Life

The Big Trip of 1944, Part 3

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One big thing that we all enjoyed was a parade that was part of a War Bond Rally and featured General George Patton and General Jimmy Doolittle. I believe the parade was on Wilshire Boulevard. I remember that Grandpa drove us over there and we sat on the curb and waited to see the war heroes. There were several cars in the parade and the two Generals were riding in the back seat of a convertible.

Grandpa had been telling us about Walter Knott and his berry farm and the delicious boysenberries he grew there. We went there one day and I remember it as being out in the middle of a large grove. We drove down a lane, through the trees until we got to a clearing where there were a few old buildings.

Knott's Jail 1940's

Knott’s Berry Farm Jail, 1940’s

We got out of the car and walked over to a building that looked like a jail. Inside, there was a dummy that looked like a real bad guy. It scared the devil out of us when he started talking! We talked to him for a while about his plight and his sorry history and then were completely amazed when he started talking about our trip and other personal things that we hadn’t mentioned. We kept up a conversation but kept wondering how this dummy knew so much about us. We soon heard Grandpa yelling for us from around the corner of the next building. We hadn’t noticed that he wasn’t still with us. We went around the corner of the building and found Grandpa and Walter Knott laughing like crazy. Mr. Knott held up a microphone and told how he and Grandpa had conspired and tricked us. We continued to have a great time and bought several jars of boysenberry jam before we left. Even today, we’ll be in a grocery store and I’ll see jars of jam with the distinctive Knott’s Berry Farm script and I’ll flash back on some of these memories.

Knott's 2

           It’s been 70 years but I still recognize this guy that talked to us from the jail.

I didn’t know where we were but one day we drove past an aircraft factory. I would guess now, that we must have been in the Santa Monica area. There were planes parked everywhere and the whole area was covered with camouflage netting. The top of the netting looked like grass, vegetation, and homes. Remember, at this time of the war, we didn’t know but what the Japanese would be attacking the west coast at any time. The way the netting covered the whole area, it made it look like homes and farms. I don’t remember now what types of planes we saw, but I recognized them at the time. Like most American kids, I had studied my “spotter” cards and recognized almost every plane I saw. For you young people who haven’t seen them, the “spotter” cards came in a deck and were the same size as regular playing cards. Each card was devoted to a different airplane and told what it was and what its identifying features were. Also, there were 3 or 4 different views of each plane so you could identify it when seen from any angle. Anyhow, the sight of all those planes and that camouflage brought the war a little closer to home.

Lockheed Plant-before

Lockheed Plant Before Camouflage

Lockheed Plant-after

Lockheed Plant After Camouflage

Mom and Dad wanted to visit Ruby Mae in San Diego. She actually lived in El Cajon, just east of San Diego. Grandpa loaned us his car and we headed south on Highway 101. Dad had promised that we could go swimming in the ocean and as soon as we began seeing it, we began begging to swim. We finally got to La Jolla and Dad stopped in a good area of the beach and we all put on our swim suits. It was a gloomy, overcast morning, and pretty cool. This was what we now know as “June Gloom” and we were miserable. My sister and I had run down to the surf and waded in but turned right around and got out. That water was freezing cold and we weren’t about to go in again. Dad said that we had been whining for 100 miles and we had better get in the water and enjoy it. He finally gave up on us and dived into the surf and pretended that he was having the time of his life. Mom had already changed back into her dress as she wasn’t getting into that water either. We got through that experience and made it to Ruby’s place in El Cajon.

Ruby lived in the first or second block of west El Cajon Boulevard, just as you come in to town. She owned or managed a pottery shop there. Her house or building where she lived was set back from the street and the whole front yard was full of pottery. I remember the impression of an organized place of business and I imagine that it was because Ruby Mae was a high energy type of person.

Ruby took us to Tijuana and I remember it as being very colorful. My sister and I had our pictures taken while seated on those donkeys that have the “zebra” stripes painted on them.

Mom and Dad were surprised to receive unusual gifts from Ruby. They were a pair of flesh-colored highball glasses shaped like women’s torsos. She said the originals were made for ventriloquist Edgar Bergen by the pottery factory that supplied her with product.

The biggest thrill for me came when we attended the Roy Rogers Rodeo at the Los Angeles Memorial Coliseum. For quite some time I had been going to the cowboy movies on Saturday afternoons and to get to see Roy Rogers and Trigger in person was a fantastic experience.

Roy and Trigger

Dave Thomas
February 4, 1994; Revised and added pictures March 5, 2015.

 

 

The Big Trip of 1944, Part 2

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 We spent one day at the Santa Anita race track. Not long after we sat down, Betty Grable and her entourage came in and sat down in the row behind us and about 8 or 10 feet to the left. She had her baby with her and a woman who must have been a nanny and a man who was probably the driver. We were all quite excited to see her. Remember, this was the height of WWII and Betty Grable was the most famous pin-up in the world. Even an 8 year old boy knew about her and her legs that had been insured for a million dollars.

betty-grable-world-war-ii-pin-up-picture-1943

Betty Grable

WWII Pin-up Picture, 1943

The main thing I remember is that she was nursing her baby and I was told not to watch. We saw some other movie stars but the only one I can remember is Pat O’Brien. Grandpa taught us how to bet on the races and we had a good time betting pennies among ourselves. We used the posted odds and paid off on Win, Place, and Show. The main thing I learned was that having a half hour to wait between races made horse racing a boring proposition and I’ve never wanted to go again.

On one of our excursions we went past the Hollywood Canteen. In War-time 1944 it was at the height of its popularity. The movie stars would show up every day to dance with whatever servicemen were there and did what they could to entertain them. As we drove past, we had high hopes of seeing some movie stars but we had no luck on that.

We went past the Brown Derby Restaurant which was a big part of Hollywood celebrity life. I was amazed to see that it really was shaped like a derby.

Brown_Derby_Restaurant

The Brown Derby Restaurant

We visited a lot of well known landmarks that were interesting but didn’t leave me with any stories. Among them were the Griffith Park Observatory, the Rose Bowl, the corner of Hollywood and Vine, and Olvera Street. 

One day we stopped and walked around in front of Grauman’s Chinese Theater. That was another landmark that even we Kansans knew about.

One morning we had breakfast in Hollywood at the restaurant from which they broadcasted “Don McNeil’s Breakfast Club”. It was a radio show that was heard nationally and was one of the most popular morning shows on the air. We got to watch them do the show and enjoyed it a lot. The building itself was quite interesting. The front was built of rough stone and looked like a grotto. There was a realistic looking waterfall that fell from the roof and was caught behind a façade just above the door. It gave the impression you were entering a cave behind a waterfall.

One day we went to the La Brea Tar Pits. In some areas the tar was still hot and bubbling and in others it had cooled off and solidified. Apparently the animals had come in search of water and had stepped into the tar and become trapped. The workmen at the tar pits were cutting out large blocks of the solidified tar and you could see that there were hundreds of bones in each block. We were told that the blocks of tar would be taken to the coliseum museum where the bones would be removed and assembled in their natural skeleton forms. They would find large animals like dinosaurs and mastodons, wooly mammoths and saber-toothed tigers as well as every other animal that lived in the area. Later we went to the Coliseum Museum that is actually located under the Los Angeles Memorial Coliseum and saw the hundreds of skeletons on display there. I remember the skeleton of a saber-toothed tiger on display near the entrance and a 50 foot long dinosaur hanging from the ceiling.

We went to the Huntington Library and Art Museum. Kids under 12 weren’t allowed inside but Mom convinced the attendant at the door that we should at least be allowed to see the Library’s most famous paintings, “Blue Boy” and “Pinkie”. Mom took us in just long enough to view Blue Boy who was hanging near the entrance and Pinkie who was just down the hall to the right. We felt privileged to get to see them as that was all the grown-ups talked about on the way. Mom bought us some postcards with reproductions of the paintings. Since we weren’t allowed to stay inside, the grownups took turns staying with us in the gardens. I remember the gardens as being beautiful and having a lot of cactus, many of which were in bloom.

Dave Thomas
February 4, 1994; Revised and added pictures March 5, 2015.

 

 

 

The Big Trip of 1944, Part 1

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This is about a vacation trip my family took just prior to my eighth birthday in 1944. We saw so many extraordinary things that made such an impression on me.

My Mom’s Dad, my Grandpa George F. Sicks, lived in Los Angeles. Mom’s 1st cousin, Ruby Mae (Peebler) Bernard lived in San Diego. Grandpa’s trip to come back to Kansas and get us and take us to L.A. had been scheduled for quite a while. The fact that Ruby was traveling at the same time may have been just a coincidence. She drove back with her baby son, Barney Jr. who was probably 6 months old. Ruby had come back to show off her baby and get her sister, Carol Jean, who lived in Wichita. Carol had three daughters, Vicki Sue, Carolyn Jo, and Carmen Jane. Vicki was the oldest but I doubt that she was more than 4 or 5. Carol, Vicki, and Carmen were going to San Diego for a visit with Ruby and then going on to Klamath Falls, Oregon to visit with our great-uncle, Virgil Peebler and his wife, Peggy. Carolyn Jo was going to stay with Peggy’s sister, Edith, and her husband, Ted. They would take Carolyn Jo to Klamath Falls to join the rest of the family.

Ruby was tall, good-looking, had red hair, and was brash. She was fun but you never knew what was going to come out of her mouth. Her husband, Barney, was in the Navy and was overseas in some war Zone. Carol was tall, good-looking, and had long blonde hair. I hadn’t thought about it before but Terri looks a lot like Carol Jean.

Grandpa and Ruby were both driving 1942 Pontiac, 4-doors, with the “torpedo” rear ends. Grandpa’s was black and Ruby’s was sky blue.

1942-Pontiac-4dr

Mom, Dad, Sylvia, and I traveled with the rest of the group, in the two cars. We swapped cars now and then to keep from getting bored. Cars didn’t have air conditioners back then so it was impossible to keep cool. Most filling stations still had outhouses rather than tiled restrooms and quite often they were 4 or 5 holers in order to take care of crowds. Quite often, you had neighbors on either side as you tried to cope with the stench and the flies in the 100 degree heat.

What must have been our second night was spent in a motel in San Simon, Arizona. This was one of Grandpa’s favorite areas and he knew the people who owned the motel. (When I spent the summer with him in 1950, Grandpa owned 160 acres about 1 ½ miles west of town). When we were loading up to leave the next morning, Grandpa put a couple of boxes with chicken wire covering the ends, in the trunk. He opened one of them and reached in and lifted out a Gila monster and scared the devil out of me. He had already told us a number of stories about Gila monsters and how they bite down on you and won’t release their grip unless you cut their heads off. Grandpa said he had caught these two and was taking them to California. He said he was giving one to the Griffith Park Zoo in Los Angeles and the other to the San Diego Zoo. He said he had provided critters of different types to both zoos in the past.
Gila Monster

Another thing I remember about San Simon is that when you leave town, driving west, you can look to the south, to the Chiricahua Mountains and see what is known as “Cochise’s Head.” When you are in the right area, and several mountain peaks are lined up correctly, you can see the profile of a man’s head as if he were lying on his back and looking up. Cochise is still there looking after his stronghold.

The next thing I remember (besides the stinking outhouses in the desert) is arrival in Yuma in the early afternoon. We were ready to eat some lunch and were looking for a place to stop. Remember, this was during the war and everything was rationed. We were looking for a café when we came to one which had the word “Butter” painted across the window in big, bright letters. Since we were all sick of eating the margarine which had become available during the war. We thought we were in for a treat. We got in, got settled, and ordered a meal. Everything was fine until we were served and Grandpa realized that the stuff in the butter dish wasn’t butter but was the hated margarine! First, he called the waitress over and explained the error to her. Well, she was sorry but margarine was all they had today. Her explanation wasn’t adequate and as Grandpa started getting up a full head of steam he demanded to speak to the owner of the place. When the owner came in from the kitchen where he presided over the grill, Grandpa tried to explain the error to him. He got the same response…”no butter today.” Grandpa was soon shouting at the top of his lungs about people that painted “Butter” on their windows to lure people into their place and then had the gall to serve them margarine. Grandpa felt that he had been tricked and cheated and he wasn’t going to stand for it. I remember a lot of noise and embarrassment but don’t remember how this was resolved. I don’t know if we went somewhere else or if the owner of the place somehow placated Grandpa.

We split up in Yuma with Ruby and Carol and the kids heading for San Diego and us heading for Los Angeles. Grandpa owned a home at 6151 Dennison Street in East Los Angeles. It was a nice neighborhood with Spanish-style houses and well kept yards full of flowers. I remember being amazed at the sight of streets lined with palm trees.

My Dad only had 2 weeks’ vacation but Mom and we kids were going to stay for 6 weeks. Grandpa set up a sight-seeing schedule that would allow Dad to see as much as could be crowded into his time period.

Dave Thomas

February 4, 1994; Revised and added pictures March 5, 2015.

 

 

 

 

 

It Backfired On Him!

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Pat was one of the first female “big ticket” sales people hired by Sears here in San Diego. “Big ticket” meaning big bucks…appliances, TV’s, hi-fi’s, refrigerators, etc. The men felt that they were being invaded and had to protect their turf. They made the women’s lives miserable whenever they possibly could. They stashed inventory, hid customer orders, told returning customers that their sales lady was off that day so they could steal the sale even though the woman might be off the floor on lunch break. In short, they did every petty thing they could think of.

If there were no customers on the floor, the sales guys sometimes eased their boredom by picking at one another. Ed was one of the worst when it came to this and he began making a “cause” out of Pat’s handwriting. Pat scribbles her signature and everything else because she simply doesn’t want to take the necessary time to make things neat. A good part of the time, she can’t even read her own notes. When signing a legal document she slows down enough to make her signature legible.

Ed, on the other hand, wrote beautifully and his penmanship was like a work of art. He couldn’t understand why Pat’s handwriting was so bad and why she didn’t care. He thought there must be some dark reason for this and he was bound and determined to find out what it was. He continued ranting about it every time he got a chance.

It happened that the San Diego Fair was in full swing and on a day off, Pat and a friend decided to go. They went to the art show, the photography show, and the garden show and then started checking out the merchandise booths. Mixed in with the can openers and super detergents, they came upon a booth advertising “Handwriting Analysis”. Pat was intrigued by this since she had been getting so much grief from Ed and she stepped up to get it done. She was delighted by what the analyst had to say. She was told that her handwriting indicated she was open-minded and creative and free and that she had a great zest for life. She could hardly contain herself until she went to work the next day and told Ed and the other guys what she had learned. Ed, of course, was taken aback, in that the findings in no way agreed with all of the negative stuff he had been putting out. He was scheduled to be off the next day and vowed to go to the fair and get an analysis of his beautiful penmanship and show Pat and the rest of the crew what the evaluation of a true craftsman’s work would be.

Two days later, a subdued Ed showed up for work. In a low and even voice, he said that his penmanship had been described as artificial, deceptive, and was definitely covering up a deep, dark, secret. Ed was feeling pretty low but you’ve got to hand it to him…he had the guts to lay it out before everyone.

Strange as it may seem, Ed was one of Pat’s favorite co-workers. As ornery as he was, if caught at something he would always ‘fess up and laugh at himself for getting caught. Pat says that as long as you were on guard, he was fun to be around and was basically a decent guy.

Dave Thomas
June 20, 2015

 

How My Back Was Fixed On A Front-end Machine

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My last two years in high school I was in an occupational program that allowed me to leave school at 2:00 PM each day and go to work at the local Chevrolet/Buick garage. I worked until 6:00 PM on weekdays and on Saturdays from 8:00 AM until 1:00 PM. I washed cars, swept up, and did whatever needed to be done.

Somehow, I had hurt my back. I don’t remember how it happened but it was probably something stupid. I was in misery at work and told the Parts Man about it. He told me I should talk to Frank Prosser, one of the mechanics. He said that Frank had formerly been a chiropractor and might be able to help me. I don’t know how Frank had gone from chiropractor to mechanic. As a mechanic he would have good and steady pay and regular hours but who knows? Frank was the oldest man in the shop and was really a nice guy. I went over and told him about my back problem and asked if he could help. He told me he would be glad to help me and would do so at quitting time and that I should meet him at the front –end machine. That sounded kind of strange but I agreed to meet him.

At quitting time I went to the front –end machine and Frank was already there. He had brought a couple of those fender covers that mechanics use so they won’t scratch the paint on your car. Our front-end rack was elevated some 15 to 18 inches so the mechanic could get under the car and you had to drive up a couple of ramps to get your car up there. Frank spread the fender covers on the rack and told me to lie down on my stomach. He said that this was the only place in the shop where I could lay down but he could still reach me without breaking his own back while leaning over. He checked out my spine and then massaged a couple of areas and applied pressure to them. After a few minutes he had me sit up and he gave me a lecture on how to lift and how to take care of my back. I felt better immediately and the one treatment was all I needed. After a couple of days the soreness was gone. My mechanic friend and his front-end machine had straightened me out.

Dave Thomas
November 5, 2013

 

Cinco de Mayo

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It’s almost May and Pat reminded me that we have a Cinco de Mayo story. This took place in the mid-1990’s. I’m a diabetic and sometime in 1993, I got a diabetic ulcer on the bottom of my right foot. My doctors fought it for a year and a half and couldn’t get it to heal. Finally, it was decided to amputate the right leg below the knee. This was done and I got a prosthesis and life got back to normal. The following spring, I wasn’t paying attention and the prosthesis rubbed against the side of my knee and caused a sore that immediately became infected. This had happened before and it meant anti-biotics, at least 2 doctor visits, and 6 weeks in the wheel chair without my leg.

So anyhow, I’m riding my wheel chair and here it is…Cinco de Mayo. Pat and I decided we should join in the festivities by having lunch at Casa de Pico, our favorite Mexican restaurant in Old Town San Diego. We got there and the place was as colorful and beautiful as always. We sat on the patio to take advantage of the warm, sunny day and to hear the music and listen to the chatter and the laughter of the other patrons. Pat ordered a blended margarita in the big glass with the salt on the rim and, being diabetic, I ordered coffee.

As we waited to be served, we talked and admired the holiday decorations. There were some miniature Mexican flags on the tables so Pat took a couple and attached them to the handlebars of my wheel chair. We enjoyed our meal and left the restaurant and then headed for the side gate to leave the area. Getting through the wrought iron gate we needed to go about 50 yards down the side street to the parking lot. Pat was pushing me in the wheel chair and I was teasing and smart-mouthing her about drinking the margarita and maybe being too tipsy to push me. She countered by pushing faster to show that she could handle the job. I was having a heck of a good time and started yelling “faster, faster”. Pat was up to the challenge and in a few seconds was up to full speed. We were flying down the street with Mexican flags flying and Pat sprinting for dear life. We were looking good until we hit the pot-hole. Wham! Pat ran into the back of the wheel chair and I was dumped into the street. Yow, this is gonna’ hurt! Maybe next time I’ll keep my mouth shut.

Dave Thomas
 April17, 2016

The Augusta Elks Barbershop Quartet

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1c Augusta Elks Quartet 1

L. to R.: Al Thomas, Ray Howard, Ross Millison, B.E. “Biddie” Watt

During the 1940’s, Dad was a member of the Augusta Elk’s Barbershop Quartet. He hadn’t been able to join the service during WW II due to heart problems so he tried to do his part in other ways. He was always happy when the quartet sang at the war bond rallies, churches, and local events and sometimes went to neighboring towns to help promote the war effort. Dad sang tenor, Ray Howard sang lead, Ross Millison was at baritone, and B.E. “Biddie” Watt sang bass. They went as far as Kansas City and Oklahoma City to take part in events and barbershop quartet contests.

Any quartet that was passing through town on their way to a contest or an engagement stopped at our house because they wanted to sing with Dad. He was actually a baritone but had a fantastic falsetto voice that made it possible for him to sing the tenor part. Sometimes visiting quartets would stay nearly all night, singing one song after another. Mom enjoyed singing and could harmonize with the best of them so she always joined in. I remember waking up in the middle of the night many times and hearing them sing for all they were worth. 

Augusta Elks Quartet

I remember one weekend when the quartet and wives had gone to Kansas City for a big meeting and sing-off. They came home telling us that the singing had been great and they had met some new quartets. However, Mom said that the accommodations had been scandalous. The hotel had overbooked their rooms and there just wasn’t a place for everybody. Ross Millison was the only single man in the Elks quartet but there were no single rooms available. After some talking, it was decided that Ross would bunk with my Mom and Dad. The way it worked out, Dad slept in the middle with Mom on one side of him and Ross on the other.

Dave Thomas
November 16, 2015

 

Judy

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It was June of 1957 and I had graduated from boot camp at Great Lakes Naval Training Center, north of Chicago. I was beginning a 30 day “leave” and had taken trains from Chicago to Wichita. After arriving in Wichita, I walked the block or two to the bus depot and caught a bus to my home town of Augusta, 17 miles to the east.

We arrived in Augusta and stopped at the Bus Depot which in actuality was McDuffy’s Service Station. Getting off the bus, I felt like I was in a strange new world. I’d only been gone about 3 months but everything felt different and I wasn’t sure why. I was wearing “dress blues” with the neckerchief and white sailor hat so I felt a little conspicuous. Boot camp was like a vacation for me but it had done its job which was to cut the apron strings and teach you to stand on your own two feet and live a disciplined and pride-filled life.

I got my sea bag out of the belly of the bus and waited to cross the street at the only stop light in town. As I crossed the street, I saw Clarence “Judy” Williams, our neighbor from two doors down, coming toward me. Judy was at least 6’3″ tall and was as nice as he was big. As we met, he shook my hand and grinned and told me how proud he was to see me in my sailor suit. I should tell you that during WWII, Judy had been a “Seabee’ (C.B.= Construction Battalion). We grade school kids knew what outfits all the local guys were in and considered them all to be heroes. The job of the Seabees was to build roads and landing strips where needed, often under fire. I remember one cartoon showing a Seabee driving a bulldozer with one hand and firing a machine gun with the other.

We walked the block to our homes, talking “Navy talk” all the way. As we got to Judy’s house, he dropped off but shook my hand and told me again how proud he was to see me in uniform. Now, after all that, I felt like a million bucks! I was home and comfortable and proud to be in the Navy.

I guess what I want you to draw from this is that a kind deed such as Judy performed can have an effect that will keep a person warm for a lifetime. It’s been over 57 years and thinking about it still makes me feel good.

Here’s a footnote:

Thinking about this story, I realized that I didn’t know how or why “Judy” Williams got his name. I sent an e-mail to his daughter, Joyce, who is a couple of years older than me but still going strong. Joyce has been a friend since we played kick-the-can some 65 or 70 years ago. Joyce’s response to my question is a good story in itself so I’ll copy it here.

“Hi Dave-

Now, about my Dad. Will be interested in hearing how he ends up in a missive to your grandkids. He was the youngest by 8 years of 8 children. They lived on a farm, and were very hard working, kids included. (They did things different in those days.) A traveling show (circus) came to a nearby town, and apparently the whole family went. At least my Dad and some of the older kids. And this was a rare event. There was a puppeteer there doing a “Punch and Judy” show. I can’t remember how old my dad was, but, not very and he was really impressed, and talked of nothing else for weeks after. Consequently, he became known as Punch and Judy, eventually shortened to Judy.

Now the strange part that I can’t explain. They lived in Indiana. My mom and dad met in Chicago, and later married. Everyone in Augusta called him Judy, and his family back home in Indiana called him Clarence til the day he died. And in later years, he preferred Clarence. Too late, everyone knew him as Judy.

Joyce”

Dave Thomas
January 9, 2015

 

Standing Up While Sittin’ Down

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I was 20 years old and had just returned from Colorado where I had spent several months working as a roughneck in the oil fields. It’s hard work and it goes on for 8 or 16 hours a day and 7 days a week. The old saying is that it’s a job for mules but all the mules have been worked to death so now they are using men. I remember my first week on the job and coming back to the hotel every night and collapsing on the bed. One morning I woke up on the floor with a boot in my hand. That’s as far as I got with my undressing the night before. I got tougher every day and soon was able to work out at night with the set of weights I had been carrying around in the trunk of my car. After roughnecking for a few months I could work an 8 or 16 hour day and still lift weights afterward. I weighed my normal 158 pounds when I went to Colorado but I soon bulked up to 198 pounds and probably got a little too proud of myself. Needless to say, I was in terrific shape and didn’t worry about anything.

After getting back to Augusta that day, I waited around home for Mom to get off work at the Augusta Daily Gazette. We had supper together and then talked for a while. I decided to go down to the pool hall and see what was happening there. The pool hall was set up like most of them with a bar and a bunch of domino tables in the front. Then, there were 3 snooker tables and an 8-ball table to accommodate the pool shooters. As I stepped through the door, I could hear my Dad back at one of the snooker tables sounding off about something. When Dad was sober, he was a genial, mild-mannered man whom everyone liked. When he was drinking he became a mean, loud-mouthed, profane drunk that nobody wanted to be around.

I came on in, took a stool at the bar and ordered a glass of beer. When I got the beer, I swiveled around and leaned back against the bar and kept an eye on Dad. He was getting louder and more obnoxious and a couple of guys at the next snooker table were yelling back at him. All that did was egg him on and he was calling them everything but civilized people. I was kind of enjoying it because after listening to Dad for years I knew just how drunk he was. At this point, he was fried just enough to be hell-on- wheels. Those two guys at the next table, that I knew to be just a couple of loud mouths, wouldn’t stand a chance. Fortunately for them, they decided it wasn’t worth it and hung up their pool cues and left. 

There were two guys in their late 30’s, sitting at a domino table near me. They were tired of listening to Dad, too. They became more agitated as they were cussing Dad and finally one of them starts talking tough and says “god-dammit, I think I’ll go back there and whip that loud-mouthed old wolf!” I just turned my stool a little until I faced them square on, took a sip of my beer, and in my best cowboy drawl said “Shucks…the two of you can’t even whip his cub!” They didn’t want any and got up and left. I just finished my beer and went on home leaving Dad to take care of his own problems.

Dave Thomas
February 23, 2015

 

Shepler’s

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Younger people are used to seeing the big Shepler’s Western Wear Store out by the Wichita airport. It’s really something to behold. If you need cowboy stuff, that is the place to get it. My first visit to Shepler’s was nowhere near as grand as what you see today.

Even an Augusta kid like me knew about Harry Shepler. Besides running his store, Mr. Shepler also sponsored rodeos and other western events. I was probably between 10 and 12 years old and that would put the time from 1946 to 1948. On a Saturday morning, I was with my great uncle, Dave Peebler at his home at 124 High Street. I was there to do yard work or whatever needed to be done. Uncle Dave said he needed to go to Shepler’s Wichita and invited me to ride along. I liked the idea and jumped in the car and we took off.

It’s been a lot of years since I have cruised around Wichita, but as I recall, Shepler’s was on Market Street, about 3 blocks north of Douglas. The business was located in a small store front that was completely filled with western gear. In the store, we walked to the back, where the counter was located and there was no one in sight. The door to the back room shop area was open and out came Harry Shepler. He and Uncle Dave shook hands and greeted each other. They told me that they were old acquaintances who didn’t get to see each other very often but caught up on things when they could. Uncle Dave introduced me to Mr. Shepler who invited me to go look around the store while they visited.

I thought I had died and gone to heaven. The place was filled with the wonderful smell of leather and there was cowboy stuff everywhere. I ran my hands over the floral carvings of the saddles and fondled the bridles and smelled them. I looked at the spurs and belt buckles and tried on a couple of cowboy hats. All this stuff fit right in with the cowboy movies I saw at the Isis Theater every Saturday afternoon. Mr. Shepler was indeed a lucky man!

I understand that the Shepler stores have prospered and can now be found in many cities. I’ll bet none of them smell as good as that first one.

 

Dave Thomas
December 16, 2015