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Last But Not Least
The Memoirs of Kenneth-Merrill Bolender
Part I
Let me explain my choice of title and cover picture for this book. Being lastborn of the six children of my parents, Herbert and Gertrude Bolender. I was also the lastborn grandchild of John Jacob and Sylvia Bolender.
In the picture I hold our youngest and ‘supposedly’ last grandchild, Sydney Elise Bolender, daughter of our youngest and last son, Roger Merrill Bolender.
Thus the title, LAST BUT NOT LEAST, seems to me a good title for this book of my memoirs. As you read these stories of my childhood, you will come to understand why I chose this title.
Part I
Chapter 5 Marriage and Beginning Family
To Parts I & II
Several years ago, I was reading Psalms 71 when verse 18 was quickened to my heart. I was impressed by David the Psalmist's burden to ask God for the opportunity to declare to his generation how God had been faithful to him and to the generations that were to come. I decided there and then to begin writing my Memoirs.
Psalm 71:18 “…when I am old and gray headed, O God, do not forsake me, until I declare Your strength to this generation, Your power to everyone who is to come.” NKJV
In the Introduction to my earlier book, SHAKING THE BRANCHES (A Genealogical History of the Bolender and Shinkle Families), I bring out what I think is the need for us to leave a written legacy for our children and our children’s children. I stated:
As we study past history, we find it was common practice in ancient civilizations to hand down stories of ancestors and forefathers to descendants for many generations. Ancient tribal peoples told and retold tales of their ancestor's courage, determination, and stamina when faced with difficulty and challenges. The Old Testament is full of such stories, which even today enable the Jewish people to feel like they know their forefathers even after millenniums of time. It was considered a duty to share the stories, thus leaving a legacy for their children and children's children.
Today, how many grandchildren even know their grandparents, or their aunts and uncles? Many of us live in historical vacuums unable to name more than a generation or two of our ancestors. At times I have felt disappointed in my lack of knowledge concerning the genealogy of my family. It's hard to feel like I know ancestors who left no diaries, letters or journals. With only names and dates and not much else, how can we know the stock from which we descended? I strongly wish they had left a record of their lives for our generation to read and enjoy. This could provide families and friends with a link to history, which can be cherished for generations to come.
In today's world we stay in touch with our loved ones by telephone and E-mail. Few write letters and rarely does anyone keep a diary. We preserve no written record of all the ups and downs of our lives and the times in which we live. How will our grandchildren and their children ever know from whom and from where they came, or the condition of the world in our time unless we record our memories in a form they can keep?
The Memoirs are in two parts with the Part I containing the first eight chapters. I have been waiting for years now, to complete writing the entire book. Recently, I began to realize that if I wait to complete the entire book, many of my generation would not live to read it. So, I decided to write Part I and make it available to my immediate family and first cousins. This was printed and distributed in 2002.
Part I, basically covers my memoirs from birth up to 1970. Part II will cover my years from 1970 through 1988. Several chapters are yet to be written.
John Ashcroft wrote a book, LESSONS FROM A FATHER TO HIS SON. In it he made the suggestion, "It is important for a father to pass on his strengths, wisdom and insights, but also to model how a son should handle weaknesses, failures and insecurities."
I believe that my generation will be able to relate to some of the Christian heritage, blessings and struggles that have shaped my life. To my sons and their families it is my desire to share with you the rest of my life story, Part II, TO LIVE, TO LOVE, TO LEARN, TO LEAVE A LEGACY.
LAST BUT NOT LEAST
Birth to Age 6
During the great depression and before World War II, a baby boy was born on September 7, 1936. The setting was a 120-acre farm in southern Ohio, 35 miles east of Cincinnati, four miles north of the Ohio River, and one mile from the small country town of Felicity. In a white two-story farmhouse, Gertrude Bolender gave birth to her sixth and last child. The attending physician, Dr. Cecil Barber, assisted in the home delivery. Herbert, the father of the household, came in from working in the fields and took time to look the new son over. Being assured the baby and mother were all right, he returned to the fields. They named the baby Kenneth Merrill Bolender. The middle name 'Merrill' became the name used by the immediate family. However the grandparents, aunts, and uncles continued to use the first name 'Kenneth.'
I, Merrill, have been told that an apple tree grew outside the house overhanging the 'little bedroom' where we children were born. For years I’ve told people that I was born under an apple tree. Their faces display a puzzled look until I explain. One of my siblings claims that this tree was gone by the time I was born, so I’m not really sure. I jokingly say that it is scriptural. Song of Solomon 8:5, reads, “Under the apple tree I roused you; there your mother conceived you, there she who was in labor gave you birth.”
I am the lastborn grandchild of John Jacob and Sylvia Hill Bolender. Being the 'baby of the family,' I often struggled to overcome feeling like the 'least' of my brothers, sisters, and cousins. Truth is, I may be the last but I certainly am not the least.
My earliest recollections as a baby are dim. I remember being held by the young girls at church including my older sister, Wanda. I remember being in a white metal baby bed. I have pulled the nipple off my bottle leaving a large wet spot in the middle of the bed. I am sitting there playing with ‘Crazy Ikes’ (toys similar to Tinker Toys) that were kept stored in a green metal cake cover.
Our farmhouse had an attic and three upstairs bedrooms. The main level had two additional bedrooms, an all-purpose 'square' room, a 'library' (a parlor used only for Sundays and special occasions), a family 'long' room and the kitchen. A pantry stored household items and a cellar held our home canned goods such as fruits, vegetables and home canned beef. Homemade jams and jellies also lined the shelves. The family room had a wood-burning space heater, rocking chair, couch, dining table, cupboard and a pendulum clock on its own wall shelf.
Carbide gas jets, with occasional use of kerosene lamps, were our source of light. Imagine a home with no electricity, no running water, no indoor bathroom, no television, no air conditioning and no microwave.
In winter the only rooms in the house we heated were the family room and kitchen. The kitchen had a wood burning range where the meals were cooked in winter. A water reservoir on the side of the stove heated water for cooking and washing. In warm weather Mom cooked family meals on a Magic Chef gas range. The 'Pyrofax Company' delivered the gas in a tank truck and pumped the gas into two tanks outside our back door. The tank stood outside the kitchen near the generator where the carbide gas was produced for our lighting. Not until after WWII did we get electricity through the Cincinnati Gas and Electric (CG&E).
On winter mornings Daddy would rise early and build a fire in the family room stove. The rest of the family hurriedly dressed in their unheated bedrooms and then gathered around the stove to get warm. The room would still be cold so you had to slowly turn around in circles to warm yourself evenly. If you stood still, you would freeze on one side and burn up on the other.
Plenty of quilts, comforters, and blankets were needed for our cold bedrooms. These covers were handy for ducking my head under when I became afraid of the dark. An old-fashioned clothes iron, heated, wrapped in towels and laid in the foot of our beds, kept our feet warm at night.
Two pictures hung on the wall in my bedroom, one of Abraham Lincoln with his manly beard, the other of George Washington with his white shoulder-length hair. Until I learned better, I thought they were husband and wife.
Our toys weren't many but we enjoyed what we had. One of my favorite toys was a metal airplane. I used to leave it lying on the floor where others might stumble, so Daddy put it on top of the cupboard where I couldn’t reach it. One day I was rocking the cupboard back and forth trying to get the plane to fall off so I could play. Suddenly the plane came down with a crash right on my little toe, almost detaching the toenail. A trip to the doctor was necessary to finish removing what the airplane failed to remove. When asked what happened to me, I am told that I replied, "An airplane landed on my toe."
Our front yard had four large maple trees, two weeping birch trees with white bark, and a tall Norway spruce. We mowed the big front yard with a reel type mower, not easy to push. A long sidewalk ran from the front of the house toward the road. In warm weather we children would play sidewalk games such as, 'Mother May I' and 'Go Go Stop,' the caller conveniently sitting on the steps of the 'long' porch. On summer evenings we caught lightning bugs putting them in glass jars with holes punched in the lids. These made pretend 'kerosene lanterns.'
One of my childhood heroes was Rev. Morris Clay, our pastor at church. He was the strongest man I had ever seen. He could throw a rock farther than anybody. He picked me up and threw me high into the air and caught me. In the later years of his life, Rev. Clay told of his visits to the farm and of me with my pockets full of treasure such as marbles, pieces of string, pretty rocks, and maybe a toad.
Tent revivals often took place during the summers of my childhood. C. B. Fugett was the evangelist when I went forward to the altar to commit my life to Christ. My Dad had helped lead C. B. Fugett to Christ many years before. This was a fulfillment to a scriptural principle, “Cast thy bread upon the waters, and it will return after many days.” Ecclesiastes 11:1.
Our family car was a secondhand 1936 dark blue Ford V-8, purchased soon after I was born. Having eight members in our family meant I always had to sit on somebody’s lap. No child-safety seats in those days. Sixteen years later, I learned to drive in that same car. By this time the steering was quite loose and the brakes required twice the normal distance to stop the car. But I learned.
As a child, I was always excited when the 'huckster wagon' made its weekly stop. The 'huckster wagon' was a bus loaded with groceries. The driver let us step inside to see what was available. I remember seeing crates tied on the side with live chickens inside. I can remember reaching through the cracks and pulling feathers out to make the chickens squawk. A penny would buy bubble gum with an inside paper liner covered with cartoons.
For our 'worldly' entertainment we had an old cabinet model Zenith radio with big tuning knobs. We could hear squeals and static until a station was tuned in. Clip jumpers connected to a large six-volt car battery sat out of sight on the bottom shelf inside the back of the cabinet. When the battery was getting low we would have to sit very close to the cloth-covered grill to hear the speakers. On Saturday evenings after our 'weekly' bath, we tuned in the 'Grand Ol Opry' from Nashville, TN. I still remember hearing Minnie Pearl come on the stage saying, “Howdyyyyy! I’m just so proud to be hyar.”
Sunday was always a special day for our family. We rose early, ate our breakfast, put on our best clothes and piled into the old Ford for our one and one half mile drive to the church in Felicity. Usually we would be among the first to arrive, so one of our family rang the bell. The church was a simple white frame building with a belfry on the roof. The belfry housed a bell with a long rope that came down through the ceiling. At the end of the rope was a knot that hung about four feet from the floor. Sometimes I got to ring the bell. The bell had so much momentum that it lifted me off my feet, much to the amusement of those watching.
Returning home from church, Mom prepared the main meal of the week. Sunday dinners might be fried chicken, beef roast, or country fried steak. Side dishes might include mashed potatoes, gravy, corn on the cob, sliced tomatoes, and homemade cottage cheese. We also usually had homemade bread or biscuits with homemade butter. Dessert might be apple, peach, cherry, blackberry pie or cobbler with rich 'Jersey' cream over it.
One Sunday morning when I was about four years old, a friend and I took our Sunday School offering money to a nearby grocery store during Sunday School. We purchased some fig bars and returned to the church, where we were sitting on the front church steps eating when someone spotted us. Do I need to tell you what happened when I got home? Daddy didn’t spank us often but when he did, he made it count. He never punished us in anger and I never doubted his love for me in the process. As I look back, I’m thankful for the discipline he gave.
Daddy lived out the principles found in the Bible that reads:
“He (God) said, ‘My son, don’t be angry when the Lord punishes you. Don’t be discouraged when he has to show you where you are wrong. For when he punishes you, it proves that he loves you. When he whips you it proves you are really his child.’ Let God train you, for he is doing what any loving father is doing for his children. Whoever heard of a son who was never corrected? If God doesn’t punish you when you need it, as other fathers punish their sons, then it means that you aren’t really God’s sons at all--that you really don’t belong in his family. Since we respect our fathers on earth, though they punish us, should we not all the more cheerfully submit to God’s training so that we can begin really to live.
Our earthly fathers trained us for a few brief years, doing the best for us that they knew how, but God’s correction is always right and for our best good, that we may share his holiness. Being punished isn’t enjoyable while it is happening--it hurts! But afterwards we can see the result, a quiet growth in grace and character.” Hebrews 12:5-11
Living Bible
Being the youngest, I was a target for a lot of teasing from my brothers and sisters. As a result I became a big teaser. One day when the hired men were picking apples in the orchard, I slipped up to Frank Schubert’s ladder and shook it, then ran away. This man was known for his gruff personality and he scolded me for shaking his ladder. But I came back and kept it up amid repeated warnings. Suddenly, to my surprise, his ladder crashed to the ground breaking off tree limbs and causing apples to scatter all over the ground. Frank was shaken up but apparently unhurt, except for his pride. He took a small limb from the tree and I stood still while he gave me a good thrashing. I knew that I deserved it. When Daddy found out about it, he also gave me a good lecture and whipping. I never shook ladders again.
Our farmhouse was more than a house. It was a home. Mom and Dad were not the openly affectionate type, but I never doubted their love for me. Our home was a refuge, a warm safe place. I don’t remember ever hearing my parents argue or raise their voices at each other. Being youngest I had all these brothers and sisters to play with and relate to. We had our quarrels, but as we grew older we learned to settle our disagreements peaceably. Looking back I can see they were all good role models for me. Each had areas of strength.
Each day was a new experience. On baking day Mom baked enough bread, rolls, pies, cakes, and cookies to last all week. Throughout the house the aroma of fresh baked bread permeated the air. I remember watching her make pies, preparing the crust to perfection. My thrifty mother used apples that were not suitable to sell to customers who came to the farm. She would take an apple and cut away the bad parts making the best stewed apples, applesauce, apple butter, jelly and pies.
Mom worked so hard without modern conveniences that sometimes her fingers bled. This mostly happened when she was sewing patches on our well-worn clothes. She sewed on buttons and darned our socks to keep our clothes in good repair.
Laundry day was an all day affair. The washing machine was located in the washhouse just outside the kitchen. A one-cylinder Briggs and Stratton gasoline engine powered the washer. It sounded like a power lawn mower. Hot water was heated in a large elongated copper tub on an old range that burned wood or coal. Mom used homemade lye soap that came from the lard of a butchered cow. But in the washing machine she would use store bought 'Rinso.' The washer had a wringer composed of two white rubber rollers that squeezed the water out of the clothes. The clothes were then hung on a back yard clothesline or in the attic if the weather was rainy or snowy. Sometimes in cold weather the hanging clothes would freeze stiff as boards. But the clean clothes would usually come in smelling sweet from the sun and soft from the breeze.
We seldom had new clothes. My wardrobe consisted of hand-me-down clothes outgrown by my brothers. Some were second-hand and some third-hand. By today’s standards we might be considered poor, but we never felt poor. Everyone else in the area lived about the same way.
All six of us children shared the same toys. We had one bicycle and one wagon. I received a BB gun for a gift when I was old enough to be trusted with one. It is the only toy to call my own that I can remember and it was so precious to me that the gun and I were inseparable.
I did not talk plain until I was about school age. One day I ran into the house hollering, “Mom! Nake! Nake!” Mom didn’t understand what I was saying so she followed me out to the yard. There on the sidewalk was a small snake that I had trampled to death with my bare feet.
One day my oldest brother, Arnold, and I were riding home from town in the '36 Ford. Arnold was driving and I was on the passenger side, when suddenly my feet and legs began to feel uncomfortably warm. I looked down and saw flames coming through the firewall. Panicking, I yelled as I opened the door and bailed out. The car was making a sharp left-hand turn as I sailed through the air, catapulting head over heels and landing in a heap of soft grass. Not even a scratch! Arnold quickly ran to a well in a nearby farmyard for water and extinguished the flames. Later the wiring had to be replaced on the engine before the car was back in operation.
I had only one pet during my childhood, a black shaggy dog that I named Teddy. He was a cross between a collie and a chow and unfortunately had all the negative qualities of both breeds. The collie nature caused him to chase cars and to run off to town for hours at a time. His chow side made him mean to strangers. We couldn't seem to break him from chasing cars. One day he was chasing a motorcycle when the driver caused the motorcycle to backfire in his face. It was a long time before he had nerve enough to chase vehicles again. Another time, some customers came to the farm to buy apples. They saw Teddy and wanted to buy him for $5.00. My Dad thought that I should sell him. With some persuasion from Daddy, I decided to take the money and the customers took the dog. My brother Ralph had his eyes on my $5.00, so he offered to sell me his fishing rod and reel for it. We made a deal and I had my first fishing outfit! The next day the people brought Teddy back, saying that as soon as they arrived home Teddy ran into the house and bit the cook. They wanted their money back. Dad realized that selling Teddy had been his idea, and since I had already spent the money, he gave them back their money. He let me keep the fishing outfit and Teddy. Ralph got to keep the $5.00.
'Evening devotions' was a family tradition. Daddy gathered us together in the family room or library and read a portion of scripture from the family Bible. We would discuss its meaning and then pray together. Sometimes more than one of us would pray. Sometimes each of us would take turns praying a short prayer. These times around the family altar left a lasting impression on me. In childhood, I learned spiritual lessons and respect for God that I still benefit from today.
After family altar was over, Daddy would open the pendulum clock and wind it. He kept a bottle of Vicks salve in the clock that he pulled out. He took a matchstick and got a gob of Vicks and snuffed it up each nostril. This helped his breathing due to a nasal problem possibly caused by breathing the vapors of the chemicals used in the fruit orchards. Our family would chat for a while until time for a good night's rest.
Ages 6 to 12
I was naturally shy. My first day in the first grade turned traumatic. Stepping off the school bus, I walked across the schoolyard feeling engulfed by strange faces all around me. Suddenly way across the playground I spotted the familiar face of a friend that I remembered from Sunday School. I ran right over to him thrilled to find someone I knew. Grabbing him and holding on tightly brought momentary feelings of relief from fears of being all alone among strangers, never even realizing that I had grabbed his hair in the process.
The school bell rang and we all gathered in the first grade room. The teacher, Mrs. Cann, was introducing herself to the class when from across the room there came the sound of sobbing. Mrs. Cann walked over to see who was crying. It was my friend whom I had so aggressively greeted. He sobbed out, “Merrill pulled my hair!” The teacher gave me a stern lecture in front of the whole class. I felt ashamed of myself, but also felt misunderstood. I had meant no harm.
A few days later, I came into the classroom with my hat and coat on. I hung my coat in the coatroom and proceeded to my seat. The teacher spotted me and in a mean voice told me to sit in the coatroom until I had learned my lesson. I must have been in the coatroom for 30 minutes or so before it dawned on me what I was doing wrong. I was still wearing my hat indoors, which of course, was against the rules.
I was one of the youngest students in my class as my birthday was near the beginning of the school year. I was less mature than most of the class, leaving me vulnerable and insecure. Looking back, I realize being the youngest in my family and the youngest in my class left me with feelings of inferiority, which would plague me through 12 years of school and into college.
Life on the farm provided a healthy environment in which to grow. The rural countryside with the white house, white barn, and buildings nestled among apple orchards, cornfields, and the pasture was pleasant to see. The pasture field was lush green with a small 'crick' running through it. There was a fishing pond and a small woods where the family went for picnics. Dairy cows grazed the grassy areas and drank from the pond.
I spent many hours of my childhood at that pond. My first fish I caught with a long stick, a piece of string, and a bent pin for a hook. I often came home with a string of small catfish and sunfish. Sometimes I killed frogs with my B.B. gun. Mom fried the fish and frog legs. The fish were full of bones but tasted good anyway because I had caught them.
Early morning brought new sounds on the farm. First, the rooster crowed announcing a new day. In the distance the cows in the pasture mooed to be fed and milked. Later in the morning, the hens cackled as they finished laying their eggs in the barn or hen house. I remember gathering the eggs in a basket or a straw hat. At evening time, with a background of night sounds, we kids would sit in the swing telling stories. Frogs croaked in the distance, katydids and crickets chirped, and maybe the screeching of an owl could be heard coming from the woods.
A variety of scents and odors filled the air throughout the seasons. In the spring there would be the fragrance of apple blossoms. Later, the odor of spray materials permeated the air as various applications were sprayed on the trees to kill the aphids, fungi, etc. Behind our house was a path that led to our outhouse. When the wind was just right, you got a whiff of its odiferous fumes. Our outhouse was more luxurious than most peoples were because it was a two holer. In case of emergency two could share the experience. You didn’t want to linger long there however, in either summer or winter. In the summer, the smell was strong and in the winter it was freezing, especially with your pants down. For toilet paper, we used pages out of an old telephone directory or a Sears's catalogue.
Spring brought the aroma of freshly plowed fields as the ground was prepared for planting corn, soybeans or oats. In early summer we enjoyed the smell of new mown hay. But making that hay was hard work: cutting and raking and hauling it to the barn to be put in the overhead haymows.
In caring for the 80 acres of apple orchards, Dad had to spray eight different applications of insecticides and fungicides. A lot of work went into caring for the orchard all year long. Dad was a member of the “Fruit Growers Association.” He continually learned new and better ways to produce choice fruit. Hired men helped to help pick and process the apples for market. We sold some of the fruit at home to regular customers who came back year after year to buy our apples, cider and vinegar. Most of the apples were sold wholesale at the market and commission houses in Cincinnati. The apples that were not of good enough quality to be sold were loaded on a truck and taken to a commercial cider mill. We shoveled the apples from the truck into a hopper where the apples were ground to a pulp. The pulp was put into a press and the juice squeezed out through a strainer and into the 50 gallon wooden barrels on our truck. We brought the cider home and put it up into gallon jugs and placed corks in the tops. Cider that was not sold one season would be sold as vinegar the next season or used for making pickles. I always enjoyed the treat of going to the apple storage building for a fresh glass of cider and a juicy apple for a mid-day snack.
Up until the 1950’s, Dad milked the cows by hand. Sometimes I sat and watched. We had several cats that lined up along the wall waiting to be fed. Dad would pour milk for the cats into tin cans. Cats were more than pets. Cats were used for rat and mouse control on the farm.
During my early school years, Dad allowed us to take the necessary money for our lunch in the school cafeteria. We took it from a small dark green utility box, called the 'till,' in the cupboard on our way out the door. Temptation was very strong, and sometimes, I yielded and took more money than I needed. A load of guilt began to build as time went on. One day, I was under such strong conviction that I decided to confess what I had done and ask for forgiveness. Dad was milking the cows. I hung around trying to muster enough courage to tell him. I paced back and forth while Dad moved his bucket from cow to cow. When Dad started to milk the last cow, he looked at me, asking, “Merrill, is there something on your heart that you would like to talk about?” I started to sob and told about my theft of money from the cupboard. Dad listened very calmly. He told me he regretted that there wasn’t more money to give us for extra spending. He shared an incident about another person who had committed a similar thing and had made it right. Dad forgave me. It was like a mountain lifted off my shoulders. Uncontrolled joy welled up in my heart bringing release in tears and laughter.
As a growing child I experienced many bumps, scrapes, and bruises. If I bumped my head, Mom would rub cocoa butter on it. I think the butter did neither good nor harm. Her gentle loving touch helped the healing process. Home remedies were used for many aches and pains. For acid stomach, we dissolved baking soda in water and drank it. For upset stomach, we drank peppermint tea. For constipation, we took castor oil. As I remember, castor oil was also used for punishment or a mild threat: "If you don't finish emptying your plate, maybe you need a dose of castor oil." It tasted terrible, but if you held your nose it wasn’t quite as bad. We drank sassafras tea for enjoyment. Mom said it was good for thinning your blood in the springtime after a cold winter when your blood got thick.
One of the treats we looked forward to in the summertime was homemade ice cream. Friends gathered at our house or we went to theirs. The ladies mixed up the ingredients. The men cracked the ice, poured the salt and cranked the freezer. I liked taking turns cranking the freezer, but when I was smaller it was usually my lot to sit on the freezer to keep it from tipping over. We ate crackers with our ice cream. Tasted pretty good!
I was alone much of the time while older brothers and sisters were busy with chores and other activities. I spent many hours climbing the trees in the yard. I hung by my legs, swung by my arms, and chinned myself, building up my arm and leg muscles. Much time was spent hiking through the woods, along the creeks and through fields, where I first began to develop my love for nature.
Dad was faithful to look after the needs of his parents, my Grandpa and Grandma. During my childhood years, Dad would go to Felicity each evening for an hour or more to visit and care for them. It was a sacrifice to be away from the family, but he never complained.
My grandparents owned the farm where we lived until about the last ten years of my Dad’s life. Daddy, therefore, was a tenant farmer most of his productive years. By the time he did begin to buy the farm, it was too late in his life to ever hope to pay off that mortgage.
Once or twice a year Dad would have a neighbor come to help butcher a beef. I watched in wide-eyed wonder as the steer was shot between the eyes. It instantly fell to the ground dead. They would then slit its throat draining the blood into a container. Hooks with ropes attached were placed in the hind ankles and the steer was raised to a vertical position. The stomach and entrails were taken out followed by the removal of the hide. Eventually the beef was sawn into four quarters, which were hung in a cool safe place for a few days to age properly. The beef was then taken to a commercial frozen food locker to be cut up into steaks, roasts and hamburger, then packaged, labeled and quick-frozen. Before we owned a freezer it remained in the locker in Bethel twelve miles from the farm. Whenever we were passing through we would stop and bring a few packages home. For the first couple weeks after butchering, our family ate the extra parts like liver, brains, sweetbreads (I never did know what these were) and heart. But the tongue always went home with Grandma and Grandpa. I never had the 'privilege' of tasting the tongue.
Annual events taking place Thanksgiving or Christmas were family get-togethers. Dad went to town to pick up Grandpa and Grandma and bring them to the farm. When they arrived, they were helped out of the car and Grandpa was led to an easy chair. He was blind and partly deaf, so required special attention. The Poes arrived soon after with Uncle Dow and Aunt Josie and the boys in their big shiny Roadmaster Buick. They all piled out of the car carrying containers of food for the dinner. Lots of talk, sharing stories, jokes and recent happenings filled the air with fresh supplies of funny stories to be heard and be told. There was always a fresh supply of funny stories to tell. Uncle Harry, Aunt Bertha and cousins, Warren and Juanita, came when they were within driving distance, which wasn’t often. They pastored churches in Kentucky, Tennessee, Missouri, etc. as well as spending a few years on the mission field in the British West Indies.
Living on a farm made it possible for us to grow most of our food. When we needed chicken for a meal, Dad caught a chicken by the feet and held its head on a wood chopping block located in the back yard. Using an ax he chopped off the head holding the chicken while it bled. He then plunged it into a bucket of scalding water to loosen the feathers. After plucking he held the chicken over a fire to singe the pinfeathers. Mom's part was to take the chicken into the kitchen, remove the entrails and cut the chicken into parts. Fried chicken was a part of our diet on the farm.
One day while Dad was away on business, Mom asked if I would kill a chicken for her. This was a new challenge for me as until now I had only observed the procedure. Nervously I held the chicken by its feet, bringing the ax down just as the head and neck slipped sideways. So I cut the head in half leaving the mortally wounded chicken squawking loudly. Feeling sorry for the chicken, I wanted to put it out of its misery in a hurry. I swung the ax again cutting off the rest of the head, all the neck, and part of the breast. This unnerving experience convinced me never again to attempt killing more chickens.
Outside the kitchen door we had an underground cistern fed by rainwater from the roof of the house. A crank pump brought up water for washing dishes and clothes, and for our weekly baths. A spring fed hand dug well was located just outside our front door. This well had a wonderful reputation for having the best drinking water in the area. A tin cup hung by a nail on the side of the house. Everyone used the same cup: family, visitors, everybody. Today I have this cup among my keepsakes, a treasured family heirloom.
Once an animal fell into the well polluting the water. Dad had to remove the pump, climb into the well and clean it out. Soon we were once again drinking from the well.
John Jacob, our Grandpa, was an interesting individual to say the least. He wore a mustache, had a glass eye, was about 98% blind in the other eye, and was very hard of hearing. He was feeble due to his double hernia and back problem. All the years that I knew him, he spent most of his day sitting in an easy chair in his living room. At times Grandpa would get out-of-doors but this became less frequent as he grew older. I remember one day, when I took him fishing down at the pond. I baited his hook, helped him swing the line into the water, and watched for the bobber to go down. I told him when the fish were biting and he pulled in the fish. He chuckled with satisfaction that he could still catch fish. I also used to take him to the hickory trees where the nuts had fallen to the ground. Kneeling down he would reach around finding nuts to fill his basket. Taking nuts home he would carefully crack them and pick out the kernels to be stored in glass jars. For a base to pound on he used a 'tailor's goose' (something like a clothes iron). He placed this upside down on his lap with the handle between his knees then used a hammer to tap the nuts. Almost always they came out in perfect halves. Grandma used the nuts in making cookies, cakes and cranberry salad. Her sugar cookies were kept in a brightly colored floral ceramic cookie jar. Every cookie had one hickory nut pressed into the center.
I remember Grandpa as an excellent gardener. He used burlap material around his knees held on by large rubber bands made from auto tire inner tubes. Then, in spite of his blindness, he would take his hand tools, get on his hands and knees, and work with the soil and plants. His vegetables were as good as any I have tasted.
I never heard Grandpa utter a negative word or complaint. When people greeted him asking how he was, he would always respond, “I’m fair to middling….” When asked about his blindness, he'd refer to it as a 'light affliction,' quoting St. Paul, "For our light affliction which is but for a moment, worketh for us a far more exceeding and eternal weight of glory." II Corinthians 4:17. Even in his handicapped condition, he never lost hope or his expectancy of going to be with the Lord in a land where there is no more suffering, sorrow, or death.
Grandma possessed a strong personality but she also had her handicap, being totally deaf. Communicating with her involved writing on a clipboard containing recycled paper. I used to spend a considerable amount of time looking at her shell collections. She had missionary friends all around the globe who collected and sent her seashells. Sometimes I had the opportunity to watch her make creative works of art from her boxes of loose shells that she collected over the years. She had a glass display case in the living room that was the center of attraction for family and visitors. It was very professional looking and could easily have been a museum display.
Growing ornamental plants and flowers was Grandma’s contribution to the landscaping of their yard. One greatly fancied plant (called a 'snake plant') was the centerpiece of her yard. This beautiful exotic had an offensive odor that kept us children from coming too close. Grandma was a perfectionist in caring for her yard and plants. Sometimes she would hire us to do her yard work. I often got frustrated with her because she made us do things over and over until she was completely satisfied. Everything had to be done exactly to her liking. Though frustrating at the time, it trained us for excellence.
Grandma was a marvelous cook very precise in everything. Cranberry salad was one of her specialties. I remember one Christmas time she used a couple bags of cranberries. She informed us that one bag had 204 berries while another had only 199. We had a good laugh but she never heard us. Grandma made the best sugar cookies I’ve ever eaten. Another specialty of hers was gingerbread cookies. Sometimes she would make large gingerbread boys and girls for us. They were about 12 inches tall with cinnamon red-hot candies for the eyes, nose, mouth, and buttons.
Reading the scriptures was one of Grandma's favorite pastimes. Many hours were spent immersed in the Word. By later years she had read her Bible through dozens of times. One time, she told me how the Lord changed her life and gave her a joy and peace that the world never gave and the world can’t take away. She got so happy while sharing that she was overcome with emotion, shouting for joy.
I have fond memories of meal times at home on the farm. When eight family members gather around the table, a lot of sharing takes place along with enjoying the food. Sometimes after the rest of the family was seated, I would have to crawl under the table to get to my chair. A lot of talking went on which made it hard for me to get any attention when I wanted food passed. One rule in our home was that you couldn’t sing at the table during a meal. To get attention I sang “God bless America, pass the potatoes, please!” Everyone got quiet and looked at Daddy to see if he would scold me. Daddy caught on to my trick, grinned, and made sure the food was passed to me.
I vividly remember the last spanking I received. I must have been about 10 and my brother Ralph about 14. The two of us were helping Dad hoe weeds in the cornfield. Ralph and I began to throw clods of mud at each other. Dad saw and gave us a warning to stop. Before long we were at it again. This time he warned us in a more solemn tone of voice. We hoed steadily for maybe fifteen minutes more when I suddenly spied a large moist hunk of mud way too tempting to resist. Dad's back being momentarily turned gave me my opportunity so I aimed the mud with a big heave toward Ralph, but the hunk of mud slipped out the side of my hand hitting Dad square in his back. Need I say more? Wordlessly he walked to the edge of the nearby woods. Taking out his pocketknife he cut a limber sapling from under a tree. I voluntarily bent myself over. Dad never stopped spanking till the switch was in pieces. He never got angry with me. I knew I had earned my consequences and stood forgiven. Remembering this experience I have understood over the years how the Heavenly Father disciplines me with consequences after times of disobedience. I suffer but also know the Father’s forgiveness. Someone has said: “Blessed are the fathers through whom their children see God.”
When World War II broke out, I was too young to be aware of the impact on the world. It affected our daily lives when my brother, Arnold left home. First he went to St. Louis to build cargo planes for Curtis-Wright. Later he was drafted into the U. S. Army, serving in Europe toward the end of the war. Ration stamps limited the amount you could purchase of certain needed products. Gasoline was rationed, but because we were farmers, we were exempt. Sugar was rationed so that there was ample supply for the men serving in the war.
At school we had air raid drills. At the sound of the alarm bells all students and faculty would file down to the basement, lining the walls, kneeling down with our hands protecting our heads. Only after many years did I come to realize the devastation that took place across Europe and Asia.
One of my favorite pastimes was riding my bicycle. A gravel road ran between the house and barn. Sometimes our big tomcat would lie on the gravel drive, sunning himself. I headed for the cat with my bicycle and enjoyed watching him jump up and run at the last second. One day, the cat must have been sleeping deeper than usual. I headed my bicycle toward the cat, but to my surprise, the cat just lay there. The wheel of the bike struck the big cat, my bike stopped with a sudden jolt, and I flew over the top of the handlebars and landed face down on the gravel driveway. The cat fared better than I did. My arms and knees were skinned badly. I never tried that again.
One of my favorite grade school teachers was Mr. Oscar Sontag, an older man who walked with a distinct limp. The most interesting part of the day was when he told ghost stories. We learned a lot from him because he told us history in the same exciting fashion as he told the stories.
My sixth grade teacher was an 'old maid' (meaning she was unmarried). She was a good teacher but a stern disciplinarian. One day she caught me chewing gum in class, which was against her rules. She warned me by telling me to remove the gum. But a day or so later she caught me chewing gum again. This time she called me to the front and told me to stand facing the class with the gum stuck on my nose. Soon the class was roaring with laughter. The teacher just stood there at the side of the room. My self-esteem died a terrible death that day. A lonely funeral with me the sole mourner. Standing there felt like an eternity. Not until years later did I come to realize to what extent this incident had affected me, both then and in years later. In Part II of this book I will tell the 'rest of the story' and how healing came for this wounding.
Early one summer morning our family and another family from church went blackberry picking on the Ohio River hills. This other family had three girls, the oldest near my age. That day we began a friendship that grew quickly until I was 'head over heels' in love with her. One unusual feature about her was her one blue eye and other brown eye. Of course this didn’t bother me. Soon after this my brother Ralph became interested in her and won her heart. Crushed, I thought my world had ended. Feeling so betrayed, I went into a 'lovesick tailspin' emotionally. I started writing her notes desperately trying to win back her love. In one note I included words from a country and western song I had copied by listening to my brother Arnold’s music record over and over. Unfortunately Arnold had somehow intercepted that note before I got it delivered. He began teasing me in front of my whole family. The words went something like this:
“I don’t want your green-back dollar, I don’t want your silver change.
All I want is your heart darling, just say you’ll take me back again.”
Arnold went around singing this in my presence causing me much embarrassment. After a few days I got used to the teasing. And anyway I was losing interest in my 'girl friend.' Shortly Ralph also lost interest in her. Then she began to write me letters, but I never answered them. Sometime later I forgave her but we were never boyfriend-girlfriend again.
Christmas was a special time for us. Dad, carrying his ax, took us kids to the woods. We would pick out a cedar tree, chop it down and drag it back to the house, setting it up in the library. Then we covered it with various ornaments collected over the years. We strung popcorn and cranberries on thread and garlanded the tree. We also had silver and gold foil streamers adorning our tree. In preparation for Christmas morning we would hang up a sock on the wall near the wood stove. The girls had it over on us because they wore the long brown stockings (more room for treats) but we always got equal amounts anyway. On Christmas morning, Dad rose early, fired up the stove, and filled the socks with all kinds of goodies. There was always hard candy, chocolate drops, an orange, peanuts in the shell, and peanut brittle. One Christmas Eve our oldest brother Arnold came in late from his hunting. Seeing our five stockings hanging there he removed his hunting boots, took off a smelly hunting sock and hung it at the end of the row. When Dad came out Christmas morning and saw this he decided to play a little joke of his own, putting only a large onion in the dirty sock. Arnold hates onions, so this became a family joke. We still kid Arnold about it to this day. Of course Dad also gave Arnold his fair share of goodies, so there was a happy ending that Christmas.
From Age 12 to 17
Junior high school was big step for me. We changed classrooms every period with different teachers for every class, just like my older brother and sister in high school. I felt grown up because of this. That year I began to play trombone in music class. Two of my cousins and two of my brothers had played trombone before me, so it was my favorite instrument at the time. I played in the band at least five years except for when it conflicted with basketball. The band held concerts in the park, marched at county and state fairs and traveled to music contests. This gave us free entry into many events including basketball games.
About age 13 I started to drive the tractor for my Dad helping with the farm work. I drove while Daddy sprayed the fruit trees. I plowed the fields, mowed hay and hauled apples from orchards to the barn.
Being old enough to use the telephone was a privilege. We had an oak wall phone with a crank on the right side and a cone shaped receiver on the left. To place a call we would turn the crank for a few turns while holding the receiver to an ear. The operator would come on the line saying, “Number. Please?” I would give the number '94' that was our grandparent’s number. In a few seconds, a voice would say; “Hello,” and the conversation would begin. Our number on the farm was number '8,' as it was one of very first phones in the area.
One Sunday afternoon our family drove to Cincinnati to hear Billy Graham preach. Billy was just gaining prominence with his crusades and ‘Hour of Decision’ radio broadcasts. He became my hero. I secretly wished that someday I could do what he was doing. Later in life I discovered that God didn’t expect me to be a Billy Graham. He only wanted me to be Merrill Bolender. According to His plan.
My oldest sister Wanda enrolled at Olivet Nazarene College in Kankakee, Illinois. Her major was Home Economics with a goal of teaching public school. Money was scarce so Daddy let her plant beans in the rows of field corn. The corn stalks provided support for the beans to vine. Then the beans needed to be picked before the corn matured for harvest. This meant lots of work for her, so she paid me to help plant and pick the beans. This long hot laborious job was made bearable by the songs we sang as we picked. Wanda worked her way through college with this summer financial boost, along with housework and childcare she performed during the school term. One summer I picked 100 bushel of beans at 35 cents a bushel, making a total for the summer of $35.00. Dad sold the beans for her at the market in Cincinnati along with apples from our orchard.
During my high school years I learned to hunt with my brother Ralph. We hunted squirrel, rabbit and quail. The first time I ever killed a squirrel, I almost wished I'd never killed it. But after that it came easier.
Fur trapping was another sport I picked up from Ralph. I borrowed his steel traps after he was finished with his short career at trapping. I trapped for mink, but never caught one. I caught skunk, possum and several muskrat. A school buddy and I trapped along the Ohio River, catching large muskrats. We would skin them, removing the pelts and stretching them on boards specially shaped for that purpose. I sold them to fur buyers that paid as much as $5.00 per pelt. When I figured my profit and loss at the end of the year I had just broken even, a learning experience for me.
At age 16, I took my driver’s test in the 1936 Ford, as I wrote in an earlier chapter, the brakes were mechanical causing the car to travel a distance before stopping. One winter morning as I was running my trap line with the Ford, I rounded a curve out on a country road. Standing right square in the middle of the narrow road was a large horse. I applied the brakes with all my might; the car coasting to a stop with the horse just inches away. Who was more relieved, the horse or me?
My Dad had a family policy that we had to be 14 years old before we could drink coffee. You can probably guess what each of us children did on our 14th birthday. Yes, we started drinking coffee whether we liked it or not. It was a mark of coming of age.
A funny thing happened on Grandpa’s 91st birthday. Most of the family, aunts, uncles, and cousins were there for the celebration. After a large pitch-in meal came a cake with 91 candles. Someone began lighting the candles, which were closely placed together. As more and more were lit, the heat began to build until other candles started to ignite all by themselves. Suddenly, all the candles burst into flame creating one large flame covering the entire top of the cake. By the time they got the fire blown out, the top of the cake was covered with an even layer of red candle wax, the wicks strewn around like shredded coconut. After the scare we had a good laugh. After removing the wax we all ate our fill of ‘flame’ cake. We had venison that day for a main course.
During my younger years I read avidly: novels, mysteries, and biographies of great people. Inventors, explorers, presidents, you name it. This afforded me many hours of entertainment, an escape from what I perceived as a boring childhood. I learned a lot as well.
My favorite subjects in school were science, biology, chemistry and physics. I made top grades in all these with the exception of physics. My math skills were not strong, especially in algebra. Maybe I didn’t study as diligently as I might have. My dreams were to be a Chemical Engineer with Dupont or to be a FBI agent. Looking back I am thankful these particular dreams never came to be realized. Our school colors were red and white. Each year in high school I played in the band earning a big white letter “F” standing for Felicity High School. I wore it on a red wool sweater. I wore a flattop haircut until my senior year when I let it grow out. I remember getting my senior class ring, gold set with our school emblem.
One day in Chemistry class we were working with mercury. We had been instructed to remove our class rings because mercury will react with gold causing damage to the rings. So I dutifully removed my ring off stowing it in my pocket. We enjoyed rubbing silver dimes with the mercury to make them shiny. At the end of the class I dropped the mercury dime into my pocket forgetting I had put the ring there. A day or so later my ring began to turn chalky and the set fell out. We determined that the mercury from the dime damaged the ring. To my surprise the ring company replaced it free of charge.
One day Mr. Paul Cornelius, my science teacher, asked the science class a difficult question. Everyone in the class had answers that sounded logical. I came up with what I knew to be the correct answer, although it actually sounded illogical. The teacher saw his opportunity for some fun, so he questioned me about my answer. He kept talking about the matter making my answer seem more absurd. Finally, after he succeeded in making the class roar with laughter at my ridiculous answer, he then told the class I was right and the rest of the class was wrong. This brought relief to me, but embarrassment to the rest of the class. I believe the Lord used this situation, preparing me for the future when I would stand alone, bearing misunderstanding in following His will.
After passing my drivers test and obtaining my license, Daddy allowed me to drive the truck loaded with apples to the market in Cincinnati. This really challenged me.
When I was about mid-way through high school, Daddy worked out a deal where he allowed me to own 25% of the dairy herd. This included about ten milk cows, electric milking machine, use of the stable, and the milk house where the milk was stored in a refrigerated cooler. I was to run the business doing all the feeding, milking twice a day, cleaning the stable, etc. This provided me income during my junior and senior years.
At age 16, soon after I got my license, I bought my first car from my brother Leon. It was a 1939 green Ford. He agreed to sell it to me if I would help him overhaul the engine. I paid him $250.00 cash. We overhauled it replacing cast iron pistons with aluminum pistons. This increased the horsepower 10%. I used this car all through high school and into my first year of college.
One day I decided to replace the muffler. I had the car jacked up using a fender jack, but I neglected to put safety blocks under it. Leon was engaged in work nearby in the tool shed. As I was shaking and twisting the old muffler trying to pry it off, the jack slipped letting the car down pinning me in the chest. Painful! Leon let out a yell thinking I may be dead. He ran over, jacked up the car and dragged me out by my feet. The car had come down just far enough to pin me, but not far enough to crush me except for the skinned place on my chest. I sported a scar for the next few months.
The very first week I owned that car I drove it into the town limits of Felicity. A drizzling rain caused wet streets. As I rounded a curve the car went into a complete 360-degree spin, leaving me exactly in the right lane facing the direction I had been heading. This experience gave me appreciation and respect for wet streets in my future driving.
My junior year my brothers Ralph and Leon sold me their well-worn combine, a Case self-propelled harvester for wheat, oats, or soybeans. They had used it for two seasons. I paid them $1,000.00 for it. I did custom work for the farmers in the area who had been their clients in the past. I spent more time making repairs then I did combining in the fields but I made all my commitments. I paid for all my gasoline, repairs, my helper, and the purchase money in one summer. It was about shot when I was finished with it. I sold it for $350.00 that was clear profit. Making the repairs taught me to use tools, make parts, and to do welding. This experience would prove to be invaluable for my future career.
It took two people to operate the combine, one to drive and one to sack the grain, tie up the burlap sacks, and dump the sacks down the chute. I hired a young man named Jimmy. He worked for me most of the summer. He was a polite and rather quiet fellow, but he looked sad most of the time. I had an impression the Lord wanted me to witness to Jimmy, to share the good news of a new life found in Jesus Christ. Being shy, I kept putting off talking to him about this.
Weeks went by until one Sunday; I couldn’t get Jimmy off my mind. After dinner I drove out in the country to his home. As I pulled into the driveway, I noticed there were no cars in the driveway. The blinds were pulled in the windows, as I walked to the door. I knocked on the door. No answer. I drove back home. Later that evening I went to church and as I walked in, a friend of mine asked, “Merrill, did you hear about Jimmy?” I responded, “No.” He said, “This morning they found Jimmy out in the barn hanging by his neck.” He had taken his own life. I regret to this day the fact that I had put off sharing the Lord with Jimmy. This was a mistake that I never want to repeat. As a result, God has used me to lead several people to him over the years. I will share some of these stories later in this book.
Charlie was a farmer that attended our church. He had a granddaughter living in Kentucky, who came each summer to visit for a few weeks. Her name was Barbara. She liked me but I wouldn’t pay much attention to her because she was quite chubby. In my junior year, she came for a visit. She had grown about 6 inches taller, was slender, and very beautiful. I decided right then that I did like her and wanted to ask her for a date. I mustered up my courage and gave her a call on the telephone. She was staying at her aunt and uncle’s house. She invited me over for the evening. I washed my car, took a bath, put on my best suit and tie. I drove over to the home where she was staying. I knocked on the door. She greeted me inviting me in. I walked into the living room as she offered me a large comfortable looking rocking chair. Her aunt and uncle were out in the kitchen so we could have some privacy. I sat down in the big chair and leaned back. As I leaned back in the chair it just kept going back until my feet went into the air and I rolled backwards onto the floor. Barbara couldn’t restrain her laughter. Her aunt and uncle heard the commotion and came running in just in time to see me picking myself up off the floor. We all had a good laugh. After all that, the evening went very well.
On our next date, I was driving her home after dark. My tire went flat out in the country miles from nowhere. Barbara held the flashlight as I changed the tire. Friends from the church drove by and saw us. They teased us about it for several weeks.
Next summer I drove down to Kentucky for one visit with her. That turned out to be our last contact. She attended the University of Kentucky, later marrying a football coach for the University of Alabama.
Our senior class play was a mystery ghost story. I had a leading part. My name was ‘Buzz.’ One climatic fast moving scene was in a park around a picnic table. A young man and lady were picnicking when the lady sees a ghost. She screams and faints, while the young man grabs the thermos jug, removes the lid and splashes a small amount of cold water in her face to revive her. At this moment, I come running onto the scene, shouting, "What in the..." Before I could finish my statement, the other fellow cuts in with some excited words about some ghost the lady was supposed to have seen. We practiced the part well and had it down pat.
We scheduled two performances, the first one for student body (K-12) and faculty and the other for the public. The auditorium filled with students and teachers. The curtain went up. The play proceeded smoothly leading up to the climatic scene at the picnic table. Unbeknownst to me, just prior to this performance some practical joker in our class had filled the thermos jug up to the brim with water. The scene in the park was going as planned, the couple enjoying their picnic. She looks up, sees the ghost, screams, faints, just as he grabs the thermos jug. In his excitement he overlooks that the jug feels heavier. He just removes the lid and drenches the young lady leaving water all over the floor. At this juncture I rush in shouting, “What in the...?” My feet hit the puddle sliding from under me. I go scooting on my seat clear across the stage. The audience explodes laughing along with everyone on stage. Several minutes pass until everybody regains composure so we can resume the play. Next evening comes the public performance. Our parents were there. We made sure the thermos contained only a small bit of water in it. All went well this time.
I was elected class president three of my four years of high school. In my senior year, I attended the Junior-Senior Prom Banquet. It was the custom for the junior class to host the senior class. The banquet tables were all set with everything in place for a formal meal. In the center of each place setting was a glass of juice for the beginning course. As senior class president, I stood and gave a speech of appreciation to the junior class for their hospitality. Being a bit nervous, as I sat down, my arm brushed the juice glass in front of me, knocking it right into my lap. Snickers rippled through the room as junior girls brought towels to dry up the spill.
Twenty-four graduated that year of 1954, 18 girls and 6 boys. A few weeks following our graduation, Frank Williams, was killed in an auto accident. The remaining five of us male graduates served as pallbearers at his funeral.
Before moving to the next chapter, let me fill you in on my brothers and sisters.
Eleanor was two years older than I was, so as a result I related more to her than my other siblings. When the cherries were ripe in the early summer, we used to sit in the cherry tree eating cherries and telling stories. We would make them up as we told them. I believe that this practice is the reason that I have an above average knack for telling stories. Eleanor studied piano, practicing by the hour during several years of my youth. As a result I developed an appreciation for classical music. When I was about 16 years old, Eleanor coaxed me into practicing singing solos. We spent considerable time on “The Lord’s Prayer”, “The Holy City”, etc. As a result, I developed a voice that opened doors, over the years, to sing at churches, weddings, and funerals. Eleanor was valedictorian of her high school senior class. She went onto Olivet Nazarene College, majoring in Music Education and a minor in Piano.
My brother Ralph was four years older than I was. We fished and hunted together. We swam in the old water tank near the barn. He was handy at woodworking that he learned in Woodworking class at school. Ralph decided to raise rabbits. In a short time they multiplied into many rabbits. He housed them in hutches along the end of the barn. He became busy with other activities and talked me into caring for them. I still can’t figure out how I got talked into doing so many things for him. Daddy bought a second car when Ralph was in high school. It was a 1941 Chevrolet, which was sold as Army Surplus (material left over from the war).
Ralph had a minor accident crumpling a fender. Late one evening, he and our brother Leon were repairing it. Ralph was under the rear of the car removing the gas tank. When he was disconnecting the line gasoline ran down his arm soaking his jacket arm and pant leg. He was using an electric extension light. Suddenly, the tank slipped and fell on the extension light breaking the light bulb, engulfing the car in flames. Ralph quickly crawled from under the car and stood up, with flames blazing several feet in the air from his jacket and pants. Leon came running to find something to extinguish the flames. He tried to wrap a piece of cardboard around Ralph, but it was too stiff to shut off the oxygen feeding the flames. Leon then remembered a water puddle in the drive in front of the tool shed. He led Ralph out the door and told him to lie down. He rolled Ralph in the water and the fire was out. The doctor and the fire department were called immediately. The car and the building were saved. Ralph had second and third degree burns over 20% of his body. I was asleep in bed when this happened, and no one awakened me. The next morning, Daddy came to my bedroom, awakened me, and told me the bad news.
Ralph was flat on his back in bed for the next 12 weeks. They had to administer morphine to kill the pain. Eventually, Ralph had to have 150 spot skin graphs on the back of his thigh to hasten skin growth. After he healed, there were deep scars on his hand and leg. Later when he would have been drafted into the Army, he failed his physical exam, because of the scars. After graduation from high school, Ralph bought a dump truck, two bulldozers, heavy-duty trailer, and other equipment. He started an excavation business building roads, clearing land, building lakes, etc. for farmers in the area. One summer, I drove the dump truck for Ralph, hauling sand, gravel, and topsoil. One day, I drove the truck to a gravel pit in Kentucky, to pick up a load of gravel. I loaded the truck and started home, when the State Police stopped me for a weight check. They had me drive up on a portable scale and found that I was overweight. Also, the truck didn’t have a special license for driving in Kentucky. They took me to a sheriff’s office, gave me citations with fines of approximately $150.00. I called Ralph to come bail me out. It was near closing time for the office and they said if the fines were not paid that evening, I would have to spend the night in jail. Ralph drove down with a check to cover the fines. That’s the nearest I’ve come to going to jail in my life of "crime."
Leon is my next older brother, being six years older than I am. About 1944, when Leon was 14 years old, the electric company ran electric power lines past our farm. Leon read a book on, "Basic House Wiring." Leon asked Daddy, “Will you let me do the wiring of the house, barn, and other buildings?" Daddy asked Leon some questions about his plans, and soon was convinced Leon was serious. He told Leon to make a list of materials needed. A few days later when the list was completed, Daddy and Leon made a trip to Sears and Roebuck in Cincinnati. They returned home with a load of wiring supplies. Leon set to work with hand tools and kerosene lights, putting in many hours of work. During the following weeks, Leon wired the house, barn, washhouse, outhouse, chicken house, apple storage, tool shed, etc. Leon set up electric poles and strung wire to the pond in the pasture to a pump for pumping water to the holding tank at the barn. An electrical inspector came and checked all the wiring. He found everything up to code except one switch cover in the barn was metal and he made him change it to plastic. He was amazed at the excellence of workmanship a 14-year-old boy could do, remarking, “The quality of work was better than most electricians do.”
Daddy could see the ability and potential that Leon displayed. In a nearby community, an elderly radio repairman was retiring, wanting to sell his inventory, technical manuals and test equipment. Daddy purchased it all for $200.00, gave it to Leon, and offered him use of a small building to set up shop. Leon began repairing radios for friends and neighbors, until soon he had a business going.
In the expansion of his interests, Leon obtained a manual on watch repairing. These were the days before battery operated watches. Leon purchased a few tools and supplies and began repairing watches
Short-wave radio was a growing interest for Leon. He sent away for a kit to build a short-wave radio set. One day he was in the spare room in the house assembling the set. He stood up from his chair to solder an electrical connection. Mom had just finished preparing a meal and asked me if I would set the chairs to the dining table. I took the chair from behind Leon thinking he noticed that I had taken it. About two minutes later, there was a thud and a loud yell that came from the spare room where Leon was working. Leon had been concentrating on his work and didn’t notice me taking his chair. He tried to sit down in the chair that wasn’t there and fell to the floor. After checking to find that Leon wasn't hurt and his emotion calmed down, we all had a good laugh.
Later, Leon took a test and received his Ham Radio Operators License. He still is active as a hobby today in his retirement years. After the war, Daddy bought a Ford-Ferguson tractor. It was a couple years old when Daddy was plowing in the field and the radiator ran low on water. The engine overheated and locked up. Leon was about 16 by this time. He helped Daddy tow the tractor back to the barn. Leon went to work on the tractor, removing the hood, oil pan, and head on the engine to diagnose what was needed. He called the Ford tractor dealer about ten miles away and placed an order for needed parts to overhaul the engine. They were about to close so they set the parts on the back dock. After dark, Leon drove over to the dealer and picked up the parts and started to work. He worked all night and by mid-morning the next day the tractor was running like a new one. From then on, Leon repaired trucks, cars, and tractors on the farm.
After Leon married, he and Dorothy farmed for Uncle Dow Poe. After a time, they left the farm and Leon joined the Air Force. He studied radio at Scott Air Force Base in Illinois, making very high grades. He eventually went overseas to Tripoli to do high security work. To this day, our family knows very little about his operations there. When Leon was back in the states, he was stationed in California to finish out his last days in the service. He visited an I. B. M. office inquiring about the possibility of working for them in Cincinnati after his time in the service. They informed him that he could fill out an application and take a test there in California, and the results would be forwarded to Cincinnati. Upon arrival at the IBM office in Cincinnati, Leon was informed the job application and test results had been received from California. They said, “You will have to take the test over again, nobody makes a score this high.” Leon took the test over again and made a yet higher score. Leon began a career with IBM as a “Customer Engineer.”
My oldest sister, Wanda is seven years older than I am. Wanda was very tender hearted and mature beyond her years. She was valedictorian of her graduating class. She was industrious in making money for college as stated in an earlier chapter. At Olivet Wanda majored in Home Economics. While working on her Master’s degree in Special Education one summer she took a course on Researching and Writing Genealogy. She did some work on the Bolender genealogy at that time.
Wanda taught Sunday School class at the church. When I was about nine or ten years old, I was sitting in her class one Sunday morning. While her back was turned, I jumped out the window. I was a cut-up in my junior class years. Being the youngest of six children, I got by with more things than my older brothers and sisters. Daddy had mellowed over the years and became more lenient.
The first-born in the family is my oldest brother, Arnold. I wasn’t close to him until he returned from the army. He became my hero. We fished together for bass at Grant Lake. We trapped fish and ran trotlines by boat in the Ohio River. One day I was rowing back to shore, when Arnold kept telling me how to row. I wasn’t doing it like he wanted and began to get irritated at his suggestions. Finally, I said, “If you don’t like the way I’m rowing, you can get out and walk.” To my surprise, he climbed over the edge of the boat and walked to shore. I didn’t realize we were over a sandbar that made the water shallow. Arnold had on his hip boots and didn’t even get wet. He had a good laugh. He still reminds me about it today.
In high school, Arnold was an outdoorsman. He had a coonhound dog with which he spent many a night hunting for coon. Sometimes, he would be out so late that he wouldn’t even go home. He would go straight to school. One night his dog tangled with a skunk. Arnold got sprayed with skunk scent. He went straight from hunting to school, which was more than the teacher and classmates could stand. They sent him home to change clothes. Due to his late night hunting, he became run down physically so much that in his senior class picture, he looked rather gaunt and pale.
After his time in the Army, Arnold went to auctioneering school on the GI Bill. For several years he did auction sales, selling farms, livestock, and household goods. Arnold became an official milk-tester for the county. He collected milk samples from dairy farmers and tested the milk for butterfat content. I helped with the laboratory work, using test tubes, centrifuge, and calipers for measuring the butterfat.
Arnold decided to raise turkeys. He built elaborate pens and ordered several hundred small turkey chicks. Just like Ralph and his rabbits, Arnold soon was making a deal with me to care for his turkeys. Some of the turkeys died but we were able to get most of them to market by Thanksgiving time. I don’t think he made any profit that year.
Arnold began a career in the insurance business and worked for several years in that field. Later, he went to work for Chrysler Air-Temp from which he retired after many years.
Each of my brothers and sisters were my heroes and role models. Their relationship to each other and me helped shaped my life in a positive way.
College and Career
The fall of 1954 found me heading my 1939 Ford northwest on Route 52, on my way to Olivet Nazarene College in Kankakee, Illinois. Eleanor was a junior there having completed two years of study. It was helpful to have a big sister to touch base with.
I purposely arrived two weeks before school started in order to find a job. Daddy was helping Eleanor with her tuition and expenses and could not afford to support me too. I knew I was on my own as far as support was concerned.
Homesickness was something I had never experienced. After about two weeks, the novelty of being away from home wore off. September 7 was my 18th birthday. A card arrived from home in the mail. I was walking down the hall in the boy’s dorm as I opened the envelope. I don’t know where Mom found such a perfect card for the occasion. On the front of the card was a family sitting around a dining table loaded with food. There were five children sitting around the table and one empty chair. When I saw that, I burst into tears, rushed into my room, and fell across the bed and had a good cry. After I released the emotions of homesickness, it was over. I don’t remember having any more problems the rest of the year.