Small Town

Life Is Hard

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Model T

My great grandma, Minnie Peebler, lived at 1120 School Street. Next door, on the south, lived Joe and Rosella Pimlott. Joe was a nice old guy but he didn’t say much or move around too much. Rosella was a stout, grandmotherly type lady. She was a seamstress and a good one. She always had work stacked up. I knew them because they were Grandma Minnie’s friends and because my Mom sometimes had Rosella make things for us. Mom made me a lot of nice looking shirts out of feed sacks but some projects she deemed to be more suited for Rosella.

Joe had a Model T, black in color (of course) and it looked to be in perfect condition though the paint had faded a little. I’d see Joe, now and then, driving the Model T to the store or wherever he had to go. Joe kept the Model T in his garage which was out in back of the house like most of the older places. You entered the garage from the alley.

When we were little kids, Mom always made my sister and I go with her to Mrs. Pimlott’s house. Mrs. Pimlott was perceptive enough to know that I wouldn’t be too interested in dresses and that kind of stuff and would tell me to go on out and check out the back yard and the garage while I was waiting. Joe had tools and all kinds of stuff hanging on the walls so I could entertain myself for quite a while. I could even get up in the seat of the Model T and pretend to drive.

Time passed and then Joe Pimlott passed as well. Meantime I’ve turned thirteen and have started thinking about cars. In Kansas you could take Driver’s Education when you were thirteen and then get a restricted driver’s license when you were fourteen. The year was 1950 and cars were getting more expensive with V-8 engines and all that other stuff. I knew I wouldn’t have much money so I started thinking about old Joe Pimlott’s Model T Ford hidden away in that garage on the alley. Mrs. Pimlott liked me so I could probably get it for a good price. Model T’s were supposed to be easy to drive and easy to fix and practically indestructible. I knew that this was the car for me and now I had a plan. I would save my money and keep a secret that there was a perfectly good 2

Life IS Hard (cont.)

Model T stashed in Mrs. Pimlott’s garage. The weeks rolled by and I was taking Driver’s Ed. And whenever I went up to visit Grandma Minnie I would slip over and look through the crack between the doors to see if “my” Model T was still there. Everything was fine until one day when I was riding my bike down the street and here comes this Model T driven by Ross Larcom, a kid 2 years older than me. “Hi Ross””, I yells, “Where’d you get your car?” He yells back “I got it from Mrs. PimLott for 15 dollars!”

I was wiped out!

Dave Thomas
January 2, 2014

 

Uncle Dave’s Basement

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Uncle Dave’s Basement

My great uncle, Dave Peebler, and his wife, Rachel, built their house at 124 High Street in 1923. It was a nice place with three bedrooms and a bath upstairs, and a full basement downstairs that had 2 bedrooms and a bath as well as a bunch of free space. In the basement, was a gas range for cooking in one area, and a Maytag washer in another. The furnace, a part of the central heating system, was there as well. Part of the free space contained a workshop area and part of one wall was covered by floor to ceiling shelves for storage.

 

Over the years, I had many connections to the basement as well as the rest of the house. This story probably should start with my Mom. Mom’s mother died when Mom was only eight years old. Mom’s dad couldn’t care for her, so she was passed around to different family members until she was taken in by her Grandmother Minnie. Later, when she was in high school, she was taken in by Uncle Dave and Aunt Rachel. I think that after her high school graduation, she stayed with them for a couple more years. After Mom married Dad, they lived in an apartment above a store downtown. This was during the depression, and Dad was doing what he could to find work and keep some money coming in. He wasn’t able to bring in enough to keep us going, so when I was about three years old, Mom, Dad, my sister, Sylvia, and I moved into Uncle Dave’s basement.

 

I only remember two things from this time period. The first was that I had violated two rules of the house and ended up getting hurt. The first rule was, “Don’t run with a pencil in your hand,” and the second was “Don’t try to hurry down the stairs.” I had gone upstairs to get a pencil and then ran through the house to the stairway. I fell down the stairs and jabbed myself in the middle of the forehead with the pencil. The worst part was that for the next few years when Mom or Aunt Rachel needed an example, they would point to my scar and say, “Here’s what happens when you don’t follow the rules.” The other thing I remember from the time we lived in the basement was that one day I realized that my Dad wasn’t around. I asked Mom and she said he couldn’t find work and so he had gone to Western Kansas. He was working in a store out there. Fifty years later, when I became interested in genealogy and family history, I found one of Dad’s uncles had a general store in Atwood in Rawlins County, Kansas.

 

Things got better in the summer of 1941 when Dad was hired by the local refinery. We moved out of the basement and into the house at 19 Cliff Drive. In a short time, two brothers, Ray and Russ Larsen, moved into the basement. In a few months, the war started, and the brothers were drafted. The last time I saw Ray while he was in a Class A uniform, he was wearing the stripes of a master sergeant. While the guys were in the Army, their clothes and their personal items were stored in one of the bedrooms. After the war, Ray lived in the basement for a year or two. I don’t know where Russ was, but a few years later he came back to town. He and his wife, Sarah, opened Larsen’s shoe store on the west side of State Street, across from the bank. In their store, they had one of those magic x-ray machines that you stick your foot in and see the bones of your toes and the outline of your shoe.

 

During World War II, almost everyone had a Victory Garden. The war had caused quite a shortage of food. The able-bodied men who would normally be raising crops on the farms had been drafted. Then, what crops were produced had to be processed and sent overseas to feed the thousands of men were sending over there.

 

Aunt Rachel and Uncle Dave had an acre or so out on Custer Lane, at the edge of town. They put in a large victory garden there and let my folks have a garden there also. When the green beans came in, Mom and Aunt Rachel decided to work together and can a lot of them. They set up the basement as their efficient green bean canning factory. I don’t know how the process works, but I know Mason jars, pressure cookers, and a stove are used. We heard Mom and Aunt Rachel talking about pressure cooker explosions being reported, and that they must be careful. Well, sure as heck, one of the jars exploded and green beans and glass went flying across the room. Sylvia had some bad luck as a piece of glass hit her in the forehead, and she was cut badly enough that she probably still has the scar. The rest of us and the basement were pretty well covered with green beans.

 

Another time, Mom and Aunt Rachel decided to make soap which was in short supply during the war. They acquired lye from someplace, and used it to make their own. After that, we had plenty of soap on hand.

 

After a fantastic cucumber harvest, they decided to make pickles. They had crocks all over the basement. They made dill pickles, sweet pickles, bread and butter pickles, and relish. It was stored for the family. We were in pickle heaven.

 

We didn’t have a washing machine or a car after we moved to the house on Cliff Drive. On laundry day, Aunt Rachel would haul us up to her house. Sylvia and I were young, so we had to tag along. One day, I was so bored I asked Mom if I could help with the washing. She was wringing out a load and said I could help. After receiving instructions and warnings to be careful, I started feeding clothes into the wringer of the old Maytag machine, and it wasn’t long before the thing grabbed my fingers and pulled my hand clear into the wringer. I let out a yell, and Mom stopped the machine. She opened up the top and got my hand out. No broken bones- just another case of humiliation.

 

My next memory of the basement involved Uncle Dave’s guns. In one room, two guns were hanging. One was a double-barreled 10 gauge, and the other was an over-and-under with a .410 on top and a .22 on the bottom. I don’t know where Uncle Dave got them. He wasn’t a hunter.

 

I had traded for a .22 when I was 12 years old so I could start rabbit hunting. I also wanted to hunt ducks, so Uncle Dave let me borrow the 10 gauge whenever I wanted. I shot at some tin cans with the 10 gauge, and I’m telling you, the recoil was pretty nasty. I don’t think I ever shot a duck with it. That was probably a good thing for I hate the taste of duck meat.

 

Pat and I got married in 1957, soon after I joined the Navy. One of the perks of graduating in the top five of my class at Aviation Electronics school was that I got to pick my next duty station. So, California, here we come! We got to San Diego in 1958, and that has been home ever since. We soon had Russ, Doug, and Terri, and as they grew up in the 1960’s and 1970’s, we tried to go back to Kansas every year or two.

 

Uncle Dave had always enjoyed estate sales and farm auctions. When he retired, he went to a lot more of them. If he found a good buy, it usually ended up in the basement. So, the basement was full of all kinds of odds and ends, and ready for the kids. Uncle Dave had always encouraged them to go downstairs and explore.

 

One of the main attractions was the black walnuts. There was a black walnut tree in the back yard, so Uncle Dave always had a keg or a bucket full of them. There was a work bench in the basement with a vise mounted on it. Using a nearby hammer, you could crack the nuts against the vise. There were always a couple of nut picks handy so you could dig out the meat.

 

Another favorite was the hand drill. We used to call it a “hurdy-gurdy.” There was an old wind-up Victrola phonograph with a stack of records that ranged from Perry Como to Turkey in the Straw. There were several whet stones. Uncle Dave prided himself on being able to put a keen edge on any kind of blade. Russ tested the blade of an axe, and cut his finger when barely touching it. There were several items that Uncle Dave built himself. There was a table saw that doubled as a work bench, a battery charger for his truck battery, a bit for a horse, and a hunting knife. There were old monkey wrenches and a 36 inch Stilson pipe wrench. There were drill bits for wood and metal, and taps for cutting threads. There was a stack of National Geographics in one corner. Who can throw away those beautiful pictures? There was a pair of World War I puttees. Who knows why? The basement was full of new things to learn and new nomenclature to use. For instance, in addition to the table saw, there was a bucksaw, a crosscut saw, a rip saw, a keyhole saw, and a coping saw. The kids learned a lot from Uncle Dave and his tools and junk. He often let the kids pick something from the basement to keep. Terri really liked an old saxophone she found, so she took it home and still has it. Doug remembers Uncle Dave calling them to come up from the basement for lunch which included what Uncle Dave called “Smearcase,” a name for cottage cheese derived from an old German term. The kids thought that was pretty funny.

 

Uncle Dave passed away first. A few years later, Aunt Rachel passed. Their daughter, Maxine (Peebler) Fisher came down from Denver and settled the estate. She sold the house and all of it’s contents to our friend, Keith Scholfield, a realtor in Augusta. Keith said it took several days and a lot of truckloads to clear out that basement.

I Remember Hal Ellis

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There are people that I remember for one reason or another. I thought it might be interesting to share their stories with you. A couple of them, I have already posted. I thought we might as well take another look at them. For instance, this first one about Hal Ellis I still think is funny, but you have to really picture this guy as you read the story. Hope you enjoy what we’ll post over the next few weeks.

When I was a kid growing up, one of my favorite characters was the kid who had moved in across the street. His name was Hal Ellis and he was a year younger than me, which at the time I’m thinking of makes him about eleven. Most of the time, Hal just looked like a regular kid. He was kind of middle—sized, muscular, had curly hair, and the girls said he was cute. The thing that makes me remember him though, was his ability to imitate an old country bumpkin. Here’s the way it worked. If you saw Hal and walked up and greeted him with “what do you know, Hal?”, he would go right into his act. First, he would hook his thumbs into his belt and then rock back on his heels like he was going to speak. But, then he would kind of look around and a far away look would come into his eyes and he would end up looking down at the ground. After a couple of seconds, he would start to drag his toe in the dirt and you could just see that there was a lot of serious activity taking place under that curly hair. After a few more seconds, you could see that some kind of revelation had taken place and he slowly raised his head until he was looking you right in the eye and then, out it comes “It takes a big dog to weigh 200 pounds!”

I laughed every time I heard it. He had other words that he used sometimes, too. Like,”it takes a long rope to reach a mile” but I liked the dog best. That stuff took place 45 years ago and it still makes me laugh.

Dave Thomas
August 24, 1993

1940 Chevrolet

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The 1940 Chevrolet was a car with a much more stylish look. The 1939 models still had the roundish look that was so common in the 1930’s. The new look had some style. The running boards had disappeared, and the body had a more sleek and aerodynamic look.

On the inside, the most exciting change was that the shift lever had been moved from the floor to the steering column. You still had 3 forward gears and reverse, and it was a lot handier.

The shifting mechanism turned out to be the thing that gave the car a black eye. The engineers thought that shifting gears might be a problem, so they incorporated a vacuum assist. When the car was new, the shifter worked great. But, over time, it failed and you could hear the driver grinding gears from a block away.

In 1950, my Dad bought a 1940 model. It was in perfect condition, silver gray, and not a mark on it. By 1950, the vacuum assist for the transmission was going out. Dad could usually shift gears without making a noise, but it took all the finesse he could muster. Dad was an excellent driver and prided himself on his skill. He had driven a truck for a couple of years, hauling sand and gravel, so had a lot of miles under his belt. The shifting kept getting worse, and Dad, who hated working on cars, finally said “to hell with it,” and parked the thing in the back yard.

Meanwhile, I was working after school at Howard Motors, the local Chevrolet/Buick dealer. The head mechanic was Kenny Dickenson, who had a 1940 Chevrolet, just like Dad’s, that he drove to work. I talked to Kenny about Dad’s car, and he said he would show me how to fix it just like new. The shop closed at 1:00pm on Saturday’s, so Kenny told me to get the car down there that weekend. I went home that night and asked my Dad if I could have the car if I fixed it. He agreed and gave me the keys.

Saturday morning, I drove the car to work, grinding the gears after every stop. Right after 1:00 P.M., I drove it into the garage and parked in Kenny’s stall. We jacked up the car and Kenny showed me how to remove the vacuum booster unit from the transmission. We cleaned the unit thoroughly and used the parts from a kit to re-build it. I forget what was in the kit. It was probably a gasket and a couple of “O” rings. After re-installing the unit and adjusting the mechanical shifting mechanism, we went for a test drive. The thing shifted like a new car. It was smooth as silk. Kenny Dickenson had made my day.

The car was working so well, I was afraid my Dad might want it back. However, he found a perfect 1942 Chevy, the last model produced after WWII started.

I enjoyed driving the car for a year of so and then traded it for a 1950 Ford.

Dave Thomas

7/8/2021

Land of Enchantment

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We lived in Augusta, Butler County, Kansas. During World War II, Mom and Dad worked at the White Eagle (later, Mobil) Refinery. Mom was hired in 1942. She was hired as a replacement for one of the men who had been drafted. She was placed in the chemical lab, a job previously held only by men. Dad had started at the refinery prior to the beginning of the war. Jobs at the refinery were considered to be vital to the war effort so that and the fact that he was married and had two kids caused him to be deferred from the draft. He tried to enlist, but for the reasons given and the fact that he had rheumatic fever as a youth, he wasn’t allowed.

When our folks left for work in the morning, my sister, Sylvia, and I had to leave, too. We walked the block to the high school and then crossed the school grounds to State Street where we waited under the one street lamp to be picked up.  Those winter mornings were pitch black and sometimes there was a heavy fog that made it seem even more frightening. I was only six, and Sylvia was five, so we were easily spooked.

We would stand under the street lamp and wait. Cars would be coming down State Street on the way to the refinery. Sometimes a car would stop, and we would be offered a ride. I would say “thank you” and explain that Uncle Dave and Aunt Rachel would be picking us up in a few minutes. Pretty soon, that big green Packard with Uncle Dave driving would stop for us. Then, Uncle Dave would drive to the refinery where he would stop and get out. Aunt Rachel would slide across to the driver’s seat, and take us to her home.

Their home was at 124 High Street, and they had it build in 1923. It was across from Garfield Elementary and Intermediate School which made it perfect for Aunt Rachel to babysit us before and after school.

You may be wondering why they didn’t pick us up at home. I’m wondering the same thing. It may have been that Cliff Drive was a narrow street ending in a cul-de-sac that was hard to turn around in. Or, it may have been that our folks wanted us to meet them in an easy pick-up spot and save them some effort. Aunt Rachel was probably baby-sitting for free anyhow.

Rachel Ana Wright married my great uncle, David S. Peebler, and they have been our closest relatives both by relationship and geographical proximity.

Aunt Rachel loved the Southwest, particularly New Mexico, “The Land of Enchantment,” and she and her good friend, Eunice Cooper, took a number of trips to that area from the 1930’s to the start of WWII. They visited the pueblos in the south, Taos, Santa Fe, and everything clear up to Gallup.

Eunice was married to John Cooper, owner of Cooper Drugs. For the life of  me, I couldn’t remember where the Coopers lived as I prepared to write this story. I could see that 2-story purple brick house in my mind’s eye, but didn’t know where it was. I finally asked Keith Scholfield, and he reminded me that they lived on Santa Fe Street, next to the old hospital. Santa Fe Street! What could be more fitting?

Aunt Rachel and Eunice Cooper were forward-thinking ladies and ahead of their time. At a time when you didn’t see that many women driving or gallivanting around the country, they were doing a serious job of exploring the southwest. 

Eunice was a serious collector. She displayed her beautiful collection of Native American art in an alcove, located off the living room of her home on Santa Fe Street. The space looked like the area of a trading post used for the display of “old pawn.” There were squash blossom necklaces, concho belts, silver bracelets, Navajo rugs, pottery, and probably a lot of things I have forgotten. I was completely awe-struck when viewing all of it.

Aunt Rachel was a lot more conservative. She had some Navajo rugs, a Navajo saddle blanket, some baskets, and some pottery. Her favorite possessions, though, were the beautiful black pieces of pottery made by Maria Martinez. In the early 1900’s, Maria had figured out how her ancestors had made the black pottery and had perfected the technique.

When Aunt Rachel was baby-sitting us, she made sure we were entertained. We played Chinese checkers, Old Maid, and other games. The best times, though, were when she told about her travels. She would unfold the Navajo rugs and tell us where she got them and how they were made. She had a small tom-tom made from a hallowed out cottonwood branch with a skin stretched over it that she would demonstrate and then hand over to one of us. She told about the pueblos and how the people lived.

The best part was when she told about Maria and the making of the black pottery. She would pick up one of the bowls and as he told us how it was made, she would be rubbing her hands over that slick glaze almost as if she were caressing it. Then, she would hand it to one of us to enjoy while she picked up another. I think I learned to love and appreciate that black pottery as much as she did.

Of course, the beautiful vases and bowls that are now considered as Native American art were originally produced as common kitchenware utility items. Though Aunt Rachel love the black pottery, she felt that the items should be seen, used, and enjoyed around the house. She had a beautiful black wedding vase, unsigned, but purported to have been made by Maria, that she used as a door stop. Some bowls were used to store paper clips or candy or whatever else needed to be contained. Chips and scratches appeared on some items, but that was okay because they were doing a job while providing beauty and interest to the household.

My time in the Navy was mostly spent in San Diego, but Pat and the kids and I made regular trips back to Augusta to visit relatives and friends.  When visiting Aunt Rachel, we always talked about her New Mexico trips and the treasures she brought home.

Aunt Rachel passed away in the late 1980’s, but left a lot of vivid memories. A few months after her passing, her daughter, Maxine (Peebler) Fisher, and her husband, Woody, came to California from their home in Denver. It turned out that their motive was more than just a vacation. Maxine surprised me with a box containing all of that beautiful black pottery.

Dave Thomas

6/17/2021

Tuning In

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Back in 1946 or 1947, there were not TV’s and certainly, no transistor radios you could buy for $9.99. That stuff was still 10 or 15 years or more in the future. Most homes had a radio, but it was generally a big, honking console. The radio provided the evening’s entertainment for a family. My friend and neighbor, Gary Casner, and I wanted radios that we could mess with ourselves without having to listen to the programs the family was interested in. Some good luck came our way in the form of a neighbor who was an engineer who worked for Western Electric in Wichita. Gary and I lived on Cliff Drive, and our neighbors, Romane and Ruth Zlomke, lived on 7th Street in the duplex that is half a block west of State Street, on the north side.

Romane was always working on his car or some other project, and one day when Gary and I came by, he said he would help us build a crystal set. We got all excited about that, and we were soon in the radio business.  Romane came up with most of the parts though I think Gary and I had to buy the crystals. I think Romane got the ear phones at an Army surplus store. The tuning coils we made ourselves, winding them on toilet paper rolls.

Building the crystal sets and then getting them to operate was a good project for us. Keeping the wire touching the right spot on the crystal was a delicate proposition, and keeping a little metal bead touching the tuning coil at just the right spot wasn’t easy either. We picked up a few stations we found, but one of them was probably that wild station out of Del Rio, Texas, that overpowered everything. It was a fun project and lasted as long as our attention spans at the time.

Dave Thomas

06/03/2021

Augusta, Kansas: Part 12 of 12- Give It a Try

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This has been an interesting project and a lot of fun for me. I had been thinking about my home town and some of the people in it, and began to wonder just how much I could remember of my younger days. In an effort to quantify the project or put some kind of bounds on it, I decided to consider the business district and the years 1945, when I was 9, through 1957, when I was 20. I’m sure that I mixed up the locations of some stores and misspelled some names. What surprises me, is that after 70 or 75 years, how much I remembered about the shopkeepers, their spouses, their families, where they lived, what kinds of cars they drove, and a lot of other little things. I knew the people that ran almost every store in town, and they knew me. It always a pleasure to go downtown, and the people I saw were pretty decent folks.

There were a lot more people to know in our small town. The largest employer in town was the Mobil Refinery. I’ll bet that by the time I was 12, I could stand by the gate at quitting time and identify more than half the men as they came out.

Augusta served as a bedroom community for the aviation industry of Wichita. Some of our townspeople worked at Beech, Boeing, and Cessna. All of this helped add to our circle of acquaintances.

Our town was also surrounded by family farms, and I was privileged to know a lot of those families as well. For instance, Glen Chalmers went to a country school in his early years, but I looked forward to seeing him and his parents and sister at Sunday School and church every week.

Flexing your memory and cleaning out the rust can be a fun thing to do.

Dave Thomas

3/3/2021

Augusta, Kansas: Part 11 of 12, State Street, 300 Block

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Crossing 3rd Avenue and heading south on the west side, you find Mr. Jackson’s lot. He was a mechanic that seemed to limit his clientele. There never seemed to be more than one car at his place at a time. He and his wife were both pleasant people.

Next, was Howard Motors, a Chevrolet and Buick dealership. The company was owned by Ray Howard. Jack Parker reminded me that I forgot to mention that Howard Motors started out in the 600 block of State Street at the location next occupied by Mr. Blowey and his Augusta Hardware. I think Howard Motors moved into the new location in 1950 or 1951. I began working for them at the new location in the summer of 1952. I got to know the Howard’s pretty well. Ray sang with my Dad in the Augusta Elks Barbershop Quartet. Ray and Veda had 3 kids, Connie, Jackie, and Bill. Bill (William Ray Howard, Jr.) was a friend and classmate. Kenneth Markley was Service Manager and drove the wrecker. Kenny Dickinsen was Shop Foreman and Head Mechanic. Frank Prosser was a mechanic. Hank Funkey was also a mechanic. Phil Harding (brother of Cliff Harding at Scholfield-Hurst Motors) was Parts Manager. Betty Harrison worked in the office. Merle Canfield and Budd Nutter were salesmen. In late 1954 or early 1955, Ray Howard sold to George L. Findley, and it became the George L. Findley Chevrolet Company. George and his wife had come from Wichita. They had a daughter. They bought the David Allison house on Washington Lane. George hired Max Blackwelder, a CPA, to handle the financing and insurance components of the business. I think that during this period, Doug Sawtelle was in charge of the body shop for a time.

Next is the log cabin, the Augusta Historical Society Museum. I’ve already talked about this. I’m glad it’s still there and that it is being well cared for by the Director and the Board.

Next, go across the street to the east side. The only business over there was Crooks Cleaners, a dry cleaning shop owned by Jim Crooks. He was a very nice guy, and he had a son, also named Jim.

Dave Thomas

1/11/2021

Augusta, Kansas: Part 10 of 12, 3rd Avenue

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Going east from State Street on 3rd, the only business I can remember is Manka’s. I can’t think of the correct name. It may have been Manka Feed or Manka Produce. Mr. and Mrs. Manka bought eggs from the local farmers and re-sold them. I think they also sold chicken feed and other products for farmers. The Manka’s had a daughter, Shirley, who was a friend and classmate. I was talking with my cousin, Jack Wilson, a few years ago, and he recalled that when he was old enough to get his driver’s license, it became his job to drive the eggs to Manka’s. In an exchange of emails a few years ago, Shirley told me she still had the device that she and her folks had used to candle the eggs. Shirley is still with us, and I believe is still living in Texas.

Dave Thomas

02/09/2021

 

Augusta, Kansas: Part 9 of 12, State Street, 400 Block, East Side

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Crossing 5th Avenue and heading south on the east side of State Street, we first encounter a 2-story, white stucco building on that southeast corner of State and 5th. My first remembrance is that this was Hudson’s Department Store, operated by a lady named Florence Hudson. I remember my Mom taking me in there one time to buy a pair of bib overalls. This was real grownup attire for a grade school kid. For a few years, Mamie Hall had her book store at this location before moving up to the next block. Now, we come to the important stuff about this location. I believe that the address here is 432 State. My Mom told me that I was born in an upstairs apartment, but never told me the address or what store it was above. I was at least 60 years old before looking at my birth certificate and having it register that my birth address was 432 ½ State Street. I’ve had some thoughts of petitioning the Chamber of Commerce to install a bronze plaque on the wall of the building saying, “Dave Thomas was born here.” However, I’m realistic enough to know that the plaque would probably say, “Dave Thomas was born here. So, what?”

Next, we have Chisman Shoe Repair, owned by Jesse Chisman. Jessie’s wife was in the store on most days, taking care of the customers. I don’t remember seeing Jesse without a smile on his face. The Chisman’s had a daughter who was a couple of years older than me. I think her name was Shirley. Jesse was a brother to Jim Chisman, a mechanic, who I think worked for Martin Brothers Motors. Jim and Anna Chisman had a son, Robert, who was a couple of years older and married my classmate, Mary Burch.

Next were the offices of a young CPA named Dick Maddox. He and his wife were nice, friendly people.

Next was Lovellettes Furniture. I remember that my Mom liked this couple.

Next was Southwest Bell, the telephone Company. This was where the operators worked, back when we had operators.

I think next was the old theater. It had been closed for years. I think Mrs. Bisagno played piano for the silent movies here.

Next, I think, was Elerick’s Cleaners. Frank Elerick had died, but I got to know his widow, Pearl, as she was a good friend of my Aunt Rachel. Pearl lived a block over on School Street across from the old Coca Cola building.

The bowling alley was along here, somewhere. I tried bowling a few times and enjoyed it, but never got hooked on it.

I can’t remember what the last businesses were. Guess my brain is giving out.

Dave Thomas

2/3/2021