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2/20/2013 – Alton, IL Jim’s announcement to me this morning, “I feel great,” was welcomed news. His smile was wide and his step light, a far cry from his weak greeting two days ago when I came for a visit. “Darn,” he said, “it’s the best I’ve felt in a long, long time”. He had just showered and dressed. It was a quarter past seven and I had breakfast ready: a three-egg omelet, toast and jelly (grape for him, crab apple for me), a glass of milk, and a cup of coffee from his new coffee maker. We discussed two books he had read: one on John Logan, a political general in the Civil War who was from Anna and a heralded book, Lincoln’s Rivals. We discussed the Gettysburg battle and the war in the West. After breakfast and talking, Jim hitched up his carpenter jeans and went to work in his sign shop and I rinsed off dishes then packed my stuff and readied for my trip home. When I arrived Tuesday afternoon at Garden Heights with a box of groceries Jim was on the couch with a blanket cover, reading a book and smoking a Pall Mall. I asked him if he liked wieners and kraut. He answered affirmative and said that was exactly what he had been craving for a couple of days. How about fried potatoes I added. Good by me he said. Later he peeled six red potatoes while I hunted up cooking gear and peeked into the fridge, cabinets, and drawers and was satisfied we could pull it off. We did. There was a fresh salad, plenty of dogs and kraut and fried potatoes for the three of us. “I’m not hungry” Liz had arrived with a pumpkin pie and sat down for dinner with us. Jim had seconds and we finished the fare. After dinner Jim and I watched some basketball and Olympics while reading. Skye, age 8 years, 11 months and 26 days came over and entertained us with her drawings and “bets”. She drew a frog for me and an owl for her. She’s quite good and loves at art, puzzles and riddles. Wed. morning Jim and Skye were busy getting ready for her school day. He fixed a P&B sandwich, a cup of fruit and Skye added a bottle of water to her pack. She helped me wash last night’s dishes and I paid her $1.00 and she thanked me for her pickle money. Off they took for McDonalds for a cinnamon roll (a daily regular) and school. I had oatmeal and blueberries and when Jim came back he also had oatmeal. We were running a bit late and Jim was a little nervous. It was 9:15 and he wanted to be at the hospital by 10:30. Evansville is about 70 miles NE of Harrisburg. I drove and no vehicles passed us. Jim never commented when I passed cars and trucks on the two-lane road to Evansville. We arrived at 10:20 and were in our waiting seats by 10:30. Several of Jim’s friends were waiting for radiation treatments and ever one struck up conversations about snow, ice, and relatives. I strolled down an aisle and was shooed back by a tall nurse – “you can’t come in here,” she said. I asked if I could come back when my brother came for radiation and she said no. A few minute later she came to the waiting room for Jim and said I could come too.

2/20/2018 – Alton, IL

Jim’s announcement to me this morning, “I feel great,” was welcomed news. His smile was wide and his step light, a far cry from his weak greeting two days ago when I came for a visit. “Darn,” he said, “it’s the best I’ve felt in a long, long time”.

He had just showered and dressed. It was a quarter past seven and I had breakfast ready: a three-egg omelet, toast and jelly (grape for him, crab apple for me), a glass of milk, and a cup of coffee from his new coffee maker. We discussed two books he had read: one on John Logan, a political general in the Civil War who was from Anna and a heralded book, Lincoln’s Rivals. We discussed the Gettysburg battle and the war in the West. After breakfast and talking, Jim hitched up his carpenter jeans and went to work in his sign shop and I rinsed off dishes then packed my stuff and readied for my trip home.

When I arrived Tuesday afternoon at Garden Heights with a box of groceries Jim was on the couch with a blanket cover, reading a book and smoking a Pall Mall. I asked him if he liked wieners and kraut. He answered affirmative and said that was exactly what he had been craving for a couple of days. How about fried potatoes I added. Good by me he said. Later he peeled six red potatoes while I hunted up cooking gear and peeked into the fridge, cabinets, and drawers and was satisfied we could pull it off. We did. There was a fresh salad, plenty of dogs and kraut and fried potatoes for the three of us. “I’m not hungry” Liz had arrived with a pumpkin pie and sat down for dinner with us. Jim had seconds and we finished the fare.

After dinner Jim and I watched some basketball and Olympics while reading.

Skye, age 8 years, 11 months and 26 days came over and entertained us with her drawings and “bets”. She drew a frog for me and an owl for her. She’s quite good and loves at art, puzzles and riddles.

‘Wed. morning Jim and Skye were busy getting ready for her school day. He fixed a P&B sandwich, a cup of fruit and Skye added a bottle of water to her pack. She helped me wash last night’s dishes and I paid her $1.00 and she thanked me for her pickle money. Off they took for McDonalds for a cinnamon roll (a daily regular) and school. I had oatmeal and blueberries and when Jim came back he also had oatmeal. We were running a bit late and Jim was a little nervous. It was 9:15 and he wanted to be at the hospital by 10:30. Evansville is about 70 miles NE of Harrisburg.

I drove and no vehicles passed us. Jim never commented when I passed cars and trucks on the two-lane road to Evansville. We arrived at 10:20 and were in our waiting seats by 10:30. Several of Jim’s friends were waiting for radiation treatments and ever one struck up conversations about snow, ice, and relatives. I strolled down an aisle and was shooed back by a tall nurse – “you can’t come in here,” she said. I asked if I could come back when my brother came for radiation and she said no. A few minute later she came to the waiting room for Jim and said I could come too.

A large space ship like machine was in the middle of a large, tall ceiled room with a hospital table top surface for a patient to lie on. Jim stripped to his jeans and was helped onto the surface. The table moved up, tilted and moved into position next to the machine. The machine was used for a scan and radiation. When the table was in position, the nurses stepped back and the machine began to turn. I took photos and looked at the overhead screen and only saw figures and lines. Shucks. I was asked to leave and thanked the nurses for letting me see the start.

Santa Claus was getting to be a little shaky. After all, I was almost 12, no, 6. The year before, Jerry Simmons, my best friend who was a year younger than me had received a Red Ryder BB gun, a Jong barreled Wyatt Earp Model 44 cap pistol, a game of Cootie, and a bright red striped shirt, plus pajamas. They also had more bananas, oranges, and grapefruit than our entire family had gotten. I asked my mom why didn't Santa bring us more stuff, because after all, we all worked hard, did our chores, read books and kept our rooms pretty clean. She told me that my Santa Claus loved me very much and wanted us to have the best, but sometimes he left more stuff for others to make up for some of the things those kids didn't have.

I didn't exactly buy this story. Jerry Dale was Bill and Grace's youngest son and his older brother, Billy, often bought Jerry something nice even if it wasn't Christmas. His aunt Cricket also sent him the PJ's, and some games. She lived in Massachusetts, wherever that was. It was somewhere along a toll road and a turnpike, but I didn't know what those kinds of roads were. Who ever heard of paying to drive on a road anyway? It was a long way there and they went there every summer and I could never go with them. I had to stay at home and work.

The two bladed knife at Herman Pratt's General Store would make me a good present and I let everyone at my house know that. I was sure the big blade would be keen to cut sling shot stalks from the elm tree in our back yard. The small blade could whittle real nice, plus I could play mumble peg. So, from October until early December, whenever I was in the store, I would look at and examine that two-bladed knife. It was one of six knives attached with a rubber band to the hard board display stand. Then one day all the knives were gone. Not to worry, Santa knew I wanted that knife and surely one of his helpers had learned where it was and had taken it to Santa to bring to me.

On that Christmas morning our cold house came alive. The Warm Morning heating stove was stoked with fresh coal to warm the living room. Mom had made hot chocolate and us kids would find our Christmas Loot. Of course, we had clothes, nice and new, lots of fruit and nuts, and shared presents of games, puzzles, and books with our brothers and sisters, and our present.

The tiny brown speckled one-bladed knife was my present. I felt pain when I opened the gift, then I felt ashamed and hurt- a mighty hurt. Santa had let me down. I had been real good all year – again. Santa had brought be a knife that I didn't want. No tears for me though.

The old brown stuffed chair were I sat had a hole in the right arm and I stuck that knife under the padding and shoved it far back up the arm. The knife was gone. When mom came to me, her¢ eyes were bright and she had a big smile for me. She asked, "What did Santa bring to you?” "Nothing," I replied and looked away, my face in a pout. "Why," she said, “that isn't true, I know Santa didn't forget you.” "Yes he did," I answered. " I wanted a knife and he didn't bring it to

me.

My mom was sitting on the arm of the chair and her hand felt the small bump – the knife – hidden in the padding. She slipped her hand inside the cover and removed the knife. Now her face was serious and she looked into my eyes and said, "isn't this yours?” "No," I blurted again, but now my tears were real. She did not say any more, just pulled me to my feet, sat in the seat of the chair and pulled me onto her lap and held me to her breast for a while. Then she said Santa wanted to get me the two bladed knife, but when he got to the store, it was gone and rather than get me nothing, he got me the small knife. "One day," she said, "You'll understand that your Santa Claus loves you more than any knife you will ever own.

She was right.

A few minutes later after a big breakfast together, us kids told about our Christmas and I proudly held up my Christmas Knife. I wish I had it now.

John Casey 11-08-2001

Note: Jerry's real mom was really Cricket. His grandparents, Bill and Grace, never told him this and when Jerry was 12, he somehow learned about his real mother and never, to my knowledge, acknowledged this to anyone in his family. When Jerry told me this story, I told my mom and we never discussed it again either.

A Christmas Knife

Santa Claus was getting to be a little shaky. After all, I was almost 12, no, 6. ‘The year before, Jerry Simmons, my best friend who was a year younger than me had received a Red Ryder BB gun, a long barreled Wyatt Earp Model 44 cap pistol, a game of Cootie, and a bright red striped shirt, plus pajamas. They also had more bananas, oranges, and grapefruit than our entire family had gotten. I asked my mom why didn't Santa bring, us more stuff, because after all, we all worked hard, did our chores, read books and kept our rooms pretty clean. Shetold me that my Santa Claus loved me very much and wanted us to have the best, but sometimes he left more stuff for others to make up for some of the things those kids didn’t have.

I didn't exactly buy this story. Jerry Dale was Bill and Grace's youngest son and his older brother, Billy, often bought Jerry something nice even if it wasn't Christmas. His aunt Cricket also sent him the PJ 's, and some games. She lived in Massachusetts, wherever that was. It was somewhere along a toll road and a turnpike, but I didn't know what those kinds of roads were. Who ever heard of paying to drive on a road anyway? It was a long way there and they went there every summer and I could never go with them. I had to stay at home and work.

The two bladed knife at Herman Pratt's General Store would make me a good present and J let everyone at my house mow that. I was sure the big blade would be keen to cut sling shot stalks from the elm tree in our back yard. The small plade could whittle real nice, plus I could play mumble peg. So, from October until carly December, whenever | was in the store, I would look at and examine that two-bladed knife. It was one of six knives attached with a rubber band to the hard board display stand. Then one day all the knives were gone. Not to worry, Santa knew I wanted that knife and surely one of his helpers had learned where it was and had taken it to Santa to bring to me.

On that Christmas morning our cold house came alive. The Warm Morning heating stove was stoked with fresh coal to warm the living room. Mom had made hot chocolate and us kids would find our Christmas Loot. Of course, we had clothes, nice and new, lots of fruit and nuts, and shared presents of games, puzzles, and books with our brothers and sisters, and our present.

The tiny brown speckled one-bladed knife was my present. I felt pain when I opened the gift, then I felt ashamed and hurt- a mighty hurt. Santa had let me down. I had been real good all year – again. Santa had brought be a knife that T didn't want. No tears for me though.

‘The old brown stuffed chair were I sat had a hole in the right arm and I stuck that knife under the padding and shoved it far back up the arm. The knife was gone. When mom came to me, herg eyes were bright and she had a big smile for me. She asked, "What did Santa bring to you?” "Nothing," I replied and looked away, my face in a pout, "Why," she said, “that isn't true, I know Santa didn't forget you.” "Yes he did," I answered. "I wanted a knife and he didn't bring it to me."

My mom was sitting on the arm of the chair and her hand felt the small bump – the knife – hidden in the padding. She slipped her hand inside the cover and removed the knife. Now her face was serious and she looked into my eyes and said, “isn't this yours?” "No," I blurted again, but now my tears were real. She did not say any more, just pulled me to my feet, sat in the seat of the chair and pulled me onto her lap and held me to her breast for a while. Then she said Santa wanted to get me the two bladed knife, but when he got to the store, it was gone and rather than get me nothing, he got me the small knife. "One day," she said, "You'll understand that your Santa Claus loves you more than any knife you will ever own.

She was right.

‘A few minutes later after a big breakfast together, us kids told about our Christmas and I proudly held up my Christmas Knife. I wish I had it now.

John Casey 11-08-2001

Note: Jerry's real mom was really Cricket. His grandparents, Bill and Grace, never told him this and when Jerry was 12, he somehow learned about his real mother and never, to my knowledge, acknowledged this to anyone in his family. When Jerry told me this story, I told my mom and we never discussed it again either.

A Family Calendar

My father, patriarch of his family, complied a history of our Casey amily. He managed to trace the family back to Abner Casey, an rishman from County Tyrone, Ireland. Abner was likely born in the latter part of the 16 century and came to America in 1725, departing rom a sea port in Southern Ireland.

Dad did a good job with the history, but it was somewhat hard to read and follow. Dad used his old Underwood typewriter and with his two index fingers banged out the history on tightly written paper. The history was passed around a bit and one day I decided to put the words on a computer and make copies for our family. The history is saved and will likely be updated, corrected, or revised in the future.

My immediate family, four brothers and three sisters, scattered as we left home to go to school or find work. Now our family is six after losing a sister and a brother. Two brothers and one sister live in Illinois; a sister lives in Virginia; a brother lives in Texas. The children of my siblings live in twelve states; Illinois, Texas, Alabama, Florida, Louisiana, Virginia, Montana, Virginia, Arizona, Massachusetts, and New Hampshire, and New Mexico.

A plan for a family calendar came together in response to the want of keeping our family informed and connected with each other. We try to keep up with our family, but distances and schedules make it difficult. Phone calls and sending cards helps and many of us use e-mail to communicate. Some of our cousins have not seen one another in upwards of thirty years. Some younger cousins have never seen some of their kin.

Photos seemed to be a way to help us get to know one another a bit better and put a name with a face. Family photos were the start, along with photos of scenes, buildings and homes from our birth area of Southern Illinois – Johnson County – and specifically Tunnel Hill.

A photo of our parent’s house was to be on the front cover. The inside cover was a photo of my parents on their 50tt wedding anniversary. Photos of family groups as well as individual photos followed and every member of the family was included. I added names and to each photo and put the birthday of each sibling on the calendar. More than 50 photos were included in the calendar and they ranged seven generations from my own great-great grandparents to a brother’s great-granddaughter.

[yellow legal pad – a family note] [margin: Our family] Gerry – -0-. Jim's Clan – Scott, Candice, [Richard], grandson. Liz & her sons – ? No idea. John & his two guns. Shan does not own a gun. Wil and his family? No idea. I'm guessing 20 guns between us all. 20+. I gave Jim's grandson Craig (Connie's son, not adopted by Jim) three guns – a shotgun, a rifle and a pistol (Uncle Bill's). [margin: Scott's soul – testing equipment] – I made a mistake.

Mom’s pretty coffee cup slipped from my soapy fingers, grazed the pull handle to the silverware drawer and shattered when it hit the linoleum floor. Slivers of white glass with bits of rose colored tints were scattered about and only the slender handle of the cup was recognizable.

“Mom,” by sister, Edie yelled, “you better come in here, Johnny‘s busted your best cup.” Dishwashing stopped. I was the washer, Edie was the dryer and we waited for mom to come into the kitchen. Minutes before my sis and I were laughing and teasing as we did the dishes.

I stood on a small wooden box; leaned over the kitchen counter and my hands moved left to right putting dishes and silverware into and out of the large aluminum dishpan. A washed piece would be slid into the rinse pan or handed to Edie who would complete the rinse and dry the piece before replacing it in the cabinet. Hot soapy water and extra hot rinse water got the dishes sparkling clean and ready for the next serving. Mom usually did the morning dishes and us kids (I’m from a family of 8) either went our ways to school or chores or whatever.

We kids did the evening dishes usually in teams of two. I, being the 5” child, often got the job. Edie, my older sister or Liz, my younger sister was the likely team. The big kids had other assignments (I guess) like bringing in the coal, chopping firewood, slopping hogs, feeding chickens and drawing fresh water from the well.

Back to the dropped cup. I wanted to blame Edie for not taking the cup sooner but that wasn’t the case. The clean slippery cup was passed by my even ipperier hands towards the rinse pan in a hurried motion. The fall did not break the cup, but the landing sure did. Smash!

When mom reached the kitchen I was looking over my shoulder at her. My eyes were burning and I suspect that tears were forming. The stillness was finally broken when Edie pointed at the broken glass and said, “Look what he did!” “I didn’t mean to,” I blurted, “I’m sorry.” Mom bent down, picked up the handle of the cup and said, “you two will have to help me clean it up, we'll need the broom.” Into action we obeyed and the broken glass was swept up and dumped into the trash.

When this job was done mom said, “Edie, you finish washing the dishes and Johnny you dry them.” She also said, “don’t worry about the cup it was only a piece of glass, I'm glad one of you didn’t get cut.” It was my mom’s favorite cup and now it was only a piece of glass. She knew it was a mistake and she didn’t want to break our spirit and understood the lesson it taught us.

Over the years I have probably broken a few dishes, but I have never failed to remember my mom when my soapy hands are on a cup — I mean – a piece of glass.

John Casey 3/6/03

Make a plan to visit shops, boutiques, dress/clothing, near the Salon. Consider banks, insurance companies, Realtors, …. The employees of these businesses and are well dressed and into personal care and looks. They go to professional stylists. You don’t have to go to the higher ups to give your card to someone. Design a card – a little bigger than a business card. Don’t try to make a statement with a designer card or spend much money. Color prints at Office Max for example. A profile / description of the salon – address, etc. and a personal profile of you. Spend more time in using words that work and are truthful. two sentences, maybe three. Consider leaving two cards, with one in an envelope so it may be passed on to someone they refer to you. A stamp. Plan a presentation that is less than 3 minutes long. Don’t get involved with purchasing something or a service. Don’t drop names. Don’t leave a small item or trinket.

There is a separation (a sister of a sibling between Wil and me, and a separation of (a sister) of my younger brother who had just died. Relationships of siblings are unique and sometimes difficult to understand and more difficult to explain. The flare-up on the day our family reunion started may have been triggered by a caustic (opinion expressed) remark, but the sibling relationship was the cause of the coolness I had towards my brother afterwards.

I love and respect all of my siblings, but each of our relationships remains unique. Obviously, some of them are fragile. An older brother, Jim is the number two child and number two brother, and is separated from me by two siblings. He has not been an adversary or a competitor of mine, I believe, because of the separation. Jim advised me to have patience and let time heal the conflict with Wil. This is Jim’s way of dealing with conflict. I’m not sure that this is correct, and rarely have tried it. But, I decided to try it for awhile, resulting in my coolness towards Wil during the reunion.

Wil’s remarks to me at the end of the reunion aggravated the tiff. His approach was a direct and bristly confrontational with me of what he believed was MY BEHAVIOR towards him at the reunion. It was, to him, an event, isolated and wrong. I had behaved badly and I needed to examine my behavior and obviously apologize to him for what I had done wrong. We could not have been more polarized. His parting words were to the effect, “J don’t have time to deal with you right now, so you will just have to analyze your behavior and apologize.” It was big brother advice to a wrong-doing little brother. Some memories of any relationship are never erased. I will stop here and not try to explain about my relationships with siblings.

A visit to jim’s. Ingredients of a small commercial pizza, unknown expiration date.

Tortinno Pizza — 9.8 0z 620 calories — Price, about $3.00- Nutritions:

22% fat; Saturated Fat: 20%: Sodium 24%; Carbohydrates: 6%

List of ingredients; about 250 includin:

Flour, Niacin, Ferrous Sulfate, Thiamin Monolprate; folic acid, water, mozzarella cheese substitute; palm oil, fennel casen, soy bean oil, potato starch, vital wheat germ sodium aluminum, phosphate, Jaett, potassium chloride, citric acid, potassium sort ate, preservative sodium citrate, artificial color, mal toderale, magnesium oxide, zinc oxide sodium p ribon flavin, vitamin, palmate vitamin B12; rehydrated pastoral process, salt enzyme, modified corn starch, sugar, salt enzymes, annatto canola oil, dry yeast dextrose. Beet powder, ascorbic acid, bicbonate, malce acid, xarhan, gum, sothlan, zanthn. Spelling may not be exact and I left a lot off. Did I see anti-freeze?

Skye, Jim’s great granddaughter, had just helped me grate Gouda cheese, and spread canola oil on a 9” flour tortilla. She helped spread a thin layer of tomato sauce/mild salsa on it and we added the Gouda and two tbsp of Mexican cheese (mix of cheddar, American, provolone). I put the tortilla in a large non-stick skillet, turned the heat to med-high, and covered the tortilla and let it cook for 4-5 min. When it was done; the crust was thin and crunchy, I cut it into small triangles and Sky took a nibble and said she did not like it.

Jim came into the kitchen and she said she did not like it and Jim said, “Do you want your pizza? Yes, was her reply. Jim opened the fridge, got a tiny pizza, turned on the stove and about 10 min later took the pizza thing out and Skye took it to the living room to eat. Meanwhile, I made another pan pizza and adding grape tomatoes, black olives, and pepperoni on a 12” tortilla and used the same cooking process, and Jim ate two of them. Skye ate the middle of two slices of her pizza and left the plate in the living room.

Skye asked me to work a puzzle with her.

Tuesday morning, after a breakfast of scrambled eggs, bacon, toast and Jelly, mandarin oranges, a banana, milk and coffee, I put away the left over food. All dishes were washed and put on a drying cloth. Jim and I left Harrisburg at 8:52 AM

About 20 miles north of Harrisburg at the intersection of Rt. 45 and Rt. 69 we turned east towards Evansville, Indiana. A mileage sign said, Evansville 46 miles. The Deaconess Hospital is on the east edge of Evansville and about 5 miles from the west edge of the city. Rte. 69 is a two lane road on a raised highway bed with a speed limit of 55 that most motorists adhere to. We drove by large grain fields with numerous grass hoppers like oil pumps dotting the fields. Some of the pumps were not on. The small town of New Haven was the last Illinois village we passed before going over a toll-bridge at the Little Wabash River. Mt. Vernon, Indiana was a bigger town and it had a beautiful old brick county courthouse near the highway. Evansville was soon after that, just over the Ohio River Bridge. The hospital was just past Interstate 64.

Deaconess Hospital is an aging complex of buildings with, cancer, heart, and children’s facilities. .It was 75 miles from Harrisburg. I had asked Jim why he chose an Evansville hospital as opposed to Marion/Carbondale, Mt. Vernon, IL or Paducah which were all closer. He said he was confident with going there and liked the people.

It’s been almost two years since Jim died. I can see his dead body lying in the fluffy frills of the cloth in the casket. His camo cap touched his ears and covered his bald scalp. Three petite females; his granddaughter, Candace, her daughter, Skye, and Candice’s friend were huddled by the flowers at the foot of the casket. A small group of mourners sat quietly in the chapel of the funeral home, many with tears in their eyes and memories in their minds of the man in the casket. They waited for the music to start.

Each person present had their own private thoughts as the preacher begin the service with a story. He spoke in quiet tones describing his own experience with Jim conveying his belief about the hereafter and how Jim had told him he had talked to the Lord and would be received in Heaven. “Are you ready?” he asked Jim and Jim replied, “Yes, I’m ready.” The ordained man continued his message with stories of Jim and his family, his love, sharing, and protective nature of them. He also talked of Jim’s many talents, his skills of knife making (he showed the one Jim had given him) and painting and his love of nature. Heads nodded, and quiet affirmative murmurs were emitted by several in the congregation.

What's it like now that Jim is no longer with us? What changes have been made? How are you doing? I ask myself this question. My answer is always a review of an incident/a time and place with Jim.

Not finishing this essay is a reminder that I will not stop remembering him. And, remembering him the way I want to. One thing for sure, I will remember him for his kids

and family.

Alton, IL (62002) population – approximately 30,900 is located in Southwestern Illinois on the East bank of the Mississippi River. It is approximately 10 miles from North St. Louis, 15 miles from Lambert International Airport and 20 miles from downtown St. Louis. IL St. Rt. 143, Rt. 3, Rt. 67, and Rt. 111 serve the Alton area. Missouri Rt. 367 North connects to IL Rt. 3, and Rt. 67 at the modern and relatively new Clark Bridge that spans the Mississippi River. Alton is a historical and charming community. It is full of hills, hollows, bluff overlooks, (it’s not level) with homes from modest to posh.

Alton was once an industrial city of prominence with steel, glass, and container manufacturing plants and now it has become a place of considerable commerce, retail, distribution, and unique shops and businesses. Restaurants and eateries in all ranges abound in Alton. Here you will find franchise restaurants such as Appleby’s, The Golden Corral, Amarillo Texas, The St. Louis Bread Company, and many hamburger, pizza, pasta, chicken, as well as ethnic restaurants. The Argosy Casino is located in downtown Alton on the Mississippi.

Restaurants, shops, as well as attractive and well-appointed condos and apartments have been created in the downtown district. Investors have seen and acted on opportunities and have revitalized Alton. This has improved the quality of life considerably. More and more North St. Louis folks come over the Clark Bridge to visit Alton. Some buy and stay here.

Godfrey, IL (62035) – population approximately 25,000 – is located immediately North of Alton. In fact, Alton/Godfrey is used to describe the entire area. Godfrey has very little commerce other than shops, restaurants and service businesses. It does boast, however, as being one of the best places anywhere to live. It has seen dramatic growth in residential development, including condos, townhouses, and apartment complexes. The excellent topography, access to St. Louis and all of the Metro East area and improved roads have contributed to this growth.

Tourism has also continued to spur grown in the area. Not only do the restaurants, the casino, shopping and the quaint city of Alton attract visitors, but also the Mississippi is cleaner and more of a recreation destination. A new Alton Marina, and nearby villages of Elsah and Grafton contribute to the popularity of Alton. And, The American Bald

Eagle has helped promote tourism. That’s because they are here every winter for several months. Once only a few, now hundreds of them may be seen along the scenic Great River Road that runs parallel to the Mississippi and the bluffs. The Mississippi provides the food and the bluffs provide the setting.

To live in or close to downtown Alton means that you are close to what makes for enjoyable and comfortable living. You will be close to St. Louis with big city amenities; world class museums, entertainment, major league sports (Cardinals, Rams and Blues), the airport, and living in Alton you will also be close to the country and outdoors with splendid parks, hiking and bike trails, and recreation. What is also remarkable is that it is one of the lowest cost of living areas in all of Illinois.

Remarkable is the right word to describe the area for home buyers, investors, developers, and entrepreneurs. Don’t wait too long.

Along comes an offer from a cousin who lived in Michigan and owned, with his mom, a memorial company in Fenton Michigan. The salary doubled what I made in Indiana. Management fit my talents and I loved numbers and selling monuments. I changed the company, developed teams, improved production, hired staff, negotiated for best price stones, and expanded services. It dramatically improved the bottom line and restored it’s reputation. An unusual event happened that changed me. Two women were killed in a train, car crash just outside my office. I could see the woman’s car slowly move forward onto the rail road tracks that did not have guard rail arms and heard the fast moving train approaching. I was on the phone talking to a gal I liked and said, I have to go. I ran out the door and watched the speeding train smash into the car squeezing it like a lemon, leaving a mangled car and two unidentifiable women along the tracks. The train stopped beyond the last remains. I saw a horrible scene and called out to people running towards the wreckage, not to go there. Police, fire department and hospital vehicles were quick to reach the crash site. Only clean up duties were done. I went back to my office, called the girl back and said, I hope to see you sometime, told about the wreck and said goodbye. That was my last day of working for the memorial company, I had packed for a two week vacation and it was in my car. I drove 500 miles in my Blue VW Bug back to my parents home in Illinois. I went to Alton to interview for a job soon after I was ready to go back to earning a living. I was still Johnnie.

Angels at Dinner

The preacher who baptized me was Jack Parrish. I was 13, just past the age when Baptists could make up their own mind about salvation, so my mom told me. I think you had to be 12 o better to be really saved. Jack saved a bunch of us Tunnel Hill Natives that year and I wasn't the youngest or the oldest. I hope it stuck on all of us.

There were about ten of us who waded into the northeast side of Beauman's lake to join Jack who was fully clothed and tied. I guess he was fully shoed too. I wore a good pair of blue jeans and the only white shirt to my name, but not shoes or socks. I waded out to Jack where he stood in waist deep (to him) water. Us new Christians were lined up waiting for our tum to be immersed into the murky water which hopefully would cleanse our souls and preserve a place for us in heaven – all of us.

When it was my turn, | turned loose of the devil, put my trust in the Lord, and my body in Jack's hands. He swiftly dunked me, washing away something I was sure, perhaps the sins of my early childhood. Thirteen years of sin gone. My eyes had been closed the moment he put one arm behind my back and the other on my face as he shoved me backwards. SAVED!

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 Parrish, thank God.

Jack was about 37 when he baptized me. He was average build, wore glasses and spoke softly. He cartied his bible, Baptist fashion, in his cupped hand with extended arm. He preached goodness and not damnation or fear of eternal punishing fire.

Jack came to dinner often, about once a month, and always sat next to dad and mom. He passed food before he took any for him and said the thigh was the best piece of chicken. I liked that a lot and the fact he passed food to his left and before some of the older kids could latch onto a Piece of treasured white meat. It gave me a chance that otherwise would not happen.

He loved angel food cake and when he came to dinner, mom made angel food cake. I thought it was a family cake, but rather believe it was special just for Jack Parrish. 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 one angel food cake. The egg whites were beaten just right with just the right amount of sugar before being mixed with the flour and other ingredients before pouring the batter into the aluminum angel food cake pan.

When that pan came out, I knew Jack was coming to dinner and that there was an outside chance for me to get a piece of white meat. Jack Parrish was easily the best preacher the little Baptist church had ever had. I can see him in the lake, and I can see him at our family table passing chicken, mashed potatoes, green beans, and getting the first piece of mom's 13-egg angel food cake.

There were at least two angels at the table, Jack Parrish and my mom.

John Casey 11-08-2001

There would’n be much time to address the bee problem, I asked Dad If I could help relocate the bees. I had experience in taking honey out of bee trees without destroying the hive. He OKA ik,

I begin a plan: first, collect supplies, tools, and form a team and do it quickly, Cob Conroy Lived next to the lodge. He was a cobbler, a mechanic, a welder and my best adult friend. I went to his shop and told him my idea of moving the bees and what was needed to do it without harming bees. I found a helper, we needed helmets, a welder’ mask would do, A smoker was needed; he had one. Long gloves, cover alls, and courage was needed. Cob begin immediately and soon had collected and explained to our team how to use the tools and supplies. One person would do the close work ak the hive. His back up would be ready to hand tools, shoo away bees and give encouragement.

In a short time we set the plan into action. I slowly approached the hive in my bee outfit with a hand held fishing net with partially filled honey combs, I hoped it would attract the bees to Leave the building, My buddy had the smoker, and a 20 gallon yellow Lard can,

My goodness, the bees were obviously starving, and flew into the nek I carried, No smoke was necessary. In a few minutes the bees were in the Lard can and it was sealed by a Lid. Off we went to a nearby tree, found by a helper. It had a hole in it’s trunk and hopefully the bees would make it their home. My goodness! When the

There would’n be much time to address the bee problem. I asked Dad If I could help relocate the bees. I had experience in taking honey out of bee trees without destroying the hive. He OK’d it. I begin a plan: first, collect supplies, tools, and form a team and do it quickly. Cob Conroy lived next to the lodge. He was a cobbler, a mechanic, a welder and my best adult friend. I went to his shop and told him my idea of moving the bees and what was needed to do it without harming bees. I found a helper. we needed helmets, a welder’s mask would do. A smoker was needed; he had one. long gloves, cover alls, and courage was needed. Cob begin immediately and soon had collected and explained to our team how to use the tools and supplies. One person would do the close work at the hive. His back up would be ready to hand tools, shoo away bees and give encouragement. In a short time we set the plan into action. I slowly approached the hive in my bee outfit with a hand held fishing net with partially filled honey combs. I hoped it would attract the bees to leave the building. My buddy had the smoker, and a 20 gallon yellow lard can. My goodness, the bees were obviously starving, and flew into the net I carried. No smoke was necessary. In a few minutes the bees were in the lard can and it was sealed by a lid. Off we went to a nearby tree, found by a helper. It had a hole in it’s trunk and hopefully the bees would make it their home. My goodness! When the

Dear John, To avoid moaning, I am telling you on this paper: Hagar died Monday. He had an enlarged heart, on meds, but didn't make it. A.

At 10:20 we were in the cancer building and acknowledged and Jim was soon summoned to his radiation treatment. He returned at 10:48 and a dietician came in and led him down a hallway to a patient’s room. I tagged along. She weighed him (159.2 Ibs) and measured his height at 5’ 8”. In the room she explained and recommended food and drinks for Jim. She recommended soft moist foods, broth soups, oat meal, scrambled eggs with cheese, bacon, fruit, beans, finely cut up meat and poultry, milk, yogurt, nuts, pasta, peanut butter, gravies, Ensure drinks, (no carbonated drinks or soda). She said 1970 — 2600 calories a day was a guide to maintain weight. She added that dry foods such as toast and chips would irritate his throat causing coughing and spitting up. She advised him to eat frequently; healthy snacks, shakes, smoothies, etc. and avoid acidic foods — grapefruit, tomatoes, etc. Read labels. I cup of coffee a day (avoid excessive caffeine). DRINK WATER IT WILL MAKE YOU FEEL BETTER.

A nurse (physician’s assistant?) named Cathy came in after the diet doctor left. Cathy has bright red hair and a big cheery voice. Jim really likes her. She asked Jim rapid fire questions and made notes in his file. Jim said he was very nervous and anxious on Monday but felt good today and less nervous. His Blood Pressure (BP was 88/52) was low and he may need fluids with his medicine to bring it up. She explained that he could expect to feel low — tired- in a few (3) days after chemo treatment was over. “Yes, you will lose hair, feel nauseas and likely experience constipation and a red skin rash, especially on your back. It will be like a sun burn and you need a créme to help you.” She recommended that he go on Amazon and buy a big amount for $30 instead of the 6 oz tube that cost $9. She recommended tape books to him. Jim had a book in his hands and she noticed it and the author and said she read him too. The tapes will help you when you don’t feel well and when your eyesight might get blurry after medicine. “Go to the library and get tapes that cost you nothing,” she advised.

Dr. Frazier was next. He is a middle-aged (55-60) stocky man with a pleasant manner and straight-forward approach. He asked a barrage of questions on how Jim felt and made notes all the time he was talking. Jim’s stock answer is “pretty good, OK.” The Dr. explained that Jim will feel pain — heart burn / burning like when you swallow your food. Food reaching the esophagus where the medication is near will cause this”. I asked the doctor for the name and size of the cancer. He answered, “About the size of a plum and the name is Squuamous. It was about 4-5 CM — bigger than a silver dollar. He encouraged asking questions. He said, “You will begin to lose memory due to the chemo, etc. and may be forgetful.” I asked who was OK’d to receive reports of Jim’s and he said Candice and Scott. Jim said “leave it alone now.” The Doctor said “you will feel tired about three (3) weeks after chemo stops”.

Next stop was the Oncology area — (801-858-3051). It was 11:40 AM.

The area had four stalls/cubicles, hard surface floors and each cubical has a counter/lounge chair (vinyl and wood) and IV poles and bars. Barbara, his chemo nurse, asked Jim if he was hungry and he said yes. He received a box lunch of ham salad, macaroni salad, plain cookies, Ensure and an apple. He started eating right away. (less than 3 hours ago he had had a big breakfast). I cooked a big breakfast on Monday too when Liz took him over and he had a snack lunch only until they returned after 6 PM. He ate the just fixed vegetable/chicken soup I had made. I also cooked a big breakfast Tuesday morning that he ate completely. .I found that interesting because Jim said he usually had a micro wave oatmeal breakfast and coffee and munched on chips and soda

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milies enjoyed through the ; jte a bit,to mostly timbered i through the woods,an occasional bec y to find them. ke bait out,usually soi revious year,kept sealcd up,and take it out in clearcd s

vas cutiing and in hunting ras found,and hongy comb

ot and leave it

sure

day or carly in morning,then fo back and check later to see if bees had

be If had been found,they be working in it and watch till one rises off th t ctly toward the tree they were in, Th had to make a trip it,as first trip or so,would get up and circle about and was keep eye on ther i made trip or so,then follow

put just wait ti t,usually toward a nearby woods,so get line on them,then get into k over prospective trees. “ouite a few, twice fa l. in one day,by just walking cing over tr locked promising,as they were usually not good trees, past trouble h caused defects in the body,which became hollow,makin squirrels to bed. A country boy who liked to hunt usually Ss area sy suitable holes,so was mos ly a matter of cneckin through the w usually tried to find 2-3 each year,to get some sweets,and one of the st to eat. If had been in the tree very long, sy had built comb the first year in the trec,also each subsequent year,then had raised young bevs each year,which tended to make the comb dar.,so only the newest was ever real good and white,and the best eating. got acquainted with Hubert Schauleffel when he bought the Beauman place in early 1950 and in talking to him,found he and is Brother Bill had few along in area where they grew up,so in carly fall made date to take him out to my Brother Bills on a certain night to get into one. drove to house and picked up Hibert and Marilyn,then we drove about 3 miles north,where met my Erother & 3et his mail box,loaded up the tools he nad bro rove about 13 xed the car and walked about 3/h and boLzows to nice ry tree,which we started to saw down. Bill had aleng too,and as ree going good,the dog opened up on hot coopn track yyand just as tr y to fall,he sat down,treed. “le let tree lay,while wen the dog and soon e coon,which Bill induced to jump oit,by shooting at the feet,and it soon nped,so da good coon fight,then got back to the bce tree and into it. Dont remember how good it wa ,but got the noney out and started back to car,when Trailer barked on trail of another coon,near mile south of use 11 didnt want to leave his dog in woods that far from home,so we took the s,honey etc and I had to be at work at 11LPM,so told him wrere we put the things,and we took off. I delivered Hubert and Marilyn and barely made it to work on time,but enjoyed e trip and found out later,Bill got the other coone

Some years later,maybe the next fall,I found a bee tree in Huberts woods on the bottom farm,and we made date to get into that one. I took my wife and Terry and rather guess that was Ediths first and last bee tree cutt ing,but we got to erea about same time and UVubert had his wife,Marilyn,Young I land his girl friend,who had come down for the night,also Raymond MeCuan,to handle the saw. We

vine cut the tree and opened >; and by looks,decided the 10 quart ail I brought,would

through the woods

nt hold the 980 sent Verry and Macilyn back to my house for dishpan,so be ure coulc all,then procesded to take the honey out,and I dont recall any

alwa’

ured would be some sti ;out lot times was no iners that time,as we did at times,when had the enjoyed the hour or so in great outdoors,built a fire and

to plan. anyway wile too.

ps was about my last trip,Bill always nad some,so made date to meet him

eorges that time,and had Hubert in on it too,and I ove out alone.Bill ll Georges on tractor,so I went on up there and had theit 3 kids ready n lubert drove up and nod ilarold,Dolores and Linda liowser,ary and Linda n to the road,parked the cars and lkes about 100 yar and cut a small oak,but was very little in that one, j over = mile east,to as ; along too and’ had brought boiled eg:ss,and liow Se

Every year there would be several new bee tress found by the family while they were in the woods. being in the woods was fairly common for my femily. In the Spring, jaunts in the woods was justgetting reaqusinted with ell the Spring woods fauna. I was particularly fond of blue Bells. Such tinayy litvle things thet were so besutiful. I could get right upon them and pick several and study them about an inch from my eyes and marvel at their delicate figure. There were like fairies that spring up in the woods. It would not be difficult, I imagined, that Mother Neture could wave a wand and the Blue Bells would begin junping and singing that Spring was here again.

H appy flowers they were.

The moss on the rocks was saturated with Spring rain snd they became greener

than anything in the woods. Or, was that because the moss was always contrasted

with the grey rockse The green wes lighter than most of the other green in the

woods end I always guessed it was beoause of the lack of cholorphyl. ( Several

times I have considered sucking the moss for the thirst I would suddenly get

in the woods. And, don't bet that sometimes the urge waild overtske me and

a hendfull of moss would be used. There must have been millions of little

living things in thet moss but "It woun't hurt you if you don't know theym

are there." hioss would squish uxder your feet when you walked along the rocks,

but thet was the only sigm sound. It was usually even quieter to walk on the

moss than on the bare rock. Barefooted walking on the moss was super. The

moss was soft and cushioned underfoot. \ihen you tried to walk only on the moss Ww? you would criss-cross along the rocks and sometimes have to junp to the next iy’ patche You couldn't loek anywhere but down when you wire moss walking end many wrt i ne times a terrapin (vox turtle) would suddenly "be right there". y rf

Mogs was forgotten in favor of the Tarrapin./lhe facination with thet critter ale wouldn8t be too longs We would pp pick it up and count the squares on the shell.

We would look at the enderside and examine the construction of the house that

held the animal. The shell always looked constructured to me, Here and there

a toad stool would show the bite marks left by the Terrapin. Sometimes shyness

left the Terrapin, especially the young ones, end out his legge would come,

The legs were moving when they came out of the shell end off he would race agains

Now that I have gotten a little older, i wonder just how young was the young Terrapins. low big is a young Terrapin?

The woods was not always alive with wild life, unless you considered the ferns, the moss, the trees end the like. ‘he animals in the woods were the Squirrels, Chipmunks, lizerds, snekes, frogs, skunks, raccoon, O'possoms, and Terrapins.

I always sew more Terrapins than elmost anything else, It wes :ome tive before I was to learn the woods good enough to look for and know where the animals were likely to be. If it hadn't have been for my Uncle Bill « lot of real important things wouid have gone on byy.

iy Uncle didn't walk fest in the woods. He just kinda sleuntsred around. He wasn't quist like Indians were supposed to be. In fact he doubted if Indians were very quiet in the woods either. Now hx don't get the notion that he made a lot of noise, he didn't. He stepped on the bigger rocks, avoided leaves in favor of bare xaunt ground when he could. He never crunched smell twigs underfoot or broke off limbs in his wey. He just moved natural like, picking his way through the woods teking the path of least resistance. Come to think of it, he walked through the woods

like he walks through like. Not bothering anything, enjoying it in it's natural state. Just looking ond eabservingr and leerning end teaching the youngsters as

much as they wanted to learn about what he knew. He never tried to teach anyone that didn't want to learn, He said you waste a lot of yourself and the other person when you tried to teach something they didn't want to learn, First you got to want to learn and you don't always need a teacher to learn simething, or anythinge

Before panic sets in blame begins. “This was not my idea,” said Ronald and echoed by Lowell. Phil started to whine “what are we going to do now?” He added, “It’s your idea John ~ your deal.” I glared at all of them and said we have to keep moving. Soothing words had helped me catch the cow and I asked that the guys back off and I would try to soothe her again and maybe she would follow me up the remaining four steps. They did and I begin my pleading and slight tugging at the rope. “Come on baby, come on, OH, come on,” I said. She started moving up and made it right up to the loft. Relief spread over us and a little cheer went out. “It worked, it worked!”

The rope was quickly tied to the beam, the cracked corn put out and a bale of hay loosened for the wonderful and pretty cow that was now in the barn loft. Water was already in place. Our job was done. Or, was it our deed was done?

Try not to think of us as vandals and unscrupulous imbeciles. Rather think of us as adventuresome and incredibly ignorant kids. We were scared now. The deed did not seem to be a very funny idea now. We did not know how the cow would get down. We knew our plan to pad the area with hay bales would not work. Maybe a ramp could be built up to the loft. We did not think of that as a way up, but it might be a way down. But, we did not have lumber to make a ramp and obviously not the skills to build one.

Thad heard that cows (or was that horses) could sleep standing up and hoped that the cow could get some sleep that night. I certainly couldn’t sleep even ina horizontal position.

The next morning, a Saturday, I was up early and asked my mom if she needed anything from the little country store that we sometimes bought ‘store bought’ things like cereal. She needed only a couple of items being it was not shopping day for her, but she let me go anyway. T would put it on our bill and maybe get a candy bar. But what | really wanted to do was to walk close to the barn and look through the cracks to see if the cow was still in the loft.

I scooted down the cinder street and came to the pasture gate that led to the barn. Lhopped the wooden gate and ran to the barn (the other side from where we had led the cow into the barn) and when I was close enough to look through the cracks of the barn I saw the cow. She looked OK. I was glad. I watched her for a few seconds and headed back to the street and on to the store. After getting stuff at the store I headed home quick step.

Of course my fellow criminals could not speak of the crime that I committed on my own, and they managed not to speak to me at all. That was a good thing. Mum not Moo Moo.

At the end of the day just about dusk, cows moo for food. At least I think they do. They did in Tunnel Hill, IL along time ago. The cattlemen and women trained them well, The cattle were fed and watered before bedding down for the night. This would save the cow in the loft. The barn doors were closed and when the farmer came to the barn and opened the door one of the first sights would be of the cow in the loft. He must have been surprised. I'll bet he was livid with anger too.

The town was buzzing all day about the cow in the loft and it was well after midnight of the second night that the cow came down. A crowd, most were smiling or laughing, had gathered in the light of several bright beams from trucks and cars parked outside the barn and the men came up with a solution of lowering the cow with a sling made with a broad belt strapped around the cow’s tummy. Two tractors with winches working together managed to get the cow down safely. The cow was not injured and looked healthy and well fed.

That night was one of the happiest ones in my life and one of the only times J got to stay up until midnight. Lwas in the crowd but I kind of kept out of the limelight least the cow might recognize me. She didn’t have on a blindfold cither.

John Casey

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BLACK WALNUTS An annual event for our family was nuts – Walnuts. There was a small walnut grove near home that produced excellent black walnuts. At summer’s ending, walnuts still clung to their trees. A hard frost would make most of them drop, cracking their outer shell making them ready to harvest. We gathered a crew and o! we went to the walnut grove with mesh bags to collect as many walnuts as we could carry home. The inside of the outer shell protecting the nut was black goo making walnuts dark black. We wore gloves because stains were di"cult to remove from our hands. First, we picked up walnuts that had had fallen. Then we threw rocks, limbs, and green walnuts hoping to knock them down. If a sapling was nearby we cut it down and used it to knock walnuts out of the tree. When we had collected a sack of walnuts we tied the sack to a pole that two of us could carry. When we reached home We spread them on our graveled driveway so car wheels would crush the soft outer shell leaving only the walnut. When they were clear of their outer shell we put them into water filled coal buckets and washed them and put them on a canvas cloth to dry. When dry they were ready to crack, usually a batch at a time. Our first batch of walnut meats went into into chocolate fudge. which was carefully double wrapped to send to soldiers somewhere over seas. We called it Over Sea’s Fudge and imagined soldiers from Tunnel Hill receiving our packages. Mom saw to it that us kids got a sample of the fudge, and she saved one sample for dad. John Casey. 9/3/21. 618-670-5646 jrcasey134@gmail.com

siblings and friends playing ball, fishing, hunting and just goofing off. I never paid any attention to girls. Now I was thinking of getting married. I wondered how many kids we would have. I expected we would live with our parents until we were say, 13 or 14. She, of course, would live on her parent's farm and I would live with my family in town.

Ronnie’s punches to my ribs got my attention. Frances slid inches away. I turned and glared at Ronnie and promised myself that I would clobber him when the school day ended. Then I heard Mrs. Beulah say, “Johnny, please read the next page.” What page? What story?

Frances reached over and flipped pages of my book to the middle of the story. The words were blurry, but I squeaked them out. When class ended I walked back to my desk with my head down. I didn’t feel in love anymore.

As I settled into my seat, I heard, “pssstt,” and Fern, who sat one row over, handed me a piece of paper. It was from Mabel. She had written, “Sit next to me tomorrow”. I decided right then and there that love had returned to my heart. Perhaps Mabel and I would get married, maybe even by Christmas. Perhaps we would sing Silent Night at the school’s Christmas pageant. We really did sing it to a surprised and appreciative audience.

Soon after Christmas, Mabel was adopted and moved to St. Louis. Her name was changed to Vicki Falls. I never saw her again.

Notes: Mabel Brooks was 4 or 5 when her mom died and her hard-drinking, seldom employed father, over time, consented to letting her be adopted by a wonderful couple who had heard about Mabel through relatives.

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siblings and friends playing ball, fishing, hunting and just goofing off. I never paid any attention to girls. Now I was thinking of getting married. I wondered how many kids we would have. I expected we would live with our parents until we were say, 13 or 14. She, of course, would live on her parent’s farm and I would live with my family in town. Ronnie’s punches to my ribs got my attention. Frances slid inches away. I turned and glared at Ronnie and promised myself that I would clobber him when the school day ended. Then I heard Mrs. Beulah say, “Johnny, please read the next page.” What page? What story? Frances reached over and flipped pages of my book to the middle of the story. The words were blurry, but I squeaked them out. When class ended I walked back to my desk with my head down. I didn’t feel in love anymore. As I settled into my seat, I heard, “pssstt,” and Fern, who sat one row over, handed me a piece of paper. It was from Mabel. She had written, “Sit next to me tomorrow”. I decided right then and there that love had returned to my heart. Perhaps Mabel and I would get married, maybe even by Christmas. Perhaps we would sing Silent Night at the school’s Christmas pageant. We really did sing it to a surprised and appreciative audience. Soon after Christmas, Mabel was adopted and moved to St. Louis. Her name was changed to Vicki Falls. I never saw her again.

Notes: Mabel Brooks was 4 or 5 when her mom died and her hard-drinking, seldom employed father, over time, consented to letting her be adopted by a wonderful couple who had heard about Mabel through relatives.

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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 2½–3 inch bluegill. Amaral said he wanted to keep some to use for catfish bait. It didn't take long to start finding once we arrived. 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 for a while to eat our PB&J sandwiches and wash them down with warm water from the water jug. We got to talking about how many fish we had caught, and David said he had an idea for them: "Let's put them on the railroad rocks and see if they'll make the wheels spin." He meant, of course, the wheels on the steam- powered locomotive pulling the 60 or so coal-filled hopper cars. We all agreed.

We went back to fishing and tossing the filled bank. After a while we stopped and began to collect the stiffened fish, put them in the bucket. We filled the bucket quickly and Amaral and Henry took turns carrying the fish to the track and laid them on one track. David and I waited for the next [bucket] to carry the fish and put them on the other track. We took 3 buckets of fish, gathered our fishing gear and took the 3rd and last bucket of fish and laid them 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 sat down and waited for the train, which I figured would come along in 20–30 minutes. It was. The train was on time.

The train had to climb a small grade, and with 60 or so heavy cars it strained even the biggest locomotive to keep the train going at a steady pace. Excitement built for us boys. We waited to see the train wheels spin and send smoke trails high in the air, as predicted by David.

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 near where we were sitting and headed home a different way than we had come. We split up before we got back to town so that no one would see us in a bunch and connect us to the [crime] that was 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.

December 25, 1981 Guests: OZ, Edna Jim, Barb, Jamie Bob Tom, Patty, Chris, Laurie Mary Paul Shanon, Barb, John Merc Marie Grandpa King

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 the 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, I 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.

George Casey We probably dropped the O “

cohosr Utes ~ bb

Casey family trilogy, a personal opinion 2/2.

Writing about a person will take a pat! portray the subject accurately; a big part of it remove bias. As the story unfolds it reveals tl

3/2015

the author chooses. As good as it gets to will still be fiction, no matter the attempt to e thinking of the person who writes the

words. With that said, I’ll risk this vignette, but will limit the focus to opinions and assessments of a region and how it influences the people who lived there.

The first 17 years of my life was spent entirely in rural Southern Illinois. I believe I followed prevalent thinking of a majority of the people and was true to its culture. I was also greatly influenced by my family and birth-order of myself and seven siblings. Iam number five.

The wide difference between the residents of towns (there were no large towns near where I grew up) and residents of the country. The common people (I’m included in this category) were extremely loyal and readily accepted the order of nobility. The monarch was usually the patriarch — father. Subjects were his children. The caste system prevailed.. They were usually the oldest son.

The upper classes (The well-offs) in the towns continually asserted their right to tule, and the other classes had no ability to free themselves. Thus, towns developed a culture, but go a few miles and you are in a land of barbarians. So, in the city in which there is love of beauty, art, community interests, social order and especially education, the common people of the country were at least 30 years behind the people in the city.

I think no one can understand the actual condition of the rural masses, except for daily contact with them. The education system contributed to the separate cultures.

The first 8 years of education in the rural area often was held in a one-room school house with only one teacher, who was under paid, of course. Obedience was the easiest learned lesson. The oldest and toughest were the primary teachers. This was not unlike slave mentality. Subjects quickly learned to keep quiet and not complain. Rural grade- schoolers were less likely to attend high school than the townies. Drop outs were common when a student reached 16. This surely widened the classes. Few rural kids attended any form of higher education, instead their motivation was to get a job, get a car, and pay their own upkeep and not have to follow all rules of their King. The monarch liked cutting the cord of financial responsibility of his subjects, but not the influence he wanted to maintain.

The lack of intellectual activity, schools, books, newspapers, led to a dogmatic approach to life. When the full force of this fact is comprehended the situation leads to a small desire, even feeble, longing for schools, and books, and newspapers, and social progression. It is this general ignorance, and this general indifference to knowledge that makes for very little aspiration for a larger life, and more than that, there is almost no opportunity for its attainment. That education is the stairway to a nobler existence is a fact they either fail to comprehend or to which they are wholly indifferent.

The political leaders and many of the patriarchal led families apparently indoctrinated them with the notion that they are superior to any other class in the country. There is very little effort to conceal the scorn of the Yankee — this term being applied to the citizens of any northern state and city or large town.

Abner Casey was born in 1680 making him 40 years old in 1720. He was a few years older than his brother Peter and that likely made Abner the decision-maker for the two to sail from Ireland to America, its nearest neighbor. They had to scrape together their fare and may have entered into an agreement to serve a New World master for a time to pay for their voyage. Baltimore, a lively seacoast town in 1720 had already began to be known as a slave trading market. Ironically, Baltimore, in 1861, was the place where a plot to kill President Elect, Abraham Lincoln, the great emancipator, was hatched but not carried out.

l imagine that both Abner and Peter left a thatched cottage, heated by peat, and a miserable patch of land barely able to support the family cow and a few pigs. The ship they sailed on was obviously a wretched place of suffering on the 7-8 weeks voyage. It is estimated that between 1717 and 1775, something like a quarter of a million Irelanders settled in the North American continent. The reasons for going were many. They did so voluntary and were almost entirely Protestant Ascendancy. The early Irish from the South were often bondsmen who had sold their services as labourers in advance of their emigrating. They crossed the Atlantic in fearful conditions and they died in thousands of cholera on arrival. They were unskilled and tended to herd into cities on the East Coast. They were also the frontiersmen of the new America with a love of freedom for themselves. Daniel Boon, the first man to explore Kentucky was, of course, Daniel “Buhun” of Irish stock. Davy Crockett was the son of an emigrant from Londonderry. Eight signatories on the Declaration of Independence are from Ireland.

Up until the middle of the 1700’s, native Indians had always outnumbered the new Americans who had arrived since it was discovered. Their population was also gathered along the eastern seacoast and it is likely that the Christian inhabitants who left their home country because of religious upheaval and prosecution did not consider their religious compassion encompassed the native Red Indian, who was there to be massacred. Whether Abner or Peter managed to collect a scalp is unknown, but they obviously avoided losing their own.

For a small island with a population less than a tenth that of England, Ireland throughout her centuries has made a contribution to the world out of all proportion to her size and numbers. From the Province of Leinster came the literary giant, George Bernard Shaw, Oscar Wilde and James Joyce. The Province of Connaught gave the world William Butler Yeats. The Province of Munster produced St Brendan the Navigator, whom some considers may have reached America 900 years before Christopher Columbus. From the Province of Ulster St. Patrick’s missionaries carried Christianity to lighten the darkness of the early middle ages. From their stock the Irish also provided a long succession of Presidents for the United States of America. (Kennedy, Nixon, Carter, Jackson, Polk, Buchanan, Johnson, Grant, Arthur Cleveland, Harrison, McKinley and Wilson) Though sadly, this Province produced the ill-fated Titanic.

The Emerald Isle is not more than three hundred miles at its greatest length north to south, and about one hundred and seventy miles in its greatest width east to west, and no point inland much more than eighty miles from the sea.

Cork, the Texas of Ireland, the largest county of the thirty-two counties in the whole of the country, presents an area of most beautiful scenery, deep island-studded bays and a mountainous barrier with the neighbouring county of Kerry. The steady winds blow in from the Atlantic bring ever tumultuous sky of clouds from the west bringing a plentiful supply of rain and one can see a rainbow almost daily. Yet Ireland

is little troubled with thunder, lightning and earthquakes.

Village folk pride themselves on their shining, spotless and well-kept cottages and cheerful gardens. You can hear the voices of a score of children and along the bright green meadows where the cows are grazing; the gentle shadows of clouds go playing over the grass. It is indeed a charming scene. It has a pretty and romantic look

Me doubts that either Abner or Peter played the game of golf that gave Ireland universal repute. Two of my brothers would have reveled at any of their famous courses.

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

From Levi Burnside Casey To Jim Casey

Zadock Casey Half Randolph Casey (married twice 1784— brothers (1796—1874)

Green Randolph Casey Levi Burnside Casey (1851—1933) (1826—1863

great, great uncle to Jim

William Randolph Casey Grand Father—Grand Mother (1876—1959 Cynthia Ann – Casey

18 2? -1941 Skye’s Great Great Great Grand father & Mother

Richard Randolph Casey (1906—1992)

Edith Opal Burton—Casey (191 5 —-1991 Skye’s Great Great Grandfather and Grandmother

Father / Mother

George Randolph, James Levi, William Robert, Edith Jim is Skye’s Great Grandfather the others Marie, John Richard, Elizabeth Ann, Terry Wayne & Are Skye’s Great Great Uncles and Aunts Mary Ellen

James Levi Casey Skye’s Great Grand Father and Great 19— _ Oct. 2015 Grandmother Sue Abbot Casey 19-2012

Kevin Lee Casey, Scott Casey, Kent Casey . Scott is Syye’s Grandfather

Scott Casey –

Candice Casey Skye’s Mother

Skye Casey, Alye

Casey name meaning Irish: Reduced Anglionzed form of Gaelic.

O’Cathasiag decendend of *Cathasach’ a by name meaning “VIGILANT? OR ‘NOISY* Dates back to the 12" century

2,110,118 historical documents with Casey on Ancestry (an organization that traces ancestors)

72,931 immigration records — mainly from Ireland

920,283 member trees

Consider: The Casey's of Tunnel Hill, IL and decendents

One lineage: Green Randolph Casey William R. and Cynthia A. Casey Randolph and Edith Casey Jim & Sue Casey Kevin Scott & Kent Casey Candace Casey Skye (Alye does not have a Casey name)

That’s seven generations.

Casey name meaning Irish: Reduced Anglionzed form of Gaelic.

O’Cathasiag decendend of ‘Cathasach’ a by name meaning “VIGILANT” OR ‘NOISY’ Dates back to the 12 century

2,110,118 historical documents with Casey on Ancestry (an organization that traces ancestors)

72,931 immigration records — mainly from Ireland 920,283 member trees There’s a lot of Casey’s around Consider: The Casey’s of Tunnel Hill, IL and decendents

One lineage: William R. and Cynthia A. Casey Randolph and Edith Casey Jim & Sue Casey Kevin Scott & Kent Casey Candace Casey Skye (Alye does not have a Casey name)

That’s six generations that had/has the Casey name Skye is the last one and when she marries, the Casey’s (by name) will be no more.

Casey’s of Tunnel Hill

You could not ask for a purer sample of the American rural Middle West than the Casey family in the small town of Tunnel Hill in the state of Illinois very near the geographical center of the nation.

After the first three boys, Richard and Edith Casey wished for a girl. And sure enough they got their wish. Thereafter the girl, boy rotation continued until there were eight children.

Although farming had been the primary occupation of his forebearers the patriarch father did not want to be a farmer. But he had trouble making a living. After years of toiling in mediocre jobs, Richard (he was called by his middle name, Randolph) was hired by the New York Central Railroad as an agent.

The family didn’t exactly prosper, but a regular income provided a measure of stability and relieved some of the pressure of hard-scrabble living. The able mom took great care of the bourgeoning crew.

The lives of the Casey’s of Tunnel Hill were never ordinary. The religious underpinning of the matriarch and her life’s companion, her husband, shaped the moral compass of the clan. The father wanted to develop independent and industrious children. He wanted to equip his children to make successful lives in the world. Although he rarely praised them he cherished them above his own accomplishments.

The children were average bright students. They did not swear and seldom fought. The education they received in public schools wetted their appetite to learn. They became addicted to learning.

In Tunnel Hill, class meant nothing. No one outranked anyone. There was no wrong side of the tracks which virtually eliminated prejudice based on wealth, race and creed. A primary emphasis on physical activity existed. There were lots of chores to be performed and/ or evaded. There was also a lot of horseplay and competition.

It is difficult, but rewarding to write about one’s family, and I have written hundreds of stories and essays. First I wrote about my own experiences; then, I wrote about each sibling. I’ve shared very little, not knowing that they would approve of my writing. I’m sure they won’t agree with the stories I write and will tell me that is not how they remembered it.

Casey, Abner and Peter, and Ireland

Abner was born in 1680 making him 40 years old in 1720 when he migrated to America. He was a few years older than his brother Peter and that likely made Abner the decision-maker for the two to sail from Ireland to America. They had to scrape together their fare and may have entered into an agreement to serve a New World master for a time to pay for their voyage to Baltimore, their likely destination.

Likely, both Abner and Peter left a thatched cottage, heated by peat, and a miserable patch of land barely able to support the family cow and a few pigs. The ship they sailed on was obviously a wretched place of suffering on the 7-8 weeks voyage. It is estimated that between 1717 and 1775, something like a quarter of a million Irelanders settled in the North American continent. The reasons for going were many. They did so voluntary and were almost entirely Protestant ascendancy. The early Irish often sold their services as laborers in advance of their emigrating. They crossed the Atlantic in fearful conditions and they died in thousands of cholera on arrival.

They were unskilled and tended to herd into cities. Many were also the frontiersmen of the new America with a love of freedom for themselves. Daniel Boone, the first man to explore Kentucky was, Daniel “Buhun” of Irish stock. Davy Crockett was the son of an emigrant from Londonderry. Eight signatories on the Declaration of Independence are from Ireland.

For a small island with a population less than a tenth that of England, Ireland has made a contribution to the world out of all proportion to her size and numbers. From the Province of Leinster came the literary giants; George Bernard Shaw, Oscar Wilde and James Joyce. The Province of Munster produced St Brendan the Navigator, whom some consider may have reached America 900 years before Columbus. From their stock the Irish also provided a long succession of Presidents for the United States; (not in order) Kennedy, Nixon, Carter, Jackson, Polk, Buchanan, Johnson, Grant, Arthur Cleveland, Harrison, McKinley and Wilson.

The Emerald Isle is not more than 300 miles at its greatest length and about 170 miles in its greatest width, and no point inland much more than 80 miles from the sea.

Cork, the largest of the 32 counties in the whole of the country, presents an area of most beautiful scenery. It’s a deep island-with studded bays and a mountainous barrier with the neighboring county of Kerry. The steady winds blow in from the Atlantic bring ever tumultuous sky of clouds from the west bringing a plentiful supply of rain and one can see a rainbow almost daily.

Village folk pride themselves on their spotless and well-kept cottages and cheerful gardens. Nearby you can hear the voices of a score of children and along the emerald green meadows where the cows are grazing the gentle shadows of clouds go playing over the grass.

Albertus MT is the font 12 size Casey, Wil – a story 2017

Wil Casey is my brother and has been for more than 75 years. He lives with his lovely wife, Catherine, in Bastrop, Texas. Recently he was moved to write his obituary. I requested a copy, read it and thought it was a brief memoir on his accomplishments and military (USAF) achievements. Wil is a polished and exacting writer as he is also extremely mindful of being accurate and factual. Ops, he misspelled obituary (obiturary) which brought a smile to my face. He is also a very good human being. | called him and complimented his on his story and suggested he consider having someone write his story for publication while he was still on earth. He could be an inspiration to others and give insight to his remarkable life. He said, why don’t you write it? At risk, I agreed.

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1 ahi 1942

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

oO 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 tc 2 the (ate if a i / / ( =<

I (have, do not have, am considering a tattoo) The one word that describes me is?.

What has happened to you since 1958 Gregory Peck and Anne Bancroft won Oscars and Lawrence of Arabia was the Best Picture in 1962

Tony’s was (and is today) the best restaurant in Alton.

Our Committee:

Dian Gross Lenhardt

Carolyn Gronemier

Marlene Himmel Boomer Ruth Ann Barceloana Turi Brenda Teitelbaum Thompson Becky Freeland Wrischnick

We weren’t interested in Renoir, Claude Monet, Monet, Van Gogh, Rembrandt, Leonardo or Picasso — are you glad or not? We liked: Blondie, Felix The Cat, Batman & Robin, The Shadow, John Wayne, Gregory Peck, Marilyn, Mamie, Jayne, Rita, Jimmy, Sandra Dee, Mickey, Pluto, and gang, The Road Runner, Mighty Mouse, …and?

Agent Orange was being used for the first time in Vietnam in 1962 and Kennedy was sending Military Advisors there, not fighters. It was not a war, remember?

Some things happened between the time we were born and 1962 that affected us and every one. The Atomic Bomb was tested 7/15/1945. It was used the first time on 8/6/1945 at Hiroshima. “Big Boy” was dropped from the Enola Gay (named after the pilot’s mother). On 8/9/1945 another one (Fat Boy) was dropped on Nagasaki. Japan surrendered on 8/15/1945. Albert Einstein had earlier written a memo to President Roosevelt that he did not believe the bomb should be used on people, the message did not reach the White House. Harry Truman, the new President did not see this message either and it was his decision to drop the bomb. He believed it would save a million American lives and end a war that may have lasted 10 more years.

On October 23, 1945 Branch Ricky of the Brooklyn Dodgers signed Jack Roosevelt Robinson from Georgia to a baseball contract. He was elected to Baseball’s Hall of Fame January 23, 1962.

Xerography began Oct. 22, 1946 and made all the memo machines obsolete — but a few remained for us to smear our hands and clothes.

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Covid -19 changed everything. My salon suffered immediately. The staff made independent decisions for their family and life. Hope is coming back and I’m determined to build back a personal and professional styling salon. The start is to hire licensed stylists who not only have skills but are kind, determined to succeed and like to be on a team oriented business. I want to immediately hire __________ stylists. I want very special people to work at the salon. I want to hire people I like and with whom I share values and are confident. I want to hire a stylist that is compassionate about life too. They bring life into the business. I look for stylists who have a kind nature, professional skills, good character, high ethics, and is reliable. I have written down values of the Salon where everyone can see. I have written down a profile of myself that I will share. I believe kindness is a powerful tool. I try at each opportunity to make every client feel valued; I make every evert to make every employee feel valued as well. It takes real courage to make a move away from a familiar to the new. It takes an immense amount of emotional maturity to recognize a true opportunity and focused on a lasting career. Please recommend someone who you believe may have traits and experiences to be successful.

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.

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 bam 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 IL Johnson County); a very small village tucked in a valley in deep Southern Illinois. 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 barn was barely a few hundred yards from one of the unnamed streets in Tunnel Hill. I had 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 barn’s loft just inside the entrance. It was made of oak. Excellent. The loft was used for storing hay and I moved 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 barn 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 have 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. 1 admit that our plan was not carefully thought out or consequences considered.

Early 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 with 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 barnyard 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. I rubbed 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 barn.

Ronald and Lowell, peeking through the barn door saw us coming and opened the door and in we went. I was excited and I know everyone was too, but now the chore. With me leading the cow and the others behind we headed for the stairway and the cow moved up one, then two steps, and then stopped. We had eight more steps to go. A full five minutes later we still had four steps to go and it was beginning to look like an impossible task. A cow halfway up a staircase would be a problem. We probably couldn’t get her down backwards and it was beginning to look like we were not going to get her up the stairs.

Before panic sets in blame begins. “This was not my idea,” said Ronald and echoed by Lowell. Phil started to whine “what are we going to do now?” He added, “It’s your idea John — your deal.” I glared at all of them and said we have to keep moving. Soothing words had helped me catch the cow and I asked that the guys back off and I would try to soothe her again and maybe she would follow me up the remaining four steps. They did and I begin my pleading and slight tugging at the rope. “Come on baby, come on, OH, come on,” I said. She started moving up and made it right up to the loft. Relief spread over us and a little cheer went out. “It worked, it worked!”

The rope was quickly tied to the beam, the cracked corn put out and a bale of hay loosened for the wonderful and pretty cow that was now in the barn loft. Water was already in place. Our job was done. Or, was it our deed was done?

Try not to think of us as van and unscrupulous imbeciles. Rather think of us as adventuresome and incredibly ignorant kids. We were scared now. The deed did not seem to be a very funny idea now. We did not know how the cow would get down. We knew our plan to pad the area with hay bales would not work. Maybe a ramp could be built up to the loft. We did not think of that as a way up, but it might be a way down. But, we did not have lumber to make a ramp and obviously not the s to build one.

\d hoped that the cow could on.

Thad heard that cows (or was that horses) could sleep standing up a get some sleep that night. I certainly couldn’t sleep even in a horizontal p:

The next morning, a Saturday, I was up early and asked my mom if she needed anything from the little country store that we sometimes bought ‘store bought’ things like cereal. She needed only a couple of items being it was not shopping day for her, but she let me go anyway. I would put it on our bill and be get a candy bar. But what I really wanted to do was to walk close to the barn and look through the cracks to see if the cow was still in the loft.

I scooted down the cinder street and came to the pasture gate that led to the barn. I hopped the wooden gate and ran to the barn (the other side from where we had led the cow into the barn) and when I was close enough to look through the cracks of the barn I saw the cow. She looked OK. I was glad. I watched her for a few seconds and headed back to the street and on to the store. After getting stuff at the store I headed home quick step.

Of course my fellow criminals could not speak of the crime that I committed on my own, and they managed not to speak to me at all. That was a good thing. Mum not Moo Moo.

At the end of the day just about dusk, cows moo for food. At least I think they do. They did in Tunnel Hill, IL a long time ago. The cattlemen and women trained them well. The cattle were fed and watered before bedding down for the night. This would save the cow in the loft. The bar doors were closed and when the farmer came to the barn and opened the door one of the first sights would be of the cow in the loft. He must have been surprised. I’ll bet he was livid with anger too.

The town was buzzing all day about the cow in the loft and it was well after midnight of the second night that the cow came down. A crowd, most were smiling or laughing, had gathered in the light of sey eral bright beams from trucks and cars parked outside the bam and the men came up with a solution of lowering the cow witha sling made with a broad belt strapped around the cow’s tummy. Two tractors with

winches working together managed to get the cow down inji g safely. The cow was ni J < healthy and welt fez ge y ot injured and looked

That night was one of the happiest ones in my life and one of the only times I got to stay up until

midnight. I was in the crowd but I kind of kept out of the limelight leas mii i didn’t have on a blindfold either ep of the limelight least the cow might recognize me. She

John Casey 9-14-06

Before panic sets in blame begins. “This was not my idea,” said Ronald and echoed by Lowell. Phil started to whine “what are we going to do now?” He added, “It’s your idea John — your deal.” I glared at all of them and said we have to keep moving. Soothing words had helped me catch the cow and I asked that the guys back off and I would try to soothe her again and maybe she would follow me up the remaining four steps. They did and I begin my pleading and slight tugging at the rope. “Come on baby, come on, OH, come on,” I said. She started moving up and made it right up to the loft. Relief spread over us and a little cheer went out. “It worked, it worked!”

The rope was quickly tied to the beam, the cracked corn put out and a bale of hay loosened for the wonderful and pretty cow that was now in the barn loft. Water was already in place. Our job was done. Or, was it our deed was done?

Try not to think of us as vandals and unscrupulous imbeciles. Rather think of us as adventuresome and incredibly ignorant kids. We were scared now. The deed did not seem to be a very funny idea now. We did not know how the cow would get down. We knew our plan to pad the area with hay bales would not work. Maybe a ramp could be built up to the loft. We did not think of that as a way up, but it might be a way down. But, we did not have lumber to make a ramp and obviously not the skills to build one.

Thad heard that cows (or was that horses) could sleep standing up and hoped that the cow could get some sleep that night. I certainly couldn’t sleep even in a horizontal position.

The next morning, a Saturday, I was up early and asked my mom if she needed anything from the little country store that we sometimes bought ‘store bought’ things like cereal. She needed only a couple of items being it was not shopping day for her, but she let me go anyway. I would put it on our bill and maybe get a candy bar. But what I really wanted to do was to walk close to the barn and look through the cracks to see if the cow was still in the loft.

I scooted down the cinder street and came to the pasture gate that led to the barn. I hopped the wooden gate and ran to the barn (the other side from where we had led the cow into the barn) and when I was close enough to look through the cracks of the barn I saw the cow. She looked OK. I was glad. I watched her for a few seconds and headed back to the street and on to the store. After getting stuff at the store I headed home quick step.

Of course my fellow criminals could not speak of the crime that I committed on my own, and they managed not to speak to me at all. That was a good thing. Mum not Moo Moo.

At the end of the day just about dusk, cows moo for food. At least I think they do. They did in Tunnel Hill, IL a long time ago. The cattlemen and women trained them well. The cattle were fed and watered before bedding down for the night. This would save the cow in the loft. The barn doors were closed and when the farmer came to the barn and opened the door one of the first sights would be of the cow in the loft. He must have been surprised. I’ll bet he was livid with anger too.

The town was buzzing all day about the cow in the loft and it was well after midnight of the second night that the cow came down. A crowd, most were smiling or laughing, had gathered in the light of several bright beams from trucks and cars parked outside the barn and the men came up with a solution of lowering the cow with a sling made with a broad belt strapped around the cow’s tummy. Two tractors with winches working together managed to get the cow down safely. The cow was not injured and looked healthy and well fed.

That night was one of the happiest ones in my life and one of the only times I got to stay up until midnight. I was in the crowd but I kind of kept out of the limelight least the cow might recognize me. She didn’t have on a blindfold either.

John Casey

Cow in the Loft

I walked right up to the young heifer, slipped a rope over her head and led her to the barn. Along with my cohorts, Arnold, Phil, and Ron, we were about to put a cow in a barn loft. We’d heard a cow can be led up, but not down, stairs. We intended to find out. We planned to keep her in the loft one night. The next day we would blindfold her and lead her down the steps. WE then would announce our trick. We expected to be recognized for our creativity and spunk. Instead, this prank, conceived in 1950, has remained untold for more than half a century.

I lived a quarter of a mile from Coy McCuan’s cattle barn which was a scant 100 yards from one of the unnamed streets in Tunnel Hill, IL. Early Halloween night, after farmer Coy had tended to his cattle, our crew slipped away from the gathering crowd of town boys and headed for the barn and the loft. We tied a strong rope to a brace pole, being careful to measure the rope’s length from the pole to the loft opening in the center of the barn making sure the cow reached the food and water trays we placed for her, but keep her from falling to the barn floor.

Phil and I went for the cow. The other two tested the door latch. It took me only moments to reach the heifer. Her curly white head and reddish ears perked up when I approached her. I rubbed the cow’s back and talked soothing to her as Phil slipped the rope noose over her head and the three of us headed to the barn.

Ron and Arnold rolled the door open and in we went heading straight for the stairway with me leading the way. The first three steps up the stairway were easy, then the cow stopped. We were stuck.

Before panic sets in blame begins. “This was not my idea,” said Ron and echoed by Arnold. Phil started to whine, “What are we going to do now?” He added, “It’s your idea John — your deal.”

Soothing words helped us catch the cow and I said I would try to calm her and maybe she would follow me up the remaining steps. I lightly tugged on the lead rope and said, “Come on baby, come on, come on”. She started moving and up into the loft she came. Relief spread over us. We tied the rope to a beam, and placed a pan of water, some cracked corn and hay within reach of the cow.

Now we were scared. We wondered how the cow would get down. We'd heard that cows could sleep standing up and hoped that the cow could get some sleep that night. I certainly didn’t expect any.

The next morning, Saturday, I was up early and asked mom if she needed anything from the general store, but what I really wanted to do was to go by the barn to see if the cow was OK.

I skipped down the cinder street and came to the pasture gate, hopped it, and ran to the barn to peer through its cracks. The cow looked OK. I watched her a few seconds before sneaking back to the

Ronald and Lowell, peeking through the bam door saw us coming and opened the door and in we went. I was excited and I know everyone was too, but now the chore. With me leading the cow and the others behind we headed for the stairway and the cow moyed up one, then two steps, and then stopped. We had eight more steps to go. A full five minutes later we still had four steps to go and it was beginning to look like an impossible task. A cow halfway up a staircase would be a problem. We probably couldn’t get her down backwards and it was beginning to look like we were not going to get her up the stairs.

Before panic sets in blame begins. “This was not my idea,” said Ronald and echoed by Lowell. Phil started to whine “what are we going to do now?” He added, “It’s your idea John — your deal.” T glared at all of them and said we haye to keep moving, Soothing words had helped me catch the cow and I asked that the guys back off and I would try to soothe her again and maybe she would follow me up the remaining four steps. They did and I begin my pleading and slight tugging at the rope. “Come on baby, come on, OH, come on,” I said. She started moving up and made it right up to the loft. Relief spread over us and a little cheer went out. “It worked, it worked!”

The rope was quickly tied to the beam, the cracked corn put out and a bale of hay loosened for the wonderful and pretty cow that was now in the bam loft. Water was already in place. Our job was done. Or, was it our deed was done?

Try not to think of us as vandals and unscrupulous imbeciles. Rather think of us as adventuresome and incredibly ignorant kids. We were scared now. The deed did not seem to be a very funny idea now. We did not know how the cow would get down. We knew our plan to pad the area with hay bales would not work. Maybe a ramp could be built up to the loft. We did not think of that as a way up, but it might be a way down. But, we did not have lumber to make a ramp and obviously not the skills to build one.

{had heard that cows (or was that horses) could sleep standing up and hoped that the cow could get some sleep that night. I certainly couldn’t sleep even in a horizontal position.

The next morning, a Saturday, I was up early and asked my mom if she needed anything from the little country store that we sometimes bought ‘store bought’ things like cereal. She needed only a couple of items being it was not shopping day for her, but she let me go anyway. I would put it on our bill and maybe get a candy bar. But what I really wanted to do was to walk close to the barn and look through the cracks to see if the cow was still in the loft.

I scooted down the cinder street and came to the pasture gate that led to the barn. Thopped the wooden gate and ran to the barn (the other side from where we had led the cow into the bar) and when I was close enough to look through the cracks of the bam Tsaw the cow. She looked OK. I was glad. I watched her for a few seconds and headed back to the street and on to the store. After getting stuff at the store I headed home quick step.

Of course my fellow criminals could not speak of the crime that I committed on my own, and they managed not to speak to me at all. That was a good thing. Mum not Moo Moo.

At the end of the day just about dusk, cows moo for food. At least I think they do. They did in Tunnel Hill, IL.a long time ago. The cattlemen and women trained them well. The cattle were fed and watered before bedding down for the night. This would save the cow in the loft. The barn doors were closed and when the farmer came to the barn and opened the door one of the first sights would be of the cow in the loft. He must have been surprised. I’ll bet he was livid with anger too.

The town was buzzing all day about the cow in the loft and it was w idni.

; 7 a ell after midnight of the secoud night that the cow came down. A crowd, most were smiling or laughing, had gathered in the light of sev eral bright beams from trucks and cars parked outside the bam and the men came up with a solution of lowering the cow with a sling made with a broad belt strapped around the cow’s tummy. Two tractors with

winches working together managed to get the cow down safely. The cow was not injured and looked healthy and well fed.

That night was one of the happiest ones in my life and one of the only times I got to stay up until

midnight. I was in the crowd but I kind of kept out of the limelight least the cow mi: i didn’t have on a blindfold either. – _—

John Casey 9-14-06

Dad and mom were married in 1930. They eloped. Both were romantic.

| may have several letters that dad wrote, and perhaps one or two of mom’s, but they aren’t turning up in my papers.

Dad was a writer of facts. He was newsy. He used a typewriter and used only one finger to type his letters.

Mom wrote personal letters to someone. She used a pencil most of the time. Her words were rounded revealing her kindness and sincerity.

Mom’s mother wrote to her youngest child similar fashion.

Dad notes

| lived in my dad and mom's, home until | was almost 19. | was in college during most of the final year and lived off campus.

Dad had a slap-stick sense of humor. He laughed, smiled, teased and | believe he was an extravert. At 6 foot tall He was taller than most men of the time. He was handsome, had black combed back hair with no part; dressed well and wore a suit and tie at funerals and when he went to his Masonic Lodge. He was clean shaven and used a Gillet blue blade to shave. He sharpened blades before every shave and had to use a septic stick at times to stop blood from nicks. When | shave Mew | think of Dad.

He was a gardner. He was active in all activities around Tunnel Hill and had a great memory of names and people. He loved to be around people who, like him, was good to their family. He was justly proud of all eight children he sired.

He had a 22 rifle and used the small 22 bullet rather than the larger long and long rifle bullets that had more powder and killing power than the short shell. | never saw any animals he killed. He did his hunting when he was a youngster and had no desire to hunt again.

He knew how to find bee trees and liked to take us kids to bee tree cutting and extracting honey from their hives, leaving enough for the bees to survive. He hated getting stung and had a fear of yellow jackets and hornets. He led us to hickory trees and walnut trees, and hazelnut bushes to gather their nuts that our family relied on for good tasting fudge, cakes, and snacks. He knew where patches of blackberries were and we picked and used them for deserts and putting on home-made ice cream.

He didn’t drink coffee and his breakfast was usually eggs and bacon or ham or sausage and a glass of milk. Mom fixed and served his breakfast and sat down with him and discussed life, children, and chores for the kids. He made plans and Mom kept us on track.

Going to high school was the real beginning of my education and exploring the small world we lived in. | met people not quite like me, read books about subjects | had not studied, and enjoyed knowing about a bigger world that | had heard about but not imagined. | got into sports, clubs, groups cultures, histories, and activities with class mates. | loved learning, but admit | was'’t a straight a student or a teachers pet.

At high school | saw prejudice for the first time. Bullying , | knew about, but not about racism. | had not @%66Sed to it. Three Blacks (then called another name or names) were my classmates. One Black was a year ahead of me. He was a excellent basketball player. He was not on our team, but clearly was better than almost everyone on the team. | liked the three Black girls, two in my class and when | was a sophomore a Black girl was a freshman. An incident happened in Vienna that was racist and the Black students left school under pressure.

| asked Dad what he though abut Blacks receiving treatment like that and he replied that “That’s the way itis.” | came back; “WHY.? ‘T gave him names of the Blacks: Albert, and Olivia, Pat, and Barbra. | never heard dad say a single negative word about people of color before. He said, “They might be Black, but they are not like us.”. WHY/I asked. “It just is.” was his reply and the conversation ended. | never spoke to him about my Black classmates again, but | never forgot them either. | have searched for them and asked questions, hoping to find them safe and happy.

| 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 étiorés. | 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. They had had to leave for some reason. Our manager called out to the sparse crown gathered close to home plate for anyone to volunteer for an inning or a time at bat. 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.

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

Illinois. Dad earned 10 cents an hour there and he hardly wanted to spend more than a week’s salary on a 10 inch pie, even if it were baked by the sweetest girl in the world.

“Ten dollars!” my dad said, looking directly at the auctioneer. Silence. Silence. Silence. The auctioneer began slowly. “Are there any more bids?” None came forth. ‘The gang’ had backed off completely. “Going,— going,— gone,” the bidding was over. The crowd gave a cheer and clapped their hands. The quiet gentleman came over to my dad and reached out his hand and he and dad shook hands. ‘The gang’ did the same, but added pats on the back. My mom picked up the pie box and held it in her lap until the end of the auction when she and my dad went to a quiet area of the building and opened the box. It was their first date.

Dad was three dollars short, but he didn’t let on to my mom. He had made a deal with ‘the gang’ to make up the deficit. He would pay them back as soon as he could. He was good for it. After all, they would soon have their turn to bid for a pie baked by the best and prettiest girl in the county.

Dad notes Dad had a slap-stick sense of humor. He laughed, smiled, teased and I believe he was an extravert. At 6 foot tall He was taller than most men of his time. He was handsome, had black combed back hair with no part; dressed well and wore a suit and tie at funerals and when he went to the Masonic Lodge. He was clean shaven and used a Gillet blue blade to shave. He sharpened blades before every shave and had to use a septic stick at times to stop blood from nicks. When I shave now I think of Dad. He became an Agent for the New Your Central Rail Road. He was active in all activities around Tunnel Hill. He was a registered Republican. He had a great memory of names and people. He loved to be around people who, like him, was good to their family. He was justly proud of all eight children he sired. He knew how to find bee trees and liked to take us to bee tree cutting and extracting honey from their hives, leaving enough for the bees to survive. He hated getting stung and had a fear of yellow jackets and hornets. He led us to hickory and walnut trees, and hazelnut bushes to gather their nuts that our family relied on for good tasting fudge, cakes, and snacks. He knew where patches of blackberries were and we picked and used them for deserts and putting on home-made ice cream. He didn’t drink coffee and his breakfast was usually eggs and bacon or ham or sausage and a glass of milk. Mom fixed and served his breakfast and sat down with him and discussed life, children, and chores for the kids. He made plans and Mom kept us on track. Going to high school was the real beginning of my education and exploring the small world I lived in. I met people not quite like me, read books about subjects I had not studied, and enjoyed knowing about a bigger world that I had heard about but not imagined. I got into sports, clubs, groups cultures, histories, and activities with class mates. I loved school.

Dad notes

Dad had a slap-stick sense of humor. He laughed, smiled, teased and | believe he was an extravert. At 6 foot tall He was taller than most men of his time. He was handsome, had black combed back hair with no part; dressed well and wore a suit and tie at funerals and when he went to the Masonic Lodge. He was clean shaven and used a Gillet blue blade to shave. He sharpened blades before every shave and had to use a septic stick at times to stop blood from nicks. When | shave now | think of Dad.

He became an Agent for the New Your Central Rail Road. He was active in all activities around Tunnel Hill. He was a registered Republican. He had a great memory of names and people. He loved to be around people who, like him, was good to their family. He was justly proud of all eight children he sired.

He knew how to find bee trees and liked to take us to bee tree cutting and extracting honey from their hives, leaving enough for the bees to survive. He hated getting stung and had a fear of yellow jackets and hornets.

He led us to hickory and walnut trees, and hazelnut bushes to gather their nuts that our family relied on for good tasting fudge, cakes, and snacks. He knew where patches of blackberries were and we picked and used them for deserts and putting on home-made ice cream.

He didn’t drink coffee and his breakfast was usually eggs and bacon or ham or sausage and a glass of milk. Mom fixed and served his breakfast and sat down with him and discussed life, children, and chores for the kids. He made plans and Mom kept us on track.

Going to high school was the real beginning of my education and exploring the small world | lived in. | met people not quite like me, read books about subjects | had not studied, and enjoyed knowing about a bigger world that | had heard about but not imagined. | got into sports, clubs, groups cultures, histories, and activities with class mates. | loved school.

Dad notes

| lived in my dad and mom’s, home until | was almost 19. | was in college during most of the final year and lived off campus.

Dad had a slap-stick sense of humor. He laughed, smiled, teased and | believe he was an extravert. At 6 foot tall He was taller than most men of the time. He was handsome, had black combed back hair with no part, dressed well and wore a suit and tie at funerals and when he went to his Masonic Lodge. He was clean shaven and used a Gillet blue blade to shave. He sharpened blades before every shave and had to use a septic stick at times to stop blood from nicks. When | shave Rew | think of Dad.

He was a gardner. He was active in all activities around Tunnel Hill and had a great memory of names and people. He loved to be around people who, like him, was good to their family. He was justly proud of all eight children he sired.

He had a 22 rifle and used the small 22 bullet rather than the larger long and long rifle bullets that had more powder and killing power than the short shell. | never saw any animals he killed. He did his hunting when he was a youngster and had no desire to hunt again.

He knew how to find bee trees and liked to take us kids to bee tree cutting and extracting honey from their hives, leaving enough for the bees to survive. He hated getting stung and had a fear of yellow jackets and hornets. He led us to hickory trees and walnut trees, and hazelnut bushes to gather their nuts that our family relied on for good tasting fudge, cakes, and snacks. He knew where patches of blackberries were and we picked and used them for deserts and putting on home-made ice cream.

He didn't drink coffee and his breakfast was usually eggs and bacon or ham or sausage and a glass of milk. Mom fixed and served his breakfast and sat down with him and discussed life, children, and chores for the kids. He made plans and Mom kept us on track.

Dear Skye,

A common thread of all of the Casey's of Tunnel Hill was the love of books. Through reading and sharing stories of their lives and experiences they gained understanding of each other and about the places they lived, worked and raised families.

From books they discovered the world and learned the cultures of people. My wish for you is the joy of reading as well, and continuing your considerable talent in painting and telling stories with them. *

| also hope that you enjoyed profiles of your extended family.

Ed graduated from Marquette High School in 1951. He was 3" academically ina class of 81. Ed would later teach business and also coached at Hazelwood, MO, Marquette, Western Military and one year in the Edwardsville School district.

Ed Voss took up running as a hobby when he was in his 40’s. It was quite a hobby. He ran in 17 marathons of 26.2 miles; 2 ultra marathons of 32 miles and hundreds of 5K and 10K runs. He ran in competition in several states, including Missouri, Illinois, Indiana and also races in New York and California. As a lesser hobby, Ed was a crack shot at trap.

Ed doesn’t run or play golf these days, but he told me that on good days he and

his companion black lab will walk over to Duke Bakery on Henry Street for a treat.

John Casey

435 Y% Bluff St Alton, IL 62002 618-6705646

Jrc134@ gmail.com

ED Voss [address and phone withheld]

Alton Golf Management — DDS John Fischer, President #1 Rock Springs Drive

Alton, IL 62002

618-463-3580 —Alton Parks & Recreation 618-465-9898 Rock Springs Golf Course

618-465-9861 Robert Wallow Golf Course

November 3, 2011

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Edith Marie Casey — Wilkerson married Dennis Wilkerson soon after both of them graduated from SIUC and soon moved to Washington D.C. where Dennis was employed by the Central Intelligence Agency (The CIA) and Edith would become a kinder garden teacher.

Edie, was named after her mom, Edith Opal Burton — Casey. Both Dennis and her wanted children but didn’t believe it would happen. They adopted Bruce when he was just a tiny baby and lo and behold they had a child of their own. Bruce and Cheryl were practically twins and both started school at the same time.

Bruce went into the Air Force and retired early. After he retired from there he went into the hospital/medical management field. He is, I think, living in Brazil with his family. Cheryl lives in Virginia and works on a horse farm.

. She was a free spirit and loved nature more than anyone else in the family. After college Cheryl spent a whole summer in Ireland and Europe. She hiked hundreds of miles that summer.

When the kids were young the family moved to Australia and lived there three years. Edith wrote a children’s book about Australia.

Edith and Dennis bought the Casey farm at Tunnel Hill.

She died in 1998, she was 59. Dennis remarried and lives in Virginia in one of his five houses.

Dennis has failing eyesight, but still has a cheery disposition and is lots of fun to be around. He was at the last reunion with his wife. Cheryl was there too.

Dennis would enjoy a painting of a sun (for Arizona where he and Edie had a home.

Edith Marie Casey — Wilkerson married Dennis Wilkerson soon after both of them graduated from SIUC and soon moved to Washington D.C. where Dennis was employed by the Central Intelligence Agency (The CIA) and Edith would become a kinder garden teacher.

Edie, was named after her mom, Edith Opal Burton — Casey. Both Dennis and her wanted children but didn’t believe it would happen. They adopted Bruce when he was just a tiny baby and lo and behold they had a child of their own. Bruce and Cheryl were practically twins and both started school at the same time.

Bruce went into the Air Force and retired early. After he retired from there he went into the hospital/medical management field. He is, I think, living in Brazil with his family. Cheryl lives in Virginia and works on a horse farm.

. She was a free spirit and loved nature more than anyone else in the family. After college Cheryl spent a whole summer in Ireland and Europe. She hiked hundreds of miles that summer.

When the kids were young the family moved to Australia and lived there three years. Edith wrote a children’s book about Australia.

Edith and Dennis bought the Casey farm at Tunnel Hill.

She died in 1998, she was 59. Dennis remarried and lives in Virginia in one of his five houses.

Dennis has failing eyesight, but still has a cheery disposition and is lots of fun to be around. He was at the last reunion with his wife. Cheryl was there too.

Dennis would enjoy a painting of a sun (for Arizona where he and Edie had a home.

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Everybody loves Asta, Hagar especially. It is a joy to watch them interact.

He is her Beau and is protective and jealous. She sometimes scolds him and has punished him with a swat with a PAPER SWITCH. Her voice is not harsh or threatening or sounds like true anger, but her words are generally heeded.

Asta tells amazing and entertaining stories of the dog’s exploits. Almost daily Hagar has done something memorable.

Everyone cheered and back slapped and danced around celebrating the game. Naturally, we all claimed we would always remember the game and where and who we were with as long as we lived.

Learning of Don Brady’s passing was a stimulus for me to recall the game and those who were there. I had to look up the game to jog my memory and may have missed some classmates. I apologize to you.

‘The relationships and friendships of everyone at Vienna were and are cherished. No one rose above another. Don and I shared this memory when we met at reunions later. We loved each other just the way we were.

A62

January: Bruce Wilkerson 2; Dennis Wilkerson* 4; Edith Wilkerson* 15; Liz Leber 26 February: Shan Casey 1; Skye Casey 2; Alye? [margin: "Neil & Casey?"] March: Scott Casey 1; David Casey 14; Andrew Davis / [Aaron Davis? DOB] 19; Tammy Wilkerson 23 April: Kevin Casey 22 May: Alyson (Casey)? 14; Mary Ellen Davis 18; Mary Ellen Bratko* 29 June: Madelyn Davis 9; Monique Wilkerson 10; Beth McCasland 23; Catherine Casey July: Jenn Davis 6; Sue Casey* 21; Terry Casey* 21; Maria Wilkerson 23; Rick Casey 26 (No family members were born in September.) August: Wil Casey 11; Randolph Casey** [Dad] 17; Edith Casey** [Mom] 31 October: John Casey 30 November: Eric Leber 2; (bracketed: Mason / Sage / Erin); George Casey* 4; Neil McCasland 11; Jerry Casey 30 December: Jim Casey* 5; Joe Laws* 12; Cheryl DePriest 18; Kent Casey* 24; Candice Casey 28

"Reunions — [Dixie & … J. Harnding?] — 2014 @ Jim's — Pairs of the Next & Next generations — to Organize / Plan a Reunion — they are the future. Candidates to Organize the Reunion: Andrew & Aaron · Ricky & David · Cheryl & Bruce · Mason & Sage · Skye & Alye? · Jenn & Neil & Beth · Shan & Madelyn · Scott & Eric · Beth & Sage. Any Combinations — example: Cheryl & Rick · Bruce & Jenn · Rick & Scott · Andrew & [a Mason]." [margin: "add Rex & Family"]

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Family notes – Tunnel Hill, Illinois Richard Randolph Casey & Edith Opal (Burton) Casey, George, James, William, Edith, John, Liz, Terry, and Mary. I have written stories about all of my siblings. I had seven My mention or reference to them in my stories are intended to improve my story and what what they mean to me. Sadly, the oldest, second, fourth and seventh siblings have passed. I now have one brother and two sisters. Neighbors * indicate my classmate East side: Casey’s – Dad, Mom, and 8 children Cob, Wilma, and Ann* Conroy Bill, Emma, Phil and Danny Albritton Joe, Cleo, Barney and Bob Mchugh Barber, Sylvia, Raleigh, Neil, Sketter Jobe Faith Nipper I referred to him as Fate Nipper. He lived close to the post office and ice house. Bill, Grace, Billy, Cricket, and JerryDale Simmons Martha Lawrence Grace Harris Bob, Verla, Jim and Dick Hodges Charlie, Bertie, and _________, Stewart Mr. and Mrs. Walkington (Dadgumet Walkington – nickname) Coy, Mae, and Elmer &________ McCugh On the West side of town Preacher James, his wife, Pat, Shirley, Henry, Beverly,* Harold (Herkey), & Charlotte James Frank, Florence, Ward and Caleb Casey ( F&F ran a grocery story) Brooks family Father ____ : Kids – Lowell, Arnold and Mabel* (who became Vicki Falls) Bob and Rosemary Echols – Later: Bill, Grace and Jerry Simmons moved there ________, ________, Paul,Richard Alexander Hershel Johnson, Herman and Ora Pratt – owned the primary grocery store Aileen Cavitt was the post master. Mary, Billy* Hurley & mom and dad The Covers, David, David, Jr. _____ I can’t recall Mrs. Cover. she divorced Dave Jr. Gus and Clara Choate __Jr Choate_____, _________, _________, _________, Bob and Shirley Lowery Mr. & Mrs. Johnson, Kenneth, Jr. Wayne, Kenneth, and Jerry Dale Harner David Webb* ________, _________ Phyllis and Fern Hill* Ralph____wife_____, Junior, Ronald, Frances,* and Paul Vinson Carter and Blue McMahan. Owned the first TV in Tunnel Hill. _________ Colbroth, Virginia, David Their home was destroyed by fire, neighbors rebuilt it. Johnnie ___?____ and Phillip McMahan (Phillip sang “What’ll you have? Pabt’s Blue Ribbon “)

Set the stage — [Facebook] face to face / Email [for Example].

"Hi Sage —, It's good to see you. We'd Like to hear about what you've been doing and what you Like." —

Theres ___ of us — [everyone Says] Hi (Hello) Sage —

tell us about _______ whatever. tell us about ___ mountains, Snow — — How tall are You? Do you have a dog — etc —

a 5–10 min Visit would do wonders to Connect — Include those who aren't There.

Hi/Hello — Skye — [margin: "there"] Madelyn — Rick — [Andrew] a 5–10 min Visit With anyone — make a flexible Schedule — — Washington — Eastern Standard time — — Wyoming / New Mexico — [Prairie/Mountain] All time Zones — Eastern to Pacific — [Neil (Albert and) Photos] — we would see their face, Eyes and hear their Voices —

a Reunion is to Link a family & remember, but also to Keep Current with others Who are alive.

Distance Can be overcome by Communication Systems. — It's 2019 NOT 1968. At Shan's Reunion [margin: "in St. Charles, mo. — July"] Last Summer — 2018 — Facebook (or Similar) Contacted family unable to be present. Everyone was included — [those in] Germany, Washington, Boston, Missouri, etc. — they weren't Lost out — we spoke, smiled, and wished [happiness]. Those who attended recognized those who didn't.

A toast was raised — "to our missing Loved ones" — even reaching to those who Passed. — "Here's to Dad / mom / Brother / Sister — Brother" [margin: "Say their Name"] etc. ALL remembered in a special way. It was Lasting & Enjoyable —

No "I'm so sorry you didn't attend." No "we missed you." No guilt. No exclusions. "We're having a great time. You're missing out." [margin: "No Laments to"]

My nephew, Bruce, and his wife, Monique, Visit me every two weeks for a few hours = ½ a day. I've Known him Since he was adopted by my Sister, Edith, as a baby boy. He was born in [Eastern?] Europe — Czechoslovakia. He had a club foot, wore Corrective devices, and fully gained perfect results. Bruce was 3–4 months younger than his sister Cheryl (Wilkerson). They attended School together. Bruce & Monique Live in Swansea and own a home they are updating. Bruce and [Cheryl/Monique] were missionaries for 10 [years] — South America, Hawaiian Islands. Bruce is a great handy-man and Can fix about any project that requires use of tools. Monique is greatly talented in people skills. When they Visit, they may bring food, and "How May we help you," and Visit, and may go food Shopping or [to] a Restaurant. I recommend — we take turns in picking up the Check for both groceries and lunch [outings]. They make my day. [heart]

I have a brother who Lives in Texas. He is a few years older than me. He attended high points in the U.S. [Air Force?]. He was a Second Pilot. He writes a marvelous story. His wife, Catherine, is a Jewel — has a great Outlook on Life. She is a retired teacher. She is 9, and was active in Raising 3–4, maybe 5 [children]. For a new School, she was asked to give opening remarks when the School is opened. "Guess I'll Like to be a 100 now…"

Family Trilogy – 1/11/22 I’ve written about my immediate family for a long time and shared very little with any of my seven siblings. If felt it was better that I didn’t, as they may have been offended about any reference to them. Edith, my oldest sister by 13 months, was the first of the siblings to write a book and have it published (self-published). It was about their family living in Australia for three years. Dennis, her husband, worked for the US Government – CIA – and was transferred there from his employment in Washington DC. Edith was a elementary teacher. They had two children, Cheryl, the oldest, and Bruce who was adopted. Bruce was only a few months older than Cheryl. They went to school together. Edith was their teacher in Australia. At Christmas their second year, Edith asked that no presents be sent to them other than a token inexpensive gift. She asked that the family send her items to give to the children she taught. She named, corn flakes, raisins, pencils, crayons, coloring books, art paper, story’s of Americans, flashlights, tops, rag dolls, 3-D glasses, and a slinky. That’s what we sent. When they returned to the states after three years, Edie converted her notes into a book and had it published. She had also collected mementos of Australia. Her plan was to introduce her book to schools in the DC area as part of their electives. She had mild success and decided to take it to Illinois and contact schools there to review her material. She packed items in a trunk along with books. It could be shipped to any school. She wanted Jim, her older brother, who was an excellent artist who excelled in pencil drawings of people, birds, and animals, to illustrate her book. He declined. There is a story behind his reason that I’ll not mention. Edie was not successful. She donated her mementos and books to the library near where she lived in Nokesville, Virginia.

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George zipped through grade school and began high school when he was eleven. He started to college at SIU Carbondale 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 it reached a mileage of 2,000 plus miles and had to 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 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.

George zipped through grade school and began high school when he was eleven. He started to college at SIU Carbondale 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 it reached a mileage of 2,000 plus miles and had to 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 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.

Hello,

My name is George Casey. For over 27 years my wife and I have lived in Worthington, Ohio, located right next to Columbus. I am retired from a non-profit professional fund raising corporation. My wife, Jerry, is a retired music teacher. She continues to be active in music and has written several symphonies and music compositions. I have been a photographer for many years as it has been important for my fund raising campaigns. A very successful campaign was for the city of Centralia for their municipal complex that was completed in 1994, raising more than six million dollars.

My birth place is Tunnel Hill, IL (born at home) in Johnson County. I am the oldest of eight children of Randolph and Edith Casey. Our family was and is well known in Southern Illinois. A sister, a brother and I obtained a degree at Southern Illinois University at Carbondale. Another brother, John, lived in Mt. Vernon several years and was in the banking profession. John recommended that I contact you regarding my photography work for consideration at your esteemed juried art fair at Cedarhurst, a place I have visited in the past.

I take photos — lots of them — and I develop and print photos — lots of them. My subjects are varied, but I believe my best work is with flowers, plants, trees and nature. It is a natural extension of my life in very rural Southern Illinois. My photos are timeless and appeal to a wide audience. I sell beauty and enjoyment and have a passion for photography. My photographs have been introduced with success in the Columbus/Worthington area at area art and card shops.

I am prepared to answer any question or query that you may have. Thank you very much for consideration. I look forward to hearing from you.

Sincerely,

George Casey 330 Lamborne Worthington, OH

George, I recommend you to the Cedarhurst selection committee for a juried art show that is held the first weekend in September.

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Going to high school was the real beginning of my education and exploring the small world we lived in. | met people not quite like me, read books about subjects | had not studied, and enjoyed knowing about a bigger world that | had heard about but not imagined. | got into sports, clubs, groups cultures, histories, and activities with class mates. | loved learning, but admit | was’t a straight a student or a teachers pet.

At high school | saw prejudice for the first time. Bullying , | knew about, but not about racism. | had not ‘axhosed to it. Three Blacks (then called another name or names) were my classmates. One Black was a year ahead of me. He was a excellent basketball player. He was not on our team, but clearly was better than almost everyone on the team. | liked the three Black girls, two in my class and when | was a sophomore a Black girl was a freshman. An incident happened in Vienna that was racist and the Black students left school under pressure.

| asked Dad what he though abut Blacks receiving treatment like that and he replied that “That's the way it is.” | came back; “WHY. ‘I gave him names of the Blacks: Albert, and Olivia, Pat, and Barbra. | never heard dad say a single negative word about people of color before. He said, “They might be Black, but they are not like us.” WHY/I asked. “It just is.” was his reply and the conversation ended. | never spoke to him about my Black classmates again, but | never forgot them either. | have searched for them and asked questions, hoping to find them safe and happy.

| 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 étiores. | 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. They had had to leave for some reason. Our manager called out to the sparse crown gathered close to home plate for anyone to volunteer for an inning or a time at bat. When no one raised their hand, | went to dad who was sitting on a peach box crate and asked him to hit for

HAGAR doesn’t understand why some of his friends are so silent, the stuffed teddy bears especially. He tries to get them to respond by pulling at their ears and eyes.

He will find a silent friend perched on the back of couches and chairs just begging to be held in Hagar’s mouth, or so he thinks.

Likely, he will drag them around by hanging on to one of their limbs with his incisors. When he is tired of them he will leave them, not where he found them. Missing eyes and scarves may turn up later.

HARGAR has considered getting into the Olympics.

He has practiced jumping techniques — all four feet off of the ground at once-from a standing start. Often he does these jumps for what seems like minutes.

Hagar has also learned the hop, step and a jump maneuver. He is conscious of style oints.

He is good at the 15 yard dash after he has done something wrong

He is not good in relays, he won’t turn loose of the baton

HAGAR would make a great competitor on any reality show.

Survivor for one, Last Comic dog Standing, So You Think You Can Dance, Swamp Dog, and The World’s Hot Dog Eating Contest would be a cinch for Hagar.

Hagar is not into drama, and he won’t turn on Judge Judy’s show because there’s too much shouting. He would be great in a black and white film. Snow Dog Adventures.

HAGAR

HAGAR (The Horrible — not really) is a big black fury dog with a long tail and sharp pointed ears that stick up. He thinks I am his brother (he’s 5 and I am 78) and loves to play games. He laughs easily, has a mock growl and runs and jumps to greet me when I visit him.

HAGAR’S favorite truck is a red pick-up — preferable 4-door.

Hagar favors a stick shift model and likes the ease of starting the vehicle without a key. He does not use a rear view mirror or wear a seat belt. He will bark at anyone coming close to the truck, and does not honk the horn. He has no driver’s license either. Who would suspect him to be a truck driver?

HAGAR’S favorite toy is a rope, diameter of | inch, and likes braded models. If the rope is not coated, Hagar will coat it. His highest rope toss is 7 feet and his longest rope toss is 10 feet. His records are set indoors, only objects limit his tosses.

He will fling a rope (or toy) in all directions, usually your way when you have a drink or food in your hand. Hitting you is his object, but he likes to see you duck and drop your food. UMMM.

Hagar will eat specially prepared and expensive food and he likes grated cheese sprinkled on top. He likes green, yellow, red, and dark colored food. Some say he is color blind but that is a ruse. He can tell a watermelon from a cantaloupe.

When Hagar’s outdoors and finds a rabbit bone he will stop his activity and devote time t crunching the bone. He will, when finished, look for more bones before resuming his activity.

HAGAR is training to be a logger. He likes medium and large logs. He carries them, but he has not learnéd to stack them. If you say, “HAGAR, WHERE IS YOUR STICK,” he will immediately head for his log storage area. There is his stick.

HAGAR loves to meet people. He rushes up to them as though they were his favorite rich cousins, greeting them with grins and wags. If a cousin is less than five foot tall they should brace themselves and when Hagar meets them they should not carry toys or anything in their little hands. *

HAGAR is learning to count. He started with logs, but he really likes to count small things. He can count pills really good. He does not sort them by color or size, Just rolls them around on, the floor after they have dropped out of their containers.

If Hagar could read the labels he might want to get acquainted with doctors and prescription shops so that he could get new supplies now and then, like what do you take after eating plastic combs, brushes, phone cases, etc aN

Hagar is 140 + pounds of love and trouble, and he is always charming. Hagar was a big puppy, He is coal black with strong pointed ears and a long thick black tail. He is a andsome dog. People stumble forth in normal misery, but not dogs. Hagar is not set ack by yesterday’s scolding or worried about tomorrow. Now is his enjoyable life.

This magnificent canine knows when a friend visits him. He’s simply happy to see them and he shows it. Maybe we know we are also animals, with our musk and abits, voices and expressions. There is a language between beings. When he meets me, e jump starts his muscular body in gleeful contemplation of a romp in the garden for a game of stick, keep away, race or hide and seek. He particularly likes the latter game when it’s dark even though he doesn’t know he’s black. He wins at all games and laughs.

Of all the doubts in your life, Hagar’s love of you is one thing you never ave to question. You can rely on straightforward unmasked feelings… He does not ave a tangled past or oversized ego. If we are lucky, we love what we love in part because the object is worth the effort. He is. Hagar lives with Asta. She got him as a small puppy. He is a French Shepherd but he thinks he is a person. They live in a wood sided home located in a small nursery of trees, plants, flowers and ponds. It’s a terrific place to live.

The first time Hagar experienced snow he was exuberant. At The first snow of the year for Hagar he was only six months old. Asta opened her back door and Hagar gleefully dashed outside. His paws slid out from under him and he slipped off the porch into the cold wonderful snow. He barked his satisfaction and began a jumping, twisting, turning jaunt in the stuff. He took a bite of it and his face became mustached white. Hagar, just grinned, and took off in a mad dash. Snow was his wonderful new discovery. He made a snow angel, of sorts, as he flopped on his back and begin rolling about, emitting low growls of joy. He was invigorated and happy.

I will skip parts of Hagar’s early life, but I can assure you that it was quite a life. He got sick at times like kids do and had to go to his doctor (vet): He got into mischief, ie resisted change, did not mind well, but he loved his handler and anyone who would visit him. Hagar thought everyone who came to the house or nursery came to see him and would greet them with excitement and joy. Everyone immediately showed their excitement too, sometimes with a little intimidation.

Asta called him lots of names, like delinquent, bad and good boy, and goooood oy and baaaaaad dog. He would hang his head when he was called a bad boy, but it would only be for a very short time. At times he had to be put on a leash and he reluctantly accepted his punishment.

Asta has a little red pick-up truck that is used for hauling anything at the nursery. it’s a work truck and it’s neat. It has a stick shift. Hagar gets to ride in it when Asta lets im and they often go places outside the nursery. Hagar sits upright and looks out the window just like any big black dog. He also likes the wind in his face. The red truck is also a place that Hagar is put when he is ‘ACTING UP’ around people who come to the nursery. Asta wants to make sure that Hagar doesn’t disturb or perhaps hurt someone if e jumps on them when he greets them.

Hagar was a teen-ager when he first got to sit in the truck. He was happy he was with Asta and was gong someplace, even if only to the other side of the nursery. However, when someone comes to the nursery to visit Asta or see plants and trees, Hagar

the Hor vive ~ ny Rosh 4 oe 4

HEg*

Hagar is 150 + pounds of love and trouble, and he is always charming. Hagar was a big puppy. He is coal black with strong pointed ears and a thick black tail. He is a handsome dog. People stumble forth in normal misery, but not dogs. Hagar is not set back by yesterday’s scolding or worried about tomorrow. Now is his enjoyable life.

This magnificent canine knows when a friend visits him. He’s simply happy to see them and he shows it. Maybe we know we are also animals, with our musk and habits, voices and expressions. There is a language between beings. When he meets me he jump starts his muscular body in gleeful contemplation of .» 1p in the garden fora game of stick, keep away, race or hide and seek. He particularly likes the latter game when it’s dark even though he doesn’t know he’s black. He wins at all games and laughs.

Of all the doubts in your life, Hagar’s love of you is one thing you never have to question. You can rely on straightforward unmasked feelings… He does not have a tangled past or oversized ego. If we are lucky, we love what we love in part because the object is worth the effort. He is.

Hagar lives with Asta. She got him as a small puppy. He is a French Shepherd but he thinks he is a person. They live in a wood frame home located in a small nursery with trees, plants, flowers and ponds. It’s a terrific place to live.

The first time Hagar experienced snow he was exuberant. Hagar was only six months old when he experienced his first snow. Asta opened her back door and Hagar gleefully dashed outside. His paws slid out from under him and he slipped off the porch into the cold wonderful snow. He barked his satisfaction and began a jumping, twisting, turning jaunt in the stuff. He took a bite of it and his face became mustached white. Hagar, just grinned, and took off in a mad dash. Snow was his wonderful new discovery. He made a snow angel, of sorts, as he flopped on his back and begin rolling about, emitting low growls of joy. He was invigorated and happy.

I will skip parts of Hagar’s early life, but I can assure you that it was quite a life. He got sick at times like kids do and had to go to his doctor. Hagar also got into mischief because he did not mind well, but he loved Asta and anyone who would visit him. Hagar thought everyone who came to the house or nursery came to see him and would greet them with excitement and joy. Everyone immediately showed their excitement too, sometimes with a little intimidation.

Asta called him lots of names, like delinquent, bad and good boy, and goooood boy and baaaaaad dog. He would hang his head when he was called a bad boy, but it would only be for a very short time. At times he had to be put on a leash and he reluctantly accepted his punishment.

Asta has a little red pick-up truck that is used for hauling anything at the nursery. It’s a work truck and it’s neat. It has a stick shift. Hagar gets to ride in it when Asta lets him and they often go places outside the nursery. Hagar sits upright and looks out the window just like any big black dog. He also likes the wind in his face. The red truck is also a place that Hagar is put when he is ‘ACTING UP’ around people who come to the nursery. Asta wants to make sure that Hagar doesn’t disturb or perhaps hurt someone if he jumps on them when he greets them.

Hargar — Escape and other games

After a session of fetch that pleases the tosser more than the fetcher, Hagar the big black dog of the greenery nursery turns into an escape artist. Escape is Hagar’s favorite game.

He heads to one of the places he has to escape the presence of two-legged pursuers. Hagar is especially proficient at Escape at or near dark because he blends in with the shadows, trees and bushes around and in the nursery grounds. If it wasn’t for his wagging tail, Hagar would go unseen.

Of course, neighbor dogs congregate at one of the perimeter fences at the nursery and can’t contain their excitement to see the dark knight, Hagar. Their barking and his tail wagging gives Hagar’s hiding places away. The briars, sticker bushes and thick vines catch on the clothing, or worse, the bare skin of the seekers, further protecting Hagar from a short leash. When found and leashed, he resists before he gives up the Escape game he loves so much.

Jumpy little dogs who accompany plant and flower customers to the nursery, are in awe of Hagar. Buffered by false egos, the doggies are likely to yap-yap at Hagar before scurrying behind or between the legs of those who stand on two feet. Uh-OH! Hagar is quick to bend down to almost the level of the 30 or so pounders, his front legs almost on the ground and looks the little pooches in the eye, all the while wagging his tail, inviting them to play or bark in a softer tone. Usually, the tiny ones shut up even though encouraged by Hagar’s pleadings.

Another game of Hagar’s is King of the Hill. He fairly bounces onto a hill (Dirt mound for plants and flowers in the nursery) and defiantly challenges a two-legged one for the hill he occupies. He growls in mock delight and looks as though he might snap if they come closer. His grin is wide and his eyes dance with excitement and when the two- legged one gives up, Hagar might jump on another hill, show body language and caste his eyes their way for another challenge. He is The King of the HILL.

Other games Hagar Loves

Snow Angels /snow mustaches Fetch — boards, limbs, Frisbees Hide-and-seek

Tug of War

Mechanical/digital devices examination Lap racing around the pond

Cane break excursions for animals Chasing animals and his own tail Driving trucks

Rope shredding

Garbage ruffling

Hagar was a teen-ager when he first got to sit in the truck. He was happy he was with Asta and was gong someplace, even if only to the other side of the nursery. However, when someone comes to the nursery to visit Asta or see plants and trees, Hagar is placed in the truck for the visitor’s safety. Hagar then bounces and yelps and barks and pleads to be let out. Asta ignores him and he becomes quiet. Once when someone came to the nursery he created a ruckus and in the truck goes Hagar. Did I say the truck was running? It was, as Asta was planning to take it to another place in the nursery. Hagar’s moving around in the cab of the truck created a commotion. During his antics he moved the gear shift and the truck starts moving backwards to Hagar’s delight. “Your truck is moving,” the visitor exclaims to Asta. Asta turns and sees the truck backing into the sugar canes that border her nursery. It was a concern but the canes stopped the moving truck. As Asta approached the truck, Hagar was smiley and happy for the attention he had caused. He earned several demerits for his behavior and Asta had another story of

her beloved Dog.

is placed in the truck for the visitor’s safety. Hagar then bounces and yelps and barks and pleads to be let out. Asta ignores him and he becomes quiet. One time when someone came to the nursery he created a ruckus and in the truck goes Hagar. Did I say the truck was running? It was, as Asta was planning to take it to another place in the nursery. Hagar’s moving around in the cab of the truck created a commotion. During his antics he moved the gear shift and the truck starts moving backwards to Hagar’s delight. “Your truck is moving,” the visitor exclaims to Asta. Asta turns and sees the truck backing into the sugar canes that border her nursery. It was a concern but the canes stopped the moving truck. As Asta approached the truck, Hagar was smiley and happy for the attention he had caused. He earned several demerits for his behavior and Asta had another story of her beloved Dog.

Hagar meets a stranger one time. They become his friends forever. When they come to his home or park he welcomes them with a greeting bark. He’s glad they came.

He wants to get close to them and when he does he looks into their hands — they may have a treat or something for him, maybe a stick.

Hagar responds to his name and may let his new friend pat him, but most of all he wants them to play with him. He likes to play stick. Off he will run, picking up a stick as he does and will look back to see if his friend is following. If they are, he will head for the upper meadow of the park and hop and jump about, beckoning them to join him. Hagar’s friends will get tired playing stick before he does and he will slow down and let them pat him and maybe he will get a rub of appreciation of their friendship.

HAGAR WOULD LOVE TO VISIT THE OCEAN AND BEACH

Hagar’s adventuresome spirit would kick in when he visits the ocean. It doesn’t matter about the weather either. Sand would feel good to his paws. He would chase, but not catch a shore bird. He would wade and might swim in the ocean and taste the salt in the water. He would find funny looking creatures, like a crab, and get pinched on his nose. He might find sunglasses, hats, or money.

He would dig holes in the sand looking for something that he smelled. He may like to be covered up (almost anyway) with sand. He would have lots of room to play stick, Frisbee or running as fast as he can and almost out of the sight or sound of his person. He would splash in the puddles, bark at the visitors and make friends with everyone and the dogs he sees. He would not want to leave, ever.

Places Hagar would love to visit A farm A zoo

Things to do Have a dog buddy Eat a Twinkie Go on a boat ride Take a soapy shower Jump in a lake Be a competitor in Racing, jumping, stick fetching…

Hagar is having the time of his life. He’s a big time player. He loves fresh wonders. He provides a sense of deeper understanding of an animal who is one of us

When his person opened the door of the house Hagar practically leaped out. He was about to experience snow for the first time. Zip, he went, his paws slid out from under him and he slid across the snow covered porch and into the deep snow. What a feeling. Cold white fluffy snow was everywhere.

Hagar got up and began jumping up and down, bouncing on all four legs. He barked his satisfaction and began a twisting, turning jaunt in the stuff. He took a bite of it and his coal black face became white and he sported a mustache. He stopped, stood still and grinned then took off in a dash. Clearly, snow was Hagar’s wonderful new discovery.

In the upper meadow of his park, he made snow angels, of sorts, as he flopped on his back and rolled over and over, invigorated and happy. Soon, he was called to come inside and he hesitated, hoping to stay longer. Being the good dog he is, he came inside and displayed his excitement. Obviously, he would enjoy his next excursion in his snow covered park.

HAGAR’S ROPE

“WHERE’S YOUR ROPE, HAGAR?2” his person calls out and Hagar immediately begins his search for a piece of heavy braded and frayed rope. His search would not be long as he quickly goes from one hiding place to another to find his favorite toy.

When he finds it, he will pick it up with his teeth and toss it into the air. When it lands, he will attack and tarry it with his teeth and paws. The rope, when new, had been tied in tight knots, but with Hagar’s vigorous treatment it becomes his treasured blankly.

HAGAR VISITS THE VET

When Hagar is feeling bad he can’t tell Asta, his person, what’s wrong with him. She checks him and she knows when something’s wrong. She observes him and try to figure out why he doesn’t feel well. If she can’t, she makes an appointment for him to visit the vet. That means a ride in her van. He likes that he is going with her somewhere. If Hagar is very sick, the ride to the vet is quiet.

At the vet’s office, Hagar is greeted warmly. The diagnosis may be for a pill, or a spoon full of medicine or a different diet. Hagar likes the vet and the vet likes him, so the ordeal is not that big of a thing. “Watch him and if he doesn’t get any better, call me,” the vet tells Asta.

The ride home is a little less tense. Help is coming. Hagar will get better.

Hagar the shreeder He’s a shreeder.

| have a hand-held calculator | use in my business that | sometimes put in my pocket when I’m outside in my nursery with customers. It helps me make a sale. Sometimes | leave the calculator in my house. Hagar loves it. It has buttons, crevices, and plastic. His teeth and claws make quick work of opening the digital device and he keeps chewing and clawing until calculator guts are all over the floor. When | saw the first one he whay layed, he was by my side. “What have you done?” | said, with a slightly raised voice. Hagar, at first, looked at me as if to say. “Me? | didn’t do anything, maybe a mouse did it, | dunnoo.” | gave him my “baaadd dog” message and added a few other unprintable words.

Hagar doesn’t limit his love of digitals to calculators. A TV remote is fine. So too is a phone. He’s had several scoldings and time-out punishments after he has destructed a device, and | try not to leave things around anymore. When he sees one that perks his interest he works to find a way to get it to his level. He jumps and tries to snatch it with his teeth and has pulled a table cloth and dragged the device within his grasp. He shreds, Frisbees, tools with wooden handles, napkins, cardboard or plastic cartons, Christmas tree ornaments, hair brushes and even disposable razors.

|AGAR’S favorite truck is a red pick-up — preferable 4-door.

Hagar favors a stick shift model and likes the ease of starting the vehicle without a key. He does not use a rear view mirror or wear a seat belt. He will bark at anyone coming

close to the truck, and does not honk the horn. He has no driver’s license either. Who

would suspect him to be a truck driver?

|AGAR’S favorite toy is a rope, diameter of | inch, and likes braded models. If the rope is not coated, Hagar will coat it. His highest rope toss is 7 feet and his longest rope toss is 10 feet. His records are set indoors, only objects limit his tosses.

He will fling a rope (or toy) in all directions, usually your way when you have a drink or food in your hand. Hitting you is his object, but he likes to see you duck and drop your food. UMMM.

Hagar will eat specially prepared and expensive food and he likes grated cheese sprinkled on top. He likes green, yellow, red, and dark colored food. Some say he is color blind, but that is a ruse. He can tell a watermelon from a cantaloupe.

When Hagar’s outdoors and finds a rabbit bone he will stop his activity and devote time to crunch up the bone. He will, when finished, look for more bones before resuming his activity.

HAGAR is training to be a logger. He likes medium and large logs. He carries them, but e has not learned to stack them. If you say, “HAGAR, WHERE IS YOUR STICK,” he will immediately head for his log storage area. There is his stick.

HAGAR loves to meet people. He rushes up to them as though they were his favorite rich cousins, greeting them with grins and wags. If the cousin’s are less than five foot tall they should brace themselves and when Hagar meets them they should not carry toys or anything in their little hands.

HAGAR is learning to count. He started with logs, but he really likes to count small things. He can count pills really good. He does not sort them by color or size, Just rolls them around on the floor after they have dropped out of their counters.

If Hagar could read the labels he might want to get acquainted with doctors and rescription shops so that he could get new supplies now and then, like what do you take after eating plastic combs, brushes, phone cases, etc

Judi, Ask for strength. Ask for courage. Put your smile on. Your character will shine through. Do something for someone that won't ask. At mom's funeral I sat solemn and reflective. She saved the first ripe strawberry for me, picking it a few days before it was full ripe. She made all her 8 children feel special. After the church service I went to the barbed-wire fence at the rear of the church, looking out where I could see the strawberry patch on the homestead. Tears ran down my cheeks. Stan touched my right shoulder and I turned to him. 'It's OK Dad, it's ok,' I whispered. 'Thank you.' 'Stan,' he said, 'you've got to read these stories. Just face your problems now. I'll prepare you for more stories.' A short time later I divorced his mom. I kept him.

The original page will appear here.

Less than an hour later we were out of there and heading for where Scott lived in the northeast area of Evansville – a few scant miles from the hospital. He lives in room # 104 at the Royal Inn on Rte. 41 N. Jim left an envelope for Scott at the office and we headed back to Harrisburg. We stopped at historic Mt. Vernon, Indiana for a Subway foot-long sandwich which we ate on the way back.

At 6 we had a Chinese dinner of mixed veggies and chicken over rice. Jim’s large green skillet was perfect for the stir-fry and we cleaned our plates. I stacked dishes while Jim retired to the living room couch for a smoke. We would watch Boston College upset the # 1 team in the country, Syracuse, lost for the first time this season. Syracuse was 25 and O until Wednesday night. We watched ice skating and skiing, but not carefully. I felt drugged by 10:00 and went to bed. Jim had several phone calls and recounted his visits, procedures and what’s next with everyone. He gave a report. I suppose he does this every night.

During my visit I took 3-4 dozen shots with my camera. A few of Jim & Skye, but most were about Jim’s collections of his favorite subjects: Deer, fish, painting, knives, and STUFF. I’m getting prints today. I’ll share.

From Tuesday to Thursday my visit was unhurried, unstructured and enjoyable. Our conversations were interrupted by periods of silence. The quietness was great too. Beef frankfurters and Kraut with fried potatoes contributed to the wellness of brothers. There were no leftovers.

rate,

Here We Go

Tears welled up in my eyes, burst, and ran down my cheeks as I read page after page of my mother's history written by her eighth and last child, my sister, Mary Ellen Davis. Mary Ellen, the youngest of a three daughter, five brother family, had compiled an amazing legacy of Edith Opal Burton Casey, herself, the youngest of a five daughter, four brother family of George and Lizzie Burton. The dates and some of the names were blurred somewhat, but my memory was sharp and clear.

My mom was not a heroine in the manner of a Joan-Of-Arc, but she was worthy of a well-written and well-documented history of her people and her life. Although more narrative would have embellished her history, the consistency of the love and admiration expressed by everyone who contributed to the story splashed my life with enjoyment and understanding of a very pretty "red- headed" woman who touched her world and made it better.

Now, I'll write a few words, try to portray accuracy and attempt to keep perspectives real. Sometimes my experiences were adventures, sometimes mundane. Here goes a random of glimpses of a past. Please excuse the out-of sequence recalls.

MY NOSE WAS GONE.

Snot and blood soaked my snow wetted brown jersey glove held firmly by my left hand to my face as I fairly busted in our back door to the kitchen. | yelled, or bleated for help! My mom was in the living room visiting with, I think, her sister, my aunt Etta Berry, and a neighbor, Wilma Conroy. I was about eight. It was in 1948 or 1949.

The 5 to 7 inch snow the day before cancelled school (thank goodness | did not have to trudge the 2 1/2 miles up hill to the one-room, unheated school, and almost 3 miles back, also up hill back home) and sent me and many of my friends to the slope behind our home in Tunnel Hill, IL. After breakfast, we had managed to construct a 3-4 foot snow jump for the competition that would take place on the long sloping hill on Coy McCuan's old strawberry patch. The sled run was long and the jump was near the middle when our speed would be the highest. If successfully negotiated (hanging on to the sled) a sledder could go all the way to the steeped creek bank. On and on we went breaking the snow, slicking up the run and navigating the jump. Sometimes we aborted the jump at the last moment and crashed harmlessly in the deeper snow. We called this, "chickening out."

Lying prone, belly down, on the sled, I believed I could stand the belly whopper landing and go further than anyone. It was about 10 a.m., and on my # 5 run hit the jump perfectly and the waxed sled runners gave a little when it hit the run below the jump. It picked up speed and I headed for the creek some 40 yards away. The sled eased over the creek bank and it was astride an ice caked, smooth log leading to the frozen creek. The descent was steep and the center metal point of the sled crashed into the ice. I slid off of the sled and crashed face first into the jagged ice of the creek. The exhilarating feeling of accomplishment present moments before rapidly dissipated into pain and anguish. I had just lost my nose. I knew it. I climbed back up the bank, my gloved left hand clutching the remnants of my nose and heading home. Perhaps the nose could be sewn back on.

The little crowd of competitors saw me bolt for the house in a run. I was going home to mother – quickly. Flash forward – to the house.

When mom reached me she took my hand and slowly lowered it and said," my, my." She walked me over to the kitchen sink, poured a little water from the every present teakettle on the wood cooking stove, added a dipper full of water from the white water pail and sloshed a wash cloth in the water. Holding me by my left shoulder she wiped the snot, blood and drying tears away.

HI Skye, here is another profile of a relative that you personally know. Ihave added a few lines for you.

Liz, (Elizabeth Ann Casey – Leber) was named after her grandmother, Lizzie Burton. Ann was Liz’s mom’s sister.

Liz has managed well with the vision of only one eye since she was very young. She loved Mary Ellen a ton and liked to carry her everywhere when Mary was a baby. Liz is a baker of bread.

Liz’s son, Eric is a physician’s assistant as is his wife, Erin. They have two children, Mason and Sage. They live in Butte, Montana near mountains and wide open spaces. They have llamas and also chickens.

Eric, Kent, Rex and Terry were close buddies and all loved to hunt, fish and tell stories. Your gramps was like a father to Rex.

A drawing of mountains, a trout, or a bass would delight Eric, Rex and especially Mason and Sage. Liz too.

Eric Leber Rex Goodber [addresses withheld]

The original page will appear here.

… as the 4th born. I had all of my siblings & my teacher. The three older boys and three sisters. Jerry was around too. I read books. I drew pictures, I played games. I used most of my options. And, I was a writer too. A photo of me with my brothers and sisters might catch my pose of looking for the bird I heard or my dog Jiggs. Jack and the Beanstalk; Billy Goat Gruff; Rumpelstiltskin; Robin Hood; Sir Galahad; Bertram and the Dragon were early favorites. [margin: cartoon characters] I'd drift along as I read and I imagined being right with these characters & many more. I'm going to exercise my option of NOT writing about Wil, Jim and George. I've done that. I've been down that road. Good night, [signed]

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 were born and grew they too became gardeners. They reaped what they planted. Dad and mom knew how to raise crops and children that’s for sure.

I am 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. This story is about my brother Bill, now called Wil.

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 became a robust boy, He had two brothers, George, the oldest, and Jim who was less than 2 years older than Wil. The threesome would become best friends, buddies, and also rivals for almost 80 years. George and Jim died in 2015., Wil’s sister, Edith, myself, Liz, Terry, and Mary would follow making 8 of us kids (Edith died in 1959, Terry in 2014. We lived in a four bedroom two story house on the north east hill of Tunnel Hill, a town of about 44 people.

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, animals and birds. He carefully stored his stuff where wreckers like me couldn’t find them. Wil was a good hunter and liked to fish, but he was not better than Jim who became the best hunter/fisherman in all of Southern Illinois. Wil was a better marksman though. Jim would not agree. The three brothers hung together when they could; swimming in ponds, skating on frozen ponds, sledding, playing in the creek, working in the garden or yard, and working in orchards, and fields. As I grew older I tagged along as much as possible if they would let me.

Wil went to a one-room country elementary school located %4 mile uphill from his home. He was an excellent student, likely a teacher’s pet, and participated in all school activities, except starting fights. He didn’t like bullies and saved my bacon a time or two

My dad met my mom at church, she wanted to go there, and because she did, so did he. After church one day I heard that he asked to drive my mom, and her mom and dad, home in their horse drawn buggy. That dad was a better driver than Mr. George Burton was never mentioned. I did hear that that the road was muddy and it took a good driver to handle the reins and control the horses. He would drive the 4 miles from the Salem Church in Northeast Johnson County to a country home near New Burnside, IL. Apparently, Dad had either arranged a ride home or he would walk back to his home near the Salem church.

Dad was handsome. He was maybe dashing. He was tall too; almost six foot tall. He wore a blue pair of slacks, a white shirt and black dress shoes. His black hair was slicked back with no part. I know he was clean shaven and his smile was his best trait. My mom, who would not be my mom for another ____ years, must have been impressed with this young gentleman, but knowing her, I’m sure she was a bit nonchalant and pretended not to be attracted with this interloper. His gesture could not have been unnoticed though.

Consent to date Edith Burton was given to Randolph Casey by Mr. and Mrs. George (and Lizzie) Burton before Randolph even had asked Edith to go out with him. They liked him for his manners and they had noticed him before and thought he would be a nice pick for their youngest daughter. They had done alright with their other eight children with the exception of Hattie who had chosen a non church abiding person and who drank.

Dad and mom’s first real date was at a school pie supper, but it took some time and tribulations for both of them. Students and recent students of the school would bake a pie or a cake and take it to the school to be auctioned to the highest bidder. The school received the proceeds to help run the school. My mom brought an apple pie because her family owned and operated a sizeable orchard and she was trained on making pies of the highest quality.

A pie supper in southern Illinois — the mid-mid west — in the early part of the 20" century was a community social event. There would be two pie suppers a year, one in the spring and one in fall, that coincided with school and farming. Before school let out in the spring and work in earnest started on the farm there would be a pie supper at the grade school. When harvesting was done in the fall there would be another one. The event was a way of keeping up with everyone, getting the news, renewing ties and mixing. It was also a time to finding dates and that might lead to a relationship or even marriage.

The evening started with a pot-luck dinner with plenty of favorite dishes and treats. Following dinner there would be announcements of what went on since the last meeting and introductions of new attendees, which might include new babies. Perhaps there would be a recital after the announcements. Music might follow the auctioning of the pies so that a pie would be shared with a bidder and a baker.

The main event was the courtship ritual of the pie auction. The auction was disguised as a fund raiser for whatever the gatherers had selected to receive the funds from selling the pies. Almost all of the single and eligible young women had brought their pies to the supper. The pies were in a decorated box and a number (but not a name) was placed on the box. These boxes had been placed on a table earlier in the evening and were there to be seen by everyone.

My father’s nam¢ is Richard Randolph Casgy and he game me the name¢ of John Richard. Ggorge got dad’s middlg nameg, Randolph.

I live in Alton, Ib where my son, Shan was born in 1973. Shan also lived in Mt. Vernon with mg and his mom, Barb. Shan also lived in inna with his then wif, Jamig and her threg kids; Trevor, Alex and Reneg. The children all call Shan dad or pop. Trevor lives in Anna, Alex in Washington ®.C. and Rengg lives in Germany.

Shan lived in ST. louis beforg moving to Boston wherg hg now lives. Boston had a whopping 110 inehgs or morg snow this past winter. The last time I was in Boston (2014) | got to sz¢ whales in the tlantic Oegan. Jsiz and Mary saw whales when they went to Hawaii in January 2015. han lives with Jay in their condo in a large & tall building ngar the famous Fenway Park. Shan has his own hair salon and also travels around the country to eonduet training and sg¢lling salon produets. han loves music and has a lot of dises; fg also loves computers and the digital world. Tig and Jay have a huge affionate great Dang Dog named Abagail (Abby).

It would surpris¢ and delight him to get a drawing of yours; perhaps of a guitar or a singer. Or better yet, of a big black great Dang.

Thanks,

Shan Casey 65 park Drive #24 Boston, MA 02215

Dad and mom were married in 1930. They eloped. Both were romantic. I may have several letters that dad wrote, and perhaps one or two of mom’s, but they aren’t turning up in my papers. Dad was a writer of facts. He was newsy. He used a typewriter and used only one finger to type his letters. Mom wrote personal letters to someone. She used a pencil most of the time. Her words were rounded revealing her kindness and sincerity. Mom’s mother wrote to her youngest child similar fashion.

Honey bees…

As I neared the Masonic Lodge on my way home from school I heard a buzzing sound overhead, I looked up and saw a swarm of honey bees. They were flying slowly and in the direction of the Lodge.

I watched as the swarm Landed on the NE corner of the two-story Lodge where the wind from a storm had blown away a board leaving a hole in the wall. The bees were Looking for a home and may have found it, If they took up residence in the building it would be a big problem for the Masons,

Our family home was just up the hill from the lodge. I ran home to tell dad and asked that he go and see the bees himself, When dad reached the lodge a gathering of residents of Tunnel Hill was there.

Someone said a few blasts of a shotgun would send the bees to smithereens.

I wanted to help and asked dad if I could try to remove the bees and not kill them or damage the building,

Honey bees… As I neared the Masonic lodge on my way home from school I heard a buzzing sound overhead. I looked up and saw a swarm of honey bees. They were flying slowly and in the direction of the lodge. I watched as the swarm landed on the NE corner of the two-story lodge where the wind from a storm had blown away a board leaving a hole in the wall. The bees were looking for a home and may have found it. If they took up residence in the building it would be a big problem for the Masons.

Our family home was just up the hill from the lodge. I ran home to tell dad and asked that he go and see the bees himself. When dad reached the lodge a gathering of residents of Tunnel Hill was there. Someone said a few blasts of a shotgun would send the bees to smithereens. I wanted to help and asked dad if I could try to remove the bees and not kill them or damage the building.

The original page will appear here.

, HOW I BECAME JOHN A person doesn’t get called a name that sticks until that person earned it. Thereafter, seldom is it changed. I was Johnny a long time and don’t know exactly when or exactly why I became John. Dad, Richard Randolph Casey, was the first born in his family that had six brothers and three sisters. Edith Opal (Burton) Casey was the ninth born and sixth girl of her family. Dad and mom raised me and my siblings tight, but not too tight. As Johnny the world was a stage, but not a very big stage. I didn’t venture very far from my home in Tunnel Hill, IL located in deep Southern Illinois where I was born in 1940. Actually I didn’t believe my siblings knew me other than “He” or “Him”, as in “He did it,” or “it was him”. Sometimes it was “Where is he,” when work was involved.

———————————————————————————————— I found Levi Casey and wrote about him. ———————————————————————————————- The thousands of pages I’v read, studied and written did not bring material gain to me. Rather, it deepened my understanding of the hundreds and thousands of citizens of one America, not two nations. Each side fought for what they thought was right to a point they would die for their beliefs. ————————————————————————————————— I’ll not ever believe that one day I’ll be free of anxiety, stress, or the empty feeling of depression. I remind myself that I have illnesses that are not gong to magically disappear. I must not run from them. But, it is okay, I’ll be just fine as long as I follow my path. I made joy a permanent goal. Whenever I feel anxious, I use a mantra that goes like this: Take three deep breaths and focus on what is causing my thoughts and rid them from my mind. Sometimes I have to be calm and do my best to remember that I am stronger than my anxiety. I can’t dim the bright lights in my neighbor’s yard that disrupt my sleep at times. The lights do not bring happiness, so I’ll peg them to a low priority so they’ll not depress me. Whatever pain I have can be dealt with as long as I believe in myself. Neither riches or fame defines a truly fulfilling life. I cherished those who I liked and loved and who liked and loved me. jrc

I 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. I tested the story with a chart of my family. It only took a few minutes. It doesn’t have any pattern and I 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* 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. I 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.

I liked school and also looked forward to seeing all of the kids, especially those in my class. Here I was back in school and sitting next to her on this hard bench. We could have been alone. I was oblivious to anything going on around me. I could feel her presence and may have stopped breathing a few times. I moved my left foot and touched her right foot and thought lightning had zapped me. If there was a breeze from the opened windows or if a bird was singing or a cow was bawling I wouldn’t have heard them.

I was in love. My first time. I did not have to search my memory. Up until then, playing ball, fishing, and hunting was all there was to my life outside of work in the garden, yard, and doing my chores. I wondered how many kids we would have and never thought about where we would live. I guessed we would live with our parents until we were say 13 or 14. She, of course, would live on her parent’s farm and I would still share my home with my family. I was sure she loved me as much as I loved her.

Ronnie was punching me in my ribs and Frances slid an inch away from me and there was space between them and me. I was still looking at my shoe, which now hung by itself. I was semi asleep, but the sharp punches were getting my attention and I turned to Ronnie with glaring hateful eyes. I promised myself that I would clobber him when the school day ended. He was snickering. Frances blushed. Then I heard Mrs. Buelah. “Johnny, please read the next page.” Duh. What page? What story? Where am I? Frances reached over and pointed to my book and flipped the page several times before pointing to page 7 of the story. The words were blurry, but I started and managed to squeak the words out. I was glad when my part was finished with the page. When the class was over I walked back to my desk with my head down. I didn’t feel like I was in love anymore.

Just when I had settled back into my seat, I heard “pssstt,” and Fern who sat one row over from me handed me a folded piece of paper. It was a note from Mabel Brooks. “Sit next to me tomorrow.” I decided right then that love had returned to my heart and that Frances was almost forgotten. I looked forward to being eight in a few days, perhaps Mabel and I would get married then. Certainly, by Christmas. Perhaps we

would sing Silent Night together.

Jre 3/31/05

I liked school and also looked forward to seeing all of the kids, especially those in my class. Here I was back in school and sitting next to her on this hard bench. We could have been alone. I was oblivious to anything going on around me. I could feel her presence and may have stopped breathing a few times. I moved my left foot and touched her right foot and thought lightning had zapped me. If there was a breeze from the opened windows or if a bird was singing or a cow was bawling I wouldn’t have heard them.

I was in love. My first time. I did not have to search my memory. Up until then, playing ball, fishing, and hunting was all there was to my life outside of work in the garden, yard, and doing my chores. I wondered how many kids we would have and never thought about where we would live. I guessed we would live with our parents until we were say 13 or 14. She, of course, would live on her parent’s farm and I would still share my home with my family. I was sure she loved me as much as I loved her.

Ronnie was punching me in my ribs and Frances slid an inch away from me and there was space between them and me. I was still looking at my shoe, which now hung by itself. I was semi asleep, but the sharp punches were getting my attention and I turned to Ronnie with glaring hateful eyes. I promised myself that I would clobber him when the school day ended. He was snickering. Frances blushed. Then I heard Mrs. Buelah. “Johnny, please read the next page.” Duh. What page? What story? Where am I? Frances reached over and pointed to my book and flipped the page several times before pointing to page 7 of the story. The words were blurry, but I started and managed to squeak the words out. I was glad when my part was finished with the page. When the class was over I walked back to my desk with my head down. I~ didn’t feel like I was in love anymore.

Just when I had settled back into my seat, I heard “pssstt,” and Fern who sat one row over from me handed me a folded piece of paper. It was a note from Mabel Brooks. “Sit next to me tomorrow.” I decided right then that love had returned to my heart and that Frances was almost forgotten. I looked forward to being eight in a few days, perhaps Mabel and I would get married then. Certainly, by Christmas. Perhaps we would sing Silent Night together.

Ire 3/31/05

Che. Sree Mearbal,, Brook s Sul Hgld

[3 E BSR, Ahonen par Wes No- Coun Gow ber. by 7Ruele ay wi Jigs jer ae)

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I liked school and also looked forward to seeing all of the kids, especially those in my class. Here I was back in school and sitting next to her on this hard bench. We could have been alone. I was oblivious to anything going on around me. I could feel her presence and may have stopped breathing a few times. I moved my left foot and touched her right foot and thought lightning had zapped me. If there was a breeze from the opened windows or if a bird was singing or a cow was bawling I wouldn’t have heard them.

I was in love. My first time. I did not have to search my memory. Up until then, playing ball, fishing, and hunting was all there was to my life outside of work in the garden, yard, and doing my chores. I wondered how many kids we would have and never thought about where we would live. I guessed we would live with our parents until we were say, 13 or 14. She, of course, would live on her parent’s farm and I would still share my home with my family. I was sure she loved me as much as I loved her.

Ronnie was punching me in my ribs and Frances slid an inch away from me and there was space between them and me. I was still looking at my shoe, which now hung by itself. I was semi asleep, but the sharp punches were getting my attention and I turned to Ronnie with glaring hateful eyes. I promised myself that I would clobber him when the school day ended. He was snickering. Frances blushed. Then I heard Mrs. Buelah. “Johnny, please read the next page.” Duh. What page? What story? Where am I? Frances reached over and pointed to my book and flipped the page several times before pointing to page 7 of the story. The words were blurry, but I started and managed to squeak the words out. I was glad when my part was finished with the page. When the class was over I walked back to my desk with my head down. I didn’t feel like I was in love anymore.

Just when I had settled back into my seat, I heard “pssstt,” and Fern who sat one row over from me handed me a folded piece of paper. It was a note from Mabel Brooks. “Sit next to me tomorrow.” I decided right then that love had returned to my heart and that Frances was almost forgotten. I looked forward to being eight in a few days, perhaps Mabel and I would get married then. Certainly, by Christmas. Perhaps we would sing Silent Night together.

Jre 3/31/05

IRELAND

Abner Casey was born in 1680 making him 40 years old in 1720. He was a few years older than his brother Peter and that likely made Abner the decision-maker for the two to sail from Ireland to America, its nearest neighbor. They had to scrape together their fare and may have entered into an agreement to serve a New World master for a time to pay for their voyage. Baltimore, a lively seacoast town in 1720 had already begun to be known as a slave trading market. Ironically, Baltimore, in 1861, was the place where a plot to kill President Elect, Abraham Lincoln, the great emancipator, was hatched but not carried out.

I imagine that both Abner and Peter left a thatched cottage, heated by peat, and a miserable patch of land barely able to support the family cow and a few pigs. The ship they sailed on was obviously a wretched place of suffering on the 7-8 weeks voyage. It is estimated that between 1717 and 1775, something like a quarter of a million Irelanders settled in the North American continent. The reasons for going were many. They did so voluntary and were almost entirely Protestant Ascendancy. The early Irish from the South were often bondsmen who had sold their services as labourers in advance of their emigrating. They crossed the Atlantic in fearful conditions and they died in thousands of cholera on arrival. They were unskilled and tended to herd into cities on the East Coast. They were also the frontiersmen of the new America with a love of freedom for themselves. Daniel Boon, the first man to explore Kentucky was, of course, Daniel “Buhun” of Irish stock. Davy Crockett was the son of an emigrant from Londonderry. Eight signatories on the Declaration of Independence are from Ireland.

Up until the middle of the 1700’s, native Indians had always outnumbered the new Americans who had arrived since it was discovered. Their population was also gathered along the eastern seacoast and it is likely that the Christian inhabitants who left their home country because of religious upheaval and prosecution did not consider their religious compassion encompassed the native Red Indian, who was there to be massacred. Whether Abner or Peter managed to collect a scalp is unknown, but they obviously avoided losing their own.

For a small island with a population less than a tenth that of England, Ireland throughout her centuries has made a contribution to the world out of all proportion to her size and numbers. From the Province of Leinster came the literary giant, George Bernard Shaw, Oscar Wilde and James Joyce. The Province of Connaught gave the world William Butler Yeats. The Province of Munster produced St Brendan the Navigator, whom some considers may have reached America 900 years before Christopher Columbus. From the Province of Ulster St. Patrick’s missionaries carried Christianity to lighten the darkness of the early middle ages. From their stock the Irish also provided a long succession of Presidents for the United States of America. (Kennedy, Nixon, Carter, Jackson, Polk, Buchanan, Johnson, Grant, Arthur Cleveland, Harrison, McKinley and Wilson) Though sadly, this Province produced the ill-fated Titanic.

The Emerald Isle is not more than three hundred miles at its greatest length north to south, and about one hundred and seventy miles in its greatest width east to west, and no point inland much more than eighty miles from the sea.

Cork, the Texas of Ireland, the largest county of the thirty-two counties in the whole of the country, presents an area of most beautiful scenery, deep island-studded bays and a mountainous barrier with the neighbouring county of Kerry. The steady winds blow in from the Atlantic bring ever tumultuous sky of clouds from the west bringing a plentiful supply of rain and one can see a rainbow almost daily. Yet Ireland is little troubled with thunder, lightning and earthquakes

Village folk pride themselves on their shining, spotless and well-kept cottages and cheerful gardens. You can hear the voices of a score of children and along the bright green meadows where the cows are grazing; the gentle shadows of clouds go playing over the grass. It is indeed a charming scene. It has a pretty and romantic look

Me doubts that either Abner or Peter played the game of golf that gave Ireland universal repute. One of my brothers would have reveled at any of their famous courses.

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 tumed 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, I 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 3a person – I’ve never been to Ireland) We probably dropped the O

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 the 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, I 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.

George Casey We probably dropped the O

CoA 0ST MW Msibrd – hides

IZZY,

MY OLDER BROTHER JIM AND I MADE SOMETHING FOR YOU. HE SUPPLIED THE TALENT AND SKILL AND I ADDED ENCOURAGEMENT AND A LITTLE OF THE WORK.

THE KNIFE IS HAND MADE FROM A BLANK SHEET OF STEEL THAT JIM FASHIONED AND CUT. HE HAD THE STEEL FIRED BEFORE IT WAS FINISHED INTO A POLISHED BLADE. THE HANDLE WAS MADE FROM A TREE ROOT ANOTHER BROTHER GAVE HIM. JIM SHAPED THE KNIFE HANDLE TO FIT AND TO COMPLIMENT THE BLADE. THE BLADE WAS THEN HAND SHARPENED. HE PUT HIS NAME ON THE BLADE'S HILT.

IT IS A WORKING KNIFE. HE AND I USE A SIMILAR KNIFE WHEN WE HUNT, FISH, AND JUST WANT A KNIFE.

WE HOPE YOU LIKE IT.

JOHN AND JIM CASEY

…and how the Egg whites were beaten Just right, with Just the right amount of Sugar, before being mixed with the flour and other ingredients before pouring into the aluminum angel food Cake pan. When that pan Came out, I Knew Jack was Coming to dinner — and that there was an Outside Chance for me to get a piece of white meat. Jack Parish was heavily the best preacher our Little Baptist Church had Ever had. I Can see him in the Lake, and I Can see him at our family table passing Chicken, mashed potatoes, green beans, and getting the first piece of mom's 13-Egg angel food Cake. There were at Least two angels at the Table — Jack and my mom.

Jackie’s wooden boat

Acreek was in the lower part of our property in Tunnel Hill. Here was a favorite place for kids to play and explore. It swelled with spring rains and created places to swim – or mud crawl- and play.

The creek had high banks carved by water at bends. The banks had clay that provided material for all sorts of clay figures; animals, cars, cannons, marbles, eye balls, etc.

A few pools in the creek were deep enough for little people to play in the shallows without fear of drowning. We caught tadpoles, frogs, and tiny fish and made a pool for them. We made play boats and sent ants down stream on them.

My oldest Brother George (we called him Jackie) was the smartest of dad and mom’s kids and was a master at building model airplanes. He seldom came to the creek because he was fair skinned and the sun would burn him deep red. However, he liked to set on the top of hills and watch the other kids play.

Jackie’s mind was working as he watched. He planned to build a wooden boat. His light bulb went off. He would use a wooden cheese box for the body. He carved a strip on each side of the box and added a thick rubber band that would be used as a paddle wheel. Wind up the rubber band, place the boat into the water and turn it loose. It worked the first time and delighted everyone. Jackie would refine his invention. It was carefully handled by him at first and we had to be trained before we could use it.

Jackie

Jackie’s wooden boat A creek was in the lower part of our property in Tunnel Hill. Here was a favorite place for kids to play and explore. It swelled with spring rains and created places to swim – or mud crawl- and play. The creek had high banks carved by water at bends. The banks had clay that provided material for all sorts of clay figures; animals, cars, cannons, marbles, eye balls, etc. A few pools in the creek were deep enough for little people to play in the shallows without fear of drowning. We caught tadpoles, frogs, and tiny fish and made a pool for them. We made play boats and sent ants down stream on them. My oldest Brother George (we called him Jackie) was the smartest of dad and mom’s kids and was a master at building model airplanes. He seldom came to the creek because he was fair skinned and the sun would burn him deep red. However, he liked to set on the top of hills and watch the other kids play. Jackie’s mind was working as he watched. He planned to build a wooden boat. His light bulb went off. He would use a wooden cheese box for the body. He carved a strip on each side of the box and added a thick rubber band that would be used as a paddle wheel. Wind up the rubber band, place the boat into the water and turn it loose. It worked the first time and delighted everyone. Jackie would refine his invention. It was carefully handled by him at first and we had to be trained before we could use it. Jackie

He Liked to explore creeks with me. When I caught a crawdad I would toss ik to him and the small crustasion tried to pinch him, Jigs would quickly grab the crawdad with his teeth and sling it over his back. Jigs learned to jump over fences, however, sometimes he didnt clear fences, He then changed and would skip between strands of wire.

After excursions in shallow water and mud his coat would become malted. He didnt resist getting washed and Liked being dried off,

He liked to explore creeks with me. When I caught a crawdad I would toss it to him and the small crustasion tried to pinch him. Jigs would quickly grab the crawdad with his teeth and sling it over his back. Jigs learned to jump over fences, however, sometimes he didn’t clear fences. He then changed and would skip between strands of wire. After excursions in shallow water and mud his coat would become matted. He didn’t resist getting washed and liked being dried off.

Dad brought home a border collie (mix) puppy and told me that if I took care of him he would be my dog, A cardboard box was in the back seat of the car, In the box was a small black and white border collie pup. Wow! I was eight, I picked up the box and carried it to our back porch and took the pup out of it, Ik was the summer of 1949, I was seven. I was delighted.

I asked dad where he got him and he told me a man named Jigs gave him to him. Then, I said I would name him Jigs. Jigs and I became instant buddies. I would teach him things and how to get along with people.

Dad worked as an agent for the New York Central Railroad in their depot in Muddy, Illinois, a small town north of Harrisburg, Illinois, in Saline County, Coal was mined in Southern Illinois mostly in deep underground mines, but sometimes on Land surfaces. Muddy was a hub of the railroad and several trains a day passed through Muddy, Some of the trains went to St, Louis and some to Paducah, Kentucky, Coal cars, up to 100, were common for a single train and 2-3 engines were common,

I asked dad how he found a small puppy. Dad said that aman who worked in the rail road yard asked him if he wanted a pup. The man, called “Jigaboo,” gave dad the dog. I quickly named the pup, IIgs.

Dad brought home a border collie (mix) puppy and told me that if I took care of him he would be my dog. A cardboard box was in the back seat of the car. In the box was a small black and white border collie pup. Wow! I was eight. I picked up the box and carried it to our back porch and took the pup out of it. It was the summer of 1949. I was seven. I was delighted. I asked dad where he got him and he told me a man named Jigs gave him to him. Then, I said I would name him Jigs. Jigs and I became instant buddies. I would teach him things and how to get along with people. Dad worked as an agent for the New York Central Railroad in their depot in Muddy, Illinois, a small town north of Harrisburg, Illinois, in Saline County. Coal was mined in Southern Illinois mostly in deep underground mines, but sometimes on land surfaces. Muddy was a hub of the railroad and several trains a day passed through Muddy. Some of the trains went to St. Louis and some to Paducah, Kentucky. Coal cars, up to 100, were common for a single train and 2-3 engines were common. I asked dad how he found a small puppy. Dad said that a man who worked in the rail road yard asked him if he wanted a pup. The man, called “Jigaboo," gave dad the dog. I quickly named the pup, JIgs.

I was delighted to have my own dog, Jiggs was chubby, marked black on white, and full of energy He would grow to be a 40-0 pounds and be my companion every day, first he was put into a wash tub filled partially with warm water, Soap was added and he was scrubbed, toweled dry and brushed vigorously,

Jigs followed me Like a duckling followed his mother. When you feed a dog understand that controlling food is important part of your duties as a leader. When you dog is eating or sleeping do nok stroke your dog. Dont make dramatic moves near his bowls. If you do he might bite you. It's a dogs instinct too protect his food. Ik is not the dogs fault, it’s just his WAY,

How Lucky I was to have a dog to raise, I'll never forget that, Ik made me deeply grateful. A close relationship brings ouk the best in us. Dogs enrich our Lives is we Let them. I believe dogs connect with humans without obligations, They look us in the eye, I's like being graded as someone to trust or nok, If they trust, they will be your best friend. Dogs see the best part of us and a bond help;s us be better people. Let dogs be dogs in a human dog relationship.

Jiggs was an outside dog because our home had a Large population of kids and parents. I made Jiggs a dog house and placed it on the back porch and put his food

I was delighted to have my own dog. Jiggs was chubby, marked black on white, and full of energy. He would grow to be a 40-50 pounds and be my companion every day. first he was put into a wash tub filled partially with warm water. Soap was added and he was scrubbed, toweled dry and brushed vigorously. Jigs followed me like a duckling followed his mother. When you feed a dog understand that controlling food is important part of your duties as a leader. When you dog is eating or sleeping do not stroke your dog. Don’t make dramatic moves near his bowls. If you do he might bite you. It’s a dogs instinct too protect his food. It is not the dogs fault, it’s just his way. How lucky I was to have a dog to raise. I’ll never forget that. It made me deeply grateful. A close relationship brings out the best in us. Dogs enrich our lives is we let them. I believe dogs connect with humans without obligations, They look us in the eye. It’s like being graded as someone to trust or not. If they trust, they will be your best friend. Dogs see the best part of us and a bond help;s us be better people. Let dogs be dogs in a human dog relationship. Jiggs was an outside dog because our home had a large population of kids and parents. I made Jiggs a dog house and placed it on the back porch and put his food

and water bowl near him. He seemed contented, He would greet me first thing in the morning and after breakfast and seeing to Jigs needs we spent the day together.

Vera Schulkze 61%-9%0-0113 – A writer I met while having breakfast at Hardee's,

Border collies have a herding instinct but we didnt have animals that needed herding. Our milk cow didnt count and our chickens were off Limits. Giggs had discipline and I was his teacher, A border collie has herding instincts. We didnt have any animals to herd. We had chickens and I taught him to Leave them alone,

Jiggs grew quickly into a dog and Liked to please me. He did not felch sticks, he Loved playing ball, Jigs tried to catch them (tennis balls, baseballs, soft balls, sock balls)

He Loved to swim. Two farm ponds were nearby that we both liked, I could toss a ball into the pond and he would swim ouk, snag them and bring them back to me.

I coaxed him into diving off of culverts and banks into pools, providing I had already jumped into the water.

and water bowl near him. He seemed contented. He would greet me first thing in the morning and after breakfast and seeing to Jigs needs we spent the day together. Vera Schultze 618-980-0113 – A writer I met while having breakfast at Hardee’s. Border collies have a herding instinct but we didn’t have animals that needed herding. Our milk cow didn’t count and our chickens were off limits. Giggs had discipline and I was his teacher. A border collie has herding instincts. We didn’t have any animals to herd. We had chickens and I taught him to leave them alone. Jiggs grew quickly into a dog and liked to please me. He did not fetch sticks, he loved playing ball, Jigs tried to catch them (tennis balls, baseballs, soft balls, sock balls) He loved to swim. Two farm ponds were nearby that we both liked. I could toss a ball into the pond and he would swim out, snag them and bring them back to me. I coaxed him into diving off of culverts and banks into pools, providing I had already jumped into the water.

earns ne

iw”

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 becomifag 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.

yé They had three sons, Kevin, Scott and Kent. Jim’s interests were hunting/

nal

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. | 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. | know very little about her. She and Beth are close friends.

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. | 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. | know very little about her. She and Beth are close friends.