farms.

The towmship school was located a quarter of a mile West of Tunnel Hill on a hill overlooking many of the homes that the children attending lived in. This one room school served the purpose of education for eight years (often the only education) to those attending, It was a large building and there were three small ante rooms that were called cloak rooms. One for the girls and one for the boys. ‘The cloak rooms were full of coats, jackets, overshoes and dinner buckets. Litterally just that because most ‘of the kids carried their lunches in two quart Muze lard buckets. They were yellow and would hold two sandsriches and an apple or orange. The other room was a supply room holding a supply of folding chairs, enc tables and miscellaneous items.

A large coal furnace was in the rear of the room and most of the winter several pair of jersey gloves were lying close by to pick up the warmth and to dry.

There were eight rows of desks. Small desks for the first grades graduatihgg

up to the large desks that had ink wells. The ink wells were usually used to store paper wads, and pencils. In the spring we would place yellow Easter flowers in the wells and watch the ink creep up the stem finally discoloring the entire’ flower, Beginning about the fifth rew the desk tops were autographed by former and present occupants. Carving a desk top with a pocket knife was the thing to do, If you started in the earlier grades there may be as many as five desks that had the initials of a carver. Only when someone was caught did the sandpaper come out and soon a smooth desk would appear.

– Mer the wad the north side of the rocn WS tne-sindewss Holloween, Thanksgiving, Christmas, and Easter decorations covered the windows during their seasons. Rain, snow, sleet, and hail were about the only diversions the big kids could see through the windows, but nevertheless much gazing was done.

The rear wall had four bkack boards, ‘These boards were usually reserved for the

“ seventh and eight grade students to put arithmetic problems. ‘lear the back of the room was the study area and library. The entire library was kept in a single upright metal cabinet and the lone reading table was a cafeteria type with six metal chairs. Only four were allowed to study at the table at one time. During Christmas plays, recitals and occassionally a pie supper, extra chairs were put up for the crowd,

George was number one, the first. Mom's love for him made him fairly quiet. Jim was her favorite artist son. He felt he was her only one. Bill was loved like no other. My brother knew he was the only son of my mother. Edith, I know, felt her special love. Now mom shines on her from above. It was easy for me, John, to see that the one she loved best was me. Liz's mom loved her the most. My sis was tops, mom would boast. Terry, so kind, was mom's pet. That he was an only child, he never let [forget]. Mary Ellen, her last and best, knew she was loved more than the rest. We were all an only child – or such – because our mom loved us so much. – John 8/6/91

Guess what? My nose stayed on and there was only pinkish skin from the scrape. There was lots of snot, a little bit of blood, but no nose less little boy.

In minutes I was back at the slope. No one had missed me. I chickened out on my other runs down the slope that afternoon.

What does this have to do with my mom? Plenty! A calm mother quieting an excited son. This was repeated again and again as I grew up. Sometimes it was gravel falls, tree falls, briar patch falls, and bicycle falls and just slips and falls. I managed to avoid broken bones, but the blood always washed off. The iodine, merichrome, proxide, and salve were applied to wounds, gashes, cuts, bruises and the badges of courage Band-Aids and gauze wrapped limbs helped. But my mom applied the healing with calmness and assurance of complete recovery.

The next stories: Yhery mnrelubed Penn Picking strawberries in a dewy patch.

Carving initials in peaches. Making sour kraut and pickles. The 13-egg Angel Food Cake. Cooking a duck. “

A Christmas knife.

Election Day hamburgers

Sylvia Jobe

Clean clothes and broken dishes Spoiled green apples

Sewing a baseball uniform Curved needles. | Catching small bass. em

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There is no perfect deception, however. In fact, it was not a bad thing and may have encouraged higher bids for coveted pies baked by the girls. Certainly there would be some rivalry for the prettiest girl so there was some intrigue and kibitzing going on trying to recognize something that would give away the baker of the pie.

It was not a secret that my dad would try to buy the pie of Edith Burton. It was fun and customary for the men and boys to jest and heckle other men and boys who were there, obviously, to buy a pie of the girl they wanted to be with for a date for the evening. It was natural that some of the men and boys to pool money for the bidding for the pies. Certainly, they would have picked out my dad because he was sure to bid for my mom’s pie. As the evening went on Dad became nervous and he too noticed the small band of guys who kept eyeing him and not bidding too high on the baked goods of any of the other girls. They apparently were not as interested in sharing a pie with a young lady as they were to cause consternation to my dad who was fixated on one apple pie baked by one cute red haired girl, my mom. When the auction for my mom’s pie started, the auctioneer wasn’t able to get a single bid right off the bat. “Now come on you guys,” he said, “you know you want a pie that this bright young lady has baked and brought here — why just look at it,” as he held up the gaily decorated box for the crowd to see. A fear of some of the young ladies was that her pie will not sell or that someone she doesn’t know or may dislike may buy it.

She was obligated, by custom, to share her pie with the highest bidder, thus it was a date of sorts even if the date was inside the school house. Finally, a bid was made. It was not from dad or from ‘the gang.’

The bid was not high, one dollar, but it came from a quiet man who had gone almost unnoticed. His bid attracted everyone’s attention, especially from my dad. An adversary was in the room and he had made the first move. The auctioneer was alert and turned to this gentleman and said, “Thank you.” My dad’s face turned red; almost as red as my mom’s hair. She had turned to the sound and bid of this man. Now her face turned red.

“Three dollars,” my dad said. He had jumped the bid two dollars! It was custom that bids increased by 25 cents, and never more than 50 cents. Eyes turned towards him. He stood straight and solemn. “Four,” the other man said. Eyes turned his way. The crowd was still. Four dollars was a considerable amount for a pie that would sell by the piece at any restaurant for 15 cents.

“Five,” said a spokesman from ‘the gang’ — silence: The auctioneer looked leased. He turned to my dad. He turned to the quiet gentleman. He thought the bidding was likely over and he said, “Are there any more bids?” Silence. “Going, going,…,” the auctioneer started. “Six!”

Brothers, fathers, and uncles have saved the hurt feelings of many of the wilted flowers by buying pies of their cherished family member who had wistfully hoped the andsomest man would buy their pie at a high bid. When that didn’t happen, the family patriarch would see to it that the pie would be bought for a good price. Then, the young lady could choose whom she would share her pie. Perhaps it was someone without the money to even start a bid.

The six dollar bid came from the stranger and not a family member or my dad. Dad had seven dollars in his pocket and that was all the money he had. He had earned it from working at the Company Farm, a company that had several farms in southern

| haven’t been in touch with my siblings in awhile and ran across a story in an old magazine about names.

It surprised me how many people didn’t like or use the name they were given and changed them.

| tested the story with a chart of my family. It only took

a few minutes. It doesn’t have any pattern and | don’t think it would be much different than any other family. It is what it is.

What’s in a name? The Casey’s.

George Randolph* James Levi* William* Robert Edith* Marie Jackie Jimmy Bill Edie Jack Jimmy Lee Billy Edie Marie George Jim Billy Bob

Wil John* Richard Elizabeth Ann* —s Terry Wayne Mary* Ellen Johnny Lizzie Ann Mary John Liz

All except Terry, dad and mom named their children after a relative’s name*

There was a member of our family enrolled in Vienna High School for a period of 22 consecutive years. It started with George in 1945 and ended with Mary in 1967.

All were excellent students. I’ve seen their transcript. Several of them were on the honor role.

| couldn’t resist putting this in this paper. An old owl was losing his hooting voice and decided to

take up darning. His eyes were too weak to see the thread very well. His dilemma: He couldn’t hoot worth a darn, or darn worth a hoot.

One Christmas I bought and gave a young ferret to Josh, Vicki’s 11-year-old son. Vicki named it Farris. This charming little animal took to Josh like a duck to water. Farris loved crawling into Josh’s shirt and running around inside it and down the sleeves to openings for it’s little head. Josh loved it too. Farris would scamper hunch-backed through the house darting here and there ahead of us and sometimes rushed right by us. He could tum, slide, and roll anywhere. He was unlikely to be caught unless he wanted to be. He was just tame enough to be caught. He would not come to calls even though we tried to teach him. Because he did not make a mouth sound that we could hear (though once I thought I heard him laugh) we didn’t know where he was. We had to look for him.

We found a leash for Farris and now he and Josh could take yard walks. Now and then Josh would take the leash off of Farris and wrestle with him, never turning him loose. We lived in a very wooded area and the outdoors was wonderful. Vicki, Josh and I loved it outside and we ventured out very often. Farris loved it outside too and one day he scooted outside — unseen. “I didn’t let him out,” “I didn’t either.” No one let Farris outside, but he was out there. Josh certainly didn’t let him out, but maybe he did when he left the door open for just a minute while he came back inside to get something.

When Farris was missing we went looking for him. He resembled the gray squirrels that were always present in our yard and wooded lot just over the little creek. The day got dark and still Farris was missing. Vicki and I searched and called for Farris, knowing that when Josh came home he would be devastated. He was, and tears came quickly to his eyes. He continued the search until bedtime. I continued it later with a flashlight and you know what, Farris appeared in the darkness being attracted to the light and voice. I picked him up and inside we went. Farris was saved again. This would not be the only time Farris “left home” and always he was back in the fold, although one time, he was out for 3-4 days and holed up in aground nest. Vicki saw him sneaking through the woods and called to him. Farris came right up to her and once again the little ferret was at home.

Josh liked to get in the tub with Farris and give him a bath. Farris was barely 3 pounds soaking wet, and I rather think he enjoyed the bath too. When the soaping bath and rinsing was finished, Josh would wrap him up in a big towel and rub him dry. Farris smelled and looked clean and he got a lot of loving from everyone. We would mb our cheeks against his slender body and hold him dangling. Josh liked to stretch Farris and it looked as if the little animal did not have bones.

In Vicki’s house there is a ferret – It’s a replica that has amazing likeness and realism of Farris. Josh moved on, I moved out, and Vicki and the ferret enjoy one another.

PEACHES

At least four women would gather in our shady back yard near the two wells, one working and the other for back up. There they would begin the peaches. It would be a process that would last three to four hours and result in 60-80 jars of beautiful peaches that would be eaten during the cold months ahead.

Regulars were my aunts, Etta, Verla, Carrie, Mary, Sally and sometimes Rachel and Gladys. Sylvia Jobe and Wilma Conroy also joined the group often.

Four to six bushels of peaches, Red Havens were the most popular, were on hand to start. They were in round baskets and sometimes the square boxes that were used in the orchards. The peaches were iree ripened and some green leaves and twigs still remained on the stem.

First, the peaches had to be washed in clean fresh well water to remove some of the fuzz even though they would soon be peeled. Each woman would take a large pan of peaches and bring them back to her high-backed kitchen chair. She would sit down with the pan in her lap and with a sharp paring knife, brought from home; she would begin to carefully peeling the peaches. A circle motion cut the peach in half and they split the free stone peach, pried out the pit and dropped it in the pan. She peeled each half of the peach in one peel and it too dropped into the pan. The peeled half was put in the finished pan just next to her chair. Expertly they halved, pitted, peeled the peach and dropped the half into the finished pan.

Someone, usually a kid like me, was assigned duties. Washing peaches was one, picking up peelings was another. Seeing that iced tea glasses were filled up and sharpening knives were also kid duties.

The chatter and laughter going on was a big part of the process. Sometimes the stories provoked laughter that brought tears to their eyes and the ladies would wipe their tears with the hankerchief always present in the pocket of the apron they all wore. This was not a time to show photos and snapshots, it was a visiting time and they visited.

Soon the peach pans would fill up and have to be taken to the jarring area. Green and clear glass jars, most % gallon size had been dunked into boiling water just minutes before being set on planks in the jarring area. A lid, a rubber ring and a zinc can lid had also been boiled and they were still in a pan of hot water ready to pout on jars.

Small hands would put the peach halves in the jars, pit side down and fill the jars to the brim. Perhaps as many as 28 peach halves would fit into the 4% gallon jars. The canning syrup had already been prepared (watered sugar) and a dipper was used to fill the jar before capping the jar. Jars were carried to the open kettle used to finish the canning process.

The jars were carefully arranged on a metal rack and the rack was lowered into the softly bubbling water in the black iron kettle sitting on its three legs with the small fire underneath it. The fire was small and had to be tended often. I was not a large hot fire, but it was enough to keep the water just at boiling.

Twelve to fourteen minutes later the rack was raised and gloved hands took the jars off of the rack and carefully placed on a long smooth plank to cool. The peaches were pretty in the jars and were a source of pride for everyone at the canning. A count was always made and reported to the peelers. It seemed to be the right thing to do.

Because of my small hands (they fit my small size) I was a regular canner with specific duties. I packed the peaches into the jar. I also tended the fire, boiled jars and lids and did what was needed. I moved around a lot and knew every job in the process and was pretty fair with a paring knife.

Firm peaches were what I liked. Almost green, but not quite. Some of these peaches would be initialed and be the top peach in the jar. The last peach half in the jar was at the neck and I would carve initials of myself, and brothers and sisters; EMC, TWC, EAC. JLC, WRC. MLC, GRC and, of course, JRC were on the peach half. Later, when the jars were opened they would stand for us kids. Sometimes a face was cut into the halves. I carved peaches for years and looked forward to the canning process.

It was work, but it was cheerfully done. The women were wonderful to each other, the kids of all ages were there doing what kids did and when the canning was done, the mess cleaned up, there were jars of beautiful peaches that would be enjoyed that winter. And when a new jar was opened one of us kids would get their peach with their initials on it. It was a treat for each of us. I liked that a lot.

John Casey 10-30-2001 (my birthday)

PEACHES

At least four Women would gather in our shady back yard near the two wells, one working and the other for back up. There they would begin the peaches. It would be a Process that would last three to four hours and result in 60-80 jars of beautiful peaches that would be eaten during the cold Months ahead.

Regulars were my aunts, Etta, Verla, Carrie, Mary, Sally and Sometimes Rachel and Gladys. Sylvia Jobe and Wilma Conro ¥ also joined the group often.

They were in round baskets and sometimes the Square boxes that were used in the orchards. The peaches were iree ripened and some &reen leaves and twigs still remained On the stem,

Pirst, the peaches had to be washed in clean fresh well water to remove some of the fuzz ven though they would soon be peeled. Each woman would take a large pan of peaches and bring them back to her high-backed kitchen chair. She would sit down with the pan in her lap and with a sharp paring knifo, brought from home; she would begin to carefully Pecling the peaches. A circle motion cut the peach in half and they split the free stone peach, pried out the pit and dropped it in the pan. She peeled each half Of the peach in one peel and it too dropped into the pan. The peeled half was Put in the finished Pan just

Someone, usually a kid like me, was assigned duties. Washing peaches was one, picking up peelings was another. Seeing that iced tea glasses were filled up and sharpening knives were also kid duties,

The chatter and laughter going on was a big part of the Process. Sometimes the stories provoked laughter that brought tears to their eyes and the ladies would wipe their tears with the hankerchief always present in the pocket of the apron they all wore. This was not a time to show photos and snapshots, it was a visiting time and they visited,

Soon the peach pans would fill up and have to be taken to the jarring area. Green and clear glass jars, most 4 gallon size had been dunked into boiling water just minutes before being set on planks in the Jarring area. A lid, a rubber ring and a zinc can lid had also been boiled and they were still in a pan of hot water teady to pout on jars.

Small hands would put the peach halves in the Jars, pit side down and fill the jars to the brim. Perhaps as many as 28 peach halves would fit into the 4% gallon jars. The canning Syrup had already been prepared (watered Sugar) and a dipper was used to fill the jar before Capping the jar. Jars Were carried to the open kettle used to finish the canning process.

PIRAIBA CATFISH OF THE AMAZON RIVER

WHEN I VISITED MY GRAMPS, WHO LIVED IN THE LAST BEST PLACE IN NORTH AMERICA, HE WOULD LET ME TAKE THE SHOATS TO THE RIVER EACH EVENING TO ENJOY THEMSELVES AND GET A DRINK. ABOUT EVERY OTHER EVENING ONE OF THE HOGS WAS MISSING. GRADS FIGURED IT WAS A MONSTER CAT GOBLING UP A SHOAT.

GRAMPS HAD ME TIE A STRONG ROPE AROUND A PRETTY NICE HOG, THEN HE TIED THE OTHER END TO THE HARNESS OF HIS MULE. WHEN THE CAT SWALLOWED THE HOG, GRAMPS WACKED THE MULE AND HAULED OUT THE BIGGEST CAT FISH I EVER SAW. IT WEIGHED 355 POUNDS INCLUDING THE HOG, OF COURSE.

WE FOUND OUT THAT THE CAT WAS A PIRAIBA CATFISH FROM THE AMAZON RIVER IN SOUTH AMERICA. THAT'S TRUE!

A LITTLE BIT OF HEAVEN?

WHEN THIS FISHERMAN PASSED ON AND REACHED "HIS PLACE", HE WAS GREETED BY A THIN FELLOW WHO HAD A ULTRA-LIGHT BASS RIG IN HIS HANDS. "HERE", HE SAID, HANDING THE RIG TO THE FISHERMAN, "LET'S GO FISHING."

ARRIVING AT THE BEAUTIFUL LAKE, THEY IMMEDIATELY SAW A BASS JUMP NEAR THE FAR BANK. THE THIN FELLOW SAID, "GO FOR IT." THE FISHERMAN REPLIED, "BUT IT'S TOO FAR, L'VE NEVER CAST THAT FAR BEFORE." BUT, WHEN HE TRIED THE LURE EASILY LANDED IN THE RINGLETS OF THE FISH WHICH HAD JUST JUMPED. THE RESULT WAS A NICE ONE AND THREE FOURTHS BUND BASS. AGAIN A FISH JUMPED, THE CAST MADE, AND ANOTHER ONE AND THREE FOURTHS POUND BASS WAS LANDED. THIS CONTINUED FOR FIFTEEN MORE CASTS AND FIFTEEN MORE ONE AND THREE FOURTHS POUND BASS. THE FISHERMAN BECAME BORED.

"I WANT TO GO AFTER BIG ONES NOW," HE SAID. "CAN'T," REPLIED THE THIN FELLOW, "EVERY CAST HERE MUST BE AT THE JUMPING FISH." "THAT DOESN'T SOUND LIKE HEAVEN TO ME," REPLIED THE FISHERMAN. "NEVER SAID IT WAS," THE THIN FELLOW SAID WITH A GRIN.

JOHN CASEY

Profile – Brett & Shelly – Christmas, 2021 – Christmas Eve at the Lovely’s Solid, rational, intelegent They listen carefully and drink in the words of others. They participate from the start to the end. They are easy to love. They gain your trust. They are confident making decisions They are both champions Their strength and fortitude is outstanding and admired Shelly, you are a cheer leader, a planner, a gatherer, a hugger, a lady and a “let’s go” person. Brett, you are a wealth of knowledge, considerate, and know exactly where you are You two are a fit, a supporter, and the kind of people we all love to meet

Profile – Chris Lovely You seem to thrive on your social contacts. You like groups and are very active. Your achievements brought you awards, recognition and self esteem. You are competitive and confident. Share your talents and teach others to find their niche. Help, but don’t steer. You have set your personal bar high. Take time to enjoy what and who is around you. Your loyalty to your friends is admirable. Chris Lovely 2773 Tecumseh West Palm Beach Florida 33409

On your own, you’re good. With others around, you excel. Why is that?

When you are welcomed into a group you feel safe and willing to open up and share your knowledge, ideas and – dreams?

You don’t shout. You are not loud. | like that about you.

Explore, question, experiment, discover what and who is around you.

[address withheld]

Profile JACOB LENHART – CHRISTMAS 2021 On your own, you’re good. With others around, you excel. Why is that? When you are welcomed into a group you feel safe and willing to open up and share your knowledge, ideas and – dreams? You don’t shout. You are not loud. I like that about you. Explore, question, experiment, discover what and who is around you. [address withheld]

Judi – Profile Christmas 2021 – Hannah and Seth’s home – W.P. Beach, Fl. No food for her No movement No participation in the merriment Gone are past Christmases Doesn’t seem to be in any pain Does seem to be in mourning and grieving Makes remarks randomly In Deep sorrow

Profile – Laurie Lovely, Christ Lovely’s Sister. – Christmas cook 12/21. At W.P. Beach S& H’s 255 Oveenik, St. Apt 801 West Palm Beach Fl, 33401 The quiet one Organized Efficient Sees beauty in food and surprises shares, hears, and is humble Loves to make us happy. She has three burners on and three pots on them Back ups and desserts are next Her food is fit for a KING She likes to be busy serve yourself works Everyone takes home some goodies

Seth – profile – 2nd Christmas, 2021 at his and Hannah’s home – W.P. Beach Fla He is strong and manly and independent in a good way. Handsome, makes good eye contact. Stands tall, moves around, sees and notices everyone. Loves his dog Lelia, she loves him back.

Profile Seth Lovely – [address withheld] Seth, your awareness is keen. You soak up information about people and inventions. you are driven and like to drive. I am a witness. you know where you are and where you want to go. You lead. I believe you are storing information, methods, formulas, and effort needed to accomplish your goals. BOSS? You have reached what you have by earning it, not given to you. You love your dog. She loves you. SETH, says your name when he is talking to you. “JOHN, I’m going to tell you something. Next to Hanna who I have loved eight years and married to her for one year, I love this car.”

Shirley Lenhart – Brett’s Mom – Christmas at Seth’s and Hannah’s home P.B. Fla 2021 Has bright eyes and a charming smile as sweet as honey. Captivating personality. Lives in the now world. Is appreciative of her life. Very close and proud of her family.

Profile – Lenharts – A Family Affair – Christmas 2021 – W.P. Beach, Fla Lenharts Jacob at the base pot with eggs Shelly breaking bread in a pan Hanna, singing and moving to the beat assisting the equally involved Brett Together they know the rules as they prepare tomorrow’s breakfast

Dad said later that the railroad had considered investigating the stalling and decided not to as it was obviously a Halloween prank that had gone bad. No one was hurt, the load of coal was received and the Joppa plant was not affected. ‘Whew!

‘Tunnel Hill is now a tourist site. It has a tunnel and bike and hiking trails. The tracks, depot and spurs have been gone a long time. There are no stores or a post office and fewer homes and residents. The grade school is now located at Rte 145 at the Tunnel Hill road. The old school house is now a residence.

Few people ever heard of the stalled train story. I have never told it or wrote about it until now. Not one of the group or any horses betrayed anyone. We were stunned that paraffin and soap had caused a train that weighed millions of pounds to stall. The smoke was marvelous though and I can imagine it when I drive through town.

John Casey, 435 1/2 Bluff St. Alton,m IL 62002 618-670-5645 jrcasey134@gmail.com

This story is not fictional. Names have been changed. It happened about 1950 – 70 years ago. It was important to the power plant, but not critical. it did not shut down. No one in my family, except me,was involved. Good secret keeper, right?

John Casey

435 1/2 Bluff Street Alton, IL 62002 618-670-5646

jreasey 134@gmail.com

The weather was perfect; not hot, not cold and not raining. Someone knew the time a train going south was due to arrive in Tunnel Hill. My dad worked for the rail road. All trains would blow their whistle about a mile from the crossing. It would sound it’s horn twice as it came closer to the first crossing in Tunnel Hill.. It was a slow train with 80 or so full coal cars heading for Joppa located near Paducah and Metropolis on the Ohio River. Joppa was the site of a new hydro-electric power plant and used coal for fuel to power the plant. Uh-oh. A giant steam engine pulled the train. It had giant wheels.

Tunnel Hillis a small village located in a valley: tall hills surround she tow afd y@ tunnel wh#Hlocated just south of te town. A rail road Was built in ae Tunnel bitin 4929. There was enough room at Tunnel Hill for two spurs 1927 (secondary tracks) to be built for rail cars. This allowed southbound trains to cut the train in two or three groups and switch them to the spurs allowing a north bound train to pass. The south bound train then hooked back up with the cars and completed the trip to Joppa.

“J hear the train a-coming, coming round the bend,” I ain’t been so excited since I don’t know when.” I made that up for this story, but it captured what was about to happen. “

SOAP AND PARAFFIN ON THE TRACKS AT TUNNEL HILL, ILLINOIS.

The plan was for the kids on foot to soap the west side rails. On signal they would run from their cover to the tracks and go north to the equipment depot and begin soaping the tracks back to the crossing as fast as they could. ‘Then scamper to the road around the James home and stay out of sight.

The horse soldiers were to go the east side, tie their horses and head for the tracks and using paraffin, coat the east tracks and if they had time to jump over to the west side and help finish coating the track and hurry back to their horses and head to where the east group would be. This was where we could see the train as it came around the last corner before reaching Tunnel Hill. Excitement increased as the train reached the coated rails. When it did, the engine immediately begin to slow and then stall, spin wheels, and make billows of wonderful white smoke.

The plan was working exactly as planned. At first the wheels were just spinning slowly, then faster and faster and the smoke went up higher and higher. We cheered just a bit. wow! The train slowed and stopped and the wheels kept spinning. It stopped. It shut down. The engineer got off with the fireman. They

looked at the rails perhaps thinking they may have ran over an animal, a dog, a deer, a cat and saw nothing amiss. We didn’t use yellow soap.

A stopped train on a slight upward incline with 80 + full coal cars would have a devil of a time to get a long train going. They tried. More smoke! They looked under the engine and at the first few cars and found nothing. One of them rubbed his finger on a track and felt the soap/paraffin. They were stuck. They needed sand or salt to coat the tracks and provide grit. but did not have it. They needed a push or pull or both. We needed to disappear.

Ours was easy. A few went back to the school house to put out the fire and clean up camp. Thee are different routes for us to take to our homes to conceal us from being seen as we went home. When everyone is involved, leaking the story and plan would be unthinkable. A secret can be kept as long as only one person knows it. We could become blood brothers if we had a needle or a knife. Nah, the wails would be heard for miles. We could put ashes on our forehead as a pledge to keep quiet. We chose to say “I won’t tell anyone.”

I managed to get home before too late and nibbled a bite or two of fried chicken. I felt fried. I went to my room and stayed there until the next morning.

I looked out the front window and the train had not moved. I wasn’t hungry. Mom said, “what’s wrong.” “Nothing.” Dad had left earlier for work and I had all day for my fever to break.

Our family had dinner soon after dad came home. He got off at 5:00 and it took him an hour to drive home. I was in my usual place. Dad had talked to the railroad men at the site of the first crossing. where the engine was square in the middle of the crossing. Dad also talked to mom about the train on the tracks, but I couldn’t hear their words.

On Sunday morning, a day off for dad, the train was still there. At breakfast. dad was in an uproar. “Who had done such a thing? What were they thinking? How did they think up the crazy idea? If they get caught it will be curtains for them. They’! serve time. I’m glad no one of you were involved.” I had some difficulty swallowing my food.

Dad said that the Railroad would send engines from the south and north with one to push and one to pull the train until they reached a place where they could put cars on the two spurs. Only then could the steam engine pull the shortened. train to the Joppa Plant. It would take a lot of men and there would be a lot of lookers having heard that a train was stalled at Tunnel Hill.

– ae ee ee

I wrote this story when I was on a trail (Alton to Austin?). We had each caught a fish big enough to eat in the first pond, but we needed to catch two 2-1/2 to 3 inch bluegill. Amaral said he wanted to keep some to use for catfish bait. We tossed the little fellers on the bank where they died and stiffened. We planned to carry them home in the Zwiebel bucket. We caught about 20 fish apiece and stopped to eat our PB&J sandwiches. David said he had an idea: 'Let's put them on the railroad rocks and see if they'll make the wheels spin.' He meant the wheels on the steam locomotive pulling the 60 or so coal-filled hopper cars. We all agreed. We filled the bucket quickly; Amaral and Henry carried the fish to the track, David and I to the other track. We took 3 buckets and laid the last on the tracks. There…

…must have been close to 200 fish – 100 fish on each rail for about 10 feet. It was hot, the rails were hotter, and the fish were faintly sizzling. My dad worked for the railroad and I knew about when a train was scheduled to come from the North. No one had a watch. We waited for the train, which I figured would come along in 20-30 minutes. It was on time. The train had to climb a small grade, and with 60 or so heavy cars it strained even the biggest locomotive. Excitement built for us boys. We weren't ready for what happened when the locomotive hit those fish. The bright shiny wheels meeting the hot slimy rails coated with fish oil and entrails immediately caused the wheels to spin, making clouds of white smoke. We cheered and laughed – but that clattered quickly too.

The train slowed to a crawl and completely stopped dead. We looked at each other in surprise and tried to camouflage the guilt that had come over us. Henry blamed David, but we all knew we were all guilty. We laid down our cane poles along a wire fence and headed home a different way than we had come. We split up before we got back to town so no one would connect us to the crime sure to follow – that the 3 pm train was stalled north of town. The incident happened long ago and I think the statute of limitations has expired for this crime. I sure hope so.

Reunion – VHS

News about a reunion (of any sorts) brings memories of and of you.

Sure, our friends and experiences are unique. We were together for just a short time, but we remain a part of a fine relationship. I’m thankful for that.

In 2001 I wrote a newsletter for the Alton, IL High School Reunion. I did not attend it with my then girlfriend (I was divorced) due to a sudden need for a 5-way by- pass heart surgery. I’d like to share that newsletter with you and have made some changes for our own time when we were class mates at Vienna High School.

One more thing before you read the newsletter. In 1957 the Frisbee became part of our lives. It resembled a flying saucer and marked our entry into the space age. We would never be the same.

Reunion 2009

CP thareats Let us count some of the attendees: One – Starts with a C and hails from Texas. Prefers desserts.

Two – His name rhymes with his wife’s. Has a tendency to gravitate and stay at the computer. Has at least three pens or pencils in his shirt pocket. Rictey fF Vieku

Three — Starts with a J. Is usually carrying a bowl in one hand and either a fork or a spoon in the other with either a spoon or a fork in his shirt pocket. His shirt tail is out. Joe

Four — Starts with a J. Tends to slip and fall when walking among rocks.

Calls out for spouse often. aaa – (

Five — Starts with an A. Large for his age. Circles work areas. Has not missed a meal in this decade. Tends to think — me. Aaron

Six – Starts with a G. Will eye food only moments until making it disappear; Carries a camera; Blinks both eyes at the sound of a gun. Gfega Caudle Re Eight — Starts with an M. Defends Seven. Struggles. 2 vw atey §& blow I'll leave nine for later. Y

Seven- Starts with a C. Carries grudges.

Reunion 2009

TS Thawte Let us count some of the attendees: One — Starts with a C and hails from Texas. Prefers desserts.

Two – His name rhymes with his wife’s. Has a tendency to gravitate and stay at the computer. Has at least three pens or pencils in his shirt pocket. Rictcy #f Vie ka

Three — Starts with a J. Is usually carrying a bowl in one hand and either a fork or a spoon in the other with either a spoon or a fork in his shirt pocket. His shirt tail is out. Joe

Four — Starts with a J. Tends to slip and fall when walking among rocks. Calls out for spouse often. Jenn “4,

Five — Starts with an A. Large for his age. Circles work areas. Has not missed a meal in this decade. Tends to think — me. Alarod

Six – Starts with a G. Will eye food only moments until making it disappear; Carries a camera; Blinks both eyes at the sound of a gun. Ez

Seven- Starts with a C. Carries grudges.

> sole va Eight — Starts with an M. Defends Seven. Struggles.

Vins obi y

G blot I'll leave nine for later.

Whenever our school scheduled a ball game with a neighborhood school the game would begin at one thirty or two O'clock. The whole school would let out to see it. When we had to travely Niss Beulah would drive her farmer husband's stakebed pickup truck and the team would pile in and enjoy the ride, The rest of the kids got to go home early. Our team was made up of both boys and girls because we could not muster a team without combining both sexes, My older brogher, Jim, had started softball in the school and with his teaching and the books I had read it was only natural that I would be the coach or manager. I was in the fourth grade when I inherited the Job. The zeal and desire I had for ball playing was not always matched by other members of the team and sometimes it was necessary to beg, plead, bribe and even threaten some into playing on the team.

As this is the first time I have attempted to review and write about my first introduction to the American Education System I have omitted unintentionally many aspects of the school. In no way have I regretted the education, in fact I am

proud of this heritage. The magnitude of the job of teaching such a group in the facilities provaded and with the diversified group to teach cannot be measured. It had to be a dedicated person who really wanted to teach, who would give everyebifort towards giving the students an education. She gave far more than the eight years

I spent under her guidance, She imparted knowledge and a desire to learn and continue with an education. She was partial to some of her students, but I believe in a

fair way.

Learning was as difficult I'm sure. Not everyone went on to high school. I was amohg the fortuante who did. Without®conscientious teacher and a family environment perhaps I too would be finishing up my high school at night.

What makes some students continue and continue to seek knowledge? Not knowledge for knowledge sake, Jt is a hunger. A desire to improve.

The education I have and do not have malies me sweat.

Send Skye some books.

Part of the formula of the Casey’s of Tunnel Hill to find success in their lives was their love of books. George led the way. He was always learning and most of it was attributed to books he read. He literally opened up as he read, learned and applied his considerable talents and exceptional intelligence helping him achieve lofty goals.. He not only read, he wrote too.

Skye is a seventh generation of the Casey’s of Tunnel Hill. She loves books, but maybe not access to as many as she would like. Let’s help her. A book or three or more from her extended family may ignite her talents, light up her life and help her along her way.

Children’s books are likely to be stored away somewhere or available from many sources. Favorite books of your family would be personal and have a way of connecting you to her in a way that can make a difference. Books autographed by the sender would be a good touch. Alye, is Skye’s little sister and she too would love books.

Thanks,

The original page will appear here.

shocked the fish and they would turn belly-up for a few seconds. That gave the kids with the axes time to cut a hole in the ice and flip out the fish. I loved to bang that hammer, but sometimes had to herd the fish. I haven't seen anyone fish that way since us kids used to do it. This is a true story except for the parts I made up. If you don’t believe me ask Danny Albritten. His number is 618-670-2173. John Casey

I kept everyone's transcript, stapled them together and put them away. I'll have them somewhere in my staggering number of notes, letters, stories, etc. [margin: along with other subjects / world history] I took Solid Geometry, Chemistry, Trigonometry, Algebra II, English III. I struggled and never made the honor roll. Came close though. 'A's – I heard George made straight A's. Now, he didn't. He studied his buns off, his nose was in a book all the time. He was 2-3 years younger than those in his class and didn't do sports, work after school, or get involved with events. He was bright and made the honor roll. Off he went to college where he was 15. Mary Ellen, the 8th she was. Took classes assigned & was a social butterfly and George Cox loved her. A week after she graduated she went to Washington DC to find a job. She excelled and is now a grown-up social butterfly. She didn't need to make the honor roll.

SILENT NIGHT

Mabel Brooks, who would be adopted and renamed Vicky Falls, was my first girlfriend. I was in the 3rd grade with her at Tunnel Hill Grade School. Mabel had long blonde hair and very pretty blue eyes. She could sing too. I had short blond hair and my eyes were also blue, but not as blue as hers were.

It was in 1950 I remember when Mabel moved to St. Louis. She was ten and I would only see her again a few times ever. When I saw her again She was neatly dressed and groomed real nice with short hair and pretty clothes not like her overalls and tee shirt she wore when she was Mabel. I still called her Mabel and she didn't mind. She only spent a few minutes with us Tunnel Hill kids before her new mom and dad cut short her visit. I wondered what ever happened to Vicki after she grew up.

Back to my infatuation with Mabel. She sat next to me in the third row of desks next to the windows on the West Side of the one room schoolhouse located on top of the hill just above the town of Tunnel Hill. We shared books, pencils and erasers when we were at our desks and she and I turned pages at the same time in our Dick and Jane (and Sally) readers. Figures were tougher on her than me and I helped her add and subtract, but not before I noticed her using her red rubber eraser. She would smile and I would feel real good and important.

We sat together on the reading bench in front of the teacher's desk when it was our turn to read outloud. There were 8 of us in the same grade, Frances, Bootsy, Ronnie, Sammy, Mary, Fern, Mabel and myself. I liked all of them, but Mabel I liked best. We read a few lines and the next person would read and so on until all of us had read. Mrs. Buelah, my only teacher in grade school, was very good to us and helped those having difficulty in reading and sometimes assigned the best reader to help the slowest reader after our reading class. Mabel and I would teach others. She taught Fern and Mary, and I taught Sammy.

On Christmas our school had plays and poems to learn for the Christmas program. We selected the plays from books Mrs. Buelah had and almost all of the kids had a speaking part. Those who did not get in the play had to sing a song or learn a poem for the event. It was hard to learn our part, but it was fun.

We practiced at school weeks before the Christmas program but sometimes we needed prompters who sat in front of the makeshift scene we had created. I was in lots of programs, but had to learn poems too.

The last Christmas Mabel was in our school she and I formed a duet and learned to sing a song. It was her idea and I went along of course. It was Silent Night. Mabel could sing. I could not. Even my mom, who loved me dearly, said I could not sing. But it was important that I sing with Mabel. I practiced and sang that song a hundred times and I knew every word of it and was sure that I could sing it in front of the Christmas crowd. When the school play was over the poems started and ended quickly. Finally, Mabel and I were to sing. The cat had my tongue. I was sweating up a storm in my tight clothes and I stumbled to the front with Mabel. We did not have a songbook and when Mrs. Buelah hit the piano keys to start the song, nothing burst from my lungs. Mabel was singing her heart out and I was in pain. Finally, I caught on and caught up with her and then we sang our hearts out together. The crowd, mostly family, clapped and I was prouder than a pup with a fresh bone. Mabel held my hand and we walked back to our seats and I guess it was the best moment in my life up till then.

The image of Mabel and me together singing Silent Night in that one-room school house a long time ago still lingers in my mind. She was the prettiest and the brightest one in the class and my first girlfriend. I have never had a better one.

John Casey 8-4-02

Mabel was not an orphan. Her mother died when Mabel was a baby and her father raised her. She had two brothers, Lowell and Arnold, both killed in car wrecks and her father could not take care of her very well. He consented to the adoption of Mabel and her new family took special care of her and named her Vicky. She came back to Tunnel Hill often for a while and then none at all. I never saw her when she was a teenager or a young woman.

Skye helped me wash the dishes before she went home and I continued to prepare dinner. Jim went to Candice’s for dinner and I dinned alone. Just before bedtime Jim said that he was going to call his doctor’s office in Evansville and ask someone to arrange for him to go into the hospital on Monday so that he would not have to go to the emergency room. Jim felt really bad and thought a few days in the hospital would help him over his ailment.

Monday morning at 7:00 I was still lightly snoozing when I heard the phone ring four times and stop. I was alarmed when heard Jim talking to someone in an excited voice. “It was a heated conversation with a client of Jim’s who complained about a sign painting job. A few of the individual words and phrases, in a loud voice, included; “Don’t you lie to me” “NO, that is not how it happened,” “You are off base with that

me,” “no one can be that stupid,” “If you do that I will kill you,” and “You are an asshole” and the phone went dead.

Jim, in his pajamas sat his skinny 137 pound body down on the couch, and grinned when I came into the room. “Good Morning Jim I said and he nodded. He had a cup of coffee and told me the story. He told the story to Candace later, and to Rex and to who knows. Jim was in good spirits and felt better than he had in days. Well, he had good food for a couple of days, had rested from the time I arrived and a now a rousing verbal encounter with an asshole. I asked Jim if he had been paid for the painting job and he said no. [remarked that he likely would not be paid. “Yes, byG____ I will.

and grip, but they did not have it. They need a push or pull or both. We needed to disappear.

A few went back to the schoolhouse to put out the bonfire and clean up camp. There are several different routes for us to take back to our homes and conceal ourselves from being seen as we went home. When everyone is involved, leaking the story and our plan would be unthinkable. One can keep a secret as long as only one person knows it. We could become blood brothers if we had a needle or a knife. Nah, the wails would be heard for miles. We chose to say, "I won't tell anyone."

I managed to get home before too late and nibbled a bite or two of fried chicken. I felt fried. I went to my room and stayed there until the next morning. When I woke up, I looked out the front window, and the train had not moved. I wasn't hungry. Mom said, "what's wrong?" "Nothing," I said. Dad had left earlier for work, and I had all day for my fever to break.

That evening our family had dinner soon after dad came home. He got off at 5 pm, and it took him about an hour to drive home. I was in my usual place at the table. Dad had talked to the railroad men at the first crossing site where the engine was square in the middle of the crossing. Dad also talked to mom about the train on the tracks, but I couldn't hear their words.

On Sunday morning, a day off for dad, the train was still there. At breakfast, dad was in an uproar. "who had done such a thing?" he exclaimed. "What were they thinking? How did they think up the crazy idea? If they get caught, it will be curtains for them; They'll serve time. I'm glad none of you were involved" I had some difficulty swallowing my food. Dad said that the railroad would send engines from the south and north to push and pull the train until they could separate the cars onto the two spurs. Only then could the steam engine pull the shorter train to Joppa. It would take a lot of men, and there would be many onlookers having recently heard the train had stalled at Tunnel Hill. I recall later dad saying that the railroad had considered investigating the stalling. They decided not to, as it was obviously a Halloween prank gone wrong. No one was hurt, the load of coal was received, and the power plant was not affected. Whew!

Tunnel Hill is now a tourist site. The tunnel is an exciting feature for the long bike trail that travels 46 miles from Belknap, IL to Harrisburg, IL. The tracks, depot, and spurs have been gone a long time. There are no stores or a post office, and fewer homes and residents remain. The grade school is now located on route 145 at the start of Tunnel Hill road. The old schoolhouse is still standing but is now a residence. Few people ever heard of the stalled train story from Tunnel Hill. I have never written about it until now. Not one of the group or any horses betrayed anyone. We were stunned that paraffin and soap had caused a train that weighed millions of pounds to stall. The smoke was marvelous, though, and I can still imagine it when I drive through town.

Note: This story is not fictional. Names were changed. No one in my family, except me, was involved. Good secret keeper, right? 3

train wheels would heat rails and paraffin or soap, and in so doing, the metal to metal spin would result in a white smoke billowing up. Tunnel Hill is a small village of 60, located in a valley within southern Illinois, with tall hills surrounding the small town. The railroad was built in 1929, and they had carved out a half a mile tunnel located just south of town. Growing up, we always enjoyed playing near the tunnel. We climbed the steep banks near the tunnel, and our voices carried through the echoed walls. It was cool in the summer and warmer in the summer than the air around it.

There was enough room at Tunnel Hill for two spurs (secondary tracks) built for extra rail cars. These allowed the southbound trains to cut the train into two or three groups and switch them to the spurs allowing a northbound train to pass. The southbound train then would be hooked back up with the cars and complete the trip to Joppa. Later that evening, back at the schoolhouse, some fellas came back on their horses. The three Emory boys, Junior, Ron, and Paul, each had a horse. David Johnson, Kenneth, and Wayne Choate also came on a horse. Town kids could ride double. The older boys had their girlfriends riding double with them.

We built a bonfire and socialized as we ate our snacks. We carefully went over the plans we made as though it was a cavalry raid. The group would split up with half on one side of the tracks and the other group on the other. The horse riders were assigned to the east side. The group would tie their horses just out of sight near the tracks. When they completed the soaping or waxing of the rails, they would hustle to their horses and go south to the second railroad crossing, then up the gravel hill and meet the west group.

The plan was for the kids on foot to soap the west side of the rails. They were located on Hight Street in front of James hill, which was close to the tracks. On signal, they would run from there over to the tracks and go north to the equipment depot and begin soaping the tracks back to the crossing as fast as they could. Then they would escape to the road around the James home and stay out of sight.

The weather was perfect; not hot, not cold and not raining. Someone knew the time a train going south was due to arrive in Tunnel Hill. My dad Randolph worked for the railroad in Harrisburg, IL. All trains would always blow their whistle about a mile from town. It would sound its horn twice as it came closer to the first crossing in Tunnel Hill. It was a slow- moving train with 80 or so full coal cars heading for the new hydro-electric power plant in Joppa Il. near Paducah, Kentucky, and Metropolis, Illinois, on the Ohio River. A giant steam engine pulled the train. It has giant wheels.

We could see the train as it came around the last corner before reaching Tunnel Hill. The excitement increased as the train reached the coated rails. When it did, the engine immediately begins to slow and then stall while spinning its wheels and making billows of fantastic white smoke. The plan has worked exactly as planned. At first, the wheels were spinning slowly, then faster and faster, and the smoke went up higher and higher. We cheered just a bit. WOW! was whispered. The train slowed, and the wheels kept spinning. Then it just stopped. It shut down. Both the engineer and the fireman got off. They looked at the rails, perhaps thinking they may have run over an animal, a dog, a deer, a cat, and saw nothing amiss. We didn't use yellow soap, you will recall. A stopped train on a slight upward incline with 80 plus full coal cars would have a devil of a time to get going again. They tried. More smoke! They looked under the engine and at the first few cars and found nothing. I saw one of them had rubbed his finger on the track and felt the soap/paraffin. They were stuck! They needed sand or salt to help provide grit 2

could go on without me but the game couldn’t. When George arrived for the second time that evening I was playing roaming short fielder. I could run and throw pretty good and loved to throw that sock ball at someone. George came up behind me. He had used the apple trees to block his approach. He grabbed me around my waist and hoisted me over his shoulders and turned for home, my home, not the game’s home plate.

More embarrassed from the sudden extraction from the game, my face reddened and I began to kick. “Better stop that right now,” George said. I knew what he meant and stopped kicking. “Let me down, let me down,” I cried, to no avail. There was no one to save me from my fate. When we reached home, George did not let me down on the porch, instead he sort of kicked open the screen door, entered the house and announced to the already seated family, “Guess who’s coming to dinner.”

John Casey 6/19/08

A thief planned to steal paintings from the Louvre. He got past security, stole the paintings and got back in his van He was captured only a few blocks away when he ran out of gas.

He was questioned. How could he mastermind such a crime and make such an obvious error?

He answered, “ Monsieur, that is why I took the paintings — Thad no MONET To buy DEGAS To make the VAN Gogh.

And to think I had DE GAULLe To send this to you

Because I figured I had nothing TOULOUSE

guide as in bigger boys, not so big, medium, small, and pint-sized, and girls. Some girls were bigger and also stronger, like Bootsey, and would be early picks. When we could we played in the Simmons’s back yard. It was mostly level with green, green grass that Bill mowed almost three times a week, I think it was crab grass that grew fast. A couple of apple trees were in the center field part of the field. Third base was a tulip poplar tree and home plate was next to the garage. First base and second base were likely to be a piece of paper or a piece of cloth.

Our most poplar game was hand ball with a twist. A sock was stuffed with grass and the hole-in (where you put on the sock) part was tied in a knot. The rather firm rounded sock was the ball and when the pitcher tossed it towards the plate the batter would swat it with their open hand. You mostly tried to hit the ball where the fielder wasn’t, because the fielder might catch it or worse when the ball hit the ground, pick it up and throw it at you as hard as he or she could. If you were hit before you reached the base you were out. The same was true if you were on a base and had to run to the next base when the batter hit the sock. Say, there was a runner on first and the batter hit the sock ball and you had to try to get to second base safely. The fielder could catch the sock in the air for an out; the fielder could catch the sock on a bounce and throw it to second base for a force out; or could throw the sock at you and if you were hit, you were out. Runners had to learn to duck thrown sock balls. We often bunted (the poorer players) and it was a real sacrifice as the batter was likely to be hit with a hard thrown sock ball as the other runners easily made it to the next base. We learned that there is no crying in sock ball. Some games were delayed when a tattered sock ball had to be thrown away. A new one would be constructed on the spot and the game resumed. Only rarely did a player use their own sock to make a ball.

Three on each side, at the least, and as many as we could get, was a team. After chores for some and after reading comic books for others we kids gathered for a game of sock ball. I could not arrive until my work was done and that was usually in the after noon. If a game was in progress I would be quickly assigned to ateam. Sometimes when a good player came in after the game started a trade would be made to make the teams even. “OK John is on your team and Bootsey is on mine,” would announce the trade. Bootsey, by the way, was my age, much bigger and probably as good. A game could go on for hours or be decided by a run rule such as if a team was leading by 10 after five innings a game ended. A new game would start right away by choosing up teams. Players might leave when the game was on and we would make shifts. It was quite a game and since we played almost every day (never on Sunday) we got to know each other and their habits, etc. A lot of what I learned by playing sock ball would be used when I begin playing soft ball and base ball. For sure it was a game for kids, but we would also invite adults to play an inning or two with us. I don’t know if George ever played a game of sock ball. I hope he did.

A game of sock ball was really heating up when George came for me that day and I was focused on the game. I was not hungry. I would have probably gone for a cold Pepsi with peanuts poured down the neck of the bottle so they would soak before being thumped out into my mouth, but I wasn’t wanting green beans, tomatoes and corn on the cob that was likely being served at home. George didn’t care what was being served, he was serving mom by getting me to come home for supper. I had already pissed him off by returning to game after he had led me home by force earlier. Perhaps, I thought supper

Sock ball and my brother George

It didn’t matter what the score was or who was playing or anything, my brother George was sent to get me to come to the house for supper. I was playing ball in Bill and Grace Simmons’s back yard with several of the kids in the little town of Tunnel Hill, IL. It was 1949. I’m 8; George was almost 15 and much bigger than I am.

He didn’t yell or shout, he just came up to me while the game was going on and said, “Johnny, mom wants you home now.” The now part was a bit strong. “I’ll be there soon,” I said, not looking at George. “Now!” he said. “OK, OK, I’ll go,” but I did not move a muscle. Whereupon, he grabbed me by the arm and said, “I said, now.” He begins pulling my arm in the direction of home, and I followed my arm and tried to shake off his grip. I wasn’t dragged, but I did put up some resistance. George never let go until I was at the house and on the back porch near the kitchen entrance to our house. He turned me loose and went into the house. I did not follow. Instead, I waited until the screen door had swung shut behind him and turned and ran back to the on-going game.

Earlier in the day I had spent a lot of time in our family’s large vegetable garden hoeing weeds and stringing green bean vines on the cane cages that I helped build. I worked at my job diligently and was pretty good at hoeing weeds between the rows of vegetables. Dad assigned me and my brothers various garden jobs and mine was hoeing. Picking and bringing in vegetables were left to mom and I was one of her best helpers. I loved the garden, but mostly I loved the vegetables that grew there. George, on the other hand, rarely stepped foot in the garden to either plant, cultivate or pick the vegetables. Those jobs were over for him when three of his younger brothers were around.

George had graduated from high school and was planning to go to college and wanted to earn money by working for folks. Dad approved of this. George, Jim and Bill, also my brothers, worked in orchards and fields to earn whatever they could. They picked apples, strawberries, peaches, and mowed lawns and cemeteries. Sometimes I got to go the orchards but was limited to picking up fallen apples that were not marked or only slightly bruised and put them into boxes marked for seconds. The orchard owner would sell these apples for cider makers or for 50 cents a box to whomever. I even got a chance to pull weeds and grass around grave headstones and footstones when my brothers mowed the cemeteries. Sometimes they would let me push the mower if the ground was level. They would sit down in the shade and direct my work and I never let on that I was tired and hot. Other times I would bring them water from the jug I had carried to the cemetery as they had pushed the mowers to the job. They were good to me and I learned fast.

While George (and Jim and Bill) were off working, I was left to do garden work. Only after I finished with my work could I go and play ball. I worked as hard and as fast as I could so that I could play. A few times when my dad returned from working on the rail road and made an inspection of the garden he did not approve of my hoeing and gave me a chance to get it right the next day. There was an implied threat that motivated me to return to the hoe the next morning. I hated that when it happened, knowing that would delay me from the game that day.

Henry and Hector James, Bootsey, Mike and Sandy (boy like) Hill, Jerry Dale Simmons, Arnold Brooks and I were regulars for a daily game. Often we were joined by a few other boys and girls. We tried to make sides even and generally used size as our

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Steam Engine and Coal Cars Smoking Trains in Tunnel Hill It was a Friday, October 30th, 1950, and it was my birthday. Halloween would be the next day. Word was out to a select group except the first through third-grade students. We would gather at the schoolhouse near dusk. School let out at 3:30 pm, giving us some time to go home for supples and maybe an early supper. Since we knew this in advance, kids who lived farther away had brought things they would need or want for our Halloween get together. That included snacks, water or soda, and a change of clothes, like a coat, and gloves, and caps. We also brought barks of soap, used or new, and a few brought pure paraffin bars. Costumes were recommended or at least a mask to keep the Halloween spirit. Paraffin was used when preserving and sealing food jars of jelly or jam. Not everyone had paraffin. Some used it to write on windows and even screens, but it would be hard to remove and might mar the window forever on screens. So why use it? It was to be used on the railroad tracks. It was clear and would resist rain or heat better than soap and more likely to cause the wheels to spin on the train. Spinning 1 John Casey in front of the railroad tunnel (now bike trail) in Tunnel Hill Illinois 2019

STEAM ENGINE AND GOAL CARS AND SMOKE IN TUNNEL HILL

It was a Friday, October 30th. It was my birthday, Halloween would be the next day. Word was out to a select group, except the first through third grade students, would gather at the school house near dark. School let out at 3:30 PM giving us some time to go home for supplies and maybe a early supper. Since we knew this in advance, kids who lived farther away had brought things they would need or want for our Halloween get together. That included snacks, water or soda and a change of clothes, like a coat , gloves and caps. We also brought bars of soap, used or new, and a few brought bars of pure paraffin. Costumes were recommended or at least a mask to keep the Halloween spirit.

Paraffin was used when preserving – sealing food like jars of jelly or jam. Not everyone had paraffin. Some used it to write on windows and even screens. On screens it would be hard to get off and might mar the window forever.

So, why use it? It was to be used on the rail road tracks. It was clear and would resist rain or heat better than soap and more likely to cause the wheels to spin. Spinning train wheels would heat the rails and paraffin or soap and in so doing, the metal to metal spin resulted in white smoke billowing up.

Some of the fellas came back to the school yard on their horses. The three Emory boys; Junior, Ron and Paul, each had a horse. David Johnson, Kenneth and Wayne Choate each had a horse. Town kids could ride double. The older boys had their girl friends riding double with them.

We built a bon fire and socialized as we ate our snacks. We also made plans and went over them carefully as though it was a calvary raid. The group would split up with half on one side of the tracks and the other group on the other. The horse riders were assigned the east side. Their group would tie their horses just out of sight near the tracks. When they completed soaping or waxing the rails they would hustle to their horses and go south to the second rail road crossing then up the gravel hill and meet the west group.

The west side group would be afoot. They were located on High Street in front of the James House which was close to the tracks. They would approach on foot down the James hill, cross at the first rail road crossing in Tunnel Hill, and soap the west rails. They did not have paraffin, and soap was was easier to rub on the rails. Their retreat would be along a lane next to the James house that led to

the school house road.

…our feet were muddy, but our Souls were as white as they Ever would be. Jesus had a hold of me — I Knew that, and So did Jack Parish. Jack was about 37, average build, and wore glasses. He Carried his bible, Baptist fashion, in his Cupped hand on an Extended arm. He was Soft-Spoken, and he preached goodness and not damnation or Eternal punishing fire. He Came to dinner often, about once a month, & I was Sat Next to dad and mom, passed food before he took any for him, and Said the Thigh was the best piece of Chicken. I Liked that a Lot. He Loved angel food Cake, and when he Came, mom made one. I Thought it was a family Cake, but rather believe it was Special, Just for Jack. My mom Could Cook a wonderful peach upside-down Cake, and her Betty Crocker Chocolate Cakes were good too, but her angel food Cake was tops. We had Laying hens and Eggs were usually Easy to Come by. My mom would use 13 Eggs in [each] angel food Cake…

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| talked to my dad often and our conversations were pleasant. He taught me tons and | don’t recall a single spanking for one of my deeds or talking back, or not minding. | do recall being assigned to extra chores. | went with him as often as | could. He and | went everywhere and at any time he chose. We were partners in pinochle games and had signals and methods that helped us win more times that we lost. | followed his advice and paid attention.

At a pick-up baseball game at a field near a peach orchard our team ran out of players. Our manager called out to the sparse crown gathered close to home plate for volunteers. When no one raised their hand, | went to dad who was sitting on a peach box crate and asked him to hit for us at least – we needed a batter. He agreed and came to our bench, picked up a bat, rolled up his sleeves and stepped into the batter’s box. On the first pitch, Dad hit a line drive over the second baseman’s head into right field. He hopped, skipped and loped to first base. He grinned and motioned someone to run for him and a player did. Dad was a hit for his hit. The crowd, and both teams cheered and applauded him. He was proud. So too was I.

I've been telling stories and writing about my dad for more that sixty years. He was o¥f leader, Otit teacher, and guardian.

Tammy and her husband live on a 28 acre farm at !e NE edge of Al"n #ey raise goats, chickens, and honey bees #eir goats (88 of !em) are Nubien Goats (a& 88 have names) She uses !eir milk as a base " make wonder'l soaps and creams She is driven " make wonder'l soaps and pure clear honey. #e soaps wi& (eshen your skin and make it glow. She is driven by her own ideas, plus some borrowed, " make wonder'l soaps and clear pure non-homogenized honey. Her 'nny personal no) book records her joy of living on a 28 acre acre farm in NE Madison Coun* IL Does !e world rea&y need ano!er soap maker? Turns out it does. Tammy’s soaps proves it! Make it a gift. #is soap lets your best (iend know you are !inking of !em.

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Hello Skye,

Did you know that Terry Wayne Casey was named for the star of a radio show of the 1940's? He was. The show was “Terry and The Pirates” He was born in the home at Tunnel Hill. His dad, who had named every one of his kids, so far, was at work when Terry was born. We kids named him Terry before dad came home, but it was not official until dad Ok'd it. We begged and finally he approved of naming him Terry.

Terry was great buddy of Kent and your grand pa, and Rex. His favorite uncle was THE UNKLE BILL OF TUNNEL HILL. Terry was a terrific goose hunter and also loved crappie fishing. He was the fish cook at family reunions.

Terry moved to Virginia and lived in a village called Spotsylvania Court House, a historical town near Washington DC.

Rex would really like to see a drawing of a fish or goose in memory of Terry.

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tin was opened the bees took to the tree. Neither him or I got stung. When we got back to the lodge the crowd had left. We took Cob’s tools back and thanked him. Dad said thanks to me and my buddy. What seemed to be a big deal at first turned out to be a rather easy solution. I felt pride and relief.

tin was opened the bees took to the tree. Neither him or I got stung.

When we got back to the lodge the crowd had Left, We took Cob’s tools back and thanked him. Dad said thanks to me and my buddy, What seemed to be a big deal at first turned out to be a rather easy solution, I felk pride and relief,

A calendar helped our family connect with each other and has been a source of pride. Of course, it always needs to be updated and perhaps it will become a family tradition.

Faith

I recently saw a move titled “The Bucket List.” It is a story of two elderly men who are faced with the reality of their impending death. The bucket is filled with a list of things these two men want to do before they kick “the bucket.”

One scene in the movie is especially memorable to me because it was about faith.

One of the gentlemen questions the other why he has faith and says, “I just can’t get my head around it.” The other man replies, “Maybe that’s because your head is in the way.”

I love that line and wonder sometimes if we let our heads get in the way too much to accept faith.

Wil would divorce and remarry. His second wife, Catherine, was a elementary teacher and when she retired, she and Wil married. Wil wrote a book about his career and achievements. It was self published. | have read it several times. | have written about Wil. One story was published in the Vienna Times. | saved a couple of short stories about him.

Edith wrote a book. It was about her family living in Australia for three years. Edie, as | called her, was an excellent student and a good violin and piano player. She was thirteen years older than me and was my go to sibling.

She taught me tons and was an excellent teacher. She was with me on my first day of grade school, the first day of high school and my first day of college. She was also with me when | saw my first game of Football: SIUC Vs Northern Illinois. | had on a new pair of jeans, a green plaid shirt and a heavy corduroy coat that had small barrel buttons. It was a mail order coat from Montgomery Wards, Chicago. | was proud be with her.

She married Dennis Wilkerson while she was a student at SIUE. He was language student instructor. Dennis applied and was hired by the CIA. They moved to Virginia near the Capital. They had two children, Cheryl and Bruce. Bruce was adopted. He was born in Czechoslovakia. They went there to pick him up. Cher and Bruce were in the same grade of school. Both received a college degree.

Dennis was transferred to Australia on special assignment and the family moved there, where they lived for the next three years. Edie taught at an elementary school. The second year, at Christmas time, she wrote her Illinois family and asked them not to send any Christmas presents. Instead, she asked us to send American stuff to her classes. She named Cornflakes and Cheerios, craft paper, crayons, pencils, erasers, 3-D glasses. a slinky, rag dolls, flashlights, and candy bars. That’s what we sent.

Dennis remarked to me one day that he had never met or heard of a family like ours where everyone was a writer, a story teller, a poet, and friends of nature as ours.

Liz, Terry and Mary, were not story writers, but had they wanted to, they would have had interesting stories to tell. | wrote short vignettes about each of them and did not submit them for publications.

My handsome dad and pretty mom were gardeners of the highest order. Dad turned the dirt, made plans for crops, planted seeds, and oversaw the grooming needs. Mom helped grooming, harvesting and cooking the vegetables and fruit. They were good together — Dad and Mom and vegetables and fruit. As their brood of eight children grew they too became gardeners. They reaped what they planted. Dad and mom knew how to raise crops and children that’s for sure. We lived in a four bedroom two story house on the north east hill of Tunnel Hill, a town of about 44 people.

Tam the fifth child, fourth boy of the brood that included my four brothers and three sisters. Being in the middle I was close to all of my siblings in age and got to know them very well. Over time I have written about my relationships with each of them as well as our life in a tiny village in Southern Illinois. Our beginnings started in the thirties and lasted into the fifties. I was born in 1940. My oldest brother, George, was born in 1933, and my youngest sister, Mary was born in 1952.

Wil was born August 1, 1937 at home in Tunnel Hill, a tiny village located in a beautiful green valley of woods and pastures in rural Southern Illinois. He was the 3 son (and 3 born) of Richard Randolph and Edith Burton Casey. They named him William Robert, William being his grandfather’s name. I’m guessing Bill was a robust baby because he sure was a robust kid.

Wil had thick dark red hair, oodles of freckles and an energetic curious nature about him. He was tenacious in games and focused on being the best at whatever he chose to do. This trait is still his mantra. He made his own toys from wood or clay. He made tiny detailed cars, trucks and roads for them. He made airplanes and carved animals and birds. He carefully stored his stuff where wreckers like me couldn’t find them. As I grew older I tagged along with my three older brothers as much as possible. Wil went to a one-room country elementary school located 34 mile uphill from his home. He was an excellent student, likely a teacher’s pet, and participated in all school activities. He didn’t like bullies and saved my bacon a time or two when I was engaged in an unfair scuffle, but that is another story. Wil graduated, from Vienna High School (Vienna IL) in 1954 with excellent grades and great friends. His favorite teacher, mentor and life-long friend was Toby Hightower, then the principal of VHS.. Toby wrote a glowing account of Wil’s achievements as a decorated senior officer in the USAF and being a wonderful man who

achieved greatness as a leader and inspiration for others.

It’s a 167* acre parcel in deep southern Illinois. It is absolutely ideal for hunting, fishing, and recreation.

It has fields, meadows, thickets, ponds, timber, and bluffs that hide game, but not nature. The stars are brighter, the air cleaner, and sounds are almost non- existent here, except for cries of hawks, howls of coyotes, hoots of owls, hammering of woodpeckers, bellows of bullfrogs, chirping of crickets, buzzing of honey and bumble bees, and the sounds of the wind in the pines and hardwoods.

Here you will find deer, flocks of turkeys, and numerous species of birds, wild flowers, and grasses of Illinois. A wet creek with a sandstone rock base and high banks is in the shadows of tall oak, hickory, elm, gum and poplar trees. Grapevines drape the trees. Thickets of locust and clusters of dogwood and persimmon trees are here and there along with fox and tickle grass, thistle, alfalfa, lespedeza, and clover in the meadows. There are maple trees that can be tapped for the sap brewed into syrup. A fresh water spring is near a thick maple grove. Several food plots have been planted in meadows for game. It is almost a mile from the nearest dwelling (private road/access) and so secluded that you will not know it’s there.

It is where my father grew up. It is where my grandfather grew up. It is where I hunted deer, quail, rabbits, squirrels, racoon; fished, gigged frogs, and went skinny dipping, hauled hay and picked corn, cut wood, butchered hogs, made maple syrup, dug ginseng and sassafras roots. I learned about constellations and how to find the North Star.

I grew up slowly here, and feel connected to the land,

It is where my family called the old home place..

333

Parcel # # of Acres Taxes** Owner/tax payer 0213303000 40 $11.92

0214404000 47 $12.30

0223292000 40 $7.46 Information rec’d 0224101000 40 $13.42 (July 18, 2011

** Taxes are for 2010 (e)

THE CASEY FARM at TUNNEL HILL, ILLINOIS There is a 167 acre parcel in deep Southern Illinois that is ideal for hunting, fishing and recreation. It’s on the border of the Shawnee National Forest. Fields and meadows, thickets, ponds, big timber, and bluffs hide game. Here the stars are brighter, air is cleaner, and sounds are almost nonexistent. Except for the cry of a hawk, hoot of an owl, the hammer of a woodpecker. howls of coyotes, bellows of bullfrogs, crickets chirps, buzz of honey bees and when the wind blew the whisper of pines and hardwood trees. Here is where deer, turkeys, quail, raccoons, opossums, numerous species of birds, wild flowers, and wild grasses of Illinois are abundant . A wet creek with a sandstone rock base and high banks are in shadows of tall oak, hickory, elm, gum and mulberry trees. Grapevines drape trees, thickets of locust and clusters of dogwood and persimmon trees are on this land along with fox and tickle grass, thistle, alfalfa, lespedeza and clover. There is a maple tree grove that can be tapped for it’s sap and brewed into syrup. A hidden fresh water spring is located near the maples. It’s a mile from the nearest gravel road and is so secluded that you will not know there is a cabin on the north end of the property where my uncle Bill Casey lived. When the moon is behind the hills, it is dark and still. Stars are bright and the Milky Way is a wide band of stars from horizon to horizon. Constellations are easy to locate and you will want to wish upon a star. A full moon brings out night animals, and whippoorwills. This is where my grandfather grew up, my father too. It was a place where I hunted deer, quail, rabbits, squirrels, and raccoons. There, I went skinny dipping and fished in a pond in the woods. I Helped my uncle haul hay, pick corn, cut wood, butcher hogs, skin raccoon and opossums, make maple syrup, dig ginseng and sassafras roots, gigged frogs, and learned to locate constellations in the night sky. Especially the North Star. John Casey

Mom and Dad Choate, Clarence, Bill, Sam *, Jack*, Mary, Barbara, & six more) 13 in all. Daltons: Father and Mother: Buddy, Mary, Donnie, and Jimmy. Simmons, Joe and Beulah, (she was my teacher). Her sister in law was also a teacher and lived on the TH to Creal Springs Road. I can not recall her name. Maybe Evelyn – Aileen Simmons. She had one daughter that I believe attended the Birdwell School.- my class mate in high school. ____?__, ___?____ – Mike, and Sandra Hill (from Elmira New York) Herbert (Dad’s best friend) and Mrs. Schaumleffel, & daughter Marilyn. Vernon Williams & Wife: ? (Mr. Williams, had his barber shop in Vienna.) – no kids. Cub Boner, he lost an arm while training in boot camp, Ronald (Ronnie) *Hileman and – Shirley. Mr. & Mrs Coonce, two sons. One was Dale, the other ? They bought the home where I as born. Cooks: LIVED EAST OF TOWN, Johnny Casey, his daughter, Mary Alice Casey, Johnny worked in the orchards owned by the Beaumans. and died young of pesticide poisoning. Spraying apples. Pratts, Herman and Ora, no children. They bought Coy McCuans store and ran it for a number of years. Dad worked for both Coy and Herman. Dad applied and worked part time for the New Your Central Railroad. When he had a full time job he left the grocery job. Dad, with Jim and George’s help bought the Coy house – Casey house; the only house he owned. I’m sure I have not included everyone who lived in or close to Tunnel Hill during my childhood. I recall 12 homes on the East side of TH and 6 homes on the West side. Others lived near TH. On the road from TH to Goreville, and North of TH toward Salem Church and Creal Springs. The Johnson’s, Lowery’s, Daltons, Choates, Harners, Vinson’s, McMahans, Colbroth’s, Webb’s. Hills, Hollands, Richard and Lindy, Cooks, all lived near these roads. The Webb Town School was West of Tunnel Hill, East was Reynoldsburg and Ozark, South was Simpson Many of the kids walked to school. Some rode horses, (Webb, Vinson's, Harner’s, Lowry’s; doubles were common. Horses and wagons were used when a family went to the stores in Tunnel Hill. Gatherings were usually at school, churches, weddings, wakes and funerals. At times groups gathered on the porch at stores or the Post Office. There were four stores and only one had a gas pump. They also sold kerosene; groceries, meats and sometimes vegetables and eggs; a few dry goods, shoes, overshoes, socks, tools, feed, and wire were sold. Very limited selection. Customers could also order from a catalog at the store. The order for the mail order store was sent to St. Louis, or Chicago (Sears, Montgomery Wards) and delivered by railroad to the largest building in Tunnel Hill -the Depot. Frank and Florence, the James family and Faith Nipper had small stores. At age 6 we started school with 28-34 students. One teacher taught everyone from the first to eighth grade. On odd and even years the teacher taught the first grade first, then the third, second, fourth, fifth – 6th and the 7th 8th grade. Report card grades were marked either Pass or Fail with (take over recommended). If a grade was failed the teacher needed permission from a parent to take a test and if passed the student moved on. Several, students, dropped out of school when they turned 16. An age limit set by the counties’s school board. Books were used over and over and we were told not to write in them. If we did, we had to erase all of the words. An ink well was built into some desks , a few students had ink pens. I loved them and could draw and write with them will little effort. Most kids had only yellow #2 pencils. most kids brought their lunch and ate at the library table or on the small porch. Trading was done often and sometimes at the threat of being bullied, gave up their lunch to the bully.

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No one saw me slip the small pen knife in the worn hole in the only lounge chair we had that Christmas morning almost 50 years ago. I was disappointed that Santa (there was reason to believe that Santa was living with us. I was 7.) had not brought the wonderful two bladed pocket knife that I picked out at Herman's store in Tunnel Hill, IL and that I had hinted so strongly as the right knife for me.

When mom came over and asked that I sit in her lap, I was a

bit embarrassed, but did so anyway. "Johnny," she said, what did Santa bring you?" When I replied, "apples, oranges, bananas, and some clothes," she continued: "I mean what did he bring you?" My answer was, "nothing." That wasn't true and we both knew it.

Well, my mom really got down to asking like she knew something. "Did you get a knife? My answer puzzled her when I said no,

but I stuck to my story. Finally, she came out and said, "I know that Santa did not forget you and I know it was a knife that you wanted. Where is it?" I still said no knife. Then,

she felt the bump in the chair arm where I had stashed the knife. She worked it to the hole and out came the small brown handled single bladed knife that she knew was my present.

The game was up, but so were the tears, mine and hers. I cried because of the lie, but partially because of the knife too.

She cried a little too, but it was a mother's cry of disappointment and hurt because the gift was not received in the same manner it was given. Well, right then I heard a story about Santa and how much Santa loved me and wanted me to be

happy. All over the world Santa gave people he loved gifts

and even though they may not have been just the right one, those gifts came from his love. I'm getting teary just thinking about that scene. Here I am a 7 year old boy sitting in my mother's lap just crying up a storm and she crying too and all about

a silly old knife.

Well, when that was over I knew more than ever that Santa would visit me again. I also knew that what ever he brought to me would be a real present and that the gift would be the most wonderful gift he could find for me that year. No, I don't have the knife, but I can see just exactly how it looked, how big it was, and how proud of it my mother made me feel.

There isn't any way someone could grow up in my household without having a story much like mine. We were a family of 8 kids and two wonderful parents, of which there were two Santas always looking after us.

I hope you like my story and that it reminds you of the Love at Christmas and that love can last all year and many more.

John Casey 705 Lake Park Drive, Mt. Vernon, IL 62864

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Staying with the girls: Liz is next. She was quiet, a good student and made good grades. Liz loved Mary and liked to take care of her. She carried Mary if Mary would let her. I'm sure Liz read to Mary and looked after her. Liz was strong willed. She also had eye problems that would have limited her reading or writing. Liz is smart, introverted and could not be walked on. She excelled at her job. She gardens. She [Edith] was torn between whom she loved, Bill (Wil) and John (that's me) – she may have been a tomboy, but she liked the outdoors, gardens, and being involved. She was Mom-like and Mom's last worker. She was a reader and had ambition to be something. She would achieve that goal. She wrote a book about her experience in Australia. She was a teacher too. In fact, there wasn't much that Edith couldn't do. I could write chapters about her. She told me once that if things didn't work out for me, that I had options. Well, that Mama has guided my life.

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George zipped through grade school and began high school when he was eleven. He started to college at SIUCarbondale when he was fifteen. His tuition was $19.00 for the first quarter. He lived in the Baptist Foundation dormitory. He took care of the lawn, flowers and grounds to earn money for his room and board.

George changed his major after his fourth year to Religious Education and graduated with a degree when he was 20. He applied for admission to The Golden Gate Seminary in San Francisco, California and was accepted for the fall term. After working all summer with Jim and Bill to earn money for college he answered an ad of a Detroit Automobile plant to drive a car from St. Louis to San Francisco and was accepted. The Detroit plant provided transportation of an auto to a dealer in St. Louis and the dealer hired drivers to complete the trip. It turned out to be a game changer for George.

Jerry Horning who lived in Glasgow, Kentucky also applied to the ad by the St. Louis dealer to be a driver. She was accepted. A third young man also hooked up with the dealer and the three of them would meet in St. Louis. All of them were going to the same seminary. The group’s plan were to take shifts and stay over night at least once before completing the trip to San Francisco. Cars in the early fifties were not broken-in until He reached a mileage of ‘3560 plus miles and had too be driven at a low speed – perhaps 50-55 MPH.

George and Jerry became fast friends. She was an accomplished musician and wanted to make a career of of playing and writing music. George wanted to be involved in church work as a minister, or in religious education. They would marry as soon as they graduated and work together in a church they would choose in California. A church in Klamath Falls, Oregon hired them and they began careers that would last for more than five decades. They were inseparable. They moved from California and settled in Worthington, Ohio. They would be there for 40 years and moved to Naples, Florida. It would be their final church together. They had two boys, Ricky and David, both talented and terrific human beings.

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Three boyhood friends of mine and I pulled a Halloween prank that was memorable. It was never repeated and no one, including the cow was hurt. It made the village people talk for days and months.

Cow in the Loft

The almost one-year old cow was very docile and we walked right up to her and slipped a rope noose over her head and led her back to the barn nearby. We were four young boys about 10-12 years old; Phil Albritton, Ronald Vinson, Lowell Brooks and myself. I'm John. It’s 1950,

We had heard that a cow can be led upstairs but can not be led down stairs. We were going to find out. For days we had been planning on what to do different at Halloween. We all lived in or near Tunnel Hill DL Johnson County); a very small village tucked in a valley in deep Southern Ilinois. The sloping hills were in either stands of timber or were pastures for cattle or horses, mainly cattle. White-faced Herfords seemed less intimidating to us that the all Black Angus cattle that were on the Dave Cover farm. A Hereford then would be picked to be our experiment,

I lived only a half a mile from the Coy McCuan cattle barn and the bam was barely a few hundred yards from one of the unnamed streets in Tunnel Hill. Thad taken it on myself to do the scouting of the bam and to make ready for the experiment. There was a sturdy and rather wide stairway to the bam’s loft just inside the entrance. It was made of oak. Excellent. The loft was used for storing hay and I moyed several bales away from the opening in the loft and stacked them neatly on the side opposite of the liar we were going to make for the cow. A large brace pole was positioned near the opening and large oak beams gave the roof support. ‘This was picked for a safe place to tie the cow.

Us boys maintained secrecy of the plot to abduct the cow and lead her to the loft on Halloween night. We had prepared a strong rope and measured its length from the pole to where the cow would be standing. The rope had to be long enough for her to get food and water but not long enough for her to get to the edge of the opening of the bam so that she would not fall. We were excited about doing the job and it was hard not to let out our secret, but we had too. Absolutely no one would have kept his or her mouths shut and we would haye been ridiculed to no end.

We only planned to let the cow stay in the loft one night and one day. We would bring her down ourselves — we thought — by blindfolding her and leading her down the stairs. In case we needed to we were prepared to stack hay bales all over the floor of the barn and beside the stairway to protect her from falling and hurting herself. I admit that our plan was not carefully thought out or consequences considered.

Farly on Halloween night the four of us slipped away from the gathering crowd of town boys and headed for the barn. The rope was in the corncrib and we had a large shallow pan filled w ‘ith cracked corn for the cow. We would also bring her a new bale of hay after she was in the loft. We also filled a pan of water for her.

‘Two of us, me and Phil, went after the cow and Ronald and Lowell had slid the barn door latch open and were ready to open the doors when me and Phil returned with the cow, It took only a few minutes for me to reach the closest cow in the bamyard and she ambled out of my way so that I could reach the cow of choice. Her curly white head and reddish ears perked up when I came up to her. Lrubbed her back and talked soothing, “now, now, you pretty thing.” I murmured. Phil came up with the rope and the deed was done, We quickly led the cow back to the bam.

The early Irish names are those such as O'Neill, O’Brien, O'Connor and MacCarthy. “Mac” simply meant “the son of”, and “O” the grandson. MacGowan is the Irish version of plain “Smith.” The “Fitz” pre-fix is French. McDonnell, O'Donnell, O’Reillys, McMahons, O’Malley, have connections from the county they are from. Down through the ages it was not always prudent to have too Irish a name, and many dropped the “O” or the “Mac.”

I dared not ask an Irishman about the “Little People” Usually they are presented as leprechauns. That is Irish for shoemaker. They wear a red velvet Walt Disney Cap, a green hammer-claw coat, with silver buttons, and knee breeches, woolen stockings and silver-buckled black shoes. Of course, the world knows though if you can lay your hands on him, he is obliged to yield up to you his crock of gold that is stored under a rainbow. But he will disappear at the drop of a hat. From whence they came or where they went is a very great mystery indeed. Some say many of them turned up as politicians in America.

Being Irish is a state of mind. It is often laced with a basic ingredient of a peculiar, inverted and wild sense of humor. You never quite know whether a remark is intended or not, where the first meaning is overtaken by the second. It is akin to the presiding officer of a meeting deliberately saying, “Let ye all sit down to see how we stand.” Or, the definition of a cynic is a man who knows the price of everything but the value of nothing. You can never be sure how Irish Humor will take its turn.

I did not go to Ireland only to learn about Abner and Peter Casey, but I came to respect them and to admire them for having left such a beautiful place called home that they would never return to, but always remember. I respected their courage and perseverance and imagine that they passed some of it down to their children and for many generations thereafter. I’m proud to call them family

My experiences in Ireland were inspiring, | marveled at the land, the mountains, rivers, meadows. homes and buildings, the animals and enjoyed the food. I was impressed with the people I met, men, women and children. They were helpful, friendly, kind, simple and devout. I saw a country that has had a long night and will see an inevitable day when hate has gone out of the world and embrace how sweet is the love of the people, the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit

John Casey (writing in 3" person – I’ve never been to Ireland) We probably dropped the O

The man has become the foremost character in our family history. He has labored and toiled through difficulties and obstacles known only to himself and God. His great fault is in his too scrupulous care to be just, fair, and generous.

People everywhere trust and love him. They know his hands are clean and his breast is pure. The people know that the devil has no bribe big enough, no temptation of gold, or place of power, which can seduce the honest heart of Jim Casey. They know that while he lives their liberties are safe in his hands. He is the chief of his clan…somewhat rude and rough, it may be, but under this rough exterior you have the real and true hero.

He has handled a tough job pretty well. He has been like a waiter in a large eating house where everyone is clamoring for service at once. He can not serve them all at once, and so some grumblers are to be expected. He accepts his fate.

2015 John casey

Leaving the mail on a bench I headed for the warehouse. It was off limits for everyone including clay collectors like me. I crawled under the building and called out for Jiggs. I crawled farther and called again and heard a whimper. He was there! I crawled on. Jiggs was wedged in a space I couldn’t reach. He was caked with clay. I touched his nose, then his ears, but when I touched his body, he winced and pulled back. I had been gone a long time and the worried postmaster hollered out for me. I yelled back that I had found Jiggs.

The cool wet clay had been soothing to Jiggs and likely helped him heal. He and I slowly scooted and crawled out from under the warehouse. When we emerged, the sun was shinning, but not as bright as were my eyes. I was happy to be going home. Mom met us in the yard and gave me a hug and a hello to Jiggs.

When I went to school on Monday (without Jiggs), I told my teacher about finding my dog and that I didn’t blame her for the accident. It earned me a big smile along with a sigh of relief from her.

Twenty years after graduating from grade school, I sent a Christmas card along with a story to the only teacher I had in my first eight years of school. The story was titled- My Education Makes Me Sweat. When the card and story arrived at the Tunnel Hill Post Office, the post master, Mrs. Cavitt, sat down with Mrs. Beulah Simmons and together they read the letter. When they finished, both had tears in their eyes. Mrs. Beulah said to the postmaster, “This letter tells me why I was a teacher”.

My teacher wrote me a letter of thanks and for permission to send it to the Vienna Times in Vienna. It was printed.

Word count: 870

This story was published in The Alton Telegraph – 2012

street and on to the store. My fellow criminals did not talk to me that day, and our plan to get the cow down was abandoned. Friendships ended for a week or two.

At dusk cows gather in a barn lot for food and water before bedding down for the night. I knew that the farmer would come to the barn, see, and somehow save his cow in the loft. When he came to the barn that evening he was surprised and hurried home. His party-line phone system got the word out that one of his cows was in his barn loft.

Town folks were buzzing and a smiling laughing crowd gathered at the barn to see the cow. Head lights of trucks and cars lit up the barn yard. It was well after midnight when the cow was rescued. Using two tractors facing each other, equipped with hydraulic lifts hooked to broad rubber belts slipped under the cow she was gently winched to the barn floor. The cow was not injured, and was chewing her cud. She looked healthy and well fed. What a relief it was to me. I kept my head turned away from her less she recognize me as the prankster.

I never told my folks or tattle-tale brothers and sisters that it was my idea to put a cow in the loft. I never had a hankering to do it again.

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A little red plastic pistol was my Christmas present from aunt Hettie Simpson who lived in Eldorado, IL. It was 1948. The pistol was a beauty to me. You see, it was a flashlight. A small AA battery powered the light. Batteries were hard to come by for an 8 year old boy like me, so it probably did not last too long.

I treasured that pistol in it's short life time. By pulling back the hammer as though I was cocking it, the flashlight worked. Of course, it did not have a strong beam, but for someone only four foot high or so it was great.

The best thing about that pistol flashlight was the size. Now, I could read books and stuff at night if I wanted to – and even under the covers – which I did too. I could also create signals and may have learned some Morse Code from my father who was

a telegrapher on the New Yo&K Central Rail Road. That tiny pistol expanded my world and motivated me as it gave me a memory of a life time.

That Christmas was in 1948. My family lived almost 30 miles from Eldorado in the village of Tunnel Hill. There were six

of us children then (we would grow to eight soon) and we usually went to an aunt's or uncle's home after our own family Christmas in Tunnel Hill. I didn't particularly like the idea of the

ride being stuffed in with brothers and sisters in the back

seat of the 39 black Ford that my father drove so slowly. However, the little red pistol flashlight made the ride home

all the more plasant. It was one of the most precious gifts

I have ever received. It fit me perfectly. It was not expensive, but that did not matter to me.

I hope you have enjoyed my recounting of a Christmas experience that had a profound positive effect on me almost 50 years ago. I hope the story brightens your face as much as that present lighted mine.

Merry Christmas

John Casey – 705 Lake Park Dr., Mt. Vernon, IL 62864

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The fight was brewing all during school hours and when the 4" and 5" grade classes were dismissed we were all told by Mrs. Buelah, our teacher, to head home and “don’t delay.” Donnie and I were hardly out of the schoolyard before he was pushing and shoving me and trying to provoke a fight. I was delaying as long as I could, because Bill was in the 8" grade and would be let out later, and I hoped in time to save me again from a butt whipping. Jimmy was in the school group let out early and he hung around Donnie. Jimmy was my target for later if it came to that. It would.

Donnie and I started scuffling when we started down hill and out of sight of the school. Down we went in the red gravel and rolled to the edge of the road in softer ground. We were fighting right in front of the Methodist Church, no help for me because my family and me are Baptist. There was a big, deep ditch full of blackberry briars next to the road. Jimmy, filled his round yellow 2 LB lard bucket (his lunch pail) with small rocks from the road intending to use it as a weapon later. Bill came running into the scene with Buddy right behind Bill. Bill tugged Donnie off of me and flung him to the ground. I began immediately pummeling Jimmy and emptying his bucket. Shirley jumped on Bill’s back and started scratching him. He tossed her into the briar patch. Buddy slugged Bill from behind and Bill turned and his hair, his million freckles, face, and eyes were red. Bill then dispatched Buddy and now his coup included Donnie and Shirley. I had shellacked Jimmy.

The Dalton’s lived farther up the east hill of Tunnel Hill than we did and the whipped bunch had to go by our house on their way home that night and every night. We got a cussing every time. Sometimes we bluffed attacks and they ran harder. We knew, and they knew, we could whip their skinny butts.

Tt was some time before I wanted to cuss and found out that it was OK with me to just say “Same to you,” when they cussed at me. “You little son-of-a bitch – I'll whip your ass,” didn’t scare me and even when God was used in their cuss words I was protected by my good God and Bill. “Same To You,” I’d say with a resounding tone. Those were my cuss words and I used them often.

I’ve learned to cuss since then, but when I do I’m reminded that my mother used to say, “cussing

is a weak mind trying to express a strong thought.”

John Casey 8/16/02

I could have added another set of cuss words that I used: “It takes one to know one.” There!

=< Lav ° This Old House

I live in a house built in 1905. It’s a drab grey color. The wood window frames are worn and wrinkled from the heat and cold they have endured for over a century. In winter the windows barely resist the blasts of freezing air. A slight breeze in any season will make them shudder and rattle. The house has tall ceilings and each room has a lovely old wood door that may not fit exactly. The hardwood floors are uneven and worn, but they will shine brightly with a touch of wood polish or oil. The furnace in the basement is big, grey and lumbering and has often been repaired.

A gnarled old maple tree rests in the front yard. It too is showing its age with many of its appendages gone, as though it has came back from a war It looks cranky and unsuited for photographs. Dogs pee on it, black snakes slither in the heavy vines at its base. Now and then squirrels and birds visit the tree for the maple buds and I suspect a screech owl has had a home in a high-up hole in the tree. A skinny tall elm tree anchors the northeast corner of the lot. Neighborhood cats sneak around the trees ready to pounce on a slow squirrel or bird.

The stone path on the east side of the house is made of uneven shaped sand stones, likely carried there by the original owners. The stones came from the nearby cavernous pits. In the winter when the trees are bare I can see the Mississippi River from the kitchen windows.

The street the house is on is on is paved with uneven sun faded red bricks that due to their irregular surfaces have been efficient speed bumps for chattering Model Ts as well as the modern SUVs and sedans. Children have the right-of-way in the streets and well they should. In all but the foulest weather kids gather to play stick ball and any kind of game that kids can invent. When a vehicle approaches they politely wave the slow moving vehicle through and resume their games.

I enjoy the sweet decadence of this stately old house and the neighborhood. I love this old wreck of a building and its tree cousins. They compliment each other. I wouldn’t trade this place for one of those efficient houses in the suburbs void of all but the tiniest trees and trimmed shrubs.

This house, this neighborhood, gives me a special appreciation of the struggles of living and the unique characteristic of each thing. They are not gentle though, having been exposed to nature’s rages against them. Old building and fading trees burn their brightest before they yield to time. One day, long from now, they will be gone. We are sad for the going, but exhilarated over the beauty of their existence.

John Casey

435 % Bluff St. Alton, IL 62002 618-660-5646

jrcasey134@gmail.com 492

Tye TELEGRAPH = Sunday, July 14, 91 –

This old house

live in a house built

in 1905. It’s a drab

grey color. The wood

window frames are worn and wrinkled from the heat and cold they have endured for over a century. In winter the windows barely resist the blasts of freezing air. A slight breeze in any sea- son will make them shud- der and rattle. The house has tall ceilings and each room has a lovely old wood door that may not.

– fit exactly. The hardwood

floors are uneven and worn, but they will shine brightly with a touch of wood polish or oil. The furnace in the basement is big, grey and lumber- ing and has often been repaired.

A gnarled old maple tree rests in the front yard. It too is showing its age with many of its ap- pendages gone, as though it has came back from a war. It looks cranky and unsuited for photographs. Dogs pee on it, black snakes slither in the heavy vines at its base. Now and then squirrels and birds visit the tree for the maple buds and I suspect a screech owl has had a home in a high-up hole in the tree. A skinny and tall elm tree anchors the northeast corner of the lot. Neighborhood cats sneak around the trees ready to pounce on anything.

The stone path on the east side of the house is made of uneven shaped sand stones, likely car- ried there by the original owners. The stones came from the nearby cavern-

“ous pits. In the winter when the trees are bare I can see the Mississippi River from the kitchen windows.

‘The street the house is on is on is paved with un-

CASEY

GUEST COLUMNIST

even sun-faded red bricks that due to their irregu- lar surfaces have been efficient speed bumps for chattering Model T’s as well as the modern SUVs and sedans. Children have the right of way in the streets, and well they should. In all but the cru- elest weather kids gather to play stick ball and any kind of game that kids can invent. When a ve- hicle approaches, they politely wave through the slow-moving vehicle and resume their games.

I enjoy the sweet decadence of this stately old house and the neigh- borhood. I love this old wreck of a building and its tree cousins. They | complement each other. I wouldn’t trade this place for one of those efficient houses in the suburbs void of all but the tini- est trees and trimmed shrubs.

This house, this neigh- borhood, gives me a spe+0 cial appreciation of the struggles of living and the unique characteristic of each thing. They are not gentle though, having been exposed to nature’s rages against them. Old buildings and fading trees burn their brightest before they yield to time. One day, long from now, they will be gone. We are sad for the going, but ex- hilarated over the beauty of their existence.

John Casey of Alton is curi- ous consistently and loves reading, writing and adventures. He is an agent with Coldwell Banker Commercial Brown Realtors in Edwarasville.

This remembrance essay is my way of dealing with grief. It’s not working too well though. Activity is only an interlude. Reading and sleep gives me some comfort. I’m not trying to squash my feelings, but to let them out. I try a different method every day. I’m not up to writing either. After Terry died I created an abstract ceramic wall thing. It is not art really, but it helped me. I’Il create a tool in remberence of Kent.

Clearing away trinkets and things is my next wave of how to deal with my feelings. I think I will change photos on the walls, throw away some stuff and change the way I cook and eat. But I’m not hungry.

I have tried and made a mess of pies though. I can’t bake. Pasta, rice, and sea food have become staples, along with oranges, grapes, cheese and crackers. I’ve lost a few pounds and tossed out all large sized clothes. Grey and black dominate my casual clothes.

I want the sun to come out, birds to sing, flowers to bloom, and a juicy steak.

Love, John 12/27/11

TRUE STORIES BY JOHN CASEY

Don't Try This – Fish OW Is Slick

As a youngster, I loved to fish in the rail road ponds about a mile north from our home in Tunnel Hill. One day, me and a couple of buddies caught over two hundred little bitty blue gill and put’em on the rail road tracks and when the train came along, those blue gill stalled the train; a coal-powered, steam driven locomotive with 60 coal cars.

It scared us half to death. Please don’t tell my dad who worked for the rail road.

FISHING WITH A HAMMER AND AN AXE

In late winter, before the green house effect took over, the swollen creeks in Southern Illinois would freeze over and several of the neighborhood kids would go fishing with hammers and axes.

We knew the pools in the creek that had fish and we could see them through the clear ice. We split our group into herders and hammer and axe handlers. The herders would lie down on and slide down the frozen creek chasing the fish towards the hammer and axe guys at the end of the pool ready with hammers and axes. When the fish came by, a sharp smack on the ice with the hammer shocked the fish and they would turn belly-up for a few seconds. That gave the kids with the axes time to cut a hole in the ice and flip out the fish.

I loved to bang that hammer, but sometimes had to herd the fish. I haven't seen anyone fish that way since us kids used to do it.

John Casey

TRUE STORIES BY JOHN CASEY

Don't Try This – Fish Ol Is Slick

As a youngster, I loved to fish in the two rail road ponds about a mile north of my home in Tunnel Hill, Illinois. One bright summer day my buddies; Arnold Brooks, Herkey James Jerry Dale Simmons and I lit out for the ponds. We each carried a cane pole rigged for blue gill along with two cans of just dug worms that we would share. We took turns carrying a three gallon Zink bucket filled with goodies to eat. We reached the first pond and set up to fish. Right away we started catching 2” — 3” blue gill. Arnold wanted to save some for catfish bait and we tossed the gill minnows on the bank where they died and stiffened. We continued to catch the tiny fish until noon when we got into our peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for lunch. After lunch we resumed fishing for a while and caught another bunch of fish. Herkey said, “Why not put these suckers on the rail road track and see if they will make the train spin its wheels?” “Sounds like a good idea to me’, us other guys chirped in.

When we finished fishing we collected the fish in a bucket then put them on the rail road tracks hoping the oil from the smashed fish would make the coal powered steam driven locomotive with 60 coal cars spin its wheels sending up smoke trails. When the train came along and rolled over the fish turning them into an oil slick it stalled the train dead on the tracks. It took a day for the train to get going again.

It scared us half to death. It happened very long ago but I think the statute of limitations has expired for this crime. I sure hope so.

FISHING WITH A HAMMER AND 2 AXE

In late winter, before the green house effect took over, the swollen creeks in Southern Illinois would freeze over and several of the neighborhood kids would go fishing with hammers and axes.

We knew which pools in the creek had fish and we could see them through the clear ice. We split our group into herders and hammer and axe handlers. The herders would lie on and slide down the frozen creek chasing the fish to the shallow end of the pool when the hammer and axe handlers were positioned. When the fish came by, a sharp smack on the ice with a hammer

Some of the kids in Tunnel Hill went home for lunch. Some didn’t go back to school. A few students taught too. My sister, Edith did. She would later become a grade school teacher. The list is not complete, I’m sure. There are about 85 people in this note. About 40 people actually lived in Tunnel Hill at one time. My siblings may recall the names of people I missed. This isn’t a MUST save note. I did it hurriedly. It reminded me of my own life and I wrote stories of many of the people I remembered.

Wot Zs

Turn and face your problem

After my mother’s celebratory funeral ended I walked outside and to the barbed wire fence that was in the rear of the small Baptist Church where she had attended for more than 50 years. From the fence to the north I could see the backyard and small field of our family home where I grew up along with my seven siblings. I could see a patch of ground that was the garden where everyone in my family had spent thousands of hours. As | gazed out into the landscape, not looking at anything specifically, my 18 year old son came to me and put his hand on my shoulder. He saw me with tears in my eyes and I told him that I was thinking of my mom and the bright day that she would have loved. I told him of how she had picked strawberries on a similar day long ago in that patch of ground. I told him of a personal story of a first strawberry that was my gift every year. My mom saved it (the first ripe berry every year) just for me.

Tt was time for the family to go to the cemetery that was a few miles from the church. My son, with his hand still on my shoulder, said, “Dad, it’s time to go.” I nodded and turned towards him. Then, he said something surprising to me. “Dad,” he said, “now you must turn and face your problems.” He continued, “There are things you should do.” He no longer lived at home with me and my wife, but it was clear that he meant that my relationship with her was my problem and that I had to deal with it. He had noticed the strain of my marriage several times, including that day in the church. Lasked if he would go with me, only him, to the cemetery and that we would talk.

‘After the ceremony at the cemetery, I drove my aunt’s car back to the gathering of the family and my son drove my car. My aunt was my mom’s dearest friend and I told her of the words that my son had spoken to me. She said, simply, “Listen to your son.”

The last three stanzas of the poem I call The Dark Night recalled that day, my mom, and my son’s words to me, “You must turn and face your problems,” resonates with me today. I was able to turn and face my problems then and have resolve that I can do it again.

4/5/09

Mom sent me a box of green apples when I lived in Michigan. 1964. When they arrived they were spoiled. I sent her a thank you and did not mention that the apples were bad. Her intention was pure.

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VHS Oct. 8, 1956 – Ping pong games and a World Series Perfect Game – 5/2020 – by John Casey.

October 8, 1956

Sixty three years and five months ago in Vienna High School's gym lobby lively ping pong games were going on during lunch break at two tables. Games were single matches and guys wanting to play placed a dime near the net and waited for their turn to play the winner of the on-going match.

Brady was a regular player and so too were Dee Ray Yandell, Ray Walters, Gifford Moore, Jim Stevens, Ronnie Rainbolt, Larry Mighell, Jerry Mount, Ron Taylor, Carl Olsen, Bob Taylor, Danny Albritten, Tom Célum, Jerry Hartline, Bill Crews, Gary (frog) Scoggins, Mike Hill, Tom Mathis, Jim Thompson, Jim Bob Grey, Gary Phillips, Richard Clayton (the only lefthander), Ralph Emery, Richard Myers, Ron Hileman, Johnny Walker, Albert Shaviss, (the onl male black in school), Gary Hacker, Ron Goddard, James Mcneely, Weldon and Johnnie Evans, Jon Simmons, John Turner, Harry Campbell, Gary Scoggins, Jerry Hartline, Tom Collum, Bill Crews, Danny Albritten, , and myself, I’m John Casey. To others I may have missed, I’m sorry I missed you.

It was October 8, 1956. A World Series game was being played at Yankee Stadium in New York between the Yankees and Brooklyn Dodgers. A transistor radio was turned to the game and we were keeping up with it.

Don Larson a tall right-hander with a no-windup delivery had not given up a hit and no Dodger had reached base after the 6" inning. Mr. Kerley, Vienna’s baseball coach, was there watching ping pong games and listening to the WS game. He stopped our games and said that if anyone wanted to listen until the game in New York ended he would write us an excused pass for our classes. We jumped on his offer and sat down to listen to the game.

We were all ears and cheered the Yankee pitcher on every pitch. Don Larson pitched the first ever and only perfect no-hit game in a World Series Major League game. It stands today. The vision (photo) of the catcher, Yogi Berra, jumping into Don’s arms captures one of the most enduring moments of the game.

VilS: Daniel's Pood store was my employer, some worked at PN firsh, Walker's and Western pluto. Lots of us were farm Kids working for out folks.

Can you say Piasa? Of course you can, but can your spouse, kids, friends say it? How many business had Piasa in their name in 1962? Have you told the story of the Piasa?

We’re Baby Boomers born between 1944 and 1946 and we are part of the largest segments of population and as we age we see marketing of products designed to keep us consumers. Just look at the prescription medicines we see now.

VHS: We were pre-baby boomers, but enjoyed a peace time daring the 50's, too young for the Korean War and before Vietnam.

We put snow tires and chains on cars and trucks during winters. We drag raced on Fosterburg Road and the River Road. We loved Chevy’s Fords, Pontiacs, Plymouths, Dodges, Studebakers (didn’t we), and what ever we had to drive.

VHS: Some drags were on the Simpson Blacktop.

“How ya doing,” “YO”, and “Hey,” were not our slang words.

We had some nicknames, many were private, and some of them were: “Blah Blah,” “Rat”, “Dolly,”…..

We were not afraid of anything except (bad grades, …etc)

45’s had replaced 33 1/2s and 78’s, VHS: 45's were in

We did not have tattoos then, but some of us do now. Right? We may not be into body piercing. I doubt that I ever will — on purpose. VHS: Did anyong have or get a tattoo? Not me.

Spider Man was a comic hero. VHS: | still liked Superman, Batman & Robin, the Road-Runngr, Yosemite Sam, There were others.

Please answer the questions below quickly and honestly. Thanks.

My Hero is? My Nickname was/is? It was given to me by/because?. I collect/save?.

Ihave been to?.

I’m good at? I consider my self a (liberal or Conservative: I am not afraid of anything except:

VHS: Burgers at Ned’s Shed werg a treat for 25Cznts

We knew some of the words to the Star Spangled Banner, our fight song, and all of the words to THE RAVEN because Edgar Allen Cook, our English Teacher, made us learn it.

Vis: Jim Stevens, Jerrg Mount, Carl Olsen and I elected to sing the finthem for our passing grade in Mr. Lawrence's Civic class. It took us the entire class time to complete it.

We wore saddles and loafers, engineer boots, but not sandals. Sneakers were for PE, Varsity, and after hours.

Ditto at ViIS, bat we never wore black shogs.

When we were 16-17-18, John Kennedy was 42, the first Catholic President, and battling Khrushchev and Castro during the Bay of Pigs invasion of Cuba and the Missile Crisis. And, where were you on November 22, 1963?

VHS: The cold war was on. Communism was gaining as a threat to democracy. Ike was in his second term. Little Rock 7irk. was racked with valance at schools. Vienna had its sharg of racial tension. (bert Shavis, Olivia World, Virginia World were class mates of ours and suffered terribly.

Tony Bennett “left his Heart in San Franscio”; Peter, Paul and Mary sang, “If I had a Hammer;” and who was it that played “GREEN ONIONS” and “GO AWAY LITTLE GIRL,” AND “BLOWIN’ IN THE WIND?

VilS: ‘Was Chubby Checkers, “Twisting the night away? Elvis sang Jail flousg Rock and Brenda Lee was “Sweet Little Sixteen.” Is that right? ”

Mary O’Conner was Home Coming Queen and she’s here tonight. Sue Sheldon was DREAM GIRL alright and she too is here tonight. It’s great seeing you. VtiS: Vera Mosizy was the Queen. Bon Brady her escort. Remember the others?

We didn’t wear Polo, Tommy Hilfiger, Nike, Liz Claiborne, but they could not match plaid skirts, white blouses, Levis and a white t-shirt with a pack of cigs rolled up in the sleeve.

VHS: Mostly Levis rofled up for the guys and skirts for gals. | started wearing Kaki’s and had one paisley shirt.

There were three Blocks — two drive-ins; one on Milton Road and the on Central Avenue near the Midtown Restaurant. There was one McDonald’s and A & W was also popular.

VHS: Ned's led. The White House was good too. The café at West Vienna.

Hair cuts (some flat-tops still existed) were $1.00. VHS: /Mg try at a flat top failed miserably, but Jim Stevens and Car! Olsen had great ongs. So did Bon and Spike Miles, Ron Rainbolt, and didn’tJ. Evans?

Laclede Steel, Shell Refinery, Olin Mills, the Box Board, the Flour Mill, Owens Glass, and Miller’s Mutual were major employers of the time.

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My high school transcript was requested where I applied to attend the University of Michigan. 1965. I would be a part-time night student and choose to make history my primary study. I lived in Central Michigan and worked for a large memorial company. The year was 1965. My grades were good and I was active in sports, clubs, and events. I was accepted. I finished only one semester. I regret that I did not pursue a degree. [margin: In high school – VP Sr. yr; class Pres.; Pep club; 2 plays] When writing about my family I believed it would be interesting to know what subjects and grades my brothers and sisters received. I requested a transcript from Vienna High School and they sent them to me. They were interesting and I thought everyone made better grades than me and only took hard subjects. They didn't. Their counselor helped all of us choose subjects we liked and encouraged us to take subjects / classes we liked, for us to get better grades and possibly go on to college.

I planned not get to get involved with any projects when I visited Jim, having done that my previous three visits. I arrived at 3 p m on Saturday and sat down on the couch and turned on the TV to a football game. Jim came in at 3:08 and sat down on the love seat near me. He had a McDonald’s sack with him that contained a cheese burger. He picked up a tube and fastened it to his head and put one end of it in his nostrils. The other end was connected to one of four two=-foot oxygen tanks located in a cardboard case in the dinning room a few feet away. Zzzzzzzz went the motor sending oxygen to him. He pulled a blanket over himself, pulled out the cheeseburger and I said, “How do you feel’?

We started visiting about Jim’s health, symptoms, treatments, recent visits, and what was coming up. He felt bad. Jim asked if I wanted to get a pizza for dinner. I replied that I could make one; he said that would take time and require getting ingredients. Wil called and I talked briefly with him before turning the phone over to Jim and heard, “How do you feel?” I later said I would go to Wal-Mart and get a family sized Mac and Cheese and makings for a salad. Jim said, he also wanted a gallon of sweet tea. No problem.

I was back at 6:00 and begin to prepare dinner and said the Mac & Cheese would be ready by 7:15. I made a salad and put it in the fridge. I had not washed any dishes that had been stacked in the sink before I arrived. I carried in several items that I planned to work on while I visited with Jim later. Scott showed up at 6:30 and Jim and I expected him to stay overnight and I changed my stuff to the small bedroom. Jim and Scott rehashed hunting stories.

At 7:16 I took out the Mac & Cheese and set it on top of the stove too cool for a few minutes and set the table for us, setting empty glasses, two bowls each,, the gallon of tea, a container of ice, the salad and three bottles of dressing, and a fork for each of us. Jim and Scott kept on talking and I called for them. I filled up a bowl with M&C, and another bowl with salad, and sat down at the table and poured an iced filled glass with tea. Jim came in and so did Scott. Scott did not set down.

A discussion ensued about a no good asshole that did Jim wrong. It went on without my participation, and to turn the conversation, I brought up Ferguson, MO.. Now the conversation turned to “those people” and “they should be ….” And the conversation escalated to the N word.

After eating, I picked up my dish, glass and fork and rinsed them off and put them in the sink. Later I put the left over salad and M&C in a plastic bag and put them in the fridge. Jim retired to the living room and connected to the oxygen. I joined him and watched one half of a football game before turning the channel to the Wild Tuna show which we both liked. I went to bed at 10 and fell asleep at 10:03.

Saturday morning was starting out to be a nice day. I made coffee but did not tackle the dishes. There were some packages in the fridge with expired use by dates and one of them was a lean pork roast with a date of 11/13/13. I decided to cook it in a slow cooker and looked for a cooker and found one but not the plug in wire. During my search I found a tri corner small (2 gallon) aquarium that set me on a mission to see if it worked. It did, but was dirty. I thought Skye might like it and asked Jim to call her and invite her over to help restore the aquarium. She came over right away and that begin a five hour session with her on the fish tank, lunch for Jim, Skye and myself, shopping at Wal-Mart.

close to home plate for volunteers. When no one raised their hand, I went to dad who was sitting on a peach box crate and asked him to hit for us at least – we needed a batter. He agreed and came to our bench, picked up a bat, rolled up his sleeves and stepped into the batter’s box. On the first pitch, Dad hit a line drive over the second baseman’s head into right field. He hopped, skipped and loped to first base. He grinned and motioned someone to run for him and a player did. Dad was a hit for his hit. The crowd, and both teams cheered and applauded him. He was proud. So too was I. I’ve been telling stories and writing about my dad for more that sixty years. He was our leader, our teacher, and guardian.

close to home plate for volunteers. When no one raised their hand, | went to dad who was sitting on a peach box crate and asked him to hit for us at least – we needed a batter. He agreed and came to our bench, picked up a bat, rolled up his sleeves and stepped into the batter’s box. On the first pitch, Dad hit a line drive over the second baseman’s head into right field. He hopped, skipped and loped to first base. He grinned and motioned someone to run for him and a player did. Dad was a hit for his hit. The crowd, and both teams cheered and applauded him. He was proud. So too was I.

I’ve been telling stories and writing about my dad for more that sixty years. He was our leader, our teacher, and guardian.

What's Love got to do with it? he advantage 2 had growing up was to be taught that “good guys finish first.”

Pad and c/tom taught that to us — ali eight of us. G/he lesson was never over, never. complete and never alike. It was everyday stuff for us.

Qt shaped us into believers. We have maintained that stream of thinking and 2 Aope we have passed it along to others. Not limiting it to only family members either,

‘otean GPeople” have had a hand in out lives, but it’s safe to say that every one of RRs and, fli Casey's clan remembers that there is good amid the evils.

Qt is possible that at any level ot type of relationship with people that you can create small areas of good, but first you have to get rid of the mean people. Vt isn't easy, but cleansing your life of the mean people is the only way for good people — and theit work ethics, codes, thelt teamwork, their congeniality — to create honest, pleasant people cultures. Chis is true in wok and in everyday

life.

Sift and work is too big a part of life to spend it with bad people and in bad places. 2 have been given the green light to ‘get out of there” whenever 2 am with a bad person ot in a bad place.

Gometimes that has not been easy considering the economics of choices. Giblings and mentors as well as my own trials have bolstered my encouragement. 2've even bailed out when 2 could not make good things happen ot when bad people were immovable, it was better than wallowing in a bad

situation.

Q simply don't stop looking for kinde', gentle people and places, because they do exist. 2 have been blessed to be a patt of fine work groups because 2 was blessed tohea part of a fine family. 2 have used both as foundations jer today.

What's love got to do with it? cPlenty! “Don't stop looking for kinder, gentle’ people, or places, because they do exist.

Who taught mom how to do the things she did? Since I’ve known mom she has been a steady source of knowledge, and how! I’m sure I talked too much early in my life and got in the way of everyone of my siblings. I was number 5 and 4th boy born. A sister was 18 months older than me. A fifth boy, Terry, and seventh of the brood, and Mary, the baby girl was the eight and last child of Richard Randolph and Edith Opal (Burton) Casey of Tunnel Hill, Illinois. Mom was almost five foot tall, had a good figure and a bright face. Her hair was deep red. I wasn’t the only one to think she was very pretty, dad certainly did. I thought she favored me, but imagined that’s what all of her children thought. I wrote a poem about her that brought tears to anyone who knew her. the title: “I was raised as an only child, there were eight of us.” It was read at her funeral and tears flowed. Mom’s gentleness and kindness did not camouflage her strength and stamina. She was the baby of her family of nine. She had six sisters and three brothers. Dad was the oldest in his family and first boy of six. He had three sisters. Mom’s family was spunky and tough with a bit of wit about them. Dad’s family was stern and tough. Dad had a slap-stick, dead- pan wit. Mom knew I was stuck in the middle of the family. The three brothers were bigger and stronger. They hunted, fished and worked together. They competed with each other and skirmishes and fights were common. They had each others back when a brother needed help. My older sister, by 13 months, was my go to sibling. She backed me. We worked together in the yard, lawn, and garden. She, along with mom, taught me about cooking, washing clothes, dishes, and a number of light chores. I loved strawberries and we raised them. They were carefully guarded by dad and the big boys. One day mom and I were in the garden picking beans and when we had finished, she said, “Lets go to the strawberry patch.” “Go ahead” she said, “lift the leaf.” I did and there was a big pink strawberry. She said not to pick it until it was ripe, and don’t tell anyone. She covered it with straw. A few days later, she motioned me to go over to the patch. I did and there was a large red strawberry. “Go on, pick it and eat. I did and thanked her. She said, you earned it.

Who were the readers and writers in our family? In our extended family? It starts with Mary. She enjoyed school and I'm sure she read the books available to her at school. She's admitted that being with friends was fun and she spent time with them. Mary collected information about her family and recorded data of their lives. When she graduated from High School, her sights on continuing her education also ended. She looked forward to spending time with close friends and hanging out – so to speak. Dad had other ideas for her: Go to where Edith lived, find a job, and live in a good area. So, off to Virginia went Mary. She got a job, bought a car, found a husband, had kids (good ones) and grand[daughters] (also good). 'Awesome' is her go-to word.

WHO YOU ARE —- TO ME – A PROGRAM FOR A FAMILY REUNION

Wouldn’t it be good to hear from someone telling you what you are to them? How you see yourself and how others see you may be the same, but I’m betting that’s not how it would turn out.

An opinion of anyone may be an insight about the perception of a person to someone. I’m thinking of the positive not the negative. Let’s say, it is a way to provide some information about a person that others may not know and make them aware how someone feels about them.

A family gathering would be a time for everyone to participate. Only babies or those not yet forming opinions or can tell about their impressions would be exempt from the WHO YOU ARE – TO ME program. Everyone has a say, no one would be left out. Everyone would be talked about and those who listen would learn more about someone.

The plan: Kids and adults would all be included. Each one would have someone they would talk about for a minute or so, maybe two. This is not a question and answer or comments sort of thing, just a few remarks about the person. Who talks about whom? 1. Draw names is one way. Can be done by email. 2. Draw names from groups or categories.

Drawing names may be OK for the older folks who have known all or most of those attending the reunion. Kids have a smaller number of people they know and it would be difficult for them. But they should not be left out.

Drawing names from categories may work.

Category A: Siblings of Randolph and Edith Casey + spouses.

Category B. Children of the siblings + spouces

Category C. Children of the siblings, siblings + spouses A. Jim, Wil & Catherine, John, Liz, Mary and Jerry B. Ricky, Vicki, David, Scott, Neil, Beth, Cheryl, Bruce, Shan, Jay, Eric, Erin,

Aaron, Jenifer, Andrew, Craig, _? __, Rex, Jenny, Rob, ___,__-_ + + Candice, Brandon C. Category C: Skye, Alye, Mason, Sage, Madelyn, Ben, Brian’s son, D. Guests, relatives, friends, may be ina WHO AMI? Remarks would be in writing, or converted to writing, and be a record of the reunion. It would, I believe, require communication with each other before the reunion. The kids and kids of kids would have more knowledge of their extended family. Saying positive things about someone can build and/or strengthen relationships. Those unable to attend can write a short vignette about someone and send it to their relative who will be there.

Make everyone IMPORTANT and MEMORABLE.

Wil would divorce and remarry. His second wife, Catherine, was a elementary teacher and when she retired, she and Wil married. Wil wrote a book about his career and achievements. It was self published. | have read it several times. | have written about Wil. One story was published in the Vienna Times. | saved a couple of short stories about him.

Edith wrote a book. It was about her family living in Australia for three years. Edie, as | called her, was an excgllent student and a good violin and piano player. She was thirteen pines Ider than me and was my go to sibling.

She taught me tons and was an excellent teacher. She was with me on my first day of grade school, the first day of high school and my first day of college. She was also with me when | saw my first game of Football: SIUC Vs Northern Illinois. | had on a new pair of jeans, a green plaid shirt and a heavy corduroy coat that had small barrel buttons. It was a mail order coat from Montgomery Wards, Chicago. | was proud be with her. 7

She married Dennis Wilkerson while she was a student at SIUE. He was language student instructor. Dennis applied and was hired by the CIA. They moved to Virginia near the Capital. They had two children, Cheryl and Bruce. Bruce was adopted. He was born in Czechoslovakia. They went there to pick him up. Cher and Bruce were in the same grade of school. Both received a college degree.

Dennis was transferred to Australia on special assignment and the family moved there, where they lived for the next three years. Edie taught at an elementary school. The second year, at Christmas time, she wrote her Illinois family and asked them not to send any Christmas presents. Instead, she asked us to send American stuff to her classes. She named Cornflakes and Cherrios, craft paper, crayons, pencils, erasers, 3-D glasses. a slinky, rag dolls, flashlights, and candy bars. That’s what we sent.

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Wil would divorce and remarry. His second wife, Catherine, was a elementary teacher and when she retired, she and Wil married. Wil wrote a book about his career and achievements. It was self published. I have read it several times. I have written about Wil. One story was published in the Vienna Times. I saved a couple of short stories about him. Edith wrote a book. It was about her family living in Australia for three years. Edie, as I called her, was an excellent student and a good violin and piano player. She was thirteen years older than me and was my go to sibling. She taught me tons and was an excellent teacher. She was with me on my first day of grade school, the first day of high school and my first day of college. She was also with me when I saw my first game of Football: SIUC Vs Northern Illinois. I had on a new pair of jeans, a green plaid shirt and a heavy corduroy coat that had small barrel buttons. It was a mail order coat from Montgomery Wards, Chicago. I was proud be with her. She married Dennis Wilkerson while she was a student at SIUE. He was language student instructor. Dennis applied and was hired by the CIA. They moved to Virginia near the Capital. They had two children, Cheryl and Bruce. Bruce was adopted. He was born in Czechoslovakia. They went there to pick him up. Cher and Bruce were in the same grade of school. Both received a college degree. Dennis was transferred to Australia on special assignment and the family moved there, where they lived for the next three years. Edie taught at an elementary school. The second year, at Christmas time, she wrote her Illinois family and asked them not to send any Christmas presents. Instead, she asked us to send American stuff to her classes. She named Cornflakes and Cheerios, craft paper, crayons, pencils, erasers, 3-D glasses. a slinky, rag dolls, flashlights, and candy bars. That’s what we sent. Dennis remarked to me one day that he had never met or heard of a family like ours where everyone was a writer, a story teller, a poet, and friends of nature as ours. Liz, Terry and Mary, were not story writers, but had they wanted to, they would have had interesting stories to tell. I wrote short vignettes about each of them and did not submit them for publications.

Wil would divorce and remarry. His second wife, Catherine, was a elementary teacher and when she retired, she and Wil married. Wil wrote a book about his career and achievements. It was self published. | have read it several times. | have written about Wil. One story was published in the Vienna Times. | saved a couple of short stories about him.

Edith wrote a book. It was about her family living in Australia for three years. Edie, as | called her, was an excellent student and a good violin and piano player. She was thirteen years older than me and was my go to sibling.

She taught me tons and was an excellent teacher. She was with me on my first day of grade school, the first day of high school and my first day of college. She was also with me when | saw my first game of Football: SIUC Vs Northern Illinois. | had on a new pair of jeans, a green plaid shirt and a heavy corduroy coat that had small barrel buttons. It was a mail order coat from Montgomery Wards, Chicago. | was proud be with her.

She married Dennis Wilkerson while she was a student at SIUE. He was language student instructor. Dennis applied and was hired by the CIA. They moved to Virginia near the Capital. They had two children, Cheryl and Bruce. Bruce was adopted. He was born in Czechoslovakia. They went there to pick him up. Cher and Bruce were in the same grade of school. Both received a college degree.

Dennis was transferred to Australia on special assignment and the family moved there, where they lived for the next three years. Edie taught at an elementary school. The second year, at Christmas time, she wrote her Illinois family and asked them not to send any Christmas presents. Instead, she asked us to send American stuff to her classes. She named Cornflakes and Cheerios, craft paper, crayons, pencils, erasers, 3-D glasses. a slinky, rag dolls, flashlights, and candy bars. That’s what we sent.

Dennis remarked to me one day that he had never met or heard of a family like ours where everyone was a writer, a story teller, a poet, and friends of nature as ours.

Liz, Terry and Mary, were not story writers, but had they wanted to, they would have had interesting stories to tell. | wrote short vignettes about each of them and did not submit them for publications.

Wil loved clay and gathered it from beneath the railroad warehouse on Front Street in Tunnel Hill. He would shape the clay into cars, trucks, planes and whatever he chose. His talent was evident and would later emerge strong and

creative as a wood carver.

He had a door to the woods and field and he observed with passion the world of mystery and beauty. He was adventuresome and daring, a risk taker. He plunged ahead, trusting his instinct and intuition. He was first to dive into a pond or skate on a frozen one; swing on a grape vine, climb a skinny tree, or leap a barbed wire fence.

Wil loved hunting and fishing. He was an excellent marksman with a rifle and a great wing shooter He abided by animal game laws, but maybe fudged on fishing limits. He knew were the sweet gun and mulberry trees were, also trees that produced sweet acorns and thin shelled hickory nuts, all favorites of squirrels.

Dad saw to it that all of his boys learned gardening and to use tools and to care for chicks and chickens, pigs and a milk cow. They were also taught to handle saws, axes, wedges and sledges. They learned to be lawn mowers, wood cutters, fruit pickers and nut gatherers. They hired out to farmers, orchard owners, sextons, and store keepers.

When Wil was 5 he started school at a one-room school located on the tallest hill in Tunnel Hill, about * miles from his home. 1“ to 8" grade were taught by Mrs. Beulah Simmons. She was wonderful. The school building still stands and is now a single family home.

Wil started high school in Vienna in 1953. He was a good student, following his brothers, George and Jim in making the honor roll. His teachers; Ewing Lawrence, Nadene Duncan, Jessie Veach, Glen Jones, Toby Hightower, Mary Maloney, and Wayne Chester were his favorites. Mr. Chester an Toby Hightower

became Wil’s mentors and life-long friends. He graduated in 1956. He was 15.

Put SIU / ROTC writing here.

When he Graduated from SIU in 1958 he went directly to Malden AFB – Malden, MO and was sworn in as a 2™ Lieutenant in the United States Air Force. He earned his pilot wings in a T-33 in 1959 at Craig AFB, San Antiono, Texas Wil received his commission as a 2" Lieutenant in the USAF when he was 20.

when I was engaged in an unfair scuffle, but that is another story. Wil graduated, from Vienna High School (Vienna IL) in 1954 with excellent grades and great friends. His favorite teacher, mentor and life-long friend is Toby Hightower, then the Superintendant of VHS.. Toby wrote a glowing account of Wil’s achievements as a decorated senior officer in the USAF and being a wonderful man who achieved greatness as a leader and inspiration for others. Toby, now 94, lives in Indiana.

After high school, Wil followed his brother George in choosing SIU in Carbondale for his college education.

Early in his AF career he and a squadron from Malden AFB in Malden, MO were flying to Scott AFB in Belleville. Their route took them near Tunnel Hill. Wil peeled out of the formation and headed his single seat trainer towards his birth home. He had pre announced the fly over and several family members and neighbors were outside in the lawn watching for his plane. He came roaring into view barely over tree top high. Wow! We were thrilled. He flew parallel to the RR tracks and past Tunnel Hill before he turned his plane back towards us. He dipped the wings of the plane and waved at us before he hustled back to his formation.

He loved the left side cockpit pilot’s seat. While he was stationed near Paris

France in 19 , he flew notable dignitaries like President Eisenhower, VP Lyndon

Johnson, Sec. of State Robert Mcnamara, ambassadors, statesmen and others.

Wil flew 308 combat missions in Vietnam; 276 in the AC119 gun ship called “The Shadow” and 32 in a B-52 Bomber. He received several medals one being THE DISTINGUISHED FLYING CROSS. In Wil’s 22 years of service he would fly 19 different types of aircraft and log more than 11,000 hours of flying time. He was promoted to Lieutenant Colonel before he retired in 1979,

At his home in Bastrop TX Wil built a back yard fish pond. Waterfall, fish, frogs, real stone, metal, large, small, med. Fossilized rocks, rock collection. ‘Bird feeders, dog runs, bird watching – more than 100 different kinds of birds came to his back yard for food and water. They entertained him and his family with songs and beauty.

recognized and people commissioned him for their special wood carvings. He also

rved wood and taught woodcarving. His considerable talent was

collected art, played golf, helped with fund raising for church, school, and community. He traveled extensively: Africa, Alaska, Hawaii, Australia, England, France, Spain, India, Ireland, Japan/China-

William Robert Casey (Billy Bob when he was a boy) and now he is just Wil. He is the third oldest brother of the Casey’s of Tunnel Hill and lives in Bastrop Texas with his 2™ wife, Catherine.

After college at SIUC Wil went into the U.S. Air force and became a pilot. He flew large and small jets. He was in the Vietnam War and flew a heavy bomber. Wil lived in a lot of places, including Michigan, New Mexico, Arizona, and Louisiana and places outside the United States.

His career was remarkable and he now lives in TEXAS with his wife, Catherine.

His children are Neil, Beth and Alyson. Neil became a General in the Air Force and now is retired and lives in New Mexico. Beth is in Washington (I think) and Alyson lives with her mom, Robin in Austin, TX. Catherine has a sister in Florida. Catherine was a wonderful teacher and loves, loves, kids.

Both Wil and Cat love birds and in their back yard they have a water fall and small pool. Frogs (not all are real) and birds love the water fall and are well fed.

Wil and Catherine loves books too and always have one or two open at a time.

Wil & Cat Casey [address withheld]

Wyatt Thompson – 15 You have a great name and a link to history. Wyatt Earp was a western lawman. His full name was Wyatt Berry Stapp Earp. He was from Illinois and went west to find his fortune. He became a gun toting man which led him to become a Sheriff of Dodge City, Deadwood, and Tombstone. He was involved in a famous gun battle in Tombstone. An amazing fact was that Wyatt was in several altercations and shootings, and he was never hit by a bullet. One of his leather vests had a bullet hole in in, but the bullet never hit his hide. For fun and a story you can tell, I recommend that you do research of Wyatt Earp. The Library will have a book for you. Jack Thompson – 10 What’s a name? Everything! It is the best word in the world to anyone. To you! When you hear someone say, “Jack,” you will turn your head toward the sound. Jack was poplar and was often used because it was easy to remember, say, and fit the characters: like Jack Frost, Jack and the Beanstalk, Jack Dempsey, and Jack Sparrow, the captain of the pirate ship in “Pirates of The Caribbean.” An enjoyable movie (to me}. There will be times in your life when you meet another Jack. He will be someone you will like and remember. Phoebe (‘fe-be’) You have a glamorous name. It’s origin is Greek. Daughter of Uranus (Heaven) and Gaia (earth). Phoebe may have been the grandmother of Apollo and Artemis. As you grow, learn how to write your name with an ink pen or brush. Your signature reveals your character.