For the Love of the Game

  The recent win of our Miami Heat as NBA champions brought back memories of all things basketball.  Actually, my first outing with my dad was to a San Diego Rockets game where they had a basketball giveaway for all the kids that came to the game.  I'm not sure of the year, but think I was about six or seven, and I just remember feeling special, as my dad explained the game. 



Rick Barry, 1975. 

Nana abt. 1972

   When we loved in Northern California (1974-1976), we used to go as a family to home games for the Golden State Warriors at the Oakland Coliseum.  Rick Barry, Clifford Ray, Butch Beard, were a few of the players that year for the team.  It was truly exciting that year to watch them proceed to the playoffs and then to win the NBA championship.  "Barry Duck," as my brother and I nicknamed him, was truly an outstanding athlete and role model.  To this day, I think he is one of the only players I've seen that throw free throws underhanded.  I'll admit that I tried this technique back in the day, but was never successful. 

   Our love of the game continued, when I tried out for youth basketball when we were stationed in Okinawa.  I made first string for the Zukeran Rookies, and shared the position of point guard with another girl named Carol.  I can handle the ball, and shoot well from outside the key, but I'm way too tiny to be down by the boards.  I remember my dad volunteered as an assistant coach, so we were able to share the experience of becoming division champions, undefeated against all teams.  I remember working hard and being in the best shape, primarily due to the half court sprints we had to do during practices.  And, dad never cut me any slack, and in fact, I probably had it harder than the rest of the girls. 
  At Kubasaki High School, I tried out for Jr. Varsity basketball.  Since there was only one American

kubasakihigh.com

high school on the island (over 3,000 students), we actually had 4 athletic teams for every sport within the school and played one another for sports.  The teams were always the Falcons, the Eagles, the Knights and the Warriors.  So, it was a little easier for everyone that wanted to play to make a team.  I took #24 on the Knights for my favorite warrior, Rick Barry.  I played most of the entire game for the JV games, and every now and then got to play a few minutes in a varsity game.  This was the year I started wearing glasses full-time, as I find it helped improve my depth perception, increasing the accuracy of my outside shooting.  We left Okinawa in February 1979, just before basketball season started, or I would have automatically got to play varsity.  Sadly, I never continued basketball at Lakewood High, as I had to get a job and work.  I doubt I would have made the team, as it was much smaller, with less opportunity. 

  I still love basketball, and showed my grandson how to dribble a ball, as well as teaching him the word, "B-Ball," much to the dismay of his football-loving father.  We'll see what sport he ends up playing.  As for me, I choose basketball every time. 

The Cat House

King, Linda 1965

   I've had cats ever since I can remember, and even earlier than that.  With Dad being in the Navy, we moved every 2 - 3 years, so I'd get attached to my animals and then have to find them good homes.  Actually, this picture was taken June 1, 1965 in Edinburgh, Scotland, so I was almost three years old.  When I asked my mom whose cat this was, she didn't know, but remarked they used to "find me."  You'll also note I'm playing with a Yogi Bear bubble bath figure, apparently toys were in short supply.  You'll see from this story that the animal lover in our house was my Dad. He was always finding some stray cat and providing a home for them, much to Mom's dismay.  She tolerated cats, but that was about it.  


Lele with her first litter of kittens.

  My first cat was Lele, a pure-bred seal-point siamese.  The name is Hawaiian, which is fitting since we adopted her in Hawaii.  When my Dad was considering the purchase, the breeder questionned him, as I was only 5 and she wondered if I was mature enough for my own cat.  Dad said not to worry, as he was confident I would be a good Mom.  Dad actually paid to fly Lele home from Hawaii to California and then on to Connecticut.  This was one cat I didn't have to give up when I moved.  This picture was taken at Grandma King's house and shows Lele with her first litter:  Loomis, Louie & Lester.  Grandma kept Loomis, a beautiful Lilac-point, and we gave away the other two kittens.  Before we went to the Panama Canal Zone in 1972, we drove back to Missouri to leave Lele with my grandmother.  That cat was the ultimate in spoiled, as my Grandma King used to make her an egg every morning for breakfast.  Lele lived a long life out in the country and kept my Grandma company, and Grandma would always keep me up-to-date on what she was up to.

Francine, July 1978

When I was thinking about this article, I remembered a joke when I was little (maybe about 8 or 9).  I used to tell my Dad that when I grew up, that I was going to have a house full of cats, a cat house.  He used to laugh like crazy, and, of course, I didn't realize he was thinking of the adult-version of a cat house.  In all honesty, I've always had cats and I enjoy the fact that they are their own people, independent, and still very loving and accepting.  To date, I've only had a max of 3 cats at a time, so I've never had a cat house.  Actually, my last several cats have been homeless and in need of adoption, rather than pure-breds.  I keep thinking if I'm ever home enough, I might try a dog for a change.  We'll see. . .

Memories of Mothers and Grandmothers

(L to R) Withycombe, Charlotte, Wood, Marilyn & King, Linda
abt. 1966

That's me with the two best mothers I've ever known.  So much of who we are as people comes from our parents.  And, in my family, the mother was responsible for bringing up the children.  This photo appears to be taken in front of our church in St. Petersburg, Florida--Fifth Avenue Baptist Church.  St. Petersburg was always home, as we moved from one duty station to the next.  We had just returned from Scotland, and mom was just a few months pregnant with my brother.  We would remain in St. Petersburg until after his birth in September and then join my dad in Hawaii.

Mom often told me how hard it was, particularly around this time to have to travel without my dad, with an infant and a 3-year-old, pretty much across the world.  I always remember Mom having an extraordinary amount of patience and long-suffering, which I always admired.  As a young Navy wife, she had to uproot her family and pack us up every 2-3 years.  As an adult, I can't imagine having to pick up and move that often.  I know she missed her mother, and back in those days, letter writing was the only option and they wrote every week or two to stay in touch.  My grandparents did come visit us on several occasions, including overseas trips to Scotland and Panama. 

My grandfather was in the Coast Guard for 30 years, so my mother moved as well, but not as often as we did.  She moved from her native Massachusetts to St. Petersburg, Florida, and attended Southside Elementary in 1946, and relocated again during high school to Rockville, Maryland, while her grandparents stayed in St. Petersburg.  Mom remembered how hard it was moving during high school.  I did the same, relocating from Okinawa, Japan back St. Petersburg in my Sophomore year.  "Take regular classes you can transfer," she said, recalling some of the credits she lost when she moved.  One of the qualities of a good mom is passing on wisdom to the next generation.  No mom wants to see her children make the same mistakes. 

I have warm, wonderful memories of being at home with Grandma and Granddad in St. Petersburg.  From mile-high ice cream cones at Webb's City, relaxing in the inner tube at Passagrille Beach, digging for baby crabs at Bay Pointe park, baking with Grandma and my most favorite, cuddling up for storytime with Grandma.  My favorite book was, "The Little Engine that Could," and Grandma always read the story with great feeling and emotion.  We'd be snuggled on the couch and I'd get caught up in the story and not want it to end.  Those were precious times that I'll always treasure.  I learned how to bake at my grandmother's elbow.  Molasses cookies, apple pie, homemade brownies, and bread pudding were some of her specialities.  Mom's baking skills were limited to Tollhouse cookies, and I was responsible for most holiday baking as an adult. 

Four Generations

I miss both of these women more than I can express.  As with most things in our lives, we don't truly miss our loved ones until they are gone.  I was very blessed to have had these wonderfully strong and loving women in my life and on this Mother's Day, I salute them.

My Grandmothers

This week I'd like to talk about my memories of my grandmothers.  I've shared a little about both my grandmothers in my earlier posts and they are polar opposites in several ways, but similar in other ways.  First, I'll give you snapshots of their lives: 

Pansy Nadine Hubbell  - (Grandma King) Born March 1, 1920, Angola, Indiana.  The only girl of 8 children, whose father was a farmer.


Pansy - 1938

Met my grandfather, Thurston Clayborn in 1938/9.  Got pregnant with my father, and returned home. 

• My dad was born at the University of Kansas hospital in Kansas City, KS on May 11, 1940.  She got back together with my grandfather and got pregnant with my Uncle who was born on Sept. 14, 1942.  
• Her parents raised both boys and she went to work at Montgomery Ward in Kansas City, KS, and lived in an apartment in the city.   
• Married Burham Martin King (18 years her senior) in 1954. Had my Aunt on Oct. 13, 1955.  
• Died on Feb. 9, 1985 of an aneurysm, following hospitalization from a broken leg from falling on the ice.  This was the first time I saw my dad cry.  He said he "was just getting to know her." 

All I remember about Grandma King while she was alive was tied to the King homestead in Minneola, Missouri.  Grandma grew corn, beans, and other vegetables and had chickens and cats.  Her home had a potbelly furnace in the kitchen area and no hot water when I was a girl or air conditioning.  We used to visit in summers and Grandma would have me help her collect eggs, pick blackberries, and snap beans.  She used to butcher her own chickens and can vegetables and fruit.  To this day, her lime pickles were the best I ever tasted.  The last time I saw her was on my wedding day in March, 1984, and she surprised me with a jar of lime pickles that she "found" in her suitcase.  That was the only thing I ate that day.  She never shared much about her life growing up and I wish I would have asked.  I got to know her by doing things with her on the farm, like snapping beans.  I never knew her as well as I would have liked.  I remember when my Aunt shared photos like those above with me at how beautiful she was and what a contrast she was when I knew her compared to her younger days.  The woman I remember used to hide change and a billfold in her bra and didn't always wear her false teeth. 

When I verified that Thurston Clayborn was my grandfather in 2011, I realized how my adult life was similar and parallel to Pansy's.  It surprised me, in a way, to realize how we shared similar struggles.  I always knew I had my dad's personality, so maybe I am more like Grandma King than I ever thought.    

Charlotte - 1930

Charlotte Margaret Withycombe (Grandma Wood) Born Feb. 1, 1912, Winthrop, Massachusetts.  An only child.  Her father, a traveling salesman, died the following year of rectal cancer at the age of 28.  Her mother must have moved back home with her parents and did remarry two years later in 1915.  Her step-father was a firefighter.

• Had many suitors -- one out the front door as one came in the back door (or so she said).  Met my grandfather, who was in the Coast Guard and had relocated from Michigan.  They married in 1935. 
• Three generations of the family lived together.  Actually, her mother found the home they relocated to in St. Petersburg, Florida in 1946.  The family moved to Rockville, MD in the 1950s due to Coast Guard assignment.  
• Died on Jan. 4, 1992, after a long illness.  She had been resuscitated following a heart attack/stroke and spent the last 2 years of her life in a full-time care center not recognizing any of us.  God used this time to remind me of all she meant to me. 

Grandma Wood & King -  My wedding
1984

Since my father spent some much time away from us during Naval training and transfers, I spent more time with Grandma Wood than I did Grandma King.  I spent half of first grade and a third of fourth grade in her home.  We moved back to St. Pete in 1979, following Granddad Wood's death.  Grandma Wood was a traditional grandmother in every since of the word.  I learned to bake Nana's apple pie at her elbow and my grandmother had a skill for baking homemade brownies (never dry) to homemade baking power biscuits.  Hers was the original Boston Chicken.  She used to set the table for breakfast, complete with flowers and little juice glasses.  Fresh-squeezed orange juice was a special treat Grandma reserved for my visits, as she knew how much I loved it.  I still remember cuddling up next to her on the couch to hear her animated reading of "The Little Engine that Could," my favorite book.  Reminiscing was done after a home-baked meal on a weeknight, which was a special treat for Mom and me after working a long day at the office.  She told me how she walked herself to the hospital when she was in labor with my mom.  (When I visited Winthrop, I judged the distance, and let's just say that I was impressed.)

Both my grandmothers lived through the Great Depression and never wasted anything--especially food. They counted pennies, and were the first women to work outside the home and were both high school graduates.   Grandma King was a midwestern farmer's daughter, and had two children out-of-wedlock.  While Grandma Wood was a northeastern, suburban daughter, and had a more traditional marriage and family.  Both women played important roles in shaping me and forming my values and I was blessed to have both of them in my life. 

Of Germans and Englishmen




Charlotte Schoppe, first 
generation American.  
 

My maternal 2nd Great Grandmother, Charlotte Schoeppe, was born in Lyon, New York, in 1861.  She was a "tailoress," and as you can see from the picture from 1909, was a sharp dresser.  I'm sure she made her own clothes.  Charlotte, I discovered, was the baby of the family, the youngest of five (5) children born to William Schoeppe and Emilie Woecker.  There were five (5) children, four girls and one boy.  Augusta (1847, Prussia), Maria (Feb. 1850, Prussia) & Matilda (1853, New York) and her older brother, George, (1859, New York)  I'm almost certain her first language was German, although I may never know, as I don't remember stories of Charlotte, from her granddaughter, Charlotte (my grandmother).  As you can see -- the generational repeating of names can be quite confusing.  The more I've studied the German immigrants from that time period, the more I found it was common to speak German in the home, until World War I.  With war, came a decision to identify as Americans or Germans.  Sadly for the generations from that time on, including me, was the loss of the native language and culture. 



(Left to Right) Charlotte and one of her sisters? 

Charlotte's mother, Emilie Woecker, was born about 1821 in Cottbus, Germany, near the border of Prussia.  Emilie's husband was William Schoeppe, born abt. 1819, also in Prussia.  I just found the city of Emilie's birth a few weeks ago, when I finally found her passenger record.  She arrived in the United States after she was already married, and I had been looking under her maiden name.  The
 ship was the Leontine and the date of arrival was 19 August 1850.  The passenger list includes the fact that she came from Berlin and she was a Tailoress.  With her were two young daughters, Augusta, age 3, and Marie, age 6 months.  While I first thought she traveled alone, I'm still following a clue of two other Schoeppe's, a couple, that may well be a brother-in-law and his wife.  I'm also still searching for William's passenger record, as I believe he came ahead to set up his tailor shop before he sent for his wife and children. 

My mom's paternal line is Wood, which is English from my research so far.  I didn't have much  information on this side of the family, only that I knew my grandfather and great-grandfather's names.  When I used to ask my grandfather questions as a little girl about where he came from, he used to say he was a, "Heinz 57," which meant he was a little bit of everything.  With my Nana's photo collection, I also have Wood pictures.  One old photograph with men with the youngest looking like John Wood, my mom's brother.  It is a picture of four (4) men that appear to be a generation portrait taken in Bay City, Michigan.  My assumption with the portrait was that the youngest man was my grandfather.  A little research showed I was wrong. 

Michigan has all of its death records before 1920 online, which is great for those of us that live so far away from the Bay state.  When I realized that my 4th great grandfather was a tailor in Bay City, Michigan, who died of old age in 1910,  I'll never forget how excited I got.  I realized that the picture I had was even older, in that the patriarch, William John Wood has to be the most senior in the picture.  Because the people in the picture weren't labeled, this was a great revelation.  After all, they all look like each other, so without the mark on the picture and the death record, I never would have identified the men.  Solving this puzzle, also lead to another conclusion about another photograph below.

Wood, Edwin, Carl, and Adah Louise Baker

The young man in this photo (taken around the same time), is my great-grandfather, Edwin Wood (based on the generational photo).  That means that the woman in this photo would be Adah Louise Baker, and the baby my grandfather's oldest brother, Carl.  This the only photo I have of Adah, as she died of a heart ailment in 1916, when my grandfather was just 9 years old. 

The one lesson that I've learned from Nana's old photo album, is that while I am grateful for her preservation of the photos, it would have been so helpful if she would have labeled the people in the pictures.  With that being said, without her efforts, my grandchildren would never see pictures of her and her family.  I've got many more faces to identify, so I'll keep at it, including the need to label my own photographs, so my granddaugher's children aren't left guessing about who is the photo. 

Guy Lombardo or Dick Clark and Cold Duck

New Year's Eve growing up was quiet.  We got to stay up late, but I honestly can't remember if I ever made it to midnight.  One unique thing that stands out in my memory was the traditional bottle of Cold Duck that was opened for the occasion.  This was unique, because neither of my parents drank alcohol on a regular basis.  Every now and then, something would be in the house, but it was rare.  Dad wasn't a beer drinker, but would partake out on a special occasion.  I remember one year I asked for a taste (I had to have been over 10 years old) of the champagne, and it was nasty and bitter.  One year, I remember Dad putting some of the bottle into the cat's dish to see if our cat (probably Lele or Frosty) would partake.  No such luck. 

Picture courtesy of Wine Chef Blog

According to Wikipedia, Cold Duck is the name of a sparkling wine made in the US that was at one time (mostly 1970s) the best-selling "champagne" in America.  The wine was invented by Harold Borgman, the owner of Pontchartrain Wine Cellars in Detroit, in 1937.  The recipe was based on a traditional German custom of mixing all the dregs of unfinished wine bottles with champagne.  All I know was it just confirms my opinion of it, as it must have been an acquired taste of the time. 

If we were home with Grandma Wood, we'd watch Guy Lombardo as he was Mr. New Years' Eve in the 1970's .  Apparently, his last show was ringing in the year 1977, at the end of the Bicentennial in 1976.  As a youngster, I was happier with Dick Clark, the following year, which is probably a generational thing.  My mother and grandmother loved Lawrence Welk and the big band sound, while I preferred contemporary music of the pop, rock and disco era.  There was not a selection for country music fans at the time, but I do remember Dick Clark incorporating various music styles as the years wore one.  I was saddened when Dick Clark passed this year, as I'm sure my mother was with the loss of Guy Lombardo.  He will be missed.  It truly is a generational thing and I'm not as impressed with Ryan Seacrest, Dick Clark's hand-picked replacement.  

I didn't start going out for New Years' Eve until I was married, and even then, we would typically plan to stay over at the guest's house to avoid drunk drivers on the roadway.  In the 1970s and 1980s, drunk driving on New Years' Eve was a particular concern, and still is to a degree.  

I have finally acquired a taste for champagne, but only over the last five (5) years or so.  My favorite is Rondel, as it has a smooth, crisp flavor and is available in Brut or Rose.  I continue to stay home or hang out with friends on New Years' Eve, and still prefer a quiet evening of reflecting on the past year and remembering my family and the simple joy of being together and the hope of a fresh start that a New Year brings. 

Christmas 1971, the Christmas that Almost Wasn't

Me - Passport Photo 1972

  The holiday season always has me reflecting back on my childhood, a time when life was simplier, a time when the family members I loved so much surrounded me, and a time of year when everything was magical.  Christmas was a big deal with the Wood family, especially my grandmother, who always made a big fuss over family visits.  Christmas 1971 was a Christmas I have never forgotten, because we almost missed Christmas that year.  We were in Groton, Connecticut and dad was in the submarine service.  Even though my mom hated my dad being out to sea three (3) months at a time, she did like living in New England, a place that reminded her of her childhood, growing up in Massachusetts.    We also loved being in New England, because it meant that we had family nearby.  Mom's sister lived in Maryland (an easy weekend trip) and my grandmother's stepsisters and their families were in Massachusetts.  For a military family that moved every 2-3 years, being able to be close to family was very rare, so we did travel quite a bit during our three (3) years there. 

   That year we planned to drive to St. Petersburg, Florida to be with my mom's parents for Christmas.  On the way down, we'd always stop-over at Aunt Pearl's house, no matter what time it was.  She lived in Waltersboro, South Carolina, which was about the half-way point for us when traveling.  This particular year, I remember that we ended up at Fort Bragg at the base hospital on the way down, because my brother and I were sick and running fevers.  He always got bronchitis and I had tonsillitis, and this time was no exception.  After a bottle of pink stuff (liquid Pencillin), and cough medicine it was just a short trip to Aunt Pearl's.  We had a light blue VW 411 station wagon, which was a "lemon."  Every weekend since Dad started having problems with the car, we'd make the weekend trip up to Orangeburg, New York to the main VW Distributorship, where Dad would meet with someone with the latest list of complaints with the car.  The car was the first to be fuel-injected, and it used to backfire and if you stopped to get gas and turned off the engine, it would not restart right away.  My dad was not a patient man, nor did he curtail his language in certain situations.  When he was waiting for the car to start, we couldn't move or utter a sound or we'd be the target of his frustration. 

   On this particular trip it was Christmas Eve, and we had to stop and get gas in Gainesville.  It was late in the evening and of course, the car wouldn't start.  I think Mom actually called my grandparents from a pay phone to let them know we'd be late so they wouldn't worry.  Just when we were thinking we may have to get a hotel room, the car started and we were back on the road.  It was close to midnight or early Christmas morning by the time we pulled in the driveway.  My brother and I were asleep, but I woke up briefly when we were being carried to the sofa bed in the Florida room off the living room.  My parents and grandparents waited until they thought I was asleep, and then went to unload the packages from the hood of the car.  I pretended to be asleep, but listened as they were bringing the presents in the house, and I could see through the sliders, as no one had closed the curtain separating the two rooms.  In our family, Santa's gifts were usually unwrapped, set up and ready to play with.  I think that year, I received a starter phonograph, along with a Carpenters' album and other gifts.  I told my mom the next day that I knew my parents were Santa and what I saw.  She swore me to secrecy where my brother was concerned and threatened if I told him, my gifts would suffer.  I'm thinking that it was several years before my brother realized that Santa had helpers.  I was eight (8) years old, and back in the day that was fairly young to stop believing in Santa.  However, I was always an "old soul," and was always pushing the envelope when it came to grown-up things and Christmas was not an exception. 

   The saddest part of my childhood is that I don't think many pictures or slides survived moving every three years, so I'll be making copies of the school pictures in the hands of my cousin and Aunt to have pictures of those years.  I'll be doing more blogs on my childhood and places I remember in the coming year, since we traveled the world courtesy of the US Navy.  At least a verbal history of my childhood will live on, even though pictures won't be as numerous.  I'm committed to preserving, through labeling and scanning the pictures of my adult years and those of my daughter's childhood so these can be shared with the generations to come.  Time passes quickly, and the memories of that Christmas night are still vivid in my memory, even though it was over 40 years ago.  Now, I'm the grandparent making memories with my own grandchildren and making them feel special, as my grandmothers did for me.