Vernetta Mildred Hughes b. Jun 12, 1919, Ewing, Franklin County, Illinois, m. Apr 20, 1940, in Carbondale, Illinois, Ernest Gayheart Ovitz, b. Dec 10, 1916, Linden, Wisconsin, d. Apr 21, 1988, Lakeland, Florida, buried: Mission Park North Cemetery, San Antonio, Texas. Vernetta died Dec 17, 2000, San Antonio, Texas, buried Mission Park North Cemetery. Children: i Kristan Ovitz b. Oct 13, 1942. ii Lydia Ovitz b. Feb 8, 1948, Boulder, Colorado, m. Aug 25, 1972, in San Antonio, Bexar County, Texas, divorced 1993, Raymond Lewis Powell, Jr. b. Jul 2, 1947, Bridgeton, New Jersey.
Vernetta Mildred Hughes and husband of 48 years, Ernest Gayheart Ovitz
What a life it was! Comments on her life by Vernetta Hughes Ovitz
I have reason to believe that anyone my age who was aware of the depression has been influenced by that experience. I recognize that I certainly have been luckier, probably more so, than even I realize. I have been urged to record as much as I can remember, allowing for time and age.
When I was a small child, my father was a schoolteacher. Then, as now, teachers weren’t as highly paid as some others. I’m not sure teaching was even considered a profession. I am not really sure why dad quit teaching. It could have been that he needed more college hours -- it could be that he could make more money elsewhere. I remember Dad coming in every week from the route he covered to collect for weekly insurance policies. His area of work was on the east side of town that was all ‘colored.’ Yes, Carbondale was a very segregated town as were all the towns in southern Illinois.
Someone had sold the colored people insurance policies. The premium was ten cents a week and almost all of them kept up their policies The point of that story is that Dad knew almost all the people on the east side of town. I remember that Dad would come home and ask Mom if we had any old clothes - especially mine - because some woman whom he had seen that day couldn’t send her children to school because they did not have clothes. Mom always found something. Those are only some of the stories about the depression, only some. Another phase of the depression that I remember is that Mother never turned any homeless man away when they would come to the back door and ask for something to eat. Usually they offered to do some work for a meal, and often Mother would have something they could do, but work or not, she always fed them. Is there any wonder that I never thought of us as being poor? Another story that I remember was Mother talking to her best friend - Mrs. Dennison. Mr. and Mrs. Dennison and Mother and Dad were close church friends. Mr. Dennison worked at the courthouse in Murphysboro. He had been “laid off” - no job, no money, a wife and two children who were about my age. Mother asked her what they were going to do? She replied that they couldn’t even buy potatoes because if potatoes were just twenty-five cents a peck, and you didn’t have a quarter, you couldn’t buy them. Another story of those times is about Fanny. She was a black lady whom my Father would bring in when Mother needed help. Fanny was the granddaughter of slaves - that really has nothing to do with the story - just added. Anyway, when Fanny would finish doing basement work - laundry - she would sit in the kitchen, and she and Mother would talk about a number of personal things. After all, she worked for us for a number of years. One day she was telling Mother about a real problem she had. It seems that her property taxes were coming due and she didn’t have enough money. (An interesting thing is that she owned her home.)
So when Mother asked her what she was going to do, Fanny said that she didn’t know but that The Lord would provide. She continued that she had loved The Lord all her life and trusted Him and He would take care of Old Fanny. Mother was telling Dad about this conversation that night, and they thought that was a wonderful faith that Fanny had, well…. I don’t know much time lapsed between then and the next time Fanny was at the house, but Mother asked her how things were. Fanny said that she had gotten the money! She went on to add that she had a grandson living in California and she hadn’t heard from him for a very long time, but that she had gotten a letter from him and he had sent her the exact amount of money that paid the taxes. (I think it was $400.) I remember Mother and Dad talking about it, and how they were worried for her, but Fanny had never doubted that The Lord would provide, and He did. When Mother or I would get sick, Dad always brought in Fanny to help. When Mother was ready for school, Fanny would scrub me and her reason was that she wasn’t going to have any white folks think that she wasn’t taking care of her folks - me that is. Fanny was a great cook. Before her daughters retired her, she had been a cook at the country club. And cook she did. She always had “taking home privileges” - always. Mother was frequently surprised when working with some of the colored people. For, instance one time on of Fanny’s granddaughters came to do the laundry. Mother was talking to her, and asked if she had any children. The young lady answered that yes, she did. Mother then asked her what her husband did. “Oh, Lordy, Mrs. Hughes, I ain’t the marring kind. Imagine my Mother - she said no more.
Now to the story of us going to California, in December of my seventh grade year - we left Carbondale. The folks saw an ad in the local paper that drivers were wanted to drive good used cars to Southern California, so they decided to do that. Arza had been out of school for come time and had a job with the Kroger Company in the office. He decided not to go with us so we packed the car (I don’t know what kind it was except that it was a sedan) with clothes and bed goods and met up with the other cars and were on our way, I’m not sure just how many cars were in the caravan, but probably six or eight. There was a leader who had done this before so the rest of the cars followed him. I think that we were the only family and one or two men drove each of the other cars. We followed Route 66, two single lanes and that was about it. I have no memory of where we stopped to eat, and at night we slept in the car. I know that at least once, Dad drove down into a dry draw, under a bridge, and we slept there. I don’t know how many days we were on the road, but we never slept in a tourist court because there were none. We finally got to La Verne, California, our destination. Dad and Mother knew a couple there - people they knew from Sesser when we lived there. Mr. Huey had written the folks and wanted Dad to come out there and sell Ford cars for him. So Dad had a job, and we found an apartment of sorts. Actually it was part of a house owned by a young woman and her mother and we had rooms there. We didn’t live there very long because the folks found larger rooms with a lady who had a two story house and used the first floor as an apartment and lived on the second floor. It was our first Christmas in California. It must have been bleak for Mom and Dad. I know it was for me. My Christmas present was a clothes brush with multi-colored bristles and a china doll handle. Finally the folks found an empty house, furnished, and right across the street from the school.
I had been in Jr. High in Carbondale, but here it was all eight grades. As I look at that now, it was a good thing because the teachers took an interest in me and helped me to catch up with the class. The seventh grade class was diagramming sentences that I had never had, so they helped me at recess and after school until I caught up and soon I was good as anyone. One of favorite things to do was to think-up compound or complex sentences in the evening and try to stump the other kids at school the next day. We would have these big long sentences all across the board and we got so good that we hardly ever stumped anyone. Isn’t it interesting that this is an experience that I remember so fondly?
On the playground was a tennis court and I learned to play tennis and have loved it ever since. One of me schoolmates lived in the same block and she would loan me one of her rackets and show me how to play. On my 14th birthday, Arza sent me a racket, one of the best presents I ever received. None of us realized then what an effect it would have on all of our lives. When Dad came in for lunch, he asked Mom where I was and she said that I was in my room. Actually, I was in there crying because I was so lonesome for Arza. Dad said to Mom that they only had two children and that one of them was making herself sick because she wanted to be with the other. So Dad sold his new Ford, bought a big Oakland, quit his job, and we headed back to Carbondale! Can you imagine anyone doing such a thing in the middle of 1933 - the depth of the depression? They gave up a secure living, started back to a no job situation, with, probably, very little cash in their pockets, so their children - especially one - could be with the other. Is there any wonder that I never questioned parental love?
And so, we loaded that big old sedan with our clothes and some bedding, with just enough room in the back for me, and headed back to Illinois. I don’t remember how many days it took for the trip nor where we ate. I know that at one time we were driving on an Indian reservation and the road was very rough “wash board”. It was a very desolate area - maybe some little settled areas, but no major towns. As we were driving along, the constant pounding of the car against the rough road caused the battery to fall out of the car. The car was so low to the ground that Dad couldn’t crawl under it, so I did. There was a wire fence along side of the road, so he cut off some wire and as I held the battery up, he reached thru the floorboard and wired the battery into place. That arrangement lasted long enough for us to get to a garage and get it fixed right.
There were no motels and so we would pull over to the side of the road and sleep in the car. One night he drove under the road in a culvert and we slept there. When we got to Missouri and close to St. Louis, there was a tourist court (notice I didn’t say motel) made up of individual cabins and we stayed there that night, changed clothes and drove on in to Carbondale. They rented a house, Dad got a job selling cars, Arza moved in with us and in the fall, I entered high school.
At that time, Carbondale had two high schools - Carbondale community high school, and Attucs that was the school for the colored people. Did that seem strange? No because every town in that part of Illinois was segregated - only that word was not in general usage at that time. Anyway, school was fun most of the time. I had started my piano lessons again, was in the band and learned to play the baritone horn, was in the chorus, and on the newspaper staff. The dress of the day for girls was skirt and sweater, bobby socks and saddle oxfords. The boys wore slacks and shirts, Tennis shoes - not sneakers- were for gym.
One of the most outstanding teachers was Miss Whelhelm who taught Sophomore English. We had all had grammar in grade school, but in her class, we really learned it. As a result, those of us who went on to college had no trouble in Freshman English. She was tough only in as much as she made clear what was to be done and expected nothing less than that. Actually, that was the way teaching was in those days. For a generation of kids my age where I lived, we were very innocent, and we didn’t even know it.
I want to go back to California and relate some experiences that had a lasting influence on me. Mr. and Mrs. Hueys were a very religious couple and would frequently go to LA to the Four Square Temple - The big church that Amie Simple McPherson had built. It really was big; the building was more like an arena than anything else. It was more like the “mega churches” of today. The first floor was very large and the balcony was equally big. It would hold several thousand people. Every time we went there, it was full. There was an orchestra pit like in a theatre. And it was a theatre, and there was no question of who was the star. The orchestra would begin to play, and then a song leader would come out and lead the congregation in a number of songs. This continues for some time and as it went on, the entire crowd would sing - and sing - and sing. It was more like the warm-up act in a theatre than any thing else. When the crowd got to a fever pitch, the lights would dim and a spot would play at an opening in the curtain and the orchestra would begin to play, and out would come the star. And she looked more like a movie star than anyone else. We always sat in the balcony and so our view of the entire performance was wide. She was very blonde, attractive, dressed in a long sheath white satin dress.
I was junior high age and had grown up in the Southern Baptist church. The entire experience was different than anything I had ever seen, but the theme was pretty familiar - as I now describe it - doom and gloom. There may have been lots of references to the love of God, but what I remember was the wrath of God. And she preached a lot of “the last days” which seemed to be any time soon. There have been books written about this woman, she may have been quite sincere; or she may have been a sham. I won’t even try to judge that, nor should I. All I can relate is the effect it had on me. It scared me! There may have been many others of the same ilk, I don’t know. But when much later on, I read Elmer Gantry, I understood it thoroughly. At the very top of the balcony, there was a room, the walls of which were glass. In it were a number of items said to have been left by people who had been healed in her services and they then had no need for crutches, wheel chairs, braces, etc. None of these healings took place any time we were there, but that does not mean they didn’t happen. But, somehow, I was always skeptical. I know that a soup kitchen was run in one part of the building and the lines were very long. That I saw, and that was a wonderful thing for hundreds of hungry people, I also saw the collection plates full of coins and bills and that is remarkable considering the times. But it must have taken a lot of money to maintain an institution like that. I don’t hold any of these experiences against anyone. These adults - my parents and the Hueys - were just as much a product of their background and generation as the rest of us.
There were some very outstanding things about school in LA. Our eighth grade class went by interurban train to Long Beach to see “Old Ironsides” which was making its last voyage, under its own power, to the west coast. We were allowed to go aboard and walk the decks. My most lasting impression of the ship was how very small it was. The ceilings were very low (were all the men in the navy at that time short?). Another trip our class took was to Pasadena, to the Huntington Museum to see the Gainsborough paintings - Blue Boy and Pink Girl. I have no idea of how much these fieldtrips cost, and I do not remember any hesitation on the part of my parents to let me go. Another trip was to see the outdoor presentation of the story of Ramona. This story was of the Spanish governing California. The story was as much a part of the culture of Southern California as the Alamo is of Texas. The setting was a natural amphitheatre and it was beautiful. Speaking of culture, we (family) drove to Capistrano mission to see the return of the swallows. There was, at one time, a popular song “When The Swallows Come Back To Capistrano.”
I’m sure there are a number of other things to be mentioned, one of them was going to the orange packing house, taking a little red wagon (not mine) and buying a lug of oranges for ten cents. (A lug was a wooden box used in the groves to haul the fruit to the packing house - It probably held about a half bushel. Another thing to do with money. When the banks crashed and FDR declared a moratorium on banks many people were caught with only the change they had in their pockets. Of course, all grocery stores were home owned. Remember, we were fairly new in town, but when Mother inquired about credit, the owner told her that as long as he had anything to sell, she could buy. I was with her when he told her that. History will tell you just how long that moratorium lasted. But all the banks in the country closed down.
Back to Carbondale. As soon as we got settled, I started piano lessons with Mrs. Mitchell - again. I actually began lessons with her when I was seven - every Saturday. As anyone knows, if they have ever learned piano, the first many lessons are not very exciting, but they are so very important in learning skills - like a lot of other things. My lessons cost fifty cents and there was never a question but what I would take the lessons, nor was there any that the money would be there and any books I needed. There was never any question about practice either. As I advanced, my favorite time to practice was as soon as I got in from school. I remember practicing, Mother in the kitchen, Arza reading by the fireplace and him saying to Mother how glad he would be when I could play something he could recognize- I guess "The Happy Farmer” wasn’t very high on the best seller list. Anyway, I continued taking lessons, and eventually got to the real classics. Mrs. Mitchell said my interpretation was great, but I needed more practice on technique. I knew what that meant - Out comes Bach. I soon learned to love Bach, and do to this day.
High school was mostly fun. Most of us did the things we expected to do. It was an age of innocence as compared to many of the times. I always liked school. I sang in the chorus, played the baritone horn, played piano for Edward Thrailkill and we finally went to state contest (xylophone), was in the drama club, was on the paper staff as advertising editor, did well in my classes except math and that was about it.
My best friend was Fern Shields whose dad was the preacher at our church. She and I were pretty much together all the time. It was thru the Shields family that I learned about male domination and sex discrimination. Perhaps this was prevalent in other families, I don’t know, but I wasn’t aware of it. Besides Mr. and Mrs. Shields, there was Frances, Virginia, Oliver, and Fern. She was a year older than I and one of the best people I ever knew. They lived in a big two-story house, and Mrs. Shields took in boarders for extra money. Times were hard, the church was made up of middle class people, and money was scarce. Mrs. Shields was a large woman and quite a work-horse. Frances and Virginia were in college, and I guess Oliver was too. Frances was a fair student and boy crazy. Virginia was the brightest of the bunch and had musical talent and got part of her tuition by playing violin the orchestra. Oliver never did anything that I ever saw and Fern was the one who stayed home and did the house work. Of course, when I was there, I helped. Mr. Shields never turned a hand at home as I ever saw.
One Saturday, I went to her house and we were going down town to buy Father’s Day cards. When she finished up her work, she went in to where her parents were resting and asked her dad for some money. The next thing I knew, I heard her begin to scream and cry and her Dad was beating her with his belt because he did not have any money. I had not known that anyone did such things except in books. I am not sure if I ever told my parents or anyone else about that episode, but I never forgot it and never could stand Mr. Shields. When he would preach, I couldn’t forget Fern.
One very important thing about coming back to Carbondale was the close relationship that developed between Arza and me. He lived at home and we were thrown together every day because of that. If he had married earlier, my life would have been entirely different. He took a great deal of interest in me in many ways. My love for him was not blind adoration, but he became an icon for me. The music he loved and had on the radio became a part of my life. There was a station in Chicago that played classical music in the morning. As we would be getting ready to go to school or work, he would ask me to name what was playing - who wrote it - etc.
The books and magazines he read became a part of my life. He would point out models and clothes in The New Yorker, or Stage or others like those, and tell me how they would look good on me and why. One of our favorites was the clothes by Peck and Peck. I thought that if ever I could afford to buy clothes like theirs how great that would be. I never did get to the place where I could afford clothes like that, but it gave me goal. And, of course, I learned that clothes of classic design were best for me - tall, and no frills.
One of the wonderful things that Arza did was play tennis with me. I had only learned from other kids, and I imagine he had learned the same way. Anyway, he was much better than I, but we would go to the college and play on their courts many a Saturday afternoon. When I got somewhat better, he included some men friends and we played doubles. Talk about playing over your head! But it was so good for me. Many years later when we were both married and had children; we were visiting them in Newton, Iowa. He was working for Maytag. Anyway, he and I were alone in the kitchen doing dishes. And he asked me if I knew why he quit playing tennis with me. I had no idea, and was totally surprised when he said that the day I beat him was the day he quit playing tennis and took up golf. It had never occurred to me.
My Dad did some things for me that were unusual. The reason I say that is because I was the only kid I knew whose Dad took them anywhere. Family trips? Yes, but not just the two of them.
When I was on vacation in both high school and college, he would ask me if I wanted to go with him that day, and the answer was always yes. For a number of those years, Dad sold cars - sometimes Fords, Pontiacs or Chevrolets. Anyway, he would have a new car to deliver in one of the other towns and we would ride along and talk. I know that my love of cars began with him showing me things about cars, and sometimes what was wrong with them. We would be gone the major part of the day because he would nearly always have another place to go to trade the used car. Sometimes, we came home in a car of questionable lasting quality. Almost every time, about two o’clock in the afternoon, we would stop at a favorite cafe and have a cup of coffee and a piece of pie. How he loved coffee and pie.
One trip, we had gone down almost to Cairo, so we went across to the west and drove up on the Mississippi River side. As we drove along, he told me about a major earthquake which had happened many years ago. Then we pulled out on the scenic view and he pointed out to me the old riverbed - pre quake - and the present one. Another time, we went south and pulled off on a country road and drove up to a farmhouse. Obviously, the farmer and my Dad knew each other - Dad had sold him something or other. Anyway, we walked thru the barnyard and followed a trail that took us further and further in to very rough country. There were caves and crags, strange rock formations that I had never even heard of. But Dad wanted me to see this unusual place. Later, during the WPA days, the area was made into a state park. I was so fortunate to have had such men in my life, especially in the formative years.
When I finished High School, I began college in the fall of 1937, at the local college, which is now Southern Illinois University. Then it was a teachers college. It was always taken for granted that I would do this.
I received invitations to rush parties. I never thought of myself as a sorority girl so this was exciting. We went to St. Louis to buy clothes for the parties and I was ready. Virginia had been a Delta Sig, and my friend Kathleen Heilig was a Tri Sig, so I attended parties for both. Bids came from both and I had to make the decision of which one. Arza and Virginia had both been Greeks plus Virginia was a product of Stevens - an outstanding women’s junior college in Missouri. I could see Virginia as a Delta Sig - she had an air about her that made her fit right in. I felt like her country cousin - she didn’t do that. I did it to myself. She was almost as tall as I, blonde hair, big blue eyes and although not beautiful, she was elegant looking in any crowd.
She and Arza had married that summer and they said they would pay my initiation fee when I pledged. I accepted bids from both. So off I went in a whirl of parties. I knew that Arza and Virginia expected that I would join the Deltas, but I never really felt at ease there. So, I pledged Tri Sig. All of this may sound pretty petty, but for me it was a really big thing. The Deltas had more money, did more expensive things and were used to doing things I knew I could never afford. But the main factor was that I felt much more comfortable with the Tri Sigs. So when I called Mother and then Virginia to tell them what I had done, Virginia was stunned and she and Arza were very upset with me. By the way, Mother and Dad paid my fees.
I had a good time in sorority. It gave me a good bunch of kids to be with and a place where I could go and be a part of whatever was going on. When I registered for classes I chose to try out for the chorus. The chorus was limited to fifty voices and it was possible to receive part of your tuition if you qualified - and I earned part of the fees every quarter. I would have been delighted just to be in it, but getting part of my tuition made it even nicer.
Although I had sung at church for a long time, been in chorus in High School, sung in trios and quartets for a long time, I learned so much more in chorus. There were several upper classmen who sang in the Municipal Opera in St Louis in the summer time, and singing with them was just great.
School was on the quarter system so there would be three quarters in the regular year, and fourth quarter in the summer. I loved going to school and went in the summer. My last class was usually no later than one o’clock, I’d stop at the sorority house see what was going on, then go home and go to the basement where it was somewhat cooler and study. At the end of the second summer, I had ninety quarter hours.
When I was in High School, I sang in the chorus, played Baritone in the band, took piano and organ lessons, and was the accompanist for a boy who played xylophone. We practiced a great deal of the time, and soon became one in playing. We entered the regional contest and received a superior rating. When we read the judges comments, they wanted to know why we had skipped a certain portion. We were unaware that we had done that, because when he skipped, I did too. None of that was intentional. The next year we went to the University of Illinois for state contest. Edwin’s xylophone was an old one and just basic - not fancy at all. The whole atmosphere was overwhelming. The kids from the cities had fancy instruments and an arrogant air. But Edwin and I won state!
When WW II broke out, Edwin enlisted in the air corps and became a bomber pilot. On their first mission over the oil fields of Yugoslavia, the plane was hit. Edwin stayed with the plane until all the crew bailed out, and then it was too late for him to jump. He went down with the plane.
The second music high for me was the Greek Sing. I was asked to direct it and we won. That was the first time Tri Sigs had ever won.
I was in summer school when I got a call from the placement office to report. They told me that they had a need for a music teacher in Rosiclare, Illinois and they thought I should go down and apply. They also told me that they were sending a Senior music major, and felt sure she would be hired, but that having the interview would be good experience for me. I talked it over with Mother and Dad and they agreed that it would be a good experience. So they drove me down. None of us had ever been there, so it was a kind of adventure.
The position was for the elementary school. Some of the questions were routine - my qualifications, job description, etc. But some of the questions were strange, even for 1939 - was I married - no - did I belong to a church - yes - did I drink - no - did I smoke - no (not quite true) - would I be willing to teach a Sunday School class - yes - I would be expected to be in town every other week end - OK - and I would be expected to become a part of the community. And I knew that they had already offered to job to the other girl, so I really didn’t give it all that much serious thought. I had been elected vice-president of the sorority for the next year and was going to continue college - I thought.
Not too long after that, I got a letter from the school board. The other girl had taken another job, and they were offering me the job. We hadn’t planned on that, but Dad said go ahead and take it, and if I didn’t like teaching, I could always come back and finish college.
One never knows what impact some decisions will have on the rest of their life. It’s probably a good thing, come to think about it. If I had not taken that job, I would never have met Ernie, and every phase of my life would have been different. I have wondered just what it would have been.
From the time I spent my first night in Rosiclare, nothing in my life was ever the same. Three of us girls from Southern were new teachers and all three of us were rooming in the same house, the home of a board member. It was only a block from the hotel, across the street from the hospital, and the old YMCA building was at the other end of the block.
We had made arrangements to eat at the hotel, and so that first night, we went there. Since it was a holiday, the dinning room was pretty full, so we waited until we were shown our table. Maude was the manager, and deserves another story. I really don’t remember much of anything about that night except we all knew that we had been “tagged” as the new schoolteachers. Among others there was a table of young men who were engineers with one of the fluorspar companies, Ozark-Mahoney. They were graduates of Wisconsin School of Mines and had been sent there to help in the construction of a mill and later to be operators in the mill. I learned later that one of them - Ernie Ovitz - said to the others, “See that tall girl in the doorway – I’m going to marry her.” I knew nothing of this until much later, but he and the others all told the same story.
A few nights later, Maude introduced us, and as the saying goes “and the rest is history”. We began dating and really never stopped until we married. Ernie came up to Carbondale one Sunday to get me and when we left, Dad said to Mom, “That’s the one”. She wanted to know what he meant, and he said that he meant that was the man I would marry. Ernie had said the same thing, and here was Dad saying it. At that particular time, I hadn’t decided that for myself. However, on December first, Ernie asked me to marry him and in April we were married. When he asked me, he told me that he couldn’t be sure where we would live; it would depend on where the job was. I told him that anywhere he could work I could make a home. Those words were much more prophetic that either of us could imagine at that time, but they held true all of our lives.
River Towns - they deserve explanation. Rosiclare was only about seventy miles from Carbondale, but as for comparing them, there is no way. On the Ohio River, the first town to be explained is Cave-In-Rock, so named because there really was a big cave in solid rock - the cave facing the river. From the earliest expansion days, this had been a landing for traders - then settlers - on their way down to New Orleans or move into the interior. The cave was large enough to hold wagons, horses, trade goods, etc. Also, it was great cover for river pirates. As the boats would pull in to buy or trade, many times they got no farther. If what they had was needed, or wanted, the goods were taken and the people thrown in the river. Other than time passing, nothing much had changed.
The next town below was Elizabethtown - or E’town. This town was equally old and equally unchanged, small, ingrown, and felt no reason to change. Then the next town was Rosiclare. Here some growth had taken place because of the Fluorspar companies that had moved in. A very large and very rich body had been discovered in “The Illinois-Kentucky basin”. Rosiclare Lead and Zinc Company was the oldest. And then came Ozark-Mahoney that introduced an improved and innovative method of separating the three minerals by flotation. This method of separating spar, lead, and zinc had been developed by the United States Geological Survey - and the Wisconsin engineers had been trained in the process after finishing the construction. The next town down river was Golgonda. All of these places hadn’t changed much for generations, and there was very little reason for families to move in until the mills began hiring. Then, the only new families were the salaried people because the common labor was local.
River towns, as a rule, are very tough places, and evidence of inbreeding was obvious in a lot of the population. Life is hard, commercial fishing is existence living, mining is low wage and the economy is based on all of that. One or two examples. In the first week of school, one of the fifth grade girls was pointed out as a new mother. She lived on a riverboat with her family and the child she just had was a product of incest - her dad. Another incident happened as I was walking home from the movie one night. Close to the corner where I would turn, was an “empty” furniture store commonly called “a blind pig” meaning that gambling and buying liquor - and other things could be had. As I walked past the alley, I saw two men helping a third man walk. I just supposed that he was drunk, but the next day I was told that two men had been playing cards, there was an argument over two dollars - each was carrying a gun, and each shot the other under the table. The one being helped was being taken to the hospital and the second man was lying dead on the floor. One of the nurses told me that when the man was dying, his wife was holding one hand and his mistress was holding the other. When told that he was dying he said that it didn’t mean any more to him than taking off his socks.
Ernie and I were married in Carbondale at my parents’ home. A home wedding was not unusual and there was nothing about the church that would make me ever want to get married in it. “Kootie” Kaul, a sorority sister, was maid of honor, Kathleen played the piano, Martha Jean, Fern, Arza, Virginia, and Bill Waters - Mother and Dad - that was it. We spent our wedding night in St Louis, back to Rosiclare on Sunday, and back to work on Monday.
Our apartment was all we needed then. Our bedroom-living room and bath, and the other room was the kitchen - table and chairs, icebox, and kerosene stove. I had never cooked on a kerosene stove, but Ernie knew how to take care of one because his mother used one in the summer. We thought we could live on a dollar a day, and found out that it would also cover the cost of the kerosene. We could buy two t-bone steaks for a quarter, and other things in proportion - all this, rent, car payment on Ernie’s 37 and half cents an hour, and my $85, a month. Of course, my salary stopped the first of June - remember - no married teachers??? (Did I ever mention that regular women teachers were paid $80? I was paid $85 because I was a special teacher and all men were paid $90 because they were men.)
The Garlands, he managed the mill, built three houses out on the edge of town, a nice one for them, a smaller nice one for their daughter, and in between those two, a small three room house for us. Did I mention that it was small? How about 24 x 24? But it was enough for then. Mother and Dad brought down my maple bedroom set, an end table and lamp, and a rocker. We bought the kitchen stove and table and chairs from the Garlands and bought a new Frigidaire and Maytag washing machine. The Sunday after we moved into our new house, we went to Golconda and bought Lady, a wirehair terrier. We paid more for our dog than a month’s rent and people in that area seldom bought their dogs - puppies were usually accidents of breeding and then given away. We planted a garden, raised vegetables and strawberries and raspberries and were as happy as could be.
Ernie was made night superintendent, the mill was now running, we adjusted to all of that. He would leave for works about seven in the evening, come home at mid-night to eat, come back home about six or seven in the morning. I did all my housework at night, slept late in the morning and that became our routine. The plan was just fine for then.
On Sunday, December 7th, all of our lives changed - around the world, lives were forever changed. The news of the attack was unbelievable for all of us. There was no daily paper there, and radio was our source of news and we kept up in a way, but the fact of war never seemed to us as a real possibility - and suddenly it was happening. The mines and plants had never had security guards or fences, but the next day, the state sent down the National Guard around all of the plant sites. They stayed until the companies could provide their own security.
Men already had draft numbers and soon many of them left. Ernie was frozen in his job because it was determined that it would take five years of training someone else to take his place. The plants were already running twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, but with days off. Now there were no days off except on rare occasions. However, his buddies from Mining School were soon gone. Rationing became a way of life for everything and each month each family was issued a ration book for each member of the family. And we all adjusted in one way or another.
Kristan was born in l942. We had saved for this, and when she and I left the hospital after ten days, Ernie paid the entire bill of $100. It soon became apparent that our little three room house was not enough, but still no housing was available. Then the Kroger manager's young wife died of spinal meningitis - no one knew how she had gotten it. And as sad as that was, we immediately rented their house - two bedrooms, living room, and kitchen and a full basement. After thoroughly fumigating the house, we moved in and lived there as long as we were in Rosiclare.
Ozark bought a property in the mountains just up from Boulder, Colorado. Ernie was sent there to look it over. When he returned, we were told that we would go out there for ninety days. We sub rented the house, took only our clothes and drove to Jamestown. It was on Left Hand Canyon Road about ten or fifteen miles north of Boulder and about seven miles up the canyon. When we got to the boarding house, I asked where the town was, and Ernie said that we had gone thru it. Now, that’s small. It consisted of one main road that went up to the mill, boarding house, and owner’s house, then the mines. That’s it.
(The following is out of sequence, but I want to include it).
Ozark was interested in some property close to El Paso and sent Ernie out to check it. (This was early 1944) He was supposed to be gone about three weeks, but as usually - no - always happened, it was much longer than that. After a while he called, said the company would pay my way out there so come on out. The folks said they would take care of Kristan, so she and I drove to Carbondale and I took a train to St. Louis. This was wartime and travel for civilians was definitely catch-as-catch-can. There was no such thing as a reservation. But I learned something then that has come in handy many times. If you were traveling by train - or bus - you just lined up with everybody and hoped you could get aboard. But somehow I had learned that in the station, if you walked around with a couple of one dollar bills between your fingers - and made sure that they showed - you were much more likely to get a Red Cap to help you. At that time, two dollars meant much more than you can imagine - but for whatever reason, it worked. The Red Cap came up - found that I was going to El Paso - and took charge of things from then on. Also remember that up until wartime, not many women took long trips by themselves and so were not supposed to know much about such mundane things as tipping. And, you know, this was only the first of many trips that I took by myself. Anyway, he took me down several sets of stairs where passengers did not go, and finally to a train and to a car that was for women only - and they were service men’s wives and babies. And in a way, I was a war wife too. The car was almost full, but he found me a seat and stowed my luggage.
For just a moment, let us think about a car full of women and small children. For one thing, the railroad had done something special for women. The only men we saw were conductors who came in to collect tickets. I don’t know where it was we stopped, but it was late at night, and a couple brought aboard a very young mother and a very new baby. There was no seat for them, but she sat in the rest room where there was a chair. Another woman I remember had twin boys about four or five months old. She had a footlocker with all their things and was the most sensibly dressed woman in the car. She was wearing a military uniform minus any insignia and the rest of us were in dresses. Her husband was an army colonel. All the women were headed to the west coast where their men were getting shipped out - army - navy air corps and marines. This was at the height of the battles in the Pacific. There were no little children in the car - only babies. At night, women would change, feed and take care of the babies, then maybe wash out panties, etc. and get as comfortable as possible to sleep. For a long time after this, I wondered about the end of many of these stories. How many had happy endings, and how many men did not come back?
Ernie met me and I spent a week with him at the Paso Del Norte Hotel. This was my first introduction to Mexico and anything Mexican. We went across to Juarez a couple of times and then it was time for me to leave. Both going out and coming back, our train was put on a siding so a war train could go thru. Sometimes it would be a troop train, sometimes big weapons and sometimes there was no indication of what it was.
When I got back to Carbondale, I had planned to leave for home the next day. But that didn’t happen. That evening, I lay down on the divan to rest, and as it has happened many times since then, I began running a fever which got higher and higher. Dr. Barrow came out (a house call was ordinary) and told Mom and Dad that I was not to be moved - even up stairs to my old bedroom. I was very sick. I lay on the divan for about a week. Mother was the best nurse anyone would ever want. She had plenty of experience taking care of me. During this time, the Ohio flooded and down town Rosiclare was under water, but our house was up “on the hill” and out of the flood zone. The Merkers called and wanted to move their drug store in the basement of our house - and, of course I said sure. So even after I got better, Kris and I still couldn’t go home and I think it was about two weeks more before the police would let anyone in. Even then, when we drove in, the merchants were using fire hoses to wash down the inside walls. I had left to be gone a week, and was gone almost a month. Ernie finally got home in time for Kristan’s third birthday.
Finally the war was over. Everybody we knew in Rosiclare had staked out one bottle of liquor with which to celebrate - and celebrate we all did - and then the next day it was back to work as usual. It took a long time for things to return to a new normal. Nothing in our lives was ever the same and ours wasn’t anything like many, many others. Some of my high school and college friends had been killed, and the red stars hanging in the windows were replaced with gold stars.
Now, back to Jamestown. It was a tiny town that was up in the Roosevelt National Forest above Boulder. Mahoning had bought a property up there that was an old gold rush mill and three mines. The mines were principally fluorspar with lead and zinc mixed. This was the same kind of separation that the Rosiclare mines had. A man by the name of Williamson owned the whole outfit, but was not being successful in making grade in the mill. And that’s where Ernie came in.
Let me try to describe Jamestown. It was what was left of an old gold mining town of the gold rush days. At one time it was estimated to have a population of more than twenty thousand people. But most of them lived in tents so there never had been many buildings. There was a general store - gas pump - post office. Next to it was a fairly long building that was boarded up, but had been a saloon. Then there was a small church - part of the Methodist missionary system. A minister would come maybe once a month, but Sunday school was held every Sunday. A town hall - just a hall with folding chairs as needed. Mostly it was used for Christmas programs for the school.
In the gold rush days the mill had been used for gold cleaning, and now had been changed to process fluorspar. Nothing had been updated except the processing part. It was built on the side of the mountain with the ore hopper at the top, the crushing plant, the cells, loading dock and diesel power plant on the bottom level. The main road thru town wound up to the boarding house. It was large, made of solid logs and was for the purpose of providing sleeping and eating for visitors. It was never intended to house a family like us, but since we were to be there only about three months, well…. Anyway, this was going to be home for a while. The road continued up the mountain for a bit to another large log house the owners home.
We had a small bedroom and Kris had a small room with a cot. Our room had an iron bed; the mattress had long since worn out and sagged deeply in the middle. (This made for interesting sleeping since Ernie out-weighed me by a hundred pounds!) Mr. And Mrs. Hyatt lived there - she ran the house and he was carpenter foreman at the mill. They were native Coloradoans and we learned a lot of mountain living from them.
Besides us, there were two older men - brothers - who ate their evening meal there. They had been hard-rock miners all of their lives and still had a small gold mine somewhere in the area. They would work it a little bit when they needed some extra money. They were night watchmen at one of the other mines. They were very polite men, comfortable to be with and interesting to listen to.
The boarding house had a large picture window that looked down the mountain, took in the mill and on to the far ridges. We watched the birds and the tufted-ear squirrels (they could only be found in the high altitude and could not survive in the zoo in Denver. They were shades of gray to black.) We watched the blue jays and learned from them when another snowstorm would be coming because they would pack the bark of the jack pine with food. We learned from the Hyatts that you never camp on the creek bank but higher up because of flash floods from rain higher up.
It was an interesting life. Ernie was in his element doing what he knew best - how to make the mill produce high-grade fluorspar. I started going down to the mill - a short walking distance - when Kris would awaken from her nap. Ernie did not know how to type and I’d had one semester in high school, so I started typing his reports, then doing the ore daily reports, picking up the mail, running errands, and finally going to the lab to talk to Clint, the assayer. I kept asking questions and Clint would explain what he was doing and why and gradually, as I learned to more, I would work in the lab doing all sorts of things. One Sunday, Clint’s wife called from Boulder and said that Clint was in the hospital - emergency appendectomy. Ernie asked me if I could assay - the nearest person would have to come out from Rosiclare. I said that I could, but I would be slower than Clint. So the next morning I was in the lab assaying. I was a lot slower than Clint, but when my results were sent to the lab in Denver, my results were as close as Clint’s. I was so pleased and Ernie was so proud. I did this for about ten days until finally a chemist came out from Rosiclare and stayed until Clint could get back on the job. Did I get the same pay as Clint would have gotten? Of course not, but it never occurred to me that I would. The irony of some of this is that I barely passed Chemistry in college. I could do good lab work, but my math was so poor that I had lots of trouble balancing equations - but heck - lab work was all I had to do.
Kris went to the office with me and played down there. The men were so good with her. Homer, owner of the truck line, let her help him load lead one day. She had a little shovel and small wheelbarrow. She still remembers that. Across the road, one of the truckers lived and his daughter, Barbara, and she and Kris became best friends. When I wasn’t busy in the office, I read mining and milling magazines, and when the men would talk shop, I listened and learned a lot. Anything I asked Ernie, he carefully explained, and we would go up in the mill and he would tell me what I was seeing. So when we would go to Denver for the Colorado Mining Convention, I stayed with the men a lot of the time and knew what they were talking about. It certainly was a different kind of life than Carbondale could have ever provided.
Three months passed, and then six and then it was Christmas. We drove home for the holidays; and no one seemed to know when we would return to Rosiclare or how long we would live in the boarding house - and I can add that no one seemed very concerned about either question. As it turned out, we never did return, and for that I am eternally grateful. We drove a new Ford back to Colorado - and that was something we thanked Dad for. New cars were hard to find and Dad had one staked out.
Finally it became apparent that Mrs. Hyatt’s patience was getting thin - a family living in the boarding house - and who could blame her? Ernie asked about getting us a house, but there were no empty houses in Jamestown. No one in the company seemed to care about where we were going to live. And then - there was the cabin. Oh yes! The cabin. It was from the gold rush days, belonged to a couple in Boulder who never used it, so; the company rented it for us. With the exception of electricity, it had not been changed at all - not at all. Ernie and I went down to clean it up; this was probably in March - still winter. Ernie had looked at it and said there was a black iron stove (A Black Betsy) and that it had a water tank in the back so we could have hot water. There was an iron stove in the living room, two chairs and a floor lamp. The bedroom had a cot for Kris, but the mattress was so thin that we put a heavy lining of paper over the springs to help keep her warm. Our bed was another iron bed with a sagging mattress. (Since these two experiences with iron beds, I’ve never wanted another.)
Back to clean up day. Since there was no water in the house, Ernie had bought ten-gallon milk cans and filled them at the mill. He built a fire in the kitchen stove, poured in a can of water and we waited for the water to heat so we could wash things. But alas, that was not to be. We heard the hiss of the water as it ran thru the firebox. The floor by the back door had pulled away from the wall and there was the ground in plain sight, so the water ran down hill across the full length of the floor and soaked into the dirt wall. This was so wild that he and I sat down on the floor and laughed until we cried. A crazy sense of humor can save a bad situation, and it is a lot more fun that crying.
The kitchen was the full length of the cabin, and the back wall was built into the mountain. To one side was a small cellar, also built into the mountain and was the only cool - no refrigerator. We learned we couldn’t put fruit in there because the mice would eat it. The stove, three chairs, a small table. That’s it! So Ernie brought in lots of powder boxes. They were our “fall back on” everything - furniture, packing boxes, toy shelves and upon occasion, chairs at the table. Some we used for cupboards - dishes, pots and pans. Two we stacked for a washstand. The joys of the wooden powder boxes. I still have part of one for sentimental purposes. Oh yes, one was an end table in the living room. Since there was no water in the house, we had a outhouse across the gulch, and a two-board bridge to cross on. Of course, it was always cold in the morning so when Kris would get up she would ask one of us to go out and warm up the seat for her, and, we did. After all, she was only a little over four!
We made the best of it. Ernie showered at the mill and Kris and I went to Greenwoods’ for a shower. A couple more incidents to mention: One cold windy night, Ernie was about to pull the string on the bedroom light, and I was already in bed, and I noticed that the wall next to the bed was moving! He looked and finally saw the same thing. When the wind would gust, the entire wall would move out, when the wind would abate, the wall would move back. Another night, Ernie was gone and I was reading a mystery novel, and I heard a noise - finally discovered that it was in the wall. Chipmunks had hibernated in the wall and the heat from the stove had awakened them. And last, on June twelve (my birthday) we had twelve inches of snow, and I griped about it when I had to shovel snow in order to bring in more coal for the stoves. While we were living in the cabin, the folks came for most of a week. Because of space, they had to stay in Boulder. We tried to entertain them the best we could by taking long trips in the mountains, I wondered how they felt about how we were living, but they never said a word about that. I am grateful for that. In May, Ernie’s dad died and he went back to Wisconsin for the funeral. When he got back, I told him I was pregnant - at long last.
I got along fairly well, but did have some difficulty in the delivery. I was past the delivery time as I was with Kris, when a blizzard blew in and Dr. Martin wanted me to come to the hospital - and I did. I was fully dilated, and stayed there for five days. The roads cleared and I went back home. It was the night of the Colorado Mining Convention in Denver. I didn’t feel any different so we decided it would be OK for him to go - and he did. About midnight I knew that it was time for me to go. Franny Hays (Shields) took me down. When Ernie and the men came home they found that I was in the hospital - this was probably about four AM. And after a difficult time, I finally delivered at 3:32 PM, a girl, seven pounds, two ounces, and we named her Lydia. That was on Sunday and on Wednesday, Ernie got a phone call that my Dad had died - a heart attack - age 62. It was obvious that I could not go, so Ernie managed to get a flight out of Denver to St. Louis and then a local down to Carbondale.
On Sunday, Franny took me home and everything was just fine. Monday morning things began to change - I was having abdominal pain that got worse - much worse. So, back to the hospital. Kris had a throat and ear infection, Lydia was eight days old, and Ernie was in Illinois. Franny took me to the hospital; Dibs took care of Lydia and Franny’s son stayed with Kristan. When we got to the hospital I was in agony. Dr. Martin and his group of four other doctors all examined me and did not really know what was wrong, but all agreed that they needed to do surgery; the white blood count was three times what it should have been. I wanted to wait until I could get hold of Ernie to tell him what was happening, but we couldn’t find him. Dr. Martin finally told me that they had to do the surgery - NOW - because they felt that I wouldn’t last ‘till morning.
A spinal had to be used because I was too weak for anything else. Sometime during the surgery, the local wore off and I could hear what the doctors were discussing. The cause of the pain was many large cysts that were bursting. As soon as they were aware that I was awake I was put under again. By morning, Ada May had found Ernie - in Wisconsin visiting his Mother. Ada May was the only person who knew enough about us to figure where he might be. His mother and Isabel told him that it was not unusual for someone to have a lot of trouble and pain right after difficult delivery and so he decided not to come right home. I never did understand why he did that because with a new baby, a sick girl and me in the hospital it should have been obvious that his family needed him. And not only that, he was angry when he got back, still didn’t believe I should have had the operation and even more angry because I kept having the severe headaches. But we had gotten along with the great help of our friends, Dibbie took care of Lydia, Franny took care of Kristan, Ruth took care of the house and I tried to take care of myself. In a small mountain community, that’s the way people did things.
Living in the mountains was a great experience. We were the right age, tourists had not discovered the canyon, and we did a lot of just living - and didn’t know how really wonderful it was. But, yet in a way we did know it. The company had a WWII jeep and on the weekend we could go up even higher in the mountains and drive almost anywhere. The air was pure, the water was pure, and the lakes and streams were full of trout. Sometimes we would take something to eat, and be gone all day. Brown, cutthroat and rainbow trout were in the creeks and with patience and skill, they could be caught. Ernie would catch some and fry them for breakfast and no fish has tasted better.
Deer were a common sight, the elk were higher, and hunting was what you did. Ernie gave me a Remington 30-30 for Christmas one year and then taught me how to shoot it. We would go out to the city dump, he would set up whisky bottles against a dirt bank and I finally got good enough to shoot the necks off the bottles and then come back and finish the bottle.
We were young and strong. We had the right clothes, right fishing gear, and the right desires to do things. He and I had such a good time together and did almost everything together - work, play, have friends, be parents, shop, make decisions, and enjoy our lives - together. The Cobbs were our best friends - Dibs and Vern. Vern was a tall, strong man about the age of Ernie who had lived his whole life there in the mountains. Dibs and Vern had grown up in Fort Collins. They had two boys - Sandy, older than Donnie and Kris, and later another boy, six months younger than Lydia. In the summer time the men would go fishing, we would cook out across the road and by the creek, and in the winter we often would play cards. Dibs and I would fix a meal, put the kids to bed and then play cards. We shared holidays, birthdays and the fun of living in the mountains. And life was good. In the summer this small gold mining town would bring Broadway stars - whole companies - for a week of plays or musicals. When we told the men that Mae West was coming they finally thought of us going up there to see her. Guess what? We agreed.
The opera house, as well as the town, was built by the miners. They had rich lodes, money was no object - it was off-season in New York and the big names came. This had been revived and the big names still came, and we were going to see one of them. We dressed up; our kids were with different sitters. The road was winding thru fabulous country and although “as the crow flies” it wasn’t far, as the car drove it took about three hours.
Cripple Creek was another one of those one shaft mining towns (as were most of the old mining towns). The opera house and the hotel were next to each other and the restaurant and bar were in the hotel. So we went in, ordered drinks, lighted up, and watched the people. Of course, the cast stayed at the hotel and once in a while a member of the cast would come down to the bar. These women were obvious - Mae West did “Gay Nineties” song and dance routines and the women were buxom - to say the least about the most. We had our drinks and our meal and Vern had finally had about all he could stand - watching the women - and finally said, “I’d give anything to walk barefooted thru acres and acres of that.” It was an evening long to be remembered. Oh yes, Mae West and her revue were as advertised - loud, bawdy and very sexy. The following summer we went to another presentation, and it could not have been more different. I cannot remember the name of the play, but it was Helen Hays. I was so surprised to see how tiny she was, but no matter the name of the play, she had the audience in the palm of her hand when she walked on the stage - the incomparable Helen Hays.
And then our lives changed forever. Vern and his partner Dude Lott had a contract to sink the shaft another hundred feet in the Emmet mine, to the twelve hundred foot level. The shaft was completed; the State Inspector had Ok'd the work and it was ready to be in operation that day. Vern wanted to go down for one last look. He was in the bucket and was tapping the walls as he was being lowered. As he was descending, one huge boulder squeezed out, hit him on the head and killed him instantly.
It was about eight thirty in the morning and Ernie and I were in the office. One of the truck drivers came running into the office to tell us about it and have us call for an ambulance from Boulder. Ernie rushed up to the mine and I called Boulder. Then I faced my next job - to go tell Dibs. But there was nothing else to do and I was her closest friend - so it was my job. They had moved up to the Williamson house and so I drove up there with no idea of what I was going to say or how I was going to say it. I walked into the kitchen, she was at the stove. She asked me if I’d like a cup of coffee - and I don’t know what I said- I think I said I didn’t have time - or something like that - And she wanted to know why - I said I had to go up to the mine - why - there had been an accident. There was a very long pause and we just stood and looked at each other - finally she said Vern? - I nodded - is he dead? - I don’t know ... We bundled up Butch and got in the car and drove up to the Emmett. Ernie came out to us - said they really didn’t know anymore, nobody said anything, but we all pretty well knew that Vern was dead. So Dibs and I sat with the little kids and waited. The police came and the ambulance and then Ernie. We had to go tell Vern’s mother and that was really hard. He had been the sole support of his mom and sisters for a long time. His mom went into hysterics. We got someone to stay with her and then went to school to pick up Sandy and Donnie and then up to Cobb’s house.
I left Lydia at the house with Ruthie and then Dibs and I had some serious talk. None of us attended church and now we needed a clergyman and a church. Dibs had gone to a Catholic school and so she decided that she wanted a Priest. I, who was brought up in a strict Southern Baptist church, knew nothing of priests. But we needed one and I knew of a men’s clothing store where we bought our western wear, and that the brothers who owned it were very active in the Church. So I drove to Boulder and talked to them and they called Father Charles who was head of the Catholic activities on the campus at CU. One of the brothers brought him up to Jamestown and meeting Father Charles was a significant point in the lives of all of us, and thru him we met Father Paulinus. We got thru the funeral. Dibs got a big rooming house close to the campus and got a job as a receptionist for a group of doctors. Father Charles and Father Paulinus were at her house a lot, we were down there a lot and a close friendship developed among all of us.
Time went on and it became clear to Ernie and me that he had gone about as far as he was going with Ozark. Reynolds Metals had opened a small mine and mill in Salida and Ernie was hired as the mill Superintendent.
Salida was a small town - probably about 5,000 - in South Park. That was a high plateau south of Denver. So once again we put out stuff in storage, put the girls, the dog, a bowl of guppies in the car and drove down to Salida. To get there, we drove over three passes - very high - and finally in to town. This sounds fairly simple, but it was blizzard conditions all the way and very hazardous. What should have taken us about two plus hours took over five, but we made it safely and drove up in front of a motel. This motel (tourist court) was built for tourists in the summer and had kitchen accommodations. Once again, we were home.
Salida was a thriving small town located on the Arkansas River, and the only town in this rather large bowl of ranches. Again there was no housing - there was no need for new houses because nothing was making the town grow. The motel had been built for summer tourists - mostly fishermen so the cabins had a full size kitchen-eating area, a bedroom and living room. We put the girls in the bedroom, the guppies on the register, and Ernie and I slept on a divan bed in the living room. The plant was up in the mountains so the men carpooled. Kristan was in the sixth grade, Lydia in kindergarten, and I went house hunting. I did find one empty house, but it was in litigation, the bank had the papers, and the house could not be rented. I kept looking and inquiring, but no luck. I did find one - well, almost. I saw a moving van in front of one house so I stopped and asked about renting it. The lady told me that she would not rent to mining people because they would move out in the middle of the night, and even though I offered her a month’s rent in advance, she was very adamant - no mining people. She didn’t quite call us trash, but she made it clear. So, no house. But I kept looking. We had Thanksgiving, Christmas and New Year in the motel, and we made it - the family.
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This is as far as she got with her story. She died December 17, 2000.