A Family Adventure to Pikes Peak in 1949

Curtis Cline handing his
daughter Margaret a snow
ball on top of Pike's Peak.

My father, Curtis Henry Cline, set a goal to eat a snowball on top of Pikes Peak, Colorado on the 4th of July. The picture to the left was taken on top of Pikes Peak in 1949.  My Dad is handing me a snowball.  At one time, my parents had a picture of Dad standing in front of a large snow bank with the words "July 4, 1948" carved in the snow to mark the moment Dad reached his goal.  Over the years that photo was lost.

My parents purchased a new Willis Jeep "Woodie" station wagon for the trip.  It was called a Woodie because it had real wood on the bottom half of the station wagon.  It was a nine-passenger vehicle with the latest conveniences.  Dad and Mom invited their church friends Floyd, Berry Dillender, and their son Mike to vacation with us to Colorado.  Mike and I were the same age, so that gave me someone to talk with because my older brothers didn't want to bother with me.  My brother Gene was twelve, and C.F. was nine at the time of our trip.

Before the journey, my Dad cleaned the car from top to bottom, even the engine.  He took it to a garage and had everything inspected before we left.  It took us a couple of days to drive to Pikes Peak, and we stopped to visit points of interest along the way.  A few nights we stayed in a motel, and the other nights we camped in tents.  Dad built a medium sized trailer which they pulled behind the car to haul our luggage and camping equipment. My brother Gene reminded me that he remembers before dark, Dad looked for the right place to park and camp for the night.  After we had eaten by the campfire, the adults slept on cots under the stars, and the four children slept in the Jeep station wagon.  Those were kinder days than today; I would not think of sleeping on the side of the road today.

I remember being happy to see the sign "Welcome to Colorado."  The cheering stopped once we started the ascent to reach the top of Pikes Peak.  My parents found the hairpin curves a challenge.  My Dad drove on the way up, and my mother kept screaming he was too close to the edge of the road.  My brothers and I were bored by then, as well as Mike, so we began to argue.  At this point, my Dad stopped the car and got out.  The car was starting to run "hot" on the way up, so Dad stopped the car, walked back to the trailer, and took out a container of coolant.  He insisted on changing the cooling system, or radiator, in an available wide spot in the road about half the way up the mountain.   I was elated that we made it to the top in one piece.  My mother complained about Dad's driving and was not happy about his "cooling" stop, so Dad told her she could drive on the way down. 

My brothers told the story of rolling me in the snow on my fifth July 4th birthday on Pikes Peak.  I don't remember being pleased about that, but they thought it was funny.  When we reached the top, we could see a cable car we could have taken up.  I am sure it would have been much more fun than the hairpin curves.  It was a beautiful view, but it was cold.  
Coming down Pike's Peak was worse than going up.  You had to brake a lot on the hairpin curves on the way down.  At one point, our tires or brakes started smoking.  Again, we had to find a wide spot to pull over, let everyone climbed out of the Willis to let the brakes cool off.  Cars were not air-conditioned back then, so it was cooler outside the car than it was inside.  Once we started down again, my brother Gene said, "look beside us, that trailer looks just like ours."  To our horror, it was ours.  The trailer hitch was not fastened tightly enough to withstand the hairpin curves.  A man who stopped to help us said the constant switching motion on the trailer hitch caused the connection to fail.  I can tell you there was some panic in the car chasing that trailer!  My mother said if it hit someone we would be sued.  That frightened me, and I began to cry, on top of all the other drama in the car.  The Dillender family were much lower key personality types than our family, but even they were concerned with the run-a-way trailer.   In the end, the good Lord was with us because the trailer hit one of the broader places in the road, skidded to the end of the emergency pull-off, turned around and lined itself up perfectly for Dad to reconnect it.

After a good night's stay in a motel, we got up the next morning and visited the sandstone formations known as the Garden of the Gods and the Cave of the Winds near Colorado Spring.  The cave is also near the Manitou Cliff Dwellings. We took the 45-minute walking discovery inside the Cave of the Winds.  It was an educational journey for families and beginning cavers. The visit inside was fascinating.  When we finished the tour, we purchased a "ViewFinder" and a dozen or so "3-D slides" at the gift shop. There was also a nice place to picnic, so we enjoy eating our lunch outside the cave.  The scenic slides help to entertain us for many miles, and I viewed those slide until I was well into my twenties. 
 
Family members talked about that trip for years.  The beautiful vistas and plants along the way also gave my father the idea of starting a nursery a few years later.  I sure wish I could talk with my parents about the trip one more time.  But alas, it shall not be.  

Neighborhood Friends on Lake Street

Neighborhood Friends lined up for a picture by my mother - Janet Loveless, Me, Pam Tope, and in the back, my brothers Gene, C.F. and Pam's brother Butchie.

As we age into our seventies, most of us tend to reflect on earlier times.  We remember our siblings, our childhood with our parents, neighborhood friends, and our school days.  This picture is a bit unusual in the fact I don't remember Gene with a hoe in his hand.   He was usually playing the piano, reading or other chores he was directed to do.  It could have been the age difference that I don't remember him at a younger age.  The girls were all in dresses too.  The Tope family lived two doors down from us. Janet Loveless visited me when she stayed with her grandparents on Lynn Street, behind Lake Street.  I had another friend that is not in this picture.  Her name was Jaretta Sue Seabaugh. They lived across the street from the Topes.  I ran into her twenty years later at a Beta Sigma Phi Convention, and she looked much the same.  She had a beautiful smile.  When my Mom took this picture in 1948, polio was infecting people at an alarming rate.  My mother read somewhere that heat and the sun could bring on the dreaded disease.  From 1948 to the mid-1950s she tried to keep us children in the shade during the mid-day.  I distinctly remember not liking that she restricted my movement and play-space.  I also remember having a classmate, Marsh something, in grade school that had to wear leg braces to walk due to the effects of her contracting polio.

My 55th Class Reunion is being held in Sikeston, Missouri this September.  I am looking forward to attending.  I have fond memories of friends made in the Sikeston High School band, the Red Peppers, the Concert Choir, National Forensic League, and other school activities.  I also remember my English teacher Mrs. Oberg, who gave me encouragement when I needed it.  Mr. Huff was helpful in the library, Miss Mount in History, and Mr. Wright taught History with enthusiasm.  He is responsible for my love of history.  I remember that Mrs. Robinson still had her Virginia accent, even after living in Sikeston for many years.  Band Director Keith Collins was highly respected by both the band members and parents.  When he spoke, we listened and responded as he desired.  Mr. Collins was bigger than life to many of us.  Gordon Beaver was a good choir director, but he asked me to sing the first alto because they needed a strong voice.  I hating singing alto but did so to benefit the choir.  Lastly, I remember Mrs. Helen Reuber.  She taught me voice lessons when I attended grade school, and I remember at that young age I thought she had the prettiest bathroom I had ever seen. The faucet on top of the wash basin had a large fish where the water came out.  The water flowed from the mouth of the fish. On each side, the handles that controlled the temperature were fish tails.  I thought they were made of gold at the time but were more likely made of brass.  It amazes me the little details we remember from our childhood.  Mrs. Reuber was later Counselor in my High School.  Lastly, I remember the school nurse Mrs. Faris, who was in every school from Baily to High School.  She was a pretty woman and a constant figure throughout my school years.

When we are young, we seem to care little for history, for antiques, or for genealogy.   We need to experience life to appreciate the past.  We need to have children and grandchildren to understand and appreciate our genealogy.  I clipped a quote from an unnamed person, and I have tried to live my life by those words.  "If I should live to a ripe old age, may I possess some bit of individuality, wit and charm, that I may not be discarded when I am withered, worn, and weak, but sought after and cherished, like a fine antique."

Boy Scouts Taught C.F. Valuable Skills

"I am  a Boy Scout 
I know what to do!"
- -  C. F. Cline

  

At the age of eleven, I had responsibilities around the house.  The primary duty was washing dishes.  My mother believed in scalding the dishes after you washed them to kill any virus or anything else undesirable.  One day, after finishing the lunch dishes, I turned on the stove, put the teakettle on the burner, and waited for the whistle sound it made to let me know it was ready.  Once I heard the whistle, I put the dish towel on the handle as usual, and I picked up the kettle to rinse the dishes with the water.  I must have forgotten to put the lid on the top of the kettle because hot steam sprayed over my hand and arm.  My natural reflex was to drop the hot kettle.  When I did, the scalding water burned me from the waist down.  It burned the skin off most of my legs.  I must have let out a huge scream because one of my neighbor next door and my brother C. F. both were there to help me within minutes.

My brother C.F. started saying, "I am a Boy Scout, and I know what to do - I am a Boy Scout, and I know what to do!"  The neighbor looked at him and said, "Good because I don't have a clue what to do."  C.F.  then told me I needed to get all my clothes off immediately where the boiling water hit my body.  I did not move, I just screamed it hurts!  So, he took scissors and cut off what I was wearing from my waist and below.  He carried me into my parent’s bedroom and placed me on the bed.  He got two fans and placed them facing me and turned them on.  Then he just stood there with an odd look on his face, as if he were thinking, "now what."   I was still crying, and the pain was still dreadful.  C.F. then went into the bathroom and looked in the medicine cabinet.  Whatever he was looking for was not in there.  He asked the neighbor, Mrs. Morris, who had come to help if she could take him to the drug store.  C. F. also asked Mrs. Morris if she knew where our mother was, and she didn't know but thought she left an hour ago.  She agreed to take my brother to the drug store, and they left me alone.  Before leaving C.F. told me not to get up, everything would be alright, and he would be back soon.  I was in pain, I was crying, and I was frightened.  Then I was all alone with my fear.

Our Dad owned a nursery, and you never knew where he was at any given time or when he would drop by the house.  Fortunately, he came home about ten minutes after C. F. left to go to the drug store.  Dad asked what was going on and what happened.  I told him the best that I could, as I was still in a lot of pain, and recalled C. F. telling me that he was a Boy Scout and he knew what to do.  That did not seem to give my Dad much comfort.  He asked where my Mother was while calling the doctor's office.  I told him I didn’t know.  Upon talking with Dr. Chrichlow, my Dad was pleasantly surprised to learn that C. F. did what needed doing.  Dr. Chrichlow called in two prescriptions.  One to ease the pain, and the other to keep the burned area clean and moist.  Dr. Chrichlow advised that I needed to stay on the bed without any clothes on for another day before going to his office.  

My Mom then came home and I went through everything that happened again.  She felt bad that she was not there and tried to make me as comfortable as possible.  I remember the house seemed full of people, at this point.  C. F. returned within minutes after my mother came home.  He brought something to put on my burns.  My Dad told C.F., “The doctor said that you did the exact best thing for Margaret at the onset of the burns.  I appreciate your stepping in to help her.”  Well, C.F.’s head was so big from that comment he could hardly walk through the door opening.  He smiled big and said, "See, being a Boy Scout teaches you valuable skills."  As I look back on that day, C. F. was sixteen at the time of the accident and most likely was a bit self-conscious about stripping me of my clothing.  That is why he kept repeating, “I am a Boy Scout and I know what to do” several times.  I am just glad my brother was there and did what needed doing at the time.  Thank you, C.F.

Siblings and Poison Ivy

This was my brother Gene, a year or two younger in this
photo, who made me a stick and vegetation village.

With little to stimulate our Mom's creative mind, she often escaped to the great outdoors to rid herself from the boredom of hot sweltering summer days in the 1940s and 1950s.  Those were days before air conditioning.  One summer afternoon in Sikeston my brother Gene and I went fishing with our mother out to one of the LRDD[1] ditches on the outskirts of town.  Our mother loved to fish.  Gene and I neither one liked to fish and were not fond of tagging along with our mother to one of her favorite fishing places.  Back then, there were no iPads, cell phones, or the like to entertain us while waiting for her to decide to return home. 

  

We found a shady area along the side of the ditch and settled in for the long wait for our mother to conclude her fishing endeavor.  Like our mother, Gene was a creative person too and envisioned concepts others could not see.  He often drew cars and buildings when nothing was going on at the time.  That day, Gene decided to play big brother and entertain me.  He started to build a small village out of the sticks and vegetation found in the shaded area.  I helped by finding just the right size sticks for his village.  After an hour or so he built an impressive small village of seven or eight buildings, along with a road dug into the sand between the buildings.  He was pleased with his creation, and I was happy to have him along as company for the outing. 

Before long, our mother decided the fish were not taking her bait that day, and it was time to go home.  A few hours after returning home, Gene began to itch.  Once he started scratching his hands and arms, large red, watery, whelps began to surface.  My Mother looked at his itching body and said, “Well Gene, you have a bad case of poison ivy.  What were you two doing while I was fishing?”  He told her that we made a few buildings and a small village out of the sticks and vegetation in the area.  He explained it was the only shaded area we could find to wait on her.  He could not understand why I did not have poison ivy too.  Our Mother explained, “Sticks most likely were not covered in the ivy vine.  Therefore, your sister’s body didn’t touch the poison oil that causing the poison ivy rash.”  Poor Gene suffered from the results of that fun afternoon for about ten days.  He had large weeping whelps on his skin that about drove him crazy.

I remember that the treatments our Father used on Gene to rid him of the poison ivy was about as bad as the ailment itself.  Dad put some paste on him named “Blue Stone” and it burned Gene so bad that he ran outside, then ran in circles in the back yard.  As a little sister, I felt bad that Gene got the itchy rash because he was entertaining me; and that the Blue Stone treatment was painful.  However, I was sure glad I didn’t get it.  Since that day, I am careful when I venture into mother nature.  I look carefully for the dreadful poison ivy vine and avoid it.

---

[1]  LRDD = Little River Drainage District

Gardening Again on Memorial Day

Memorial Day is for Reflection

Memorial Day is one for reflection and appreciation.

Memorial Day is a day on which those who died in active military service are remembered, traditionally observed on May 30 but now officially observed on the last Monday in May.  It is a day for reflection and appreciation.  Today, it is celebrated at the start of summer vacation season, and annual retail sales.  Twenty years ago, many communities celebrated with parades that honored its veterans.  May each of us, and our families establish a unique tradition of celebrating the true reasons related to Memorial Day.

For me, it is a tradition that I work in my garden every Memorial Day.  Each year, I think of the brave soldiers who sacrificed their lives for their belief in freedom, and for their love for America.  I pray as I garden, for God to comfort the families left behind without their beloved soldier.  Placing my hands in the rich earth and planting young flowers reminds me that I am alive and well because of sacrifices made by others on my behalf.  The young plants suggest that many of the soldiers that died for this country were young, and had yet to marry and produce a family.  The mature flowers bless my neighbors and me, as soldiers' deaths bless America and the free world with the rights and freedom we enjoy today.

Through the suffering of soldiers today and long ago, we have the opportunity to choose our actions every Memorial Day.  We must teach our children and grandchildren the true meaning of Memorial Day.  It is a somber holiday to be preserved for generations to come.  God bless our veterans, and thank you for your service! 

   

Mickey Was My Best Friend and Companion

Me with Mickey in 1959
Hat, Gloves & Mutton Coat

I was six years old when my parents bought me a golden tan and white Collie puppy.  I named her Mickey.  We grew up together.  I sometimes dressed her up when I was playing tea party and other games.  She never seemed to mind, as long as we were together.  My two brothers were older and did want to be bothered with me.  Mickey was my constant companion at home and my best friend.  When something good happened, I told her all about it.  If something unhappy happened, I told her about that too.  She sometimes put her long nose on my shoulder and whined when I was upset or unhappy.

The family all loved her.  We took her on trips to St. Louis to visit my mother's sister, Aunt Beulah and her family, and on other short trips.  Mickey curled up below my mom's feet in the floorboard and traveled well.  There was one problem we did have with Mickey on car rides, and that was that she would fart now and them.  The smell was bad!  If the windows were not down before she blessed us with her unique smell, they were open soon after.  We never figured out what made her fart, but it never kept us from bringing her with us on short trips.

As a female, she went into heat every ten to twelve months.  That was not a pleasant time for her, for me, or the rest of my family.  We had to keep her inside, and when we left for any reason, we had to put her in our shed and lock the door.  It must have been very hot in there. Today, we would have put a large fan in there for her.  Anyway, when my parents thought it was the right time, we drove to Poplar Bluff, Missouri to breed her with another Collie.  To the best of my recollection, she had three litters of puppies.  They were cute for the six or seven weeks of their lives that we possessed them.  We kept them on the back porch with their mother.  Because of Mickey's size, she was an outside dog.  I remember for one litter of pups she went under the house in the crawl space and gave birth to her puppies.  My father was not happy about having to get under the house and remove those puppies.  She usually had nine to twelve pups each time.  After the third litter of puppies, my folks took her to the Veterinarian and had her spayed.  She gave me much joy and comfort over the years.

One night I came home from a Sikeston High School football game, and all the lights were on, and the door was open.  No one was home, and the car was gone.  That was very odd, and I became frightened that something bad had happened.  About twenty minutes later, my parents came in, and it looked like they had been crying.  They looked at me compassionately.  Dad said, "We are sorry, Margaret.  Mickey is dead.  She had a heart attack.  We took her to the vet, and he gave her a shot.  He told us the shot would make her well or she would die.  In about five minutes, she awoke and looked at us, wagged her tail and we petted her.  We left her to pay the Vet for his services, and when we when back into the examining room to get her, she was gone.  We are sorry, Margaret."  I was sixteen at the time, and I had enjoyed Mickey's companionship for ten wonderful years.  I asked where she was and they said she was in the trunk of the car.  I went out to tell her goodbye, and I just petted her and talked to her for about twenty minutes.  I finally accepted the fact that she was gone and would never greet me again, never listen to my thoughts again, and a part of the childlike joy for life was vanquished that night.

The next day the whole neighborhood knew about Mickey's death.  My dad made a wooden crate, dug a hole in front of her dog house, put her in the crate, and we had a small memorial service.  Many neighbors attended, and several cried, along with me.  My heart ached when my Dad covered her with dirt, it acknowledged that my loss of a wonderful companion and friend was forever.

Dogs are excellent companion and friends to millions of Americans.  Today, even more than in earlier times, we treat them as a member of our family.  The small dogs are like our babies.  It is hard to say who received more gratification from the special bond we have with pets - them, or us.  I still miss you, Mickey!

1950s Dating in Sikeston, Missouri

Tom and me with Monoply Board

My freshman year at Sikeston High School I enjoyed playing trumpet in the band, marching in the band at football games and parades, being with my girlfriends in Red Peppers, participating in the National Forensic League (a speech and debating club), and a few more activities.  But most of all I enjoyed spending time with Tom Harmon.

I remember that each day after school he would be waiting for me by the Band Building.  He would carry part of my things and we would go to Wag's and get a Pepsi and Fifth Avenue candy bar.  On the way home, we would share the 12-ounce drink, in a bottle, and 3 ounce candy bar.   We stopped at Heath Street to go our separate ways.  We looked into each other’s eyes and hating parting.  We must have looked ridiculous to others.  We were very young, only 14 and 16 years old my Freshman year, and yet thinking we were grown-up.  Surprisingly, I am still with that skinny, pimple faced boy.  He is no longer skinny and has put on weight over the years.  His skin is now clear and he is a handsome man.

Tom had no car, so we walked places.  I know that seems odd today, but in the 1950s and early 1960s people in small towns often walked places.  Most families had only one car that they shared.  Dad always had the last word on who got to use the car at any given time.  Partly because we walked, everyone was thinner back then.  People never ate in their cars, they ate together at the kitchen or dining room table.  In general, everyone was more active, and kids played outside until their mothers called them in at evening time. 

There was not a lot to do in Sikeston without a car.  We went to the movies one a week and went out driving around with friends in their cars.   Tom came over to my house almost every night.  My parents were not fond of cards, so we played board games at my house, like Chinese Checkers or Monopoly.  Most evenings we walked out back and sit on the picnic table and talked.  When my Dad came out and coughed it was time to go back inside, and for Tom to go to his home.

My parents tried to interest me in other things so I didn't spend as much time with Tom but that rarely worked.  I do remember my going to Band Camp one summer at Southeast Missouri State in Cape Girardeau.  That was a lot of fun.  I made new friends and interacted with students who all enjoyed playing music.

Oh, if we only knew then, what we know now.  I realize now that our youth is a time to explore opportunities and broad friendships.  Had I not been wrapped up in Tom Harmon I might have had a much richer High School experience.  I have had a good life and would change only a few things.  I look forward to my class reunions and will be in Sikeston attending my 55^th SHS Class of 1962 reunion this September.  I realize how much I missed in school when I listen to friends fondly recall all they did in high school, without being focused on a single person.  Sadly, we can only give young people advice to enjoy their youth, each one has to experience it their way.  What is good for many, is not always good for others.  Those differences make life and people interesting.  I remember that walking home with Tom Harmon made me happy then, and I still enjoy walking beside him today.