ABOUT WEDDINGS - The Wedding Day

PART FOUR

Crash, rumble, rip--thunder rolled and lightning flashed penetrating the room darkening blinds on the hotel window. Awakening with the shock of crashing thunder and lightning piercing my vision left me stunned for a moment. The phone showed three o’clock am. I pulled back the blind and observed the rain blowing against the window so forcefully that the view into the street was obliterated.  Oh, no, the Wedding!  Like another bolt of lightning, the thought rushed through my mind. They do have a plan B, I’m told, but with limited space and so many guests. Oh, no, it can’t be raining. But it is!

Later, in the morning, Hallelujah, the rain stopped with clearing skies and the promise of a sunny day ahead. Not only that, but the air felt cooler and more comfortable.  The crew rose early with instructions to get an early start on preparation of food for the reception.  And lights had to be strung all over the reception area. They grabbed a quick breakfast and headed for the farm. I had instructions to be dressed in my lavender suit and ready to depart the hotel at 3:00 pm.  I spent my day alternating between the Oklahoma shawl and the wolf story. Tasha and I sat waiting for them at 3:00 pm.

”Where are they?” Tasha lamented, when the clock reached the upward side of 4:00. “I’m supposed to be there at 4:30 for my hair to be done.” “Don’t worry,” I said. “Just expect it to be late.” Not comforted at all by my solution, she began to call on the cell phone. “I can do my own hair,” she said.

At nearly 4:00 pm, they rushed in with frustration written all over their faces. The rain had not caused any problems, in fact, the ground was dry. Okay, so all is well, but why are we late and stressed so badly?  No answer for that question. Stressing just seemed to be all they had left to do.  Mother of the Bride, dressed in her lovely, royal blue tulle dress, added appropriate jewelry and silver shoes, fussed with her wash and wear hair, and moved about the room worrying over that last one thing to do. I noticed how innately she looked the part she must play this evening with a calm exterior, even though she may be breaking apart inside.  Robyn, quickly dressed, looking cute and chic in her white pant suit with pink blouse, began her “we’re late, hurry, it’s thirty-five miles” routine attempting to herd us to the van. The weeks of stress would be over soon.  We arrived thirty minutes late for the Bridesmaid’s hair and makeup “party” upstairs in the apartment above the barn.

Hair falls next to the dress and makeup in priority.  Tammy, dressed for the wedding, worked feverishly to make the attendants beautiful with lovely coiffures, and Mandy applied the makeup.  The girls were packed into the small air-conditioned apartment donning dresses and jewelry (a gift from the Bride), and simply trying to stay cool on this hot afternoon. Tammy, stressed beyond her limit with so many hair-dos to complete, muttered to herself and anyone who would listen about the fact she couldn’t use hair spray.  Nathan, it seems, is dangerously allergic to hair spray.  How do you manage fine, long hair to stay perfect in the Oklahoma wind WITHOUT HAIR SPRAY? But, they all were lovely, and Aunt Tammy survived.  Tasha, although arriving late, “had it her way” with a pony tail wrapped up into a bun, no hair spray needed.

I found a corner where I could sit on my walker seat and observe the busy last minute details.  I marveled at how the long corridor through the middle of the barn had been transformed into a lovely reception area where guests would sign the book and walk out into the bright sunny afternoon to find their place near the arch.  With the garage doors up on both ends of the barn, the area, still under construction with crude unfinished areas, had been covered, walls and ceiling, with soft material of royal blue, mauve, and white; flowers and butterflies were interspersed changing the garage to a mood of magic equal to any wedding scene I have experienced.  Robyn, in her WHITE suit, rushed about helping with last minute wind repairs, armed with a staple gun and duct tape. Courier for the Bridal entourage upstairs, she raced up and down many times.

 Leading from the garage down the incline, the grassy path lined with flat stones formed a perfect aisle for the wedding party. Overhead a few puffy clouds floated in the cerulean blue sky that would greet Heather as she stepped out to walk down the earthen aisle.  NO RAIN IN SIGHT. The decorated folding chairs set up in the level area near the arch were only a few rows deep to accommodate the families of the Bride and Groom. Others will stand for the brief ceremony.

About thirty minutes late, the wedding party gathered in the garage to join the photography session carefully planned before the ceremony to avoid delaying the reception.  With the sun still high, guests waiting, and the Minister present, the party moved to the lower level and posed for pictures, always a necessary, but annoying, part of the wedding experience.  Another glitch reared its ugly head when the men discovered that the carefully decorated Guber (gas golf cart) apparently quit running.

 PANIC! How would they get all these disabled elderly folks down to the front row?  Not to worry! “We can walk,” the group responded with enthusiasm. Mitch Mason, the chosen driver for Guber (Mandy’s high school sweetheart, and currently in Navy pilot training) relaxed with a sigh of relief and agreed he could escort us down the aisle, making sure no one stumbled or fell.

The small, air-conditioned food prep area located on the first floor of the barn bristled with activity.  The aroma of cooking meats and a variety of cuisine floated throughout the reception area.  Nathan’s family and others, who joined to help, moved with the precision of professionals as they prepared the feast to serve the guests.  Remarkable people, with an amazing work ethic made farm life appear easy.

They maintained a thriving tee shirt business, cared for the ever-present chores of a farm, cultivated and preserved the farm product, and with a vision for the future, planned expansion.  However, Terry and Nora Turner extended their love for their only son, Nathan, and devotion for his chosen one, Heather, to proclaim, June 18, 2016, as a never to be forgotten red-letter day in the history of their Oklahoma farm.  Life stood still while memories were documented and embedded into family hearts.

The photography session ended, and the Bride and her entourage disappeared into the apartment for wind repairs. Tammy gritted her teeth and did her best without hair spray.  “Now, its time, girls,” the Mother of the Bride declared, following one last look at her lovely daughter. With a quick hug, she swept from the room to take her place downstairs. Clever at restraining emotion, Tracey stood tall, elegant, without a tear, awaiting the ceremony.

Next, ABOUT WEDDINGS – The Ceremony

ABOUT WEDDINGS - The Rehearsal

PART THREE

Friday morning, June 17^th, the day before D-Day, everyone hit the floor early with predetermined assignments at the farm.  Tracey’s stepmother, Gloria, her sister and brother-in-law, Tammy and Steve Dee, who arrived from Chicago the evening before, Robyn, and various other relatives, who were already staying at the farm, had a hard day of labor ahead.  They left soon after breakfast at the hotel.

Tasha remained with me, although she slept half the day. What a day! My best laid plans were to set up an already prepared blog for Father’s Day.  With optimism and proud of being ahead of the game, I turned on the computer to post the preset blog only to find it had been infected by an ugly virus – probably because the hotel shared unsecured service.  Not usually a problem, but it found me today.  Google would not accept the Father’s Day blog. In fact, the entire internet was confounded by the virus.  Disappointed and also aware that I could not safely work offline on edits I had promised to have completed for my writer’s group, my day fell deeper into disgusted disillusioned disarray. 

So – I had started knitting a white shawl when we departed New Orleans.  I had already tagged it my Oklahoma shawl, but now with so much time, two whole days of computer withdrawal, I could really make progress on the shawl.  After walking the floor for thirty minutes, trying to mentally work out a way to fool the virus, I gave up, closed the computer, settled down to knit, and listen to Fox News.

Anyone with common sense knows after a couple hours of news of any kind, your head begins to spin.  I needed something to do.  Remembering a story I had started, I decided I could risk my own writing offline on the sick computer. After all, if I created it once, I should be safe to reconstruct it again if the computer ate my story. However, at my age that’s a really optimistic view to consider.  Deciding to take the risk, I worked most of the afternoon on a story about wolves for young boys.  Very entertaining to say the least, and time to prepare for the rehearsal soon rolled around the clock.

Tracey and Robyn came through the door later than planned, hot, tired, and lamenting the amount of work still to be finished before 7:00 the next day.  Ready to go, I waited with patience while they disputed the likelihood of catastrophic events that could occur.  It seemed the cattle had escaped through an open gate creating a rousing roundup that accounted for only two of the three animals. One was still at large. But, with her forever optimism, Mother of the Bride insisted, “It will be all right.” In my mind that settles all dissention.  Just get into your jeans and bug spray, and let’s go.

Mother of the Bride proved to be right.  The decorations were coming together with charm and beauty. The tables, set up under the barn’s permanently attached cabana space with dirt floor, stood out with their cloths and citron candle arrangements. Seating for the rehearsal seemed adequate.  The rustic archway, on loan from friends and decorated by Heather and Tracey, stood at the designated space with yards of tulle and flower arrangements in Heather’s chosen colors, purple, blue, mauve, and white butterflies decorating its frame. Enough chairs for the disabled old folks sat at the bottom of the semi-barren hill waiting for the rehearsal.

 

The outdoor chapel, if we can imagine that scenario, consisted of the space on an incline that led from the barn door downward to where the archway stood.  Stones laid by the young folks lined the area that became the aisle for the Bride.  A chapel with the sky for the ceiling, the Oklahoma countryside for its walls, and the ever- present wind for conditioned air. Amazingly beautiful image for making wedding memories.

With the sun still high, the Minister arrived, and the plans began to fall in place.  Several of the elderly folks were not expected to walk down that incline to the level seating. So the gas-powered golf-cart, nicknamed Guber (a contraction of golf cart and Uber, of the ride-sharing business) with an assigned driver escort would drive each of us to our seats.  With this action completed, the rehearsal began.  The Best Man had not arrived from a distant place and a Groomsman was missing, but the rest went according to plan. With everyone assured of their part in the event, the rehearsal ended as the moon rose over the archway giving anticipation for perfection the next evening.

Following the plan, pizza arrived just in time for all the hungry wedding party to congregate under the cabana. By this time, the sun had disappeared, and other relatives (Heather’s Aunt Nancy and cousins from Idaho) along with other distant guests had arrived.  Like any reunion, the family mingled rehashing stories and enjoying the tales of the past.  I heard Terry telling others the bull had been found.  He lay resting at the gate waiting to get inside.  So much for the fear the bull might crash the wedding.

 Heather, cute in her lacy bridal top, flower circlet head piece, blue jeans, and cowboy boots weaved through her guests with the charm and poise of the lovely young woman she has become.  No longer a child, she promises to be an asset equal to none in the environment she has chosen.  Nathan, a tall, handsome, appealing young man with courage to take risks will take her hand in marriage and together they will challenge the future. They have much in common: their love for music (both majored in music with exceptional talents), their love for nature and living near the land, and their devotion to each other. Tomorrow they will say their vows.

Excitement ruling the evening, everyone, tired from the day of labor and with more to do in the early morning, loaded into the vehicles and again made the thirty-five mile, forty-five minute drive back to civilization (as Tasha said repeatedly).  As we looked to the moonlit sky, dark shadows, known as CLOUDS, could be seen gathering in the distance.  No, those just can’t be rain clouds.

Later, folks, The Wedding.         

ABOUT WEDDINGS - BBQ TONIGHT

PART TWO

It’s Thursday morning, bright and early, as evidenced by the sunlight penetrating the room darkening blinds on the hotel window.  I pulled them back to look out on a small community situated on a plain as level as the floor. Across the way, near enough to walk stood a Walmart and several other well-known retail stores.  Not exactly abandoned by the contemporary culture as I had been led to believe before arriving here.  But then, I do remember the ride across desolate country last evening.

We had breakfast in our room, and the others prepared to leave for the farm, a forty-five minute drive.  I had the day to rest and do some chores which I had chosen to bring along with me.  The wedding party would return for me at 4:00 pm to join them in a BBQ being hosted by the groom’s family at the farm. Guests were arriving by the hour, some staying at our hotel and others with relatives living near the farm.  At 3:00, my family returned, tired, dirty, and full of adventures to relate. After quick showers and casual dressing with jeans and boots, they faced the ride back to the farm.

 They worked all day cleaning the area for the reception, preparing food for the evening, decorating the reception area, and becoming acquainted with the farm animals.  Between 60 and 80 guests were expected, and the nervous Mother of the Bride reassured herself that it would surely all come together in three days.  She greeted her parents, Dennis and Gloria Lange, who arrived that afternoon, and we all climbed into vehicles bound for the farm. 

Soon all signs of community disappeared, and a straight, long, rolling-hill terrain roadway spread before like a ribbon rippling over the countryside.  With the sun still high at 6:00 pm, we drove between pastures with cattle grazing on prairie grass extending to infinity on both sides of the road.  A few groves of trees appeared here and there, and in the distance a windmill farm rose into view with arms rolling top speed in the warm summer wind that always rushes over the face of Oklahoma. Mid-way to the farm, we passed through a small village that boasted of a post office, a tiny city hall, a church or two, and a few houses.  No stop signs or signal lights.  Few vehicles, not much need for traffic control. 

At last, we arrived at the farm after negotiating several turns on dirt roads. Humorous to listen to the frustrating directions confronting the modern technology trying to determine how to find a road that is three miles west of the Oak tree on the corner of Farm Road 54.  The post office can find the Turners – what’s wrong Siri? We arrived in time, everyone seeking a restroom at once. Between two residences on the farm, they had three rest rooms – so all is well, at least for now.

The farm stretched over rolling pasture, much of the land still heavy with vegetation, although several acres of hay were mowed leaving the scent of newly cut grass in the wind.  The huge red barn of metal construction stood on a knoll above the farm house suggesting its importance as the hub of the farm activity.  Several small structures supporting the farm operation and housing the animals nestled near the barn area. 

Built in the picturesque barn fashion of two story center with single story extensions on both sides, the barn will serve as housing for the retail tee shirt business the family presently owns.  The second story features an apartment, livable, but still under construction, that will serve as Heather and Nathan’s home.  Frugal and wise in their decisions, they will make a lovely home to serve them for some time.  Their future plans include the development and operation of a craft oriented business, Lumberjackie, already active with a website, LumberjackieLLC@gmail.com.

With garage doors on both ends, the bottom story center is open area with cement floor.  Tonight the space is devoted to serving a sumptuous BBQ dinner. With decorations for the wedding partially complete, the practical farm family pushed aside the chores for tomorrow and hosted the evening of fun and food for a large gathering of family members arriving for the event.

Young family members fed and played with the farm animals.  Being a young farm just starting the venture, most of the animal life is also young.  Two small bulls being raised for breeding kept the guests entertained, along with a heifer, several hogs and piglets, mules, and guinea chickens strutting around the area ignoring the guests. A gas motorized cart entertained the young children who loved driving through the pasture for just the pleasure of driving.

As the evening progressed, in spite of the citronella efforts to deter insects, the food invited the flies to plague us while we tried to enjoy the BBQ.  Even the windy evening could not discourage the insect activity. Heather and Nathan mingled with their guests taking care to speak with each one.  I especially commend them for the courtesy and thoughtfulness of remembering my gift and personally thanking me, and I suspect they shared the same maturity with other guests.

With everyone tired and the promise of a long hard day to continue preparations for the wedding, the group dispersed as a beautiful full moon bathed the farmland in silvery light.  Not a cloud in the sky, optimism continued to reign as the bridal party nervously worried about the weather.

Groans arose as we climbed into the van for the thirty-five mile, forty-five minute return to the hotel in Woodward.  Now, the desolate ribbon of highway stretched before us bathed in ghostly moonlight, the only sound that of “Siri” trying to direct us through the winding dirt roads that led back to civilization. As we pulled into the portico and unloaded the van, we were met by others arriving for the wedding.  Tomorrow is rehearsal and all preparations must be completed.

Next, Part Three, The Rehearsal. Hang in there, folks. It’s a long-winded story.

ABOUT WEDDINGS

Over the years, I have experienced many weddings. The first being my own in 1952. Since that time, the nuptial event has touched my life in many ways.  The latest being the Wedding of my adopted granddaughter, Heather Morice, and it is with pleasure I wish Nathan and Heather Turner the best as the couple begin their lives together.

My part in their wedding began with a journey to western Oklahoma, a formidable task at my age. We left early (for us anyway) at 9:00 am with the day’s destination to be Paris, TX.  Imagine a van load of wedding gifts (the cache from a Bridal Shower of a few weeks earlier), a lovely young woman (my granddaughter, Tasha) anxious to drive and well-equipped with electronics (iphone, ebooks with X-File stories), and my daughter, Robyn, with only the thought to keep up her classes for the Masters’ she has resolved to complete within this year.  Add to this scene all the paraphernalia needed for a wedding, in which all three of us had a part.  Crowded to the hilt, stressed to the limit, and a long, hot, road ahead, we climbed into the old van (assured by the mechanic, but not guaranteed that it was road-worthy) and began the journey.

“Only about 500 miles to Paris,” Robyn said, as she leaned back with her notes and computer to work on the last phases of the course facing her.  Tasha relaxed behind the wheel looking fresh and searching for a coffee shop with the eagle eye of the young.  I tried to relax with my knitting at my side in the jam-packed space.  Looking forward to six days of hotel living, I insisted upon too many toys, but they graciously accommodated my trappings without too much objecting.  Later, I heard that Tasha said,”Mommo (that’s me) and Maggie, Mandy’s, (the Maid of Honor and Heather’s sister) dog, were the heaviest travelers.  It seemed that Maggie’s baggage consisted of a huge dog food bin, her bed, dishes, and box of toys, and mine consisted of normal baggage, a hat box, a computer bag, a medicine bag, a knitting bag, and a folding walker. I admit, I never travel light.

But, I digress.  We made Paris later than expected after a long, hot ride with intermittent rainstorms to slow progress, at least a dozen stops, and surging stress from all sides.  The hotel room, crowded but adequate, felt great.  To be honest, I slept most of the trip listening to X-Files, a seven-hour story that droned on with adventure.  Entertaining, but so predictable that I could take twenty-minute sleep breaks and not miss any of the real story. 

Next morning, we left early (for us) and set the Google Maps destination for Woodward, Oklahoma, by late afternoon. One adventure after another, we doggedly searched for coffee shops.  One is remarkable, located in a small town in Texas, not sure where.  A typical western style, wooden floors, cultural décor on every open space on the walls, colorful local cowboys enjoying coffee mid-morning (I wondered about the status  of the ranches round about), but they had the modern iced-coffee Tasha craved to keep her focused for driving.  I asked for tea. Now, you would think that would be simple. Too many choices – I chose wrong. One swallow and I dumped the rest of the $5.00 cup.  Northeastern Texans apparently don’t care for hot tea.

Back on the highway – WOW, do we ever need tending to our infrastructure!  I could only think of Mark Twain’s comments. Riding in a stage coach is likened to “a cradle on wheels.” Believe me, our roads, as observed from the back seat of a fourteen-year-old Dodge van by an 82 year-old-lady, represent rather vividly what I can imagine that “cradle on wheels” ride must have been across the hills and plains of Louisiana, Texas, and Oklahoma.  My bones ached dramatically by “dark-thirty” as we traveled, the driver swerving often to avoid “bad roads.”

Oklahoma, a new experience for me, is beautiful, rolling hills, intermingled with miles of level plains, stretching before the observer.  Greener than expected, the terrain has experienced heavier than normal rainfall recently.  Amazing to me were the acres of windmills, or wind-generators, as some would call them, rising like silver, monstrous, towers of constant movement glistening in the sunlight across the plains of mid-Oklahoma.  I thought of my first view of oil derricks in southern Texas as, in 1948, my family drove through for the first time. Ugly, with their black creosoted wood structure, they rose like a blight on the otherwise pristine horizon. Gratefully, the oil industry conquered that era with more visibly acceptable equipment.

In talking with local folks, Oklahomans are divided as to the wind-generating dialogue. Many believe the wind power, along with other resources, is the future for energy.  However, with many years of research behind, the program remains questionable with growing costs, danger to the wildlife environment, and the vast amount of space required to produce power.  Oklahoma hopes to have a program in effect by 2017 to generate 15% of the State’s energy requirement.  Not the most glowing report considering the negatives that accompany the windmill.  Even so, I thought they were unique and beautiful rolling against the Oklahoma sky.

We made many coffee stops, one a truck stop with a huge teepee structure that could be seen for a long distance, reminding the traveler of the prominence of the Native American population, the Shawnee especially at this location.  As we climbed from the van, Tasha, looking back, exclaimed, “Mom, the car is falling apart!” Investigation revealed the stop-brake light had broken and hung by a wire to the van.  The, exceptionally well- equipped for this remote area, stop became critical at this point as it provided the duct tape Robyn needed to hold the van together.

We arrived in Woodward, dark-thirty, on Wednesday, hungry, tired, stressed, but happy to check into the Holiday Inn Express that stood like a beacon just off the main highway. A lavishly accommodating, huge space, two rooms and a kitchen, with excellent customer service.  I unloaded my baggage into the dresser drawers in the spacious room, set up my computer, kicked off my shoes, and made myself at home. THE ADVENTURE HAD ONLY JUST BEGUN!!!

If you’re interested, ABOUT WEDDINGS, will be continued. 

FATHER'S DAY

As do many dates on the calendar, Father’s Day is one of the most thought provoking in my memory.  Many will share my experience of losing a dad too soon in life.  At only 61 years of age, my dad succumbed to a disease of the circulatory system that plagued him for years.  He spent his life working in a chemical plant where he suffered exposure to various chemicals being researched and developed. In the early part of the twentieth century, when industrial development thrived, safety and possible injury remained aloof in the view of the great success of the advancement of manufacturing.  My dad and two uncles died in their early sixties after working from their teenage years in the same chemical industry. Thank God for the advances in protecting workers from such dangerous environments. 

The phone call came in the evening to my husband at the airport where he worked.  As he told of my dad’s untimely death from a massive heart attack, I felt my world falling apart.  I loved my dad with all my heart.  He above all others could still my fears, lift my spirits, excuse my faults, celebrate my successes, and love me unconditionally even when I didn’t deserve it.  Although it’s been 42 years, as I remember that evening, I feel the sharp pain in my heart as I accepted the finality of his passing.  William Donald Halstead, Jr. lived a simple live.  He worked with a passion to make life good for his family.  He lived a faithful life to his wife, my mother, and he taught his children to be independent and to reach for the stars.  He taught us to respect authority, to love God and His Word, and to give our whole heart to every task. He lived an example for us to follow.

Well-known and loved in the small community where they lived, nearly 200 friends passed through to express their sentiments to us, his loved ones.  We were overwhelmed by the outpouring of respect for our Dad. My mother lived many years longer, and I thank God for those precious years with her.  However, the pain at losing my dad has always haunted my spirit.  As Father’s Day celebrations fill June 19, 2016, with the honor deserved, I still miss my daddy.

The last years of his life, he visited my family often enjoying every minute with my three daughters.  The song “Make the World Go Away” was popular in that time frame of his retirement.  He loved teasing the children and singing the song to them as he often suffered silently with his illness.  As I swam in waves of grief the night of his death before boarding a plane to Texas for his funeral, I penned the following poem, and I still feel that grief.  This is for you, Dad, on this Father’s Day, June 19, 2016, as I live awaiting the day I will join you in Heaven.

MAKE THE WORLD GO AWAY

Once he was strong with a stubborn will

A tower of manhood, my Daddy Bill

Gentle and young, a wit of fun and pleasure

Savoring life each moment to treasure

As the years passed and youth did wane

His eyes grew dim and his body knew pain

He delighted the young ones in joyful play

With his teasing tune, “Make the World Go Away”

Unsteady hands, uncertain steps to take

A restless night, a blue morning to awake

But always a cheerful joke, the young to tease

He sang a tune, “Make the World Go Away,” please

Now the strength is gone, memories remain

Blue mornings, bad nights. There’ll be no more pain

Now he sings a new tune with the angels to play

For this winter evening, God “Made the World Go Away”

            The June calendar also celebrates Dad’s birthday. Born June 28, 1912, and passed to eternity, January 22, 1974.

YOU WILL NEVER REGRET THE HONOR PAID TO YOUR FATHER.

REMEMBER, JUNE 19TH

                                                

HONOR OLD GLORY

D-DAY, JUNE 6, 1944

Noticing the date on the calendar this morning, I’m drawn to memory lane once again.  Many time periods and dates remain embedded on my memory and cannot be denied regardless of the passing years.  For some reason, June 6^th I always remember although I often forget birthdays of important family members.

On Friday before June 6, 1944, I completed the fifth grade at Hansford Elementary School in St. Albans, WV.  On this particular Tuesday morning, I rose early, my bags packed, ready to go to the train station to ride the Doodlebug (a special passenger train) to Danville, WV, for my summer vacation with my beloved Aunt Pansy, Uncle Zach, and Wayne (presently the owner of Price Broadcasting, WZAC Radio, Z92 in Boone County, WV).

 Always a treasured trip, the weekend of preparation reached its climax as Mother posed me in the backyard for a photo before leaving for the station.  Other family members watched our performance with interest.  My six-year-old brother, Donny, continued to torment me about the trip (torment being his favorite pass time) as I tried to accommodate Mother for her photo.

Only a few hundred feet away on the same block, the school, the church, and a community bus stop stood as the gathering place for interaction between community residents.  Only two forms of public communication existed in those days. Radio and newspapers.  For this reason, newspapers published special editions when special events occurred, and they dispatched newspaper boys (young boys were the primary carriers to deliver newspapers) to designated corners to hawk the special event.

As we celebrated in the backyard, we heard the news boy shouting from the corner about the Invasion of Normandy. “Special, special, Allies invade France,” his excited voice carried throughout the neighborhood.  Mother gave Donny a nickel (5 cents) and sent him to purchase a paper for us.  We read the entire story, and I remember the excitement in the faces of the adults around us.  A rumored and “prayed for” turn of events in the five-year-long war.

As children, world war framed our lives and forced awareness of current events. My entire elementary school experience consisted of collecting for the war effort and understanding the shortages of things we desired.  The Weekly Reader, a current event paper, provided as a teaching tool that we must read on every Monday morning remains an outstanding memory. Following the pledge to the flag, a prayer, and a patriotic song, usually “God Bless America,” the teacher laid The Weekly Reader on our desks, and we began the journey across the map that always depicted the position of American troops through the war zones, both in Europe and the Pacific.  A dark period in History – the whole world at war. Without exception, we all had someone over there somewhere. 

At school closing the week before June 6th, the news remained grim. The Allies experienced more losses than gains.  However, rumors of an invasion that our leaders leaked to the masses gave hope for the future.  D-Day arrived. What did the term mean? General Dwight Eisenhower is quoted as saying, “It simply meant designated day.”

I rode the Doodlebug that June morning and enjoyed a delightful visit. When school began in September, 1944, the news continued to be grim as the troops fought a vicious struggle to gain French territory.  The winter of 1944 and spring of 1945 brought deadly and costly statistics to the Allies.  We learned of their losses and gains on a weekly basis every Monday morning.  However, on May 8, 1945, the Axis powers surrendered in Europe. In early August, 1945, Japan, refusing to surrender, suffered bombing that we pray may never occur again.  WW11 continued on in the Pacific until August 15, 1945, when Japan surrendered although hostilities continued until September 2, 1945.

Imagine the excitement and wonder of beginning my Junior High School days, the seventh grade, without war as the most studied subject.  War dominated my entire life from the first grade to the seventh. Is it any wonder that senior citizens of my age are appalled by the events surrounding us today?  And since those days, we fought bravely on so many fronts (Korea, Viet Nam, The Middle East) to keep our freedom.  Of course, we feel war-weary as we should.  However, to live free, to speak freely, to worship freely, to protect our rights, the price must be paid.  With memory of past battles, we stress over the loss of freedom being espoused by our leaders in the trend to socialism.

Many of our countrymen gave their ALL, loss of life or disability for life, to keep us free. History provides us with facts to study and learn.  Failure to make wise decisions that may not always be comfortable or desirable, may doom another generation to years of living in world-wide, war-torn countries, or following The Weekly Reader with a destiny of losses and gains to keep their freedom.

Yes, memories of D-Day, June 6, 1944, should continue forever as a reminder of past events, and History should teach us of mistakes to avoid for a brighter future. Let’s open our History Books and learn!

          

PHOTO taken 72 years ago today.  Background my brother, Donny Halstead, deceased in 2005. RIP