I remember the story being told of Vic when we were living with Grandma Matlock (Mom's mom)
It seems that things were might quiet around the house which is never a good sign with inquisitive toddlers. After a quick search to find him they discovered he was in the cupboard area under the kitchen sink and had stowed himself away with a bottle of Karo syrup that he had pretty much emptied onto his head and face.
Tuesday, October 13, 2009
Remembering Vic II
One of the stories Mom tells of Vic was shortly after Dennis was brought home as a new born.
Mom did one of those parental baby checks that new mothers make very regularly to check on her newborn Dennis as he was down for one of his daily sleeps.
She was very surprised to see Vic had gotten out a suit case and was getting ready to put Dennis inside of it. At this time Vic would have been closing in on three so it was not a safe thing for him to be lifting Dennis, let alone putting him in a suit case.
Mom said she wasn't sure if Vic was putting him in the suitcase to send him away out of jealousy or if he was planning on running away with his new best friend, but she stopped him from doing it no matter what his intentions were.
Mom did one of those parental baby checks that new mothers make very regularly to check on her newborn Dennis as he was down for one of his daily sleeps.
She was very surprised to see Vic had gotten out a suit case and was getting ready to put Dennis inside of it. At this time Vic would have been closing in on three so it was not a safe thing for him to be lifting Dennis, let alone putting him in a suit case.
Mom said she wasn't sure if Vic was putting him in the suitcase to send him away out of jealousy or if he was planning on running away with his new best friend, but she stopped him from doing it no matter what his intentions were.
Monday, October 12, 2009
Remembering Vic
The day Vic was born was a very exciting time for Dad. You would have thought the veteran who had seen action at the end of WWII would have been a little more composed, but every time he told the story of the day Vic was born he would laugh at himself.
When Mom told him she was in labor and ready to go to the hospital, a big uneasyness set in for Dad. While Mom was out waiting in the car Dad ran back into the house to get some towels before tearing out of Mancos in a big roar to get Mom to the hospital in Durango.
Dad was going way over the speed limit which caught the attention of a waiting policeman who immediately started a chase that Dad would not stop for.
If it wasn't bad enough he was speeding, he than ran every red light and stop sign between him and the hospital.
As he pulled into the hospital parking lot with the policeman flashing his lights Dad refused to answer any of the questions being asked him as he tried to pull Mom out of the car and carry her inside.
I'm not sure the conversation that was going on between Mom and Dad during the drive from Mancos to Durango, but there in the parking lot Mom told him to quit acting like a lunatic and let her walk into the hospital so she could get to the task at hand of delivering a baby.
The first steps Mom made found Dad right behind her with his hands on her making sure she did not fall down. Again, Mom told him to leave her alone and the thought flashed through Dad's head he had not used those towels he threw into the back seat so he ran back to the car to get the towels while trying to negotiate with the policeman.
Dad ran back to Mom and was trying to figure out how to use the towels on her when she again told him to leave her alone. (Apparently he was way out of his comfort zone if he was not on the battle lines)
Dad said he did not know what to do with the towels so he threw them in the bushes outside the hospital doors as Mom was entering in.
Back in those days fathers had to wait outside the delivery room so Dad did much pacing while Mom was doing all the work of bringing their first son Victor Irwin Dean into the world.
Luckily for us all, Dad's over exciteability did not rub off on Vic and the rest of October 18th, 1947 was a happy, calmer day.
When Mom told him she was in labor and ready to go to the hospital, a big uneasyness set in for Dad. While Mom was out waiting in the car Dad ran back into the house to get some towels before tearing out of Mancos in a big roar to get Mom to the hospital in Durango.
Dad was going way over the speed limit which caught the attention of a waiting policeman who immediately started a chase that Dad would not stop for.
If it wasn't bad enough he was speeding, he than ran every red light and stop sign between him and the hospital.
As he pulled into the hospital parking lot with the policeman flashing his lights Dad refused to answer any of the questions being asked him as he tried to pull Mom out of the car and carry her inside.
I'm not sure the conversation that was going on between Mom and Dad during the drive from Mancos to Durango, but there in the parking lot Mom told him to quit acting like a lunatic and let her walk into the hospital so she could get to the task at hand of delivering a baby.
The first steps Mom made found Dad right behind her with his hands on her making sure she did not fall down. Again, Mom told him to leave her alone and the thought flashed through Dad's head he had not used those towels he threw into the back seat so he ran back to the car to get the towels while trying to negotiate with the policeman.
Dad ran back to Mom and was trying to figure out how to use the towels on her when she again told him to leave her alone. (Apparently he was way out of his comfort zone if he was not on the battle lines)
Dad said he did not know what to do with the towels so he threw them in the bushes outside the hospital doors as Mom was entering in.
Back in those days fathers had to wait outside the delivery room so Dad did much pacing while Mom was doing all the work of bringing their first son Victor Irwin Dean into the world.
Luckily for us all, Dad's over exciteability did not rub off on Vic and the rest of October 18th, 1947 was a happy, calmer day.
Friday, September 5, 2008
What child doesn’t have a story of a tree house while in their youth?
In our back yard was our tree house. Dennis was getting weaker as the MD progressed in his body, so we made sure the tree house was easily accessible. It was low in the tree and the steps leading up to it were wide and well secured to the tree. We had gotten a bb gun for Christmas the previous holiday and we were eager to find a bunker we could shoot it from. The tree house was perfect. It was cumbersome for Dennis to make several trips into the tree house, so we always made sure we had plenty of ammo to last us awhile each time we ventured into our bunker…which was often.
From the cover of our private club house we were safe to send a barrage of bullets upon any unsuspecting animal venturing into our shooting range. If a stray dog wandered close to our property we were quick to send him on his way yelping. The same was true for cats. Although we wouldn’t consider the sound they made to be a yelp. Many a bird met its maker when they would land in the tree that housed our bunker.
Even neighborhood animals have intelligence though and the visits from meandering dogs and cats grew more and more scarce as they learned they would get pelted if they came too close to the certain area that comprised the range of our gun. What is and army to do when they don’t have a foe to shoot at? We started shooting at something new.
Across the street and one lot to the east of our tree house was a business run my Mr. Zender. He had a repair shop where he worked on all manner of small engines and parts. He would work on some of my future lawn mowers from this very shop which now became our newest target. His entire building was made of galvanized sheeting through and through. From the door to the walls, from the floor to the roof, it was all galvanized sheeting. The sound of a bb hitting galvanized steel is quite resounding, so Mr. Zender could easily hear each bb that hit his building and echoed through out his shop. One day in every week was torment Mr. Zender day. From the privacy of our tree house we’d shoot a single shot onto the roof of his shop. The initial landing would make a very audible “ping” upon its landing. As the bb took its long, rolling trip down the inclined, corrugated roof, it made its own definite, tortuous sound. The sound would reverberate throughout his shop until it finally reached the bottom edge of the roof and fell harmlessly to the parking lot surrounding his building.We would shoot several rounds, one right after another to make the annoying sound triple in intensity to get a reaction from Mr. Zender. He would come running out from the inner sanctuary of his shop and peer up and down the road looking for the perpetrators of this hideous noise. We always made our salvos onto his roof when absolutely no one was around to heighten his frustration in not being able to find the guilty party. We would peer out the many knot holes in our tree house and watch as his head would rip from side to side in an attempt to locate us. Usually on the third trip Mr. Zender would yell some threat that if he ever caught us we would be sorry we were ever born. Such a threat would bring giggles out of us and make us stop shooting for a brief period. We made sure we had our sandwiches and drinks for lunch so if he were looking out the window hoping to find any slinking bodies, his resolve to find us wasn’t stronger than our hunger. In such fashion we vexed Mr. Zender many times, never getting caught.
In our back yard was our tree house. Dennis was getting weaker as the MD progressed in his body, so we made sure the tree house was easily accessible. It was low in the tree and the steps leading up to it were wide and well secured to the tree. We had gotten a bb gun for Christmas the previous holiday and we were eager to find a bunker we could shoot it from. The tree house was perfect. It was cumbersome for Dennis to make several trips into the tree house, so we always made sure we had plenty of ammo to last us awhile each time we ventured into our bunker…which was often.
From the cover of our private club house we were safe to send a barrage of bullets upon any unsuspecting animal venturing into our shooting range. If a stray dog wandered close to our property we were quick to send him on his way yelping. The same was true for cats. Although we wouldn’t consider the sound they made to be a yelp. Many a bird met its maker when they would land in the tree that housed our bunker.
Even neighborhood animals have intelligence though and the visits from meandering dogs and cats grew more and more scarce as they learned they would get pelted if they came too close to the certain area that comprised the range of our gun. What is and army to do when they don’t have a foe to shoot at? We started shooting at something new.
Across the street and one lot to the east of our tree house was a business run my Mr. Zender. He had a repair shop where he worked on all manner of small engines and parts. He would work on some of my future lawn mowers from this very shop which now became our newest target. His entire building was made of galvanized sheeting through and through. From the door to the walls, from the floor to the roof, it was all galvanized sheeting. The sound of a bb hitting galvanized steel is quite resounding, so Mr. Zender could easily hear each bb that hit his building and echoed through out his shop. One day in every week was torment Mr. Zender day. From the privacy of our tree house we’d shoot a single shot onto the roof of his shop. The initial landing would make a very audible “ping” upon its landing. As the bb took its long, rolling trip down the inclined, corrugated roof, it made its own definite, tortuous sound. The sound would reverberate throughout his shop until it finally reached the bottom edge of the roof and fell harmlessly to the parking lot surrounding his building.We would shoot several rounds, one right after another to make the annoying sound triple in intensity to get a reaction from Mr. Zender. He would come running out from the inner sanctuary of his shop and peer up and down the road looking for the perpetrators of this hideous noise. We always made our salvos onto his roof when absolutely no one was around to heighten his frustration in not being able to find the guilty party. We would peer out the many knot holes in our tree house and watch as his head would rip from side to side in an attempt to locate us. Usually on the third trip Mr. Zender would yell some threat that if he ever caught us we would be sorry we were ever born. Such a threat would bring giggles out of us and make us stop shooting for a brief period. We made sure we had our sandwiches and drinks for lunch so if he were looking out the window hoping to find any slinking bodies, his resolve to find us wasn’t stronger than our hunger. In such fashion we vexed Mr. Zender many times, never getting caught.
Friday, August 22, 2008
Third Grade Follies
Carolyn was the cutest girl in the class and I was always doing some childhood stunt to get her attention. We didn't have any ink bottles at our desk I could put under her pig tails, nor did I have the dream-come-true opportunity of sitting behind her, so I always had to make my impressions during recess.
One particular day I caught sight of her just as recess was ending and she was hanging up her coat before entering the class room. As she stretched up to put that coat on the rung it caused her dress to hike up some and gave me a view of those mysterious under pants that us boys were never supposed to see. It was such a situation that made me burst out those famous lines I had learned from my perverted friends and brothers...
I see London, I see France
I see Carolyn's under pants
I thought it was a great ice breaker line, but Carolyn had a very different reception to what I had said. She must have been schooled by my younger sister Roberta...Carolyn immediately headed into the class room and told on me to Mrs. Eschelman who made a quick snap of her head in my direction and had a look of fire in her eyes...I didn't know those words could create such passion in women.
Mrs. Eschelman excused herself in front of all the class and grabbed ahold of my collar..."Let's take a visit to Mr. Smith young man" she said as we started in the direction of the principal's office.
I hadn't been to the principal's office before, but I had the feeling Mr. Smith was a pleasant man given the few interactions I had with him from previous school years. Still, I had never been delivered to him as a delinquent so I wasn't sure what to expect.Upon entering the door Mr. Smith stood up tall and gave a stern look our way. I'm sure the body language of Mrs. Eschelman and the fact my collar was still firmly in her grasp let him know I had been up to no good. (Another thing not in my favor was the fact my two older brothers had made themselves known at the principal's door before me as well)
"How can I help you Mrs. Eschelman?" was his queery.
"Ricky has been looking up Carolyn's dress and spouting embarrassing poetry" came her reply. "I've got to get back to my class. Send Ricky back when you are done" she commanded, she then spun and whisked herself back towards my fellow classmates and Carolyn.
Mr. Smith showed me the chair in front of his desk and asked me to be seated. He then shut the door. I knew I was in for then. Nothing good happens behinds closed doors does it?
"You were looking up a dress were you?" He asked intently.
"Yes sir" came my reply. I was hoping the extra bit of respect and politeness of "sir" would help me out a bit.
"Was it an accidental peek? Or were you kneeling down, pretending to tie your shoes kind of peek?"
I must of had an instant look of guilt on my face because I have to admit that I was fully bent at the waist trying to get the best view I could...I couldn't muster a reply but I knew Mr. Smith was now convinced of my answer.
"Are you going to make a habit of this in the future he asked?"
"No sir" was my quick response.
"You'd better get back to class then...and make sure I don't see you in here again"
I ran back to class in quick order. I must admit that I made several more trips back to Mr. Smith's office but never for looking at underwear or for reciting bad poetry.
One particular day I caught sight of her just as recess was ending and she was hanging up her coat before entering the class room. As she stretched up to put that coat on the rung it caused her dress to hike up some and gave me a view of those mysterious under pants that us boys were never supposed to see. It was such a situation that made me burst out those famous lines I had learned from my perverted friends and brothers...
I see London, I see France
I see Carolyn's under pants
I thought it was a great ice breaker line, but Carolyn had a very different reception to what I had said. She must have been schooled by my younger sister Roberta...Carolyn immediately headed into the class room and told on me to Mrs. Eschelman who made a quick snap of her head in my direction and had a look of fire in her eyes...I didn't know those words could create such passion in women.
Mrs. Eschelman excused herself in front of all the class and grabbed ahold of my collar..."Let's take a visit to Mr. Smith young man" she said as we started in the direction of the principal's office.
I hadn't been to the principal's office before, but I had the feeling Mr. Smith was a pleasant man given the few interactions I had with him from previous school years. Still, I had never been delivered to him as a delinquent so I wasn't sure what to expect.Upon entering the door Mr. Smith stood up tall and gave a stern look our way. I'm sure the body language of Mrs. Eschelman and the fact my collar was still firmly in her grasp let him know I had been up to no good. (Another thing not in my favor was the fact my two older brothers had made themselves known at the principal's door before me as well)
"How can I help you Mrs. Eschelman?" was his queery.
"Ricky has been looking up Carolyn's dress and spouting embarrassing poetry" came her reply. "I've got to get back to my class. Send Ricky back when you are done" she commanded, she then spun and whisked herself back towards my fellow classmates and Carolyn.
Mr. Smith showed me the chair in front of his desk and asked me to be seated. He then shut the door. I knew I was in for then. Nothing good happens behinds closed doors does it?
"You were looking up a dress were you?" He asked intently.
"Yes sir" came my reply. I was hoping the extra bit of respect and politeness of "sir" would help me out a bit.
"Was it an accidental peek? Or were you kneeling down, pretending to tie your shoes kind of peek?"
I must of had an instant look of guilt on my face because I have to admit that I was fully bent at the waist trying to get the best view I could...I couldn't muster a reply but I knew Mr. Smith was now convinced of my answer.
"Are you going to make a habit of this in the future he asked?"
"No sir" was my quick response.
"You'd better get back to class then...and make sure I don't see you in here again"
I ran back to class in quick order. I must admit that I made several more trips back to Mr. Smith's office but never for looking at underwear or for reciting bad poetry.
Tuesday, August 19, 2008
I have a sudden flash back of the second grade and my student/teacher inter actions with Mrs. Bircher. She was a rotund lady that tried to teach and I was an energetic/curious student who tried not to learn. I always did seem to have an experiment that I wanted to try out and one day I had the grand idea of putting a thumb tack on the teachers chair to see if a rotund lady could actually jump up off her chair instead of slowly getting herself up as Mrs. Bircher always did. On the appointed day I got into class and put said thumbtack in the middle of her chair while she was up and about getting her supplies ready and then I went to my chair to watch how my experiment played out. Mrs. Bircher would almost always do her talking and teaching from her desk once she had sat down so I was anxious to see if that tack would change her style. My anticipation heightened as she neared her desk and began her descent towards that tack....PLOP...nothing. No reaction what so ever.I was disheartened. What happened or didn't happen as the case may be?
I had supposed she had sat down so perfectly that the tack ended up being placed where the crack in her behind was and the tack, being so short, didn't do its entended purpose.My solution was to try two tacks on my next attempt so such a result wouldn't happen again.The next day I followed through on the two tack plan and sat watching for the outcome ...PLOP...nothing. I couldn't believe it. Was this lady oblivious to pain? Had she endured this before and knew to just sit through it all to dumbfound curious students? Not to be deterred I decided to use 4 tacks to make certain the experiment was fool proof.I must confess in retrospect I was an idiot to start this experiment in the first place, so a whole lot of me is relieved to report that even with 4 tacks on the chair I didn't get to see if Mrs. Bircher was able to jump up. Still, I wonder what she was wearing that protected her from my stupid curiosity???
I had supposed she had sat down so perfectly that the tack ended up being placed where the crack in her behind was and the tack, being so short, didn't do its entended purpose.My solution was to try two tacks on my next attempt so such a result wouldn't happen again.The next day I followed through on the two tack plan and sat watching for the outcome ...PLOP...nothing. I couldn't believe it. Was this lady oblivious to pain? Had she endured this before and knew to just sit through it all to dumbfound curious students? Not to be deterred I decided to use 4 tacks to make certain the experiment was fool proof.I must confess in retrospect I was an idiot to start this experiment in the first place, so a whole lot of me is relieved to report that even with 4 tacks on the chair I didn't get to see if Mrs. Bircher was able to jump up. Still, I wonder what she was wearing that protected her from my stupid curiosity???
Thursday, August 7, 2008
School Daze Confessions....
With school soon starting up again I'm sure all of us can easily draw up memories of those special days in those educational halls and classrooms. Here is the start of a few stories to show you what a special student I was....
With school starting up again soon, I couldn't help but go back in time to relate some of the events that traumatized me while in the rooms of education during my youth. Mrs. Morris was my first grade teacher and I had been warned by my older brothers, Vic and Dennis, that she was strict and sour in temperment. I don't remember that first day of school, but I do remember one isolated moment when I became the main focus for every set of eyes in my class. I had been assigned to sit near the back of the class and in the middle row of seats. This was usually a good area for me to either lean forward, sideways, or backwards so as to blend into the bodies around me so I couldn't be seen by Mrs. Morris. In this near hidden state I could pull the grasshoppers from my pockets or whatever entertainment item I had dragged along for the day. On this particular day I apparently had nothing to occupy my hands and mind, so I was careless in hiding myself from Mrs. Morris while deciding to do the innocent, childhood activity of picking my nose. Mrs. Morris was able to scrunch her face up into several modes of hideousness depending on what was in her field of vision. When she caught sight of my finger embedded up into my notsril and buried to the first knuckle, mining for little green nuggets of nose ore, her face turned into the worst form of disgust I had seen all year. Her eyes went almost shut. Her forehead wrinkled downward, the corner of her mouth tweaked upward, her yellowing teeth clenched. Her nostrils flared and she started slowly shaking her head from side to side as if she were a bull getting ready to charge. She had stopped her instuctions to the class and the new silence caught the attention of every member in the classroom, who in the eon of silence, now looked up to see what had happened to the chatterbox. Upon seeing her contorted face all members of the class had to turn and see what she was looking at.
I had no idea what the proper ettiquette was for such situations. (If you know please enlighten me as I'm still not sure what to do under such situations)
So now here I was trying to decide if I should pull the finger out of my nose and show the audience my newest discovery, or if I should suddenly act as if I were asleep and then admit to the class that instead of sucking my thumb while asleep, I had the habit of putting my finger up my nose. I shrunk down in my desk, kept my finger in place and turned to several assorted shades of red in my embarrassment.
Mrs. Morris suggested I excuse myself and go the bathroom for some tissue. I quickly got up and headed for the door with my finger still firmly in place. Mrs. Morris started a path towards the door as well to intercept me before I could make my get away. Just before letting me get out the door she leaned down and whispered in my ear...
"Am I ever going to see that finger there again?"
I shook my head no, walked out the door, and quickly pulled my finger out to see if I had harvested anything of value...
With school starting up again soon, I couldn't help but go back in time to relate some of the events that traumatized me while in the rooms of education during my youth. Mrs. Morris was my first grade teacher and I had been warned by my older brothers, Vic and Dennis, that she was strict and sour in temperment. I don't remember that first day of school, but I do remember one isolated moment when I became the main focus for every set of eyes in my class. I had been assigned to sit near the back of the class and in the middle row of seats. This was usually a good area for me to either lean forward, sideways, or backwards so as to blend into the bodies around me so I couldn't be seen by Mrs. Morris. In this near hidden state I could pull the grasshoppers from my pockets or whatever entertainment item I had dragged along for the day. On this particular day I apparently had nothing to occupy my hands and mind, so I was careless in hiding myself from Mrs. Morris while deciding to do the innocent, childhood activity of picking my nose. Mrs. Morris was able to scrunch her face up into several modes of hideousness depending on what was in her field of vision. When she caught sight of my finger embedded up into my notsril and buried to the first knuckle, mining for little green nuggets of nose ore, her face turned into the worst form of disgust I had seen all year. Her eyes went almost shut. Her forehead wrinkled downward, the corner of her mouth tweaked upward, her yellowing teeth clenched. Her nostrils flared and she started slowly shaking her head from side to side as if she were a bull getting ready to charge. She had stopped her instuctions to the class and the new silence caught the attention of every member in the classroom, who in the eon of silence, now looked up to see what had happened to the chatterbox. Upon seeing her contorted face all members of the class had to turn and see what she was looking at.
I had no idea what the proper ettiquette was for such situations. (If you know please enlighten me as I'm still not sure what to do under such situations)
So now here I was trying to decide if I should pull the finger out of my nose and show the audience my newest discovery, or if I should suddenly act as if I were asleep and then admit to the class that instead of sucking my thumb while asleep, I had the habit of putting my finger up my nose. I shrunk down in my desk, kept my finger in place and turned to several assorted shades of red in my embarrassment.
Mrs. Morris suggested I excuse myself and go the bathroom for some tissue. I quickly got up and headed for the door with my finger still firmly in place. Mrs. Morris started a path towards the door as well to intercept me before I could make my get away. Just before letting me get out the door she leaned down and whispered in my ear...
"Am I ever going to see that finger there again?"
I shook my head no, walked out the door, and quickly pulled my finger out to see if I had harvested anything of value...
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