March 2007                                                            The Megaphone                                                                 Page 3

My Life As A Little Boy

by Dewey W. Smith

I was born on a farm about 5 miles west of Monon in White County. I drove by this place a couple years ago and it was a cornfield. No buildings. I thought there might be a monument there but I was disappointed. 

While I was still very small, we moved to McCoysburg, a small town west of Monon. I do not remember living there either. My first memory is living in Lee, another small town west of Monon. In this town were two grocery stores and a hardware store. Both grocery stores were owned by people by the name of Jacks. One, Otis, had the post office in his store. I remember the rack outside by the RR tracks where he would hang the mail bag before the train came. The train would stick an arm out and grab the bag and at the same time throw out the mail bag for that post office. 

The other grocery store had gasoline pumps in front of the store. These pumps had the glass top where the gasoline was pumped in to the number of gallons that you wanted. It was then gravity fed into the vehicle. The main thing that I remember in this store was the big roll of brown wrapping paper on the roller where it was torn off to the size desired. The hardware store had the ice house in back where the ice was stored in sawdust. In front of the store was a barber chair. This is more or less where this five years old story begins. 

I remember going for a hair cut and after he was finished, I noticed some pocket knives that I liked. There was one especially that I liked. I had a nickel left and the price of the knife was fifty cents. He told me that I could give him my nickel and then give him a nickel or dime each week until it was paid for. I was a proud boy with that knife. But then my little legs looked like propellers as I raced back to the store with a razor strap following me. That was my first experience of buying on credit. 

As we lived next to the railroad tracks I would go out each day with a  coal bucket that was almost as big as I was to pick up coal on the tracks. If my parents told my sister and me that we were going to grandma and grandpa's today, we would make them wait until we got home from Sunday School. Of course that was only about a five minute drive. 

We moved to a different house in Lee and that is where I got Scarlet Fever. I remember my mother making cookies for me and I gave her the devil for making them so hard that I could not eat them. I found out later that the cookies were not that hard but I was that weak. My sister was just a year younger than I was. I remember them taking us to spend the day with Grandma and Grandpa. We were excited and more so when we got home that evening to find out that we had a new baby sister. Some of you might know her. Today she is Lois Norris-Hanson. I also remember cutting my foot very badly on a piece of glass. We all went bare footed all summer then. My mother took me to see Doctor Reagan and he cleaned up the wound and put something on it. He told me that it would burn, but I laughed at him because it never burned. It was probably iodine or mercurochrome as that was about all that was used then. 

My folks then rented an 80 acre farm and I remember going to the pasture for the horses. I would get on one and ride back to the barn. Mr. Joe Pike owned the farm and when he was sick my father went to see him and I went with him. I can still see Mr. Pike there in bed with earphones on. He put the earphones on me and that was great. I was listening to a radio for the first time. I had to walk to school there. It was about 1/2 mile. 

Mrs. Lillian Thacker was the teacher for the six grades. One evening walking home from school, I was having fun running up behind girls and tapping them on the head with a book. Mrs. Thacker's son picked her up every evening and this particular evening they stopped and made me get in the car. This was a Model T coupe so I had to sit on Mrs. Thacker's lap. I screamed that Dean had my lunch pail and he only went about half way to my house. When they did not stop I doubled up my fist and pow, right in the kisser. They stopped and let me out. My mother told me later that they stopped at my house and Mrs. Thacker went in and told Mom what had happened and cried because she had hurt my feelings. I never did hear any more about it.

That is enough for now.

Dewey W. Smith, Monon '39
Northwest Elwood

The Importance of Being -- at Least Part -- Irish

by Karen (Stine) Hollies

Although my maiden name is extremely German, I am actually a bit more than a fourth Irish. My mother's mother had what is commonly called "Scotch-Irish" roots besides some German ancestors. It was Dad's mother, Mary Catherine (Mallen) Stine, who was all Irish. At some point in her life she abandoned the name Mary Catherine for Frances C. and that is the name on her tombstone. 

I am extremely proud of that portion of my heritage. Not only are the Irish very lyrical people with a grand appreciation of a good song and a good story, but they are survivors. 

When they began immigrating to America, they were treated as an inferior race. They were not allowed to claim to be Caucasian but were listed as Celts and were not permitted to marry members of the white race. Many came as bonded servants or mercenaries in the Civil War. One of these was my great grandfather Mallen. It was his sister who was a servant for a wealthy Milwaukee family.

We are not sure if they paid her way to this country. We do know that my great grandfather fought with Ohio's 75th in 22 battles in the Civil War, was imprisoned at Libby's Prison, was exchanged in a prisoner exchange and was mustered out in January of 1864 in Jacksonville, FL. He died from "old age" . . . most likely from infirmities suffered during the war because he had lung problems after that.

At any rate one must admire the sheer tenacity of the Irish. They hung in there, gained their share of respect, and prospered. They even made being Irish special come St. Paddy's Day.

Karen (Stine) Hollies, '54
Virginia Beach, VA