Summertime Drive In Memories

Whenever you enter Winslow from the North side, you will see this old neon sign from the Sunset Drive In that formerly stood on Highway 41 in Evansville.  The screen is set up back in the distance.  It is summertime nostalgia for me.  I called it the Airport Drive In.

Moved north of Winslow: the old Sunset Drive In

I know there once was the intention of opening a drive in here.  Now it is an abandoned roadside attraction of a day gone by.  It could just as easily have been laying in a landfill somewhere.   I like that it is sitting there.  You may see old junk sitting in weeds, but I see childhood memories.

Growing up in the 1960′s, going to the drive in on the weekends was the thing to do with our family.  We went to Oakland City Drive In mostly.  But once in a while we would go to the Sunset Drive In, all the way to Evansville.  The entire experience was just a big treat.  For one thing, we rarely went to the city at night.   I still love a city at night.  The first thrilling thing for me was driving past the airport with all of it’s colored lights.  If a plane was taking off or landing, we kids would hang all over the top of each other to look out the window busting with sheer excitement.  We weren’t in seatbelts back then.  Remember hanging over the front seat and your dad yelling at you to quit hanging over the seat?  We would drive past Dad’s work, that big bustling Whirlpool factory was bigger than anything in Winslow.  Then we were there, pulling in past the glowing light of the Sunset Drive In sign.

The Sunset Drive In. Evansville, Indiana.   http://www.courierpress.com/

At the Oakland City Drive In we kids pretty much could run around by ourselves.  But here Momma was a little more cautions with that.  We still could go up and play on the playground that was under the big screen under her watchful eye.  Dusk would turn into darkness and the cartoons would start.   Woody Woodpecker was our cue to abandon the swings and seesaws up front and head back to the car. Sometimes we had to look twice because Dad would have moved the car if the speaker didn’t work.  We would make a trip to the bathroom, Momma taking me, Dad taking the boys.  Cars were so much bigger back then.   Momma would put pillows in the floorboard on either side of the hump, making the entire backseat a big bed for me and my two little brothers.  Usually we lay down after the cartoons.  Sometimes I would climb up in the back window….in those old big cars the back window had a ledge that was perfect for little girls to share with the nodding dog and look out at the stars overhead.  At Oakland City when I lay in the back window all I could see were stars, here there were planes flying over my head with their blinking lights to dream by.

Memories of family drives, city lights, concessions stand bathrooms, crackly speakers, mosquito coils hanging on the window, just getting a few sips out of one pop for the entire family to share, just getting a few bites out of one popcorn for the entire family to share, the smell of Dad’s cigarettes, seeing my parents sitting next to each other with Dad’s arm around Momma, jostling around with my little brothers as we lay down to sleep and a hot summer night somehow seem a whole lot sweeter than that click of a button for that movie in my living room.

Memorial Day 2013: A Patriotic Story & A Parade

I was glad to be working third shift today so that I could attend the Annual Memorial Day Parade in Winslow this afternoon at 2:00 pm.   I also saw this heart tugging story of Winslow High School sweethearts during the 1940′s WWII on Fox News.

This is the story on Fox News:

“Laura Mae Davis Burlingame — she married an Army Air Corps man in 1945 — had gone to the New Orleans museum on April 24 looking for a display commemorating the young Marine who had been her high-school sweetheart.

“I figured I’d see pictures of him and the fellows he’d served with and articles about where he served,” she said.

She was stunned to find the diary of the 22-year-old machine gunner.

Curator Eric Rivet let her take a closer look, using white gloves to protect the old papers from skin oils. It was the first time in his 17 years of museum work that someone found “themselves mentioned in an artifact in the museum,” Rivet said.

The diary was a gift to Jones from Davis. They had met in the class of ’41 at Winslow High School. “He was a basketball player and I was a cheerleader,” she said.”

Read more: http://www.foxnews.com/us/2013/05/27/high-school-sweetheart-finds-killed-wwii-marine-diary-in-museum-70-years-later/?intcmp=trending#ixzz2UWF2G4AJ

I was disappointed to see the Main Street so empty of citizens honoring those who have paid the ultimate sacrifice for our freedom in this country.  I know what that Main Street looks like during a Little League parade.  Wouldn’t you think even more people would turn out for this parade?

Most of us had fathers and grandfathers who fought in a war.  Several of us still have sons, grandsons and husbands fighting in the current wars.  I know several people are honoring the war dead in other places.  God bless them all.  We must remember to be patriotic and hold Memorial Day in our hearts as it was intended to be.

South Main Street during the Memorial Day Parade

North Main Street during the Memorial Day Parade

Honoring those who’ve gone before

Honoring those who’ve gone before.

Patriotic golf carts & citizens

Children being patriotic

Early 1900′s: Gypsies at Ingle #7 Mine

It’s been awhile since I shared a Kitty Keeton story.

Here’s a good one for spring and summer, about a day when the Gypsies came calling in the early 1900′s at the  Ingle #7 Mine.

We call them Traveler’s now rather than Gypsies.  But I do still hear people calling them Gypsies every now and then.  Whatever you call them, they will try to trick you out of some of your hard earned money.

“It was 3 1/2 miles to walk to the mine. Had to be in mine to “face” meaning back to our loading working place inside the mines possibly a mile. At 5  I was eating breakfast and listening for the loud steam whistle. Every mine had a different sound. No. 7 was a loud full sounding — some were more shrill.  If the whistle at 5:15 AM, blew one long whistle, go back to bed — no work at the mine today. But when the second whistle came, we know that another or three whistles meant grab that filled dinner bucket and start coming to work. Rain or shine.

We were supposed to be out of the mine at 3 P.M. A loader sometimes got his cars that was allowed him filled and could get out before 3:00 and go to the wash house, pull off the coal mine clothing, take a shower, and change clothes and vamoose for your home. Men went all directions. We used boots and slicker water repellant coats when it was raining or snowing to make the trip. Also Gum shoes in the mine to make it safer deal about the electric shock.

The above made me think of a deal of Gypsies. Always a conniving, stealing bunch of transients. Even now the same thing happens in the Spring, but now they use cars, vans, trucks — then wagons covered and drawn with horses. The women are the thieves, always taking someones hand saying they will tell your fortune. Possibly another slapping him on the back while maybe a 3rd one was lifting his Billfold.

But that day, I had got turn loaded and out about 2:00, washed and changed clothes & standing in front of the commissary — a store that was there where we ordered powder, bought carbide, gloves, carbide lights, cookies, cigars, tobacco, and this little weiner cans then at 10 cents a can, cigars 2 for 5 cents, called Stogies. I had my rabbit fur hat on and clean clothes smoking my Stogies and about 3 of these gypsy women came to me trying to tell my fortune.  

I told them I was charged to come from my Pay things I bought at the mine store, and I told them that the foreman was in that brick building to the south about 100 feet and they had the money. I let them to the door and opened the first door, the second went in the General Shower wash house for the 200 to 250 that worked there. The second door was there to keep the cold air from coming in from the north side while men were taking a shower. When we entered the first door I pointed to the second door and said, “Go in there. There is where the Boss’s are”.

They were all duck fashion falling over one and another and when they opened the door, some of the men yelled out, “Keep out, this is a man’s wash house”. Some hid behind the locker and others just laughed. The three women almost knocked me down trying to pass me and the language they were yapping I’ll never know. And I presume if I would have known what they were saying I would have wanted to slap them down. They went to their wagons where men were waiting for them and left at once.

One time at Uncle Charlie’s, on the Winslow and Arthur road, Uncle lived in a nice country frame home-had a nice garage-where he worked on his own cars. He knows just the thing to do and they run fine. I was there and he looked out the front of garage and said, “Look, gypsies”. Three women jumped out of a covered wagon and came to the garage saying, “Tell your fortunes, tell your fortune, you are lucky”. Uncle’s hands were greasy and black since he was working on his car, he made a little run for them and he said “I fix cars and usually have to fix a few women every time I get a chance and here is where I am going to fix 3 right now”. It was funny to see them run for their wagons. He was rubbing his greasy hands together when he started after them and it worked.”

Museum of The Coal Industry

We will travel hundreds of miles and use up those hard earned vacation hours to explore places, when we tend to ignore the places to explore in our own backyards.

The Museum of the Coal Industry  in Lynnville, Indiana is one such place for me.  For years people kept telling me I had to go there.  I always said, I will, I will.  Because it’s just right there I will do that someday.  Then more months would go by before I would even think of it again.

My friend Amber and I were out rambling around on backroads one day and I asked her if she would like to see it.  We made the plan, emailed Aja Mason and set it up.  We had about 3 hours to spend there.

I did not realize I would need the entire day to see everything I wanted to see and to hear everything I wanted to hear.

I am for sure going back and it won’t be months from now.

If you are interested in coal mine history you must visit there.  You might see your Grandpa’s name in a ledger showing what he made and what he owed the company store.  You might find your dad’s hard hat hanging on the wall.  You might see pictures of your ancestors or old home places that no longer are around.  You might see gadgets that open your eyes to how hard the work was for a coal miner in the old days.

Aja knew my interest was in the Muren area and he had this photo for me.  It was from an album titled “Bad Hair Days”.   And believe me, some of them were!

A coal shovel flooded in at the Muren Mine Pit. 1940.  I bet there was some cussing this day.

When you have one of these lovely spring or summer days open and feel like doing something close to home I suggest you check it out.

http://www.lynnvillecoalmuseum.org/

I bet if you emailed Aja ahead of time and told him when you would be there, who and what you were interested in, he would have something picked out to show you when you got there.

He knows the history of everything there and he can tell a story to go along with it.

It’s well worth the visit.

Old Muren House

This old frame house is still standing in Muren.  I think my folks lived there at one time.

When we were on the way home from Mammaw’s funeral,  Dad said there were several houses on this hill that our family lived in.  Doesn’t it look a lot like the house my Mammaw is standing in front of when she was a just a young girl?

My Mammaw, Barbara Katherine Bolin when she was a young girl in Muren Late 1920s or early 1930s.

One of the last old frame houses still standing in Muren.

Connections, Logtown, and Minters Family

I have just been tickled to death at all of the connections being made on the blog.  Old friends getting back in touch and lost family finding family.  That happened for my family through the blog at Christmas time.  I will tell more about that story in May when we all meet for the first time.  It starts in France and ends up here.

You should be sure to read the comments on the blogs also.  You might find someone you know.

I  received this comment from M. Howard Edwards of California.  He is a descendant of the Minters family that I blogged about here.   He came across the blog and wrote me about his family history.

“My widowed great grandmother, Eliza Anne Liggins Cole married miner Charles Henry Wells of Patoka, Pike, Indiana about 1916. She was born in Lyles Station, near Princeton.

Her daughter, Emma Zovella Mae Cole, had a daughter fathered by Mearl (Murl?) Merritt Minters in 1921 but was not permitted to marry him by his family by her account.

By the 1930 census Mearl had relocated to Indianapolis with his mother Belle Minters as had my grandmother Zovella with her mother Eliza Wells. I have found it interesting that Belle consistently was listed in the U.S. Census as a widow despite Martin Minters being alive and well in Pike County all along. Mearl married Elsie Pepper in Indianapolis in 1935, but he had no other offspring.

I particularly thank you for the pictures of the headstones you shared in the article you wrote on Martin Minters. I took pictures of the same headstones when I was visiting along with pictures of the church. When I picked up my suitcase at the airport here in California, I found that the locks were broken, and it had been taped shut apparently by a baggage handler. Of all the stuff in there the only thing missing was the roll of film. I guess God intended for me to discover your blog over thirty years later.”

Before the genealogy meeting tonight I went through the old articles and found one to go along with some photos taken last fall that I wanted to post.  Thanks to my friend Amber Ball who lives over by #7 Road  for sharing her photography skills when we are out rambling on the backroads and talking about all that has been lost.

This stand of trees growing up in the old foundation is all that is left of the Mt. Hebron Church in Logtown.

The front steps of the Mt. Hebron Church in Logtown.

Foundation blocks of the Mt. Hebron Church in Logtown.

The front steps of the old Mt. Hebron Church in Logtown.

The pulpit from the Mt. Hebron Church in Logtown is still around.

July 30, 1920  ~ Pike County Paper

The new colored church at Ayrshire is nearing completion.  The colored folk there started in more than a year ago to raise the funds to build a new church, the congregation having outgrown the old church building.  They first planned for a concrete building but later changed the plans and made  it a frame structure.  The new building is completed except the inside finishings.  While the new church building is being erected the hall is being used as a place of worship.

July 29, 1888 ~ Pike County Democrat

Entertainment at the Mt. Hebron Church in Ayrshire.

A Love Story

With Valentine’s Day near at hand, while out on my porch I can’t help but gaze at the porch next door.

It’s not the porch of the neighbors who live in that house now that I see.  It’s the porch of the elderly couple who lived there when I first moved into my house that I see.

It is a love story to share.

I would while away countless evenings on their porch listening as Jess Nelson told stories about running a store in not the best part of Evansville and later his store in Winslow.  I listened as Virginia Nelson told about trying to help the kids that they knew were having a hard time.  When they ran their store in Winslow my dad was one of those kids.  He said at every store in town sandwiches cost a nickel but at Jess’s store they were free.  Virginia would tell of working at Browns Grocery and how she enjoyed the high school kids coming in.  She would lay out rows of bread and start smearing on the ham salad at lunch hour.

They were so proud of their children and grandchildren.  Virginia would bring out what she was sewing for this one or that one.  Jess would proudly wear a tshirt sent to him by his daughter from her work.  They had many stories to tell.  Virginia tatted while sitting on the porch.  She offered to teach me that lost art, but we never got around to it.

I used to drive Virginia to the doctor often.  She would say life had not always been easy.  But things always worked out.

Then came the days Virginia became ill.  She had to move to the nursing home.  After all of their years together Jess was lost without her.  When the kids were not available, we neighbors tried to take him over to Petersburg to visit with her.

It ended up I started a delivery to a drugstore in Washington about this time.  Each weekday I could pick Jess up around 11:00.   He could visit with Virginia and eat lunch with her.  Then I would pick him up on my way back.  I came to look forward to those rides with Jess and listening to more of his stories.

When I asked their daughter if she would approve of my writing this, she shared a sweet story with me.

“Toward the end of Virginia’s life and her stay at Amber Manor, Jess was beginning to have some intestinal problems and was taken to the hospital one night.  The next day he was unable to go with Rose on the daily trip to the nursing home to visit Virginia.  This set off panic in both Jess and Virginia!!  The doctor thought Jess would be able to come home after another day in the hospital and Virginia was distraught at the nursing home and complained loudly about not being able to see her ‘Sunshine Boy’.  Jess was becoming more agitated at the hospital where he was finally given a ‘substantial’ sedative.  In checking with the nurse, his daughter was told that he finally had gone to sleep – for five minutes – and she then caught him walking down the hall carrying his shoes.  He was on his way to see Virginia.

The next day Jess was released from the hospital and his daughter took him directly to Amber Manor to see Virginia.  When they entered the nursing home, a couple of the attendants saw them and accompanied her and Jess to Virginia’s room so they could see Virginia welcome her ‘Sunshine Boy’.  With her eyes not even open she knew Jess was there and sat upright with outstretched arms to hold him.  It was quite a sight.”

Those were bittersweet days as Virginia faded more and more.

My heart would break a little each time we left there as Jess would lean over to give her a kiss.  He would smile for her and pat her cheek, saying “I love you, sweetheart.”  He never once failed to do that.

Some days on the way home he would cry.  Some days I would cry along with him.

Virginia passed in June of 1999.  Jess soon joined her in January of 2000.

Jess’ birthday was on Valentine’s Day and he was never bashful about telling this to everyone and reminding them to send him a birthday card on Valentine’s Day.

I hope you all have a Happy Valentine’s Day with your loved one.

Jess & Virginia Nelson on their wedding day.