Martha Kennard-Atherton-Fleetwood

Martha Kennard-Atherton-Fleetwood A Life in Review Barbara has just arrived, Barbara is my caregiver. She comes in for three hours, five days a week.

With her help I am able to stay in my home. It is a blustery day here in Sun City Ctr. Florida this day and year January 18 2008. I have lived here since 1992. We have tennis, golf travel, swimming, great entertainment, and bus to various outings, cards, fitness room, all in a beautiful clubhouse. At 92 years most activities have been curtailed for me. These “golden years”, however, have been just that.

And now begins my story…

1915 to 1929 In the windy city of Chicago Illinois, in an area known as Humboldt Park and in a small bungalow on Palmer Avenue, I was born to Ida Mae Menter and Oliver Lafayette Kennard on March 20, 1915. A brother, Charles Menzel, had preceded me on August 10, 1909. My father owned a small bicycle repair shop. I perhaps was two when my Kennard Grandparents wished for my Dad to join them in a farming venture in Nashville, Michigan. The bicycle shop was sold and we moved to Nashville. Our family then consisted of Great Grandparents Abraham and Gertrude Guntrip, parents of Grandma Kennard. My Dad and Mom worked from dawn ‘till dusk tilling the land with horse and plow eager for the land to bring forth wheat, corn etc… My Dad, weakened from his daily tasks, died in the 1918 flu epidemic. Abraham had died earlier and my Kennard grandparents had moved to Battle Creek. My dad’s death ended their farming venture. We stayed with grandma Guntrip until her death.

Soon we joined my Grandmother (mom’s mother) Lydia Menter in Chicago. Grandma was a successful patent medicine distributor. Daily she would call on her patients with her healing powder, Aseptizone. Grandma Menter’s family consisted of John Z, Clawson and his half sister, Grace, from Elsie, Michigan. This arrangement intended to be temporary as it was a favor to their Mom, who was a friend of Grandmas. Grandma had been divorced from my Grandfather James Menter earlier.

Grandpa Menter moved to Mishawauka, Indiana and remarried. Again we made a move to Knoxville, Tennessee. Mom’s Uncle Jess, a bachelor, worked on the railroad. Mom became his caretaker and we had a roof over our head. I must have been 6 or 7. I loved Uncle Jess. He was my “dad” and we were a family. Soon Mom found a friend, Donald McKay, he had left his wife and two children for my mom and we were upset again. Soon we returned to Chicago. Our living arrangements at that time were a two story flat on Fulton St. between Cicero Ave and Kilpatrick St. Mama, Don, Menzel and I lived downstairs. Grandma, Mr. Clawson and Grace were upstairs. I was happy with this set-up. If Mama was cross I would go upstairs to Grandma.

I remember being content during this time of my life. My best friend was Ada Sexauer. We went to Herbert Spencer Elementary school. We walked the five or six blocks and had to cross Cicero Ave. In our neighborhood we had our little gang of boys and girls. After school and homework it was outdoors for fun time. We played jump rope, hop-scotch and red-rover-come-over. Best of all was hide-and-seek. To hide with our boy-friend was particularly favored. At dusk our mothers would call and we would scatter home.

This was the Charleston bootleg period and Mom and Don were not lagging in this craze. It was at this time that Charles and I were sent to a catholic home in Batavia, Illinois. I was perhaps 7 or 8, all

alone and felt that no one loved me. Grandma would visit and in a short time took me home. Mama and Don still occupied the downstairs flat and partied the nights away. My brother soon returned home from Batavia. I feel certain Mom felt guilt but her love for Don colored her Motherly instinct. My brother was fourteen when polio attacked. This affected the family in general. Everything possible was put into action. Over time he regained the use of his legs and right arm. He camouflaged the uselessness of his left arm by holding his thumb on his belt.

Here I digress…

I failed to mention Aunt Flossie, my mother’s sister. She and husband Robert Heath lived two streetcar rides from us. Their daughter, Betty, was born in 1920. I would make the trip alone with landmarks of John Hancock and YWCA to guide me. Aunt Flossie was a caring, considerate, loving person and I felt good, comfortable, loved and rode those streetcars frequently.

Now, Mr. Clawson He arrived at my grandmothers with a small suitcase filled with watches and eye glasses, which he sold. Tall, handsome, polite, creative and imaginative it was not long before he and a friend, Tony Bals, were in business rebabating connecting rods for the first automobiles. The business grew to eight or ten employees. Their brick building stands today with Clawson and Bals faintly seen as the Lake St. elevated train slows for Cicero Station. Mr. Clawson had made his mark, as well as becoming a rich man. He became the patriarch of our entire family.

It is now 1926 and Mr. C. travelled frequently for his business. A jobber name Emory Stratton, living in Atlanta, Georgia sold the Connecting Rods--- more on this later. In the meantime, I continued on my way, without a care, happy with Ada and our friends. Mr. C. had become a Grandfather figure. I felt a little bit of a mystery in our family and I was not privy to conversations.

Early 1928 Uncle Bob, Aunt Flossie and Betty were on their way to Florida. In those early years moving to Florida was a trip to Africa and only rich folks had the privilege. The news was out! Mr. C had purchased 350 acres in Holt, Florida. The depression and Al Capone for a neighbor was reason enough for Mr. C to relocate his entire family. Oh did I brag at school! My popularity soared 100%.

October 1928 I said an emotional good-bye to Ada and friends and was on my way to Holt. I was 13.

1929 to 1933 Uncle Bob had returned from Florida where he had left Aunt Flossie and Betty. It was my turn to leave my school and my friends. It was a very emotional time. I was eager for this adventure but apprehensive and puzzled as to the purpose.

Northwest Florida seemed to be in a Boom stage. Zatsumas, a type of orange, and scuppernonomgs, a type of grape, were the big money-makers. The Porters, a wealthy Holt family, along with several other investors including the Ringlings, purchased hundreds of acres seven miles west of Holt and proceeded to build a city which they called Floridale. A Hotel, curbing for the streets, and a depot across the Spanish trail (Route 98) were all erected for the hundreds of folks who would come seeking their dream. Promoters were working the country. Mr. Clawson could see the potential and personally invested in 350 acres north of the Holt train depot.

The aforementioned journey to Holt with Uncle Bob was an adventuresome experience and a risky undertaking. He had never driven a car before his trip with Aunt Flossie and, even with that first experience, was still lacking in confidence. It was a journey which included jouncing over unpaved

roads, getting lost and a ferry fiasco. Five days later we finally arrived.

Aunt Flossie had given birth to a baby girl, Florala. Our home was a one room shack. This was temporary until our permanent home was built. Mr. C, Grandma and Grace would arrive in November. This home (shack) was on short stilts providing a home under the shack for chickens, pigs and anything that crawled. We had an outhouse and pump for water. Our floor had half inch cracks, no dust pan needed. One end of this hovel was for sleeping and contained two beds and a baby carriage. The other end covered necessary necessities. Attached was a shed Aunt Flossie used for meal preparation. There were no windows, just little doors which Aunt Flossie covered with mosquito netting. And so this was to be my living quarters for the next month. Aunt Flossie was not happy, but we all pulled together and survived. In time there would be a new home for her family.

School had already started. Betty was in the first grade and I was in eighth. The first day, with Betty in hand, we walked a dirt road mile. What greeted me was a shabby two story building. There were two grades to a room and, yes, the pump and outhouse. This was the beginning of my education (not only academic). That first day was the beginning of a North-South transition. Our home was complete, suitable and livable. In November, Grandma, Mr. C and Grace left the Windy City. Mr. Clawson and Mr. Bals were still in business. Mr. C would travel from Holt to Chicago now and then to keep an eye on his business .

What happened to my Mother? Don returned to his family in Pennsylvania, so Mama and my brother moved to Knoxville. Mr. C had contracted a local native to design and build our home. It was a beautiful two story structure with white stucco and a portico. It had a formal living room, formal dining room, breakfast room, six bedrooms three bathrooms. Electricity and the telephone had not yet reached Holt, so a generator was put in place. I, at last, had a bedroom of my own and the outhouse was a thing of the past. Grandma was given carte blanch to decorate.

Earlier I had mentioned North-South transition. It was to be a frightening experience. We soon learned that a new family’s home had burned. The KKK was still active. Black folks in that community were called the N- word and had to fend for themselves. School was not provided. On one occasion a young boy came to our school begging for books, paper, pencils, etc… He was taunted, bullied and pushed down the stairs. I cried for him and was given the same treatment. I was told my place, in no uncertain terms. Grandma hired a black woman to help with our chores. We called her Aunt Fannie.

Grandma set a place at the table for Aunt Fannie, but Fannie would always refuse to sit with us due to the fear that had been indoctrinated in her by the culture of the times.

I don’t know why our laundry had to be done in a creek, but Aunt Fannie would gather up the basket of linens and our clothes and take them to the creek for washing. Betty and I were silly onlookers. This primitive procedure only lasted a short while however, as soon we were able to do our laundry at home.

For a period of time, we too were fearful. With the hiring of a couple of young school dropouts (fourth grade was about it for the boys) and Mr. Rowland speaking on our behalf, we became acceptable residents. The Ewings, Shofners, Coopers had been outsiders and welcomed us warmly and soon we were accepted by all the town folk. With our difficulties behind us we fast became self contained.

Our abundance included: water from a well, a garden, cattle, pigs, a horse, mule, chickens, turkeys, goats, satsumas (oranges), blueberries, youngberries, scuppernongs (grapes), and sugarcane. We added equipment and buildings to care for our fast growing compound. Our LaSalle, Studebaker and Hubmobile lived in a spacious three car garage.

Grace raised the turkeys, chickens and goats. She had incubators and brooding homes to house her brood. A trained black lab helped round up her flock. Mr. Holbrook, Mr. C’s father, had joined us and was living out in a little studio apartment in the pump house. He hired several capable men including a young veterinarian intern to care for the animals. Mr. Holbrook kept the lawn manicured and was overseer of the compound. Throughout this time I had finished the eighth grade, friends were made and my first crush was a boy up the road a piece (as was the talk in Holt). His name was Sheridan Griffith. He had dropped out of school in the fourth grade but was intuitively resourceful. He was my math tutor and when I faltered in my homework he was there. I was Sheridan’s girl!

The days slipped into months. Our compound was up and flourishing. Electricity and the telephone had come to Holt. A major event! We were now self-contained. Five hundred hearty satsuma trees, arbors of scuppernongs(for eating and wine-making), blueberries, youngberries (cross between raspberry, blackberry), sugar cane, cattle, pigs, goats, a horse, mule, turkeys, chickens and a garden full of vegetables. A separator for the milk gave us cottage cheese, butter, butter-milk, yogurt, soy bean bread, salt rising bread, and buckwheat for pancakes. Nothing was fried and everyone had a cup of pot-liquor with every meal. Mr. C was a health food addict and we had to follow suit.

So these were my teen years. I lived well and continued school, in Holt, until my junior year. I missed my mother as her visits were sporadic. I also missed my brother. Knoxville was their home.

My Mom had to work. Menzel married and soon began a family. At times I felt disconnected. Mr. C was a stern disciplinarian but I felt that he loved me. There was no doubt my grandmother loved me.

I was mystified with the relationship Mr. C and my grandmother had. Grandma was at his side for every commute to Chicago.

1931 came on wings. I was sixteen and just finished tenth grade at Holt. I would soon be on my way to Baker High. After my melt-down with first days, I became a popular member of the “in” gang. I was excelled in sports, especially basketball and softball, and not too shabby academically as well, thanks to Sheridan.

These were my days: Go to school, come home, play cards with Sheridan and Uncle Bob in the evening. I was sixteen and not dating. I was not allowed! If I was fortunate enough to go to a party Sheridan would walk me home. Our compound was up and running smoothly. A couple of Mr. C’s employees were retired by now and given homes in our complex.

What happened to Floridale? Developer’s cash flow had disappeared.

The Portors, sadly, returned to Kansas. The beautiful hotel, abused by the locals, was soon torn down. To this day the curbing lies in the weeds and brush. That’s all that remains of a dream gone awry.

It’s now 1931 and I’m off to Baker High School to begin my junior year. Baker High was seven miles from Holt. These were rival little burgs. We Holt girls dared not have a male friend from Baker, or anywhere else for that matter! We would fear for our lives if caught, by our boyfriends, with another boy.

There were seven girls beginning our junior year at Baker. Holt’s pharmacist provided transportation.

The school was somewhat superior to Holt but not by much. Both Baker and Holt were little hick villages. Okaloosa was considered the most corrupt county in the state of Florida at that time. Two of my classmates were murdered just because they accidently erected a fence post on the wrong property. There was a trial, but the man who killed the two boys received a minimal sentence. It was

the equivalent of a “slap on the wrist”.

The year 1931 continued with no additional major incident. I continued to be the popular choice in basketball and softball as our teams competed with surrounding villages. Same boy-girl crushes.

Waylon Boyette was my new main crush, but he didn’t dare come to Holt.

Summer of 32, I was 17 and the days were endless. My home was beautiful and all my needs were taken care of. Frequent trips to Pensacola were a delightful bonus. Sheridan and I played cards often and a walk home in the evening, from an occasional party, was a special event. On occasion a conflict might erupt. One evening I was on a drive to the only movie theater in Crestview, with out of town friends, including a young man. We stopped for gas and suddenly Sheridan pulled up next to us with two of his friends, Sherman and Fentress. They had been drinking and the alcohol, along with the fact that I was with another boy, sent his rage spiraling. Sheridan had a gun and demanded, at gun-point that I get out of the car. I can’t describe how frightened I was, but I did as he demanded and got in his car. I asked if he would take me home and he agreed. These fellows were not hard core criminals, just boozed up kids out looking for excitement. Sheridan was apologetic and I knew he meant no harm. His friends had been taunting him about his girl being with another boy. Today, this type of event might have a different ending.

At 17, with emotions running high, I was in conflict with my self. My salvation came with the arrival of Chicago friends and family from Michigan. This diversion lifted my spirits and made the summer more enjoyable.

Sept ‘32 found me back at Baker High for my senior year. Waylon and I were still an item although we never had a date. He came to Holt one night during a box social. He didn’t stay long for fear of his life (the ole Holt boys were an intimidating gang). In those days a “box social” was a big event. Girls would decorate a shoe box and fill it with a delicious dinner. The shoeboxes were then auctioned off to the highest bidding boy and the buyer and the preparer would sit down and enjoy the meal together.

Our school was suspended in March due to lack of funds. It was, however, promised that we would graduate in June and receive our diplomas. Which we did!

Post graduation I was an 18 year old girl living in Holt. I never had a date and wondered what the world held for me outside of our compound. In June of 1933 Mr. C took Grandma, Betty and me to Chicago for the worlds Fair. Mr. C was there on business, we were there for FUN! We had a nice apartment for a couple of weeks. What a wonderful eye-opener for Betty and me. I was fortunate to find my old friend, Ada Sexhauer, still living on Fulton St. What I saw was a beautifully elegant and poised city girl. I was embarrassed at the difference between us. I was a stumbling, awkward country girl while Ada was a lovely, cultured young woman. We had nothing in common and I came away disheartened. That was the last time I saw Ada. We exchanged a few letters over the next few years but, then lost touch.

The big city of Chicago left Betty and me in awe. We marveled at the bustling city, the arts, movie theaters, beautiful homes, Lincoln Park, double decker buses. I remembered it all. Soon it was time to leave and head for Rankin, Michigan, grandma’s hometown. I asked if I could visit my Kennard Grandparents in Battle Creek. Mr. C reluctantly allowed me a couple of hours with them. There was some animosity on his part, as he had helped my father with the bicycle shop years before and felt my grandparents had pressured my dad to leave the shop to go work on the farm. When we arrived in Rankin all my relatives were there and they laid out the red carpet for us. When it came

time to leave, I learned that grandma and Betty were to stay, but I was to leave with Mr. C. This was because Mr., C was building a Venetian Blind plant in Pensacola and I was to enter business school in preparation for becoming office manager of the plant. Mr. C and I departed for home.

I was hurt and moody as we continued on our journey. Mr. C did all he could think of to pacify me. I mentioned I would like to see my Mother in Knoxville. He was not happy to drive through the mountains but to please me, he did. My brother, Menzel, had married and my Mom was doing quite well. After a two day visit, we were on our way to Atlanta. Earlier I had mentioned Emory Stratton.

Emory and his family had been visiting Holt often and we had become close friends. Emory’s son, Homer and I were nursing a serious crush for each other. We arrived in Atlanta and stayed a few days with the Stratton’s. Arriving home we immediately found a private business school in Pensacola.

1933-1939 September 1933 I was enrolled in Evanette Robinson Private School of Business in Pensacola forty miles west of Holt. The morning train from Jacksonville stopped in Holt and I would hop aboard for the two hour ride to Pensacola followed by a six block walk to school. School recessed at 2:00 pm and I would dawdle away the afternoon until boarding the train at 5:30 pm to arrive back at Holt by 7:30 pm. One mile walk and I was home. Occasionally Grace or Mr. C would meet me.

I graduated the prestigious Evanette Robinson in June of 1934. I had learned typing, shorthand, bookkeeping, how to decipher legal documents, how to dress, how to conduct an interview, and create a resume. I was now ready, however, the Venetian blinds were not! While I waited for the factory to get up and running, I took a job in Milton, working for Judge McGeachy. I found room and board with Mrs. Word for $5.00 dollars a week. I made, what was to be a lifelong friendship with Katherine Penton. It was during this period that I fell in love for the first time.

One afternoon, on my walk home from Judge McGeachy’s office, a young man, I had hoped to meet, asked if I would like a ride. With no hesitation, I said, “Yes”! Arriving at Mrs. Words, he took my hand and asked Mrs. W to officially introduce us. My emotions ran high as Jimmie McNair and I became an “item”. My time in Milton was short-lived. I soon moved to DeFuniak Springs and worked with a farm equipment company. Mr. C was instrumental in these job placements, as he was biding his time until the factory was ready. Still in flux with my new love, I, naively, jumped in with both feet.

Jimmie drove 90 miles from Milton to DeFuniak Springs every Wednesday and Sunday. I loved him and missed him terribly on our “off days”. My DeFuniak home was one room in the only hotel in town. Meals were available for around $15.00 dollars a week. Between Wednesday and Sunday the days crept by. In time I met Carl Wiselogel. He too lived at the Hotel as well. His attentiveness soon piqued my interest.

A friendship grew with Sally Broxron and Helen Pittman. Helen was from Pensacola. Panama City was Carl’s home and quickly became my “gang’s weekend retreat. The white sands of the beach and blue water of the Gulf were a wonderland. My “paradise wonderland came to an end when I retuned to Pensacola to take my position as Office Manager of Clawson’s Venetian Blind Company. Room and board was found in near-by home and I was paid $7.00 a week. Even with the cost of living as low as it was in 1935, this was still barely a livable wage. Jimmie was still in the picture and we talked of marriage but there was an obstacle. He had been told he would be in wheelchair in his fifties and he felt he would not be able to provide for me in the lifestyle he thought I deserved. He married Mary Alice, a local Milton girl.

In 1936 I met Wessie and Louis Davis. They were married, which was against the Naval regulations, when Louis entered flight training. Wessie and I found an apartment together. Louis had to stay on the base. He introduced me to Paul Ellis and we four enjoyed the good times until they received thier wings. Paul to the USS Missouri and Louis to the carrier Wasp. Louis and Wessie have kept in touch.

News came that Paul had died in an accident aboard the ship.

Occasionally I would go home on a weekend with Mr. C. My salary of $7.00 was meager however there were perks. Mr. C paid for train trips to Knoxville for vacation time. While there I thought I would pick up some extra cash riding on top of a greyhound bus with 9 other girls advertising Claudette Colbert and Clark Gable in the movie It Happened One Night. I thought it was a blast but my brother, Menzel, was furious and made me quit after only one day. It was good to see Mom and Menzel again. He was doing very well in the advertising business and he and his wife, Hazel, were expecting their first baby. Soon it was time to return home to Florida. Mom and I said a tearful goodbye.

Late 1937 my work was going well. We sold blinds to Sears as well as other retailers. They were beautiful laminated wood slats with Mahogany the most popular in the line. Buyers had a choice of color for the tape which held the slats. Mr. C and Newton Rowland invented a type of paint and thus entered the paint business. Mr. Rowland transferred to Evergreen, Alabama to manage an industrial plant and oversee the production of this new paint product. The weekends were my play time and during this period I met and developed a relationship with Jack Newkirk. Jack and I would dance the night away at the Officer’s Club in Mustin Beach. We picnicked at Gulf Beach and rode bikes over the bridge to Pensacola Beach. We would lie in the sun all day lacquered up with baby oil and iodine for our, all important, tan. For dinner we would meet at the popular Chicken House in the forest just outside Pensacola. Our dates would literally drop reservations from their planes to the restaurant while they were in flight training. It was a very good year, it was a happy year.

My handsome, fun-loving flamboyant Jack from Scarsdale, N.Y. would whisk me away, like the proverbial white knight on his gallant steed, in his LaSalle convertible. We would laugh together, enthralled with each other’s company as we discovered interesting little places off the beaten path.

His stories of growing up in a well-to-do Scarsdale family were fascinating. He lived on the edge and I loved it! Jack captivated my Grandmother and Mr. C. as well during one weekend we spent together in Holt. Mr. C took Jack quail hunting and Aunt Fannie prepared some fantastic soul food for us. Jack invited Grandma to an elegant party for the cadets at the prestigious San Carlos Hotel in Pensacola which she readily accepted. Grandma arrived in Pensacola the day before the party and stayed the night with me. The night of the party grandma was “dressed to the nines”. She was stunning with her jewels, her shining blue eyes and beautifully coiffed white hair. Jack glowingly introduced her to his buddies and her dance card filled as she was reigning queen of the ball. A memory she never forgot.

I was aware that my family hoped Jack and I would marry. The offer was there. I, however, was not ready. We dated well into 1938. Jack joined the Flying Tigers in China and a last mission took his life.

When I hear or see an article on The Flying Tigers, a memory of Jack always crosses my mind.

1939 was the year I met Doris Clayton. I was living in a boarding house and she had just moved to Florida from Toledo to be near her Cadet boyfriend who had entered the class of ‘38. We decided to get an apartment together. We found a one bedroom apartment with a living room, kitchen and bathroom on the second floor of a private home. It was very close to the Baptist Church on Palafox Street. The rent was 25 dollars a month. There was no air conditioning and on Sunday mornings we would lie in bed and attend the church service (we could hear the preacher, the choir and the organ through our open window. It was beautiful). Doris’ salary at Spearman Brewery was $14 a week. By

this time I had received a raise to $10 a week. We were living well. Doris did most of the cooking.

One evening in May of 1939, Anita Walker, one of my friends, fixed me up with a blind date. She introduced him as Blackie, but I never got his actual name. Anita’s date was someone they called Coonie.

1939-1945 We spent the evening dancing at The Scenic Terrace (the local “juke joint”). The term ”juke joint” defined a place that played music from a juke box. You dropped a nickel or dime in the box and chose your song. Most restaurants and bars had a small box at every booth containing a list of songs to choose from. I was not impressed with Blackie, he was not impressed with me and Coonie seemed sleep deprived. He didn’t drink, smoke or seem to care to be there. We all just stood on the dance floor and listened to the music from the juke box. Needless to say, we were all home at an early hour.

A few days later I received a phone call from this Coonie fellow asking me to have dinner with him some evening. I was not too eager, but it was a dinner so I accepted. The evening of our first date arrived. In the restaurant, across from me at the table was this quiet man regaling me with tales of New England, his life and his ambitions. Suddenly the fluff and nonsense of my carefree life seemed superfluous. Coonie was very polite and much the gentleman, but certainly not the jovial, fun loving (even raucous) type which typified my friends. I agreed to a second date. Coonie had already written his mother about the event of our meeting and a narrative of my attributes. He shared her response with me: “Dear Junior What an unexpected turn of events! Your friends’ name, Martha, rings well, and a Southern Belle! There is no doubt you have found her to be intelligent from her education in business” However Interesting this new friend was, Helen, Mollie and I were in one of our lengthy, silly moods at the time and just wanted to be ourselves. Walgreens was a fun place, dinner for 25 cents and we might get a note via the waitress from a cadet who was interested. We would “wheelie” around town and steer clear of Zarragosa Street, which was the Red Light District and off limits for the cadets.

These young men were hand picked for flight training and the Navy kept a watchful eye.

Mid ‘39 Myrt Parrish moved in with us. Expenses split three ways meant a new two-piece bathing suit, white hat to go with our tan and maybe a steak once in a while. Our place was a rendezvous for our friends. I was fast becoming Coonie’s girl friend. He loosened up a bit and would even have a cigarette and a drink. We all would picnic at the beach or just gather ‘round and shoot the breeze. On occasion we would “dress up” and attend a party at the Officer’s Club given by the Commandant.

June, July, August flew with the wind and graduation was drawing near. Dick and Coonie were PBY (amphibious patrol planes) pilots. Kirby, George and Ed flew carrier planes on the Yorktown, the Ranger and the Wasp.

September came with sad goodbyes. Our Cadets now had the rank of Ensign, received their wings (graduated) and were to serve a year in the fleet before marriage. That, however, did not fit with our plans. Doris and Dick married and were sent to Key West Naval Air station. Myrt and Kirby married and were assigned to Norfolk Naval Air Station as well as George and Adele. Ed and Anita married and we lost touch. Mollie and Helen married local boys. Coonie and I had known each

other only a few short months, but the interesting letters he let me read from his mother helped me understand this man in a way I had never experience before. Coonie had been Valedictorian of his 1934 graduating class of West Lebanon; graduating with honors from University of N.H. He was conscientious, devoted, caring, considerate and gentlemanly. All that was certainly grand, but I didn’t fall in love with a list of achievements, I fell in love with the man.

Following Naval regulations we had some difficult decisions to make. Being a by-the-book kind of guy it was difficult for Coonie to watch all our friends get married. Our option were: 1. Ignore naval regulations, get married and move together to Norfolk.

2. Coonie move to Norfolk while I stayed in Pensacola for a year and then I would join him in Norfolk and we could marry.

3. Both of us move to Norfolk, continue dating and get married after the year was served.

We both struggled with this decision but in the end our love for one another trumped the Navy’s “book of rules”, and we decided to marry and moved together to the Norfolk Naval Base. We quietly married.

A few days after graduation we bought wedding rings, a Chevrolet ($650.00) and, with Mollie and Helen standing by, we were married in the Manse of the Presbyterian Church in Pensacola, FL on September 23, 1939. Our wedding supper was a 35 cent meal in the Dainty Del and our wedding night was spent in a nearby motel (a marriage certificate was required). And so our married life began. We would soon be stationed in Norfolk, VA. And so it was--- I was married----I was 24 and MARRIED!! This quiet man; this handsome enigma who somehow captured my heart was my husband. Oh I liked the sound of that! We had two weeks to report for duty at the Norfolk Navel Station. We packed our belongings in our new Chevrolet, said our good-byes to Pensacola and were on our way. Our first stop was Holt. My mother had come down from Knoxville to help us celebrate and commemorate our marriage. A few days later we were on our way to West Lebanon, NH. Along our journey we made stops in Knoxville, TN, and the Shenandoah Valley, where we honeymooned amidst the pristine hills and vales. As we neared New England, Mother Nature had waved her magic wand and painted the landscape with brilliant hues to cover her mountains.

As in awe as I was of the beauty of this New England countryside, reality hit me. I was going to meet my in-laws!! I pulled the visor down and looked in the mirror. How did my face look? Too much make up or not enough? Was my apparel appropriate? Was my hair coifed in a sophisticated manner?

Were the seams of my stockings straight? Were my shoes sensible? Will I pass the scrutiny of the “inlaw inquisition”?? I was a wreck!

Since leaving Holt and becoming a “woman of the world” (so I thought), I had never been so humbled.

I was trembling. I looked to my husband for support. He was glowing; he was transformed into that little boy coming home to Mama to show off his latest trophy. Calmly I told myself; “Yes, I can handle this”.

And I did! We drove north on South Main St. in this nondescript little town of West Lebanon, NH and pulled into a driveway. We faced a two story barn (later I learned it was three stories). To the right was a large two story house attached to this barn. Waiting on the porch were two people and a dog.

A Norman Rockwell painting of rustic America. Mr. Atherton was a tall, robust Scattergood Baines figure in his fedora. Mrs. A was well rounded with dark hair pulled back in a bun, a simple house dress

and black tied shoes. Their son was greeted with great enthusiasm and I, with no fan-fare, quietly embraced into the fold. Later, as I lay by my husband, I prayed: “Dear God, you know my heart and I trust that I am prepared for this new responsibility of marriage, this next important step in my life’s journey. I pray you walk with me now and that I will be that dauntless southern belle married to Sumner Edward Atherton, Jr. I pray this in your Holy Name. Amen”.

I curled into this body beside me, gathering warmth and protection.

Morning came with the chattering of voices drifting up the stairs. Ah yes, today I would be on display.

The Southern Belle whom Junior had captured. I dressed with the determination of winning the hearts of family and friends. The Bryers from across the street, as well as Mrs. A’s sister Mabel Pillsbury, her husband Harry, their son Phil and his wife Evelyn. So many people to “perform” for. By the end of the day, my mission was a success.

Our two weeks passed without incident. I was already addressing my in-laws as Dad and Mother A. Dad A was General Manager Of Fro-Joy Ice Cream Company. Coonie’s brother, Tom lived in Concord, NH with his wife Helen. They came, one weekend, for a visit. We all attended The Family Congretional Church. Dad A took us on drives through the uncluttered back roads, past many little mom and pop shops. I so enjoyed the pristine landscape and tunnels of brightly colored trees. We traversed along the Connecticut River, which is the state divide between NH and VT. West Lebanon was a suburb of Lebanon. The town fathers ruled. The railroad with its round-house was a central icon of this sleepy, country community. The north side of Main Street included Bob Gunn’s super market, Jim Kilton’s drug store, Renna Houghs Degnan insurance, Fro-Joy ice cream, and Schoolcraft’s Appliance. The south side had Edson’s bakery, Kiblings Department Store, the post office, the library, the fire station, the school and Hectors Gas Station.

Phil Pillsbury’s (Coonie’s cousin) wife Evelyn and I had bonded on sight. I was two years older than she. More on our relationship later.

Our two weeks with my new family was all I had hoped it to be. Mother and Dad A were the Mom and Dad I never had. They took me to their hearts and I treasured them forever on.

Our time hastened, we bid good-by, turned our Chevy South and proceeded to our first tour of Duty: Naval Air Station, Norfolk, Va. We had overstayed our allotted time in New Hampshire so there was no diddle-daddling in getting to Norfolk. Aside from pit stops we drove straight through arriving just in time for Coonie to muster in at his station at the base. A motel was found in the heart of downtown Norfolk while we searched for an apartment to fit our needs. This year must be low-key so we kept a good distance from the Base.

A one room with a Murphy bed, small dining nook and smaller kitchen was found a short way from the Hague on Westover Ave. The Hague as I remember, was a canal in the heart of the City, which was a beautiful park. We settled in for our first year of married life. Happy to have our friends, Myrt and Kirby, Adele and George near-by. As secretive as we could be, Coonie’s Executive Officer surmised we were married. At parties and gatherings, however, he would address me as Miss Kennard. Christmas was drawing near with all the excitement of newlyweds. We purchased a small tree from a street corner vendor and with a few cheap baubles and our decorative talent; our one room apartment was beautifully ready for Santa Claus. Gifts began to arrive from our families which

we used to create a Christmas display. The weather brought out the scarves and mittens, newly purchased, and snow was predicted. Christmas Eve we curled together and watched the tinkling lights of our little tree and waited for Santa.

Christmas morn we awoke to a Fairyland of white. We were children again. So happy, so carefree. We donned our scarves and mittens and playfully made our way to the corner White Castle for our first Christmas breakfast. It was a magical time. Our love was empowering. Returning home we pushed each other in the snow and made snow angels. We were filled with joy. Our gifts were plentiful and calls from our folks made it a day never to be forgotten.

The new year, 1940, I found the days endless. Coonie was fulfilling his duty at the base. Myrt, Adele and I would get together often and just wander.

Tragedy struck in February! Kirby was coming in for a landing on the Wasp and went overboard.

Plane and Kirby were lost in the depths of the sea. Panic at the station, grief and fear for those of us who had been so eager to marry. Adele and I consoled Myrt and did what we could for her while awaiting our fate. A few Ensigns were discovered to be married and were “busted” out. Luckily we escaped condemnation. Seems insurance was the reason for first year Cadets not being allowed to marry. A $10,000 policy was given the beneficiaries (their parents or guardians). When Kirby was killed there was nothing for Myrt. She returned to Pensacola and we often wondered if Kirby’s parents helped her.

March arrived, my birthday month. I can’t remember anything elaborate happening. However, come April, SURPRISE we were to have a baby!! A belated birthday gift? I was euphoric! I was high! I wanted to shout to the world, “I AM HAVING A BABY.” Coonie didn’t quite match my exuberance. He was happy about our coming event but felt it was untimely. Merrily I shopped and donned the proper apparel before the usual time. We adhered to a low keyed life until October rolled around which was our month to legalize our marriage. We spent May and June searching for a larger apartment. We found an upstairs one bedroom, living-dining room, good size kitchen in a private home on Carrolwood a short way from Ocean View. This provided beautiful beach walks and shopping in the small boutiques and a super ice-cream Shoppe which lined the boardwalk.

July brought a nice surprise: Doris and Dick were transferred from Key West to Norfolk. They bunked with us until they found quarters. Our place was just off Grandy, the street car line to downtown. Doris and I gave them good rider-ship.

August-September slipped away. October 7 “the scheduled date” we slipped into North Carolina, found a Justice of the Peace and were married for the second time and made me legitimate. The Justice of the Peace told Coonie he would back date our certificate to cover our “sin”. Evidently he did a good business from the base.

Bear with me while I cover an event in June. Coonie had been given another leave and I hoped we could return to Holt so I could strut around a bit with my impending condition and show off my handsome husband. My hope, I never dreamed, would meet with opposition. It did, however, when Coonie decided to go to back to N. H. So it played out that I would go to Holt alone while he went to N.H. I boarded a train with tears in my eyes, and went on my mission. Oh it was a joy to be home again and have my friends marvel at how well I looked and listen to my stories of Navy life. It was a joy to be with my family and absorb the care due a woman in my state (pregnant) and, of course, the curiosity of Coonie’s absence.

Once back in Norfolk our men would go on maneuvers while we gals would double up. Good for the nerves and to stave off loneliness. I was surprised with a lovely shower. Many needed baby duds and several boxes of Curity diapers. (no disposables to lighten the load in those days). I think I washed and folded those diapers many times while waiting the big day which was predicted to be around December 8th.

One evening in November we were playing a game of cards and the phone rang. I was always leery of that ring. It could mean a maneuver of some significance for Coonie. The look on Coonie’s face substantiated my fears. Bermuda had just given landing rights and use of their base to the United States. Coonie was scheduled to fly in the first contingent on November 15th! I fell apart. The tears came and no consoling from Coonie would heal my broken heart. What would I do? How would it be possible to have our baby without his/her daddy present? I was in a battle with the Navy. How dare they not give thought to me! Didn’t they know? Didn’t they care? I could not conceive that this was happening. Was I being unrealistic? Was I being overly dramatic?

A plan for resolving the problem was soon put into play. Coonie was to leave November 15th and return February 15th. He arranged to have our friends George Savage and Frank Fisler to be there for me. My mother was to come as well as Mother A. I was uncontrollable. Nothing of this magnitude had I ever dealt with.

Coonie in his logical, rational way didn’t know what to do with me. I found out later that if Coonie had explained to his superiors that I was pregnant he wouldn’t have had to go at all.

November 15th we said our goodbyes. I sat in our little apartment and did my best to think rationally.

I was over reacting with strong feelings. My mom arrived and soon after Mother A. We were cramped for quarters. December 8th came and went without a hint of labor. I couldn’t move without a mother by my side. Christmas was coming. I bundled up and prepared to ride the streetcar downtown alone.

Mother A pulled on her felt hat while we trudged through the snow to the streetcar. I tried to lose her while shopping, but she was glued to me. Arriving home she was exhausted. I knew I was being mean and selfish, but after all I was pregnant and my emotions were taking me on a roller coaster ride. Frank and George would visit often. One day I asked them to take my mother out as I was suffering from her dos and don’ts. Oh yes the letters came. Bermuda had given the keys-to-the-city to this first contingent. The men were wined, dined and entertained in the most lavish way. Coonie wrote of the dances he attended and of the attention given by a blonde named Hillary (I have her picture today). I was irrational. The mothers were worried. December 17th and a quick response from Frank and George with a navy ambulance delivered me to Norfolk General Hospital. Several hours were a blank. I awoke to a crying baby boy. My baby was here! My pleasing, loving, caring personality returned. The moms fought the cold and rode the streetcars to the hospital every day. They looked so weary, I felt remorse. I named my little boy John Sumner. He weighed 8 lbs. I could only have him to feed and cuddle for a half hour at a time. I could not get out of bed. Endless days and nights.

A bright spot! Christmas Eve through the unlighted halls nurses with candles singing carols brought on a river of tears. Christmas, the moms ate hotdogs and again trudged to the hospital. Dec. 31st George, Frank and ambulance came to take my baby and me home. It was déjà vue all over again.

New Years was unbearable. Coonie was living the high life in Bermuda, people downstairs were celebrating, singing and laughing and here I was locked in a tiny apartment with a screaming baby and a pile of dirty diapers. I had never driven a car and was determined to meet my husband at the base upon his return. Mission accomplished and I was there as he touched down on the tarmac. A tearful happy reunion as he held his son in his arms for the first time. Mom returned to Holt, mother A returned to NH and our lives returned to normal.

John was gaining a little too much and was put on a “diet”. He was a happy baby. February and our lives returned to normal; or so we thought. March arrived and with it Coonie was transferred to Puerto Rico for six months. We thought it best for me to return to Holt. Grace Holbrook came to Norfolk to help in the drive home. I had just settled in when Coonie was sent back to Norfolk. He came on the train to fetch John and me back to Norfolk.

The year now is 1941. In the summer we found a small house near the base. He would be gone a few weeks or a month but I stayed put. Doris and Dick were near-bye as well as George and Adele. We gave support to each other. We made a visit to NH in the summer. In my writings I had not mentioned Mother A owned a large fishing camp on Wallis Pond in Northern VT. The camp consisted of a large Main home beautifully perched on a small hill over-looking the Lake. Four rental bedrooms, a dining room, and wrap around porch over-looking the lake. On either side of this lodge was a complete four bedroom home. On the shore were 7 two bedroom cottages. Wallis Pond bordered Canada and the camp was between Island Pond, VT and West Stewartstown NH. From our vantage point in a rocking chair on the wrap around verandah, we had a gorgeous view of the lake and Canada. Mother A would open the camp in May and close after Labor Day. We spent two weeks that summer of ‘41.

Mother and Dad A doted on John and through John’s early years Twin Spruce Lodge was his home.

Much of 41 was spent saying good-bye to my husband. December arrived. I shopped for Christmas, praying all would go well. A high chair and play-pen. I was wild with the Holidays coming. Around the first of December Coonie was not feeling well. A trip to the infirmary sent him to the Portsmouth Naval Hospital. I made the trip every day. They diagnosed his problem as a prostate infection.

Sunday December 7th I arrived to find the fellows huddled around the radio. Pearl Harbor had just been attacked by the Japanese. Monday the 8th Coonie was discharged and ordered to Pearl Harbor.

On his arrival in Pearl Harbor he was admitted to the naval hospital on Ford Island. With the infection cleared, his duty was patrolling the waters in the South Pacific.

Back to my readiness for our first Christmas with our baby. I was devastated with Coonie’s departure.

I returned the high chair, playpen, tree, decorations. Merchant’s were understanding. I packed the old Chevy with all our worldly goods plus John’s sterilizing equipment, put John in his basket on the rear seat and prayed I’d make it to Holt. Aside from few minor repairs I made it! Christmas was enjoyed with my family and after the New Year I found an apartment in Pensacola. With good care for John, I became a Red Cross Volunteer. My duties were nurse’s aide in local hospital. Letters came regularly from Coonie, censored as they were. He was never depressed which bolstered my spirit.

April 1941 arrived with news Coonie was to report for duty at Alameda Naval Air Station in California.

Time was limited. He flew to Pensacola, gathered his family in the old Chevy and made a non-stop drive west. A fifth floor, lovely apartment in Oakland CA (close the Alameda Air base) was to house John and me with Coonie joining us every other night. This was the most interesting Naval Station.

When Coonie would have time off we explored Carmel, Monterey and had a blast in San Francisco.

We took John to the zoo, picnicked at the beach and played in the park. So wonderful after our many ups and downs.

A call came one day requesting I be at the base on a certain day. The day arrived I dressed John in white shorts and top, polished his white shoes, and made myself presentable. I had no idea of why I was called. Arriving at the base I found enlisted men at attention on the tarmac. I was given a seat and Admiral Greenslade appeared front and center. Coonie’s name was called and was pinned with the Distinguished Flying Cross Citation for bravery landing his PBY in high seas rescuing an army

serviceman on a life raft and taking off successfully. Admiral Greenslade held John and his blue uniform was well decorated with white shoe polish. The Admiral took it well, laughing off his uniform’s new appearance. We were celebrities as the news made all the papers.

We had arrived Alameda in April and it was now October. Several months ago we had learned that John would have a sibling come January. The Aleutian Islands, in Alaska, had become war zone on US soil and required several squadrons of PBYs to fly reconnaissance. The end of October, 6 planes decorated for the flight flew off into the sunset with Atherton’s Angels in the formation.

Once again I had options to mull over. I knew this would be a lengthy tour of duty. The Aleutians were the only military campaign fought on American Soil in World War II. It was known as the Thousand Mile War (A source of dramatic reading by Brian Garfield).

Our first option was I would drive our car to Seattle and settle in near Whidby Naval Station for R&R (for those in the Aleutian Island). And that was our first and last option since we heard from Mother and Dad Atherton. I would certainly not drive to Seattle and have some unknown person take care of John while I had our baby. I would come to West Lebanon and that was that.

So a friend drove our car to Seattle and John and I boarded a train for the five day journey to New England which was no small feat with a little boy not yet two and me with a belly full of baby. This was October and that baby was coming in January. Well we made it with the help of an Army Doctor traveling to his tour of duty. John had a seizure on board. I was uncontrollable. The passengers were all a’ dither fearing the birth was imminent, but all was well. John was soon conscious, the consensus “Just a bug”.

Upon our arrival in West Lebanon we were more than warmly welcomed and I confess, relieved. In time a two bedroom apartment was found and with Mother A and Aunt Mabel in charge, I was soon nicely settled in to my new home.

November and December I witnessed my first winter wonderland. I had made close friends with Evelyn and Phil Pillsbury whom I spoke of earlier in this story. Phil was Coonie’s cousin. His mother, Aunt Mabel and Mother A were twins.

I soon was under the care of Dr. John Boardman who would deliver our baby around the end of January. Mary Hitchcock Hospital was in Hanover, a typical New England town with Dartmouth College in the center. It was enthralling, these little Mom and Pop establishments on Main Street (every little town had a Main St.). The white churches with their steeples reaching toward the Heavens. The town square with its band stand. West Lebanon was smack dab between Lebanon and Hanover right on the Connecticut River. And then there was White River Junction, Vermont.

The Townspeople were very gracious and considerate. Mother A had lost no time in telling our story.

Coonie’s wife would be their neighbor for an unknown period of time. Evelyn’s Mom and Dad lived downstairs which made it convenient to see Evelyn quite often. She and Phil lived at Mascoma Lake, about 25 miles from West Lebanon. The winter of ’42 was very cold at the lake and so they moved into town and stayed with me in my warm apartment from October through January. Evelyn was pregnant also and she, Phil and I had many humorous moments together.

The end of December we received the most wonderful news! Coonie was to come home for a week of R&R! That was my New Year surprise. When time came for him to return to the Aleutians, Dr. Boardman gave me permission to ride the train as far as Springfield, Mass. Connie continued on to

Alaska while I, tearfully, returned home to West Lebanon. While I was away, Evelyn cared for John to ensure that my short time with Coonie would be uninterrupted and we would have the opportunity to relish a few more moments together, not knowing when we would see each other again. Oh but it was wrenching to say Good-bye in that Springfield depot.

My mother arrived the middle of January, as Evelyn and Phil moved from my apartment and in with Phil’s mother (Aunt Mabel). My mother had been caring for my grandmother, who I missed so much, in Holt. Grandma was not well and I felt guilty about not returning home, but it was not feasible.

Mom settled into West Lebanon nicely and we waited and we waited. January 29 Dad A was called and together with Mother A the four of us sped to Mary Hitchcock Hospital. That evening I gave birth to our first little girl, Martha Jean. Dr Boardman was a miracle. He arranged a large private room and continued his care for the 12 he kept me hospitalized. The Red Cross was notified and they in turn notified Coonie, who was soon passing cigars throughout the Quonset Huts, which they called home.

He even told the little blue foxes about his little girl.

If one can enjoy a Hospital, I did. My baby was brought to me for feedings and cuddling, then back to the nursery (that’s the way birthings were in ‘43). The view from my windows was that of the beautiful Baker library with its towering steeple in the middle of Hanover Square. Snow covered the terrain as the students made ice sculptures.

When time allowed, Dr. Boardman would sit with me and we would talk about Coonie. One day he brought a cartoon from the Boston Sunday Paper which featured the “Hero of the Week” in caricature.

It was Coonie!!

Mid February ‘43 Mom had returned to Holt. Jean (we chose to call her by her middle name), John and I snug in our home and managing just fine without the car which Coonie had driven to Seattle.

Bob Gunn delivered groceries from his Super Market and Kilton’s drug store met our other needs.

From time to time Mother A would trudge up the stairs and lovingly care for John and Jean giving me an afternoon with Evelyn and friends. This was her way of having the children to herself while giving me a little respite time.

And so the days turned into months. Infrequent letters from Coonie, censored by the Navy because of the war. It wasn’t until after he was out of the service that I learned just what he endured. My summer was spent with the children, at Twin Spruce Lodge. Mother A insisted we were guests and treated us like Royalty. We returned after Labor Day. Early October the call came. Coonie was transferred to Quansit Point, Rhode Island. There was joy in the town and plans were put in motion for when and how he would be arriving. He was to pick up the car in Seattle and drive cross country. I, with Mother A’s blessing, would take the train and meet him in Wisconsin on October 31. This trip to Wisconsin presented an opportunity to stop-over in Battle Creek for a long over-due visit with my paternal family. Grandpa K had since died. Grandma, Aunt Florence, my cousins Isabelle, Mary and Kenneth, Uncle Lawrence, and Aunt Louise welcomed me. I allowed myself a week in Battle Creek.

October 31 I was waiting, not patiently, at the train station where we had agreed to meet. Thoughts of my Grandmother were disturbing and I wrote her a letter as I waited for Coonie. Before I had finished I was paged. Yes, it was Coonie! I was soon in his arms at the depot before a cheering group of passengers. We found a Hotel and settled in. Coonie went to the Lobby to call his Mother. When he returned to the room I could see something had happened. “The Children!?”, was my fist thought; but

all was well. It was my Grandmother. Mother A had just gotten word she had died.

Another decision: Was I to leave for Holt or stay with my husband?

We stayed the night in Wisconsin arriving home a few days later. Coonie was given a rousing salute, but more important, for him, was meeting his little girl who was then 10 months old. I collapsed under the weight of trying to reconcile the death of my Grandmother. Since I had just met up with Coonie, I chose not to travel to Holt for the funeral. Mr. C and my mother, however, were displeased with this decision, but I knew what I had to do; be the wife and mother Grandma would consider my responsibility. I fought the anger, the grief, and the emptiness. I was at odds with myself. After several long months Coonie was home and we were family again. Memories of Grandma came often.

About this time, I was surprised to hear from Donald McKay. His wife had died, his children were grown and married. Don wished to know the where-a-bouts of my mother I told him and in a short time they were married and living in Corry, Pa. I guess you can call that a true “Love Story”.

Again, Coonie’s time off was limited and we soon were on our way to Rhode Island and a rented Cape codder (cottage) in Appanaug, RI. No Officer’s quarters available.

Coonie checked in at the base and with our little ones we carved out another phase of our Marriage.

Our social life centered around Quonset Point, RI. In a short time were given a beautiful home on Officers row. Here I lived like a Queen. We had live-in help and the groceries were ordered and delivered from the commissary. It was party time! Cocktails at the Commandants, pool parties etc.

I did my share of entertaining also. It was almost a requirement. Late September 1944 I took a little leave of absence to visit Mom and Don in Corry. I lost my luggage and, along with that inconvenience, had an upset tummy the entire visit. That upset tummy heralded the third little one for our family.

Louise, our live-in was a jewel and at this particular time I did need her.

Christmas ‘44 was a round of celebrations at the base. Coonie was a full Commander by now. On days off we would take the children to Roger Williams Park in Providence. It was fully anticipated that our baby would be born in Providence. Once again, however, we were foiled. How could I expect the “good life” to continue?

May 1945 Coonie was sent to Banana River Florida and I returned to West Lebanon. One of Dad’s homes (and next door to his home) had been vacated which was a stroke of luck for us. It was time to open Twin Spruce Lodge and Mother A took John and Jean with her. I was Dr. Boardman’s patient, again, for this third pregnancy so had to stay in town. Dad worked at the ice cream plant and would spend the week-ends at Lake Wallis. Aunt Mabel lived near-by and kept a watchful eye on me. I was due the first of June but baby refused to budge. June 25 Dr. Boardman decided it was time for this one to leave the nest. I was getting no sleep, I was kicked and prodded and I was ready. Labor was induced and soon I cuddled a 10 pound Mary Tyler in my arms. Dr. Boardman’s comment: “Well, you’ve got a rouser there”.

Yes, Mary Tyler met the world head-on, all ten pounds of her. She was so overdue, she was in need of a manicure and pedicure and had to wear knee –highs to protect the open sores on the inside and outside of her ankles caused by high activity while in the “nest”.

We persevered through June, July and August with help from Aunt Mabel. Dad A took us to camp to join John and Jean for the few weeks before Mother A closed it for the season.

My mom & dad in Nashville, Mich. 1918

Grandmother Lydia with me on her lap (4 mos.) My mother (Idamae) standing. Aunt Flossie seated. c. 1915

Oliver & Idamae (Menter) Kennard (My mom & dad).

Ida Mae and Oliver Kennard’s wedding announcement.

Me (1 yr old) & Menzel (Charles).

1916

Me (7 mos.) with Idamae & Menzel (Charles) 1915

Me (2 yrs old) on Palmer Ave in Chicago. 1917

Me (3yrs old) & brother Menzel 1918

Me (3 yrs old). Palmer Ave. Just before moving to Nashville, Mich. 1918

Me (4 yrs old) & Grandma Kennard. c.

1919 Me (3 yrs old) in Nashville, Mich. 1918

Idamae & me (5 yrs old).

Lake St. 1920

Me (6 yrs old). Lookout Mt. Chatanooga, TN. 1921

Me (7 yrs old) with doll carriage from Gradma Lydia.

Chicago 1922.

Francis, Me (center, 6 yrs old) & Betty. 1921

Me (8 yrs old) Chicago. 1923

Me (10 yrs old) with pet calf in Holt, FL. c 1925

Me (9 yrs old), Menzel, Isabelle, Grandpa Kennard with Kenneth on his lap. 1924

Grandpa Kennard, Isabelle & me (10 yrs old) in Battle Creek, Mich. 1925

Me (11 yrs old).

Me (11 yrs old) & friends on Fulton St. alley. 1927

Me (13 yrs old) with Flrala on my lap. 1928

Me (13 yrs old) & Betty. Holt, FL. c. 1928

Me (13 yrs old) in Holt, FL. 1928.

Flossie & Grace with turkey’s in Holt, FL. Date unknown.

Mr. Clawson’s Home in Holt, FL

John Clawson

Tourist club newspaper article

Our home in Holt, FL. 1929

Lydia Menter (my grandmother) Date unknown.

Farmhouse in Nashville, Mich. Charlotte and Abraham Guntrip (my great grandparents) & son George lived here. 1926

Sheridan. My first boyfriend from 1929-1933.

Holt, FL

Me (18 yrs old) & mom.

Lawn of home in Holt, FL. 1933

Me (17 yrs old) & Mary Porter. 1932

Me (18 yrs old) practicing my graduation poses. 1933

Me (18 yrs old). Ft. Walton Beach. 1933

Me (20 yrs old) Fort Walton Beach, FL. 1935

Me (21 yrs old) and Jimmie McNair.

Holt, FL. 1936.

Me (20 yrs old) Ft. Walton Beach.

1935

Menzel Charles Kennard (my brother) in Knoxville, TN. c.1930

Me (26 yrs old) pregnant with John. Carrolton Rd., Norfolk, VA. 1941

Me (28 yrs old) at the Twin Spuce Lodge, Lake Wallis, VT. 1943

Me (27 yrs old) in Pensacola, FL. January 1942

Me (28 yrs old), Isabelle & Grandma Kennard.

Oct 1943

Me (28 yrs old) at Lake Wallis, Canaan, VT. 1943

Idamae & Don McKay. Date Unknown

Our marriage certificate 1939

Sumner (Coonie) Atherton 1945

Me age 30, 1945

Clipping from the Boston paper. c. 1943

Grandma (Maude) & Grandpa Atherton holding Mary. c.1945

Idamae & Don McKay (my step-dad).

1952

Me (34 yrs old) in front of house on Old Main St. West Lebanon, NH. c. 1949

Our family Christmas card 1961 Mary, Jean, Jeff, John, Paul

The airport 1950-1969

An aerial view of Connecticut Valley Airways. The airport we owned and operated from 1950-1969

Our home on Whitcomb Ave in West Lebanon, NH. 1950-1969

Me (44 yrs old) at Franconia Notch in the White Mts of NH. 1959

Me (53 yrs old) on Seista Key Beach FL. 1968

(l. to r.) Paul, John, me (45 trs old), Jean, Mary, Jeff. 1960

Our condominium at Beach Way. Right across from the public beach on Siesta Key, Fl. Our home from 1970-1973

Me (57 yrs old) with Mollie Askew. Sister of Govenor of Florida in the 70s

Me (62 yrs old) with Jean in Ketchikan, Alaska. 1977

My marriage certificate to Ray Fleetwood. 1979.

I was 64 yrs old.

Me (67 yrs old) with Fraz & Doris Arend, Bill & Helen Stefany and Helen Worful. 1982

Me (68 yrs old) on cruise to Hawaii.

1983

Me (66 yrs old) on cruise to Haiti. Modeling a silver mink in the Mink Factory.

1981

Me (68 yrs old) with “Kono� of Hawaii 5-0 fame. 1983

Me (68 yrs old) modeling in a fashion show on a cruise ship. 1983

Me (69 yrs old) All set for the Tropic Isles Haloween Party.

Palmetto, FL. 1984

Me (69 yrs old) on a tour of Europe. 1984

Me (70 yrs old) on a cruise to somewhere. 1985

Me (74 years old) in Mexico. 1989 Me (74 yrs old) with Peter Lieb in Mexico. 1989

Peter Lieb in Mexico. 1989

Me (75 yrs old). 1990

Me (75 yrs old) with George Aubin. Bus trip from Palmetto to Ft Meyers FL. 1990

Me (76 yrs old) at the Captain’s Table on the Dolphin cruise. 1991 Me (76 yrs old) on yet another cruise. 1991

Me (79 yrs old) with Pat at Tropic Isles getting ready for our trip to NH & VT. 1994

Me (79 yrs old) with Pat at the Sally Jessy Raphael show in NYC. 1994

Me (79 yrs old) escourting a group to Disneyworld. 1994

Me (79 yrs old) with the cast of Golden Apple’s PHANTOM in my home at King’s Point. 1994

Me (79 yrs old) with Evelyn Pilsbury. 1994.

Me (79 yrs old) & Evelyn Pillsbury having one of our “heart to hearts”. 1994

Me (80 yrs old) at Jeff’s bar in NYC (Mackinaw) with Mona, one of his regulars. 1995

Me (80 yrs old) at my surprise birthday party.

1995

Me (82 yrs old) with George Fieldhouse on New Zealand cruise. 1997

Me (82 yrs old) with George Fieldhouse on New Zealand cruise. 1997

Me (82 yrs old) with George Fieldhouse. 1997 Me (82 yrs old) in St. Petersburg Square, Russia 1997

Me and Josette at her wedding.

Me (82 yrs old) on tour of Russia. 1997

Me (85 yrs old) with George Fieldhouse.

At my home in King’s Point. 1995

Me (84 yrs old) with John at my home in Kings point.

1999

Me (84 yrs old) outside my home at King’s Point.

1999

Me (85 yrs old) at my 85th birthday party.

Surprised by Jeff & Mary. Joe Dugan gifted me with 85 banannas! 2000

Joe Dugan at my 85th birthday. 2000

Me (86 yrs old) on another cruise to Hawaii. 2001

Me (87 yrs old) with Courtney & Morgan in Cornish, NH. 2002 Me (86 yrs old). My birthday party at my home in King’s Point. 2001

Me (88 yrs old) in New Zealand. 2003

Me (89 yrs old) with Millie Post in Orlando. 2004

Front: Barb, me (90 yrs old), Paul Middle: Morgan & Ursula Back: Jonathan & Chris 2005

Me (88 yrs old) 2003

Me (90 yrs old) with my nieces, nephews & cousins.

Front: Mary, me, Zack Back: Alberta, Kenneth, Mark & Sue 2005

Me (93 yrs old) at Beacon Villa, Port St. Joe, FL. 2008

Back: Courtney, John, Anita Seated: Angela with Rosiland, me (90 yrs old), LeAnn Floor: Steve with Owen, Logan, Caleb, Elijah 2005

Me (93 yrs old) with Morgan & Carson at my home in King’s Point. 2008

Me (95 yrs old) at Sun Towers. 2010 Back: Ursula with Caitlyn, Barb, Morgan with Jameson Front:Chris, Paul, Jonathan with Carson 2009

September 1945 brought news of the end of World War II and a call from Coonie. Enough points to muster out with the rank of Captain in the United States Naval Reserves. He had his sights set on the two paved runways the government had constructed in West Lebanon as a hide away for planes in the event the U.S. was attacked. Every visit home, during the war we would ride up the hill and vision developing a fixed base charter flight operation.

The decision was made and he arrived home in October. He was overjoyed to see, for the first time, his third child, Mary Tyler. Much celebration filled the days to come. In a short time the procedure began to change Coonie’s dream into a reality. The runways were now the property of the town of West Lebanon, so meetings with the Town Fathers were the starting point. The dream had a name: Connecticut Valley Airways. Partners in the venture included Jack Priess, Jerry Winston (from NY) and Donald Bryar. Jack and Jerry were pilots also. A small building was moved to the location. Next the hangars were built. An aircraft was purchased and we were in business! Charter flights, sales, service of incoming flights, a restaurant, and eventually Northeast Airlines (Yellow Bird) was making regular flights into our airport. It was a real “touch and go” venture at this point. We all suffered financially in the beginning. Barney (the mechanic) had to be paid and airplanes were costly. In time Donald threw in the towel. That first Christmas Coonie found part time work with the Post Office and helped Dad A build an apartment on the main level of the barn attached to the house. Success did not happen over night. It was a labor of love.

Running a fledgling airport meant long hours, and seven day weeks. If we wanted to spend any time with Coonie we had to visit him at the airport.

My memory has just been jogged a bit.

A quip from the past: Remember Jimmie McNair, my first love? Remember how devastated I was when he married Mary Alice with the story of not being able to provid my life style, with his future of disability? Well, out of the blue, a post card arrived with a picture of Jimmie in a wheelchair. His words were simply “Now you know”. I cried.

On with my story.

Our days were eventful, our three beautiful children. Mary learning to walk, translating Jean’s attempts at verbal communication, and our creative John. Life was good.

New Years 1947 found us celebrating with old and new friends. Coonie’s odd hours were not a hindrance it seems, for it was soon evident there was to be a FOURTH little Atherton to add to our treasures. This same year found Joan Preiss and me opening a country store in the foyer of our home. Small handmade gifts, our most popular home-cooked Boston Baked Beans, brown bread, and doughnuts. Soon we found ourselves in the catering business making dainty cookies, trifles etc… for the Dartmouth wifes and their teas. Our demise came about when were asked to cater large parties. With one Glenwood Range with its warming oven and me with my tummy bump, that was the end of The Country Store.

October 1st 1947 arrived with me printing post cards with a prediction of Paul’s birth. I wrote:

“Announcing the arrival of Paul Kennard Atherton

Oct. 14 1947

8 lbs 14 oz” Wasn’t it fascinating when the actual event occurred: Oct. 14th and his weight: 8 lbs 14 oz. Paul made

a bold entrance into the world with a beautiful head of blazing red hair. Coonie thought we had the wrong baby. Not so. What a treasure we had.

So now we are a family of six. I had no transportation, we walked. One in the carriage and two, four and six plodding afoot. Paul must have been one or two years old when the barn apartment was ready for us to move in. I had done a good job with the decor and it was quite homey and comfy.

1949 Mother A passed away after an extended illness. Dad opened the camp that summer season and over Memorial Day while attempting to turn the water on to the camps, he collapsed and was found by his friend Doctor Barbour. I, with the children, immediately opened the camp for that summer season. It was a labor of love for me and a summer burned in my memory. Most of our campers were old timers and we spun many stories as we rocked on the verandah over looking Lake Wallis and Canada. It was to be the last commercial summer for Twin Spruce Lodge. The family enjoyed the camp for a few more years and we finally sold it in 1953. The children loved the lake; Paul took to it like a fish. Coonie would join us when time allowed. The loss of Mother & Dad A was a heartbreak for our guests who had spent many summers fishing the lake and had become family. The Wallis Lake Camp would remain eternally in our hearts.

The early fifties found us living in the main house on South Main St. in West Lebanon. We led busy lives with our four children and Coonie with a seven day week, all hours. It was apparent that I had soon shed my southern bell image to that of the Wicked Witch of the West. I resented Jerry taking time off while Coonie staid the course day in and day out. My children bore the brunt of my anger, not physical abuse, no never. I suffered two miscarriages, I lost weight and anxiety filled my days. It was obvious that my physical and mental being was impaired. Soon it was diagnosed that a faulty thyroid was the cause of my emotional imbalance and it was removed surgically.

A circle of friends was my support and the children and I were always included in the picnics, church gatherings, outings, etc... On occasion I would lend a hand at the airport and enjoy a bit of conversation with an interesting traveler.

The airport, still in its infancy, was not providing a living wage for the three dreamers. Jack Preiss moved on to a professorship at Duke University. Jerry and Coonie, with Barney’s capable hands, carried on with sales, services, charter, flight school, glider instruction and from our restaurant serviced Northeast with Coffee and sandwich trays. New up and coming airlines Trans East and Executive began to schedule flights in and out. I was made their station manager, another Labor of Love. The teletype was this era’s email. With it I was in touch with the planes at all times. I was honored to receive awards for exceptional service from these new airline companies.

Tragedy happened to a Northeast flight. On its approach to the airport it hit Moose Mountain, thirtytwo were killed. Two Doctors from Mary Hitchcock were lost in the Maine Woods in the dead of winter.

No flight plan was on file. In the spring the wreckage was found. Notes were found, they had lived five days.

As Much as I loved our children and cared for them I was lonely and unfulfilled during this time. I ached for a purpose, a challenge, to be my own person, and one other thing: to have my very own check book! And so it was I stepped out of character, saw my children lovingly cared for by Mrs. Linton (Paul said, “she makes nice doughnuts!”) and went to work. My resume was weak. I approached a prospective employer and said “I find myself free for a period of time. Perhaps my determination to lend a hand will meet with your approval”. Of course I had introduced myself with a glowing account of my life experience. It never failed. Not only did I land that job, but it would be the

beginning of a long list of part-time employment over the course of the next couple of years.

I made dog tags for Dow Manufacturing Co, played hostess for Howard Johnson, assisted with Dartmouth’s five year directory, performed “Girl Friday” duties for Mary Hitchcock Hospital and dabbled in selling Ad time and programming for our local TV Station. Some of these jobs were for the love of the work and some for the money. And I did get my very own checkbook!! This was perhaps all accomplished within two years. Oh but what it did for my self-esteem!

The airport was fast becoming the Hub for the Upper Valley, Lebanon, Hanover Woodstock, Vt. Celebrities passed through our gates most every day. And what an experience to sit and talk with Eleanor Roosevelt, Danny Kay, President Eisenhower (thousands jammed the airport that day), Happy and Nelson Rockefeller. Winter carnival at Dartmouth brought in beautiful dates for the college boys from various colleges. Not so beautiful after a weekend of endless partying, however.

Meanwhile back in the big house there are four great kids. Ours! With some remodeling of the five rooms downstairs (Jerry and Irene lived upstairs) it served its purpose. This was either 1951 or 52 (You can’t expect me to keep all 93 years straight!). We had not had a vacation with the family due to Coonie having to spend two weeks a year at Quonset Point to keep his status with the Navy Reserves. He was also required to spend a week-end a month in Quincy, Mass. But with some prodding from the kids and me we happily spent a wondrous few days at Niagara Falls and a visit to my Mother in Warren, Pa. John was nearing 12; Jean was 9, Mary 6. It was the school’s good fortune to have these three intelligent and handsome children with their own creative behavior. And then there was our redhead; four years of age. Home alone with no siblings to annoy I took the brunt, kidding just kidding.

He was a good little boy. Around the mid 1950s we sold Dad’s property and bought a four bedroom two bath beautiful home on Seminary Hill, Whitcomb Ave. We had just gotten nicely settled when I was called to Warren, Pa. My mother was ill.

A call came one afternoon from Coonie. In those days you did not make a social call in the daytime. I thought the worst. This was our conversation.

Me: “Is anything wrong?”

Coonie: “Well we had a little fire in the house”.

Me: “Are the children alright?”

Coonie: “Oh yes but we lost the dog”.

Me: “Can we stay in the house?”

Coonie: “Well I don’t think so.”

Another bit of chit-chat and I was packing. I can’t describe my emotions at the sight of what was left of our brand new home. This was certainly not a “little fire”! Our saving grace was good insurance.

We rented a cabin on Lake Mascoma for three months while our home was rebuilt. A Happy thought: I had no spring cleaning to do!

Our crowd was quite a party crew. When Coonie had a charter to Maine he would return with lobster and clams and it might be midnight. Jennie Wells would gather salad material from her garden with the aid of a flashlight and the crew would be called for a lobster and steamed clam party at the airport.

There were moments of sweet, family fun; picnics at the lake, cooking hamburgers on a makeshift rock by the side of babbling Trues Brook, a night at the outdoor movie, but these precious moments were few and far between and I ached for more of these happy family times. Oh Yes, I knew Coonie

loved his family. I knew his integrity, his total involvement in his dream. I married him, didn’t I? But it was a strain on me to desire more togetherness while accepting that he was married more to the airport than me. I came unglued.

The children were well on their way to being self-sufficient. I needed to busy myself. So in late 1955 I put to rest the “If onlys” and “pity parties”, stepped up to the plate and joined my husband at the airport again. I returned to my former duties; working the restaurant counter and helping Mrs. Kinney with the commissary and other miscellaneous tasks. I joined my husband for his week-end Naval Reserve work in Quincy, MA a couple of times.

Tummy trouble again in 1956 meant, at 42, I would be doing diapers, feedings and all that baby stuff yet again. January 1, 1957 found us with another little baby boy. Jeffrey Charles joined the family. What an advantage he had with 4 older siblings to dote on him and what a difference the years make! The day after his birth I was up and walking down the hall to give the news to my mother. I had not informed her prior to the birth because of her failing health. I knew she would worry. I was home with baby in arms in 5 days. He was a cute little fellow and the smallest baby of the lot. At five days old, I was afraid I would break him. He thrived, however, and grew like a weed.

April 1957 my mother passed away. Coonie and I went to Warren for the funeral.

1958, 59 and 60 I was again home with responsibilities. 1960 was “The Age of Aquarius”. John was in college with Jean, Mary and Paul not far behind. The 1960’s were a tumultuous decade. Nature reassures us with the cycle of seasons but she often surprises us with the cycle of family life.

1960 was a decade of graduations, colleges, courtships, marriages, hurdles, detours and obstacles and a challenge to my ability to cope. I learned that to fully appreciate the rainbow we must embrace the rain. I leave the decade of the 60s for my family to ponder.

Jeff entered kindergarten in September of 1961, prepared academically, though socially unprepared. I was called many times by a frustrated principal LaVeigne to respond to Jeff’s many insubordinations.

For example: If the assignment was to color the balloons blue, in a class of 28 we would find 27 blue balloons and one single rainbow colored balloon. Jeff’s reasoning: “Mine is the prettiest!” Thus he repeated the first grade, so “his peers could catch up”. Jeff wasn’t wavered.

All our children presented their unique personality and I could write novels on their individual accomplishments. Each held their special place in my heart and all are my treasures.

Trouble was brewing at the airport from 1962 through 64. Connecticut Valley Airways was being sued by the City of Lebanon for breach of promise (failing to pay commissions). We counter sued for an apology. After a lengthy court battle and much negative exposure and slander in the media, we won.

The airport was now Lebanon Regional Airport and a political thorn between us and the Lebanon city government. It was soon forgotten that Connecticut Valley Airways paved the way. When Coonie’s “right hand man”, Barney came to work one day and collapsed, the decision was made to sell the airport.

Returning from Yale for the marriage of Mary and George, Coonie and I discussed Retiring to Florida.

1969-1975 Jeff and I left West Lebanon around the middle of August 1969 for Sarasota, Fl. Paul being enrolled in

Sarasota’s Ringling School of Art helped in our relocation decision. Paul met us at the airport and we settled in at the Pink Flamingo Motel, just a few blocks from Paul’s Dorm.

With rental car and various maps of the area we began our search for a place to “camp” for our first year in Florida. It was our plan to try Florida for one year and if it did not work out we would return to West Lebanon. We had not burned our bridges. We rented out the house in West Lebanon for one year. Coonie built a storage area in the rear of the garage for items we wished to keep. He would join us when the sale of the airport was finalized.

Jeff and I had decided we wanted to be near the water. Sarasota was on the Gulf of Mexico. We toured Longboat Key, Lido key, and Coquina Beach that first day. I returned to the motel very impressed with the locations but shocked by the price. I felt these areas seem a little to stiff and formal as well. I didn’t have a budget so searching for a temporary home was difficult not having a price range. We also had to locate a school in the area. The next few days were spent searching and researching. Paul had only been in Florida for about 10 months so he was not much help and was busy getting acclimated with his school.

We found Siesta Key, a charming little island with its unique village, quaint apartments and condominiums along the beach. I was a bit perplexed with the concept of the condominium. It seems you bought your apartment and then paid a monthly fee to live there. None-the-less we began our search for a rental. Jeff was 12 at the time and we soon learned these condominiums had an age limit. That was enough information for now and we agreed we would settle on Siesta Key. Now began our search for a school in that district. We found Brookside Middle school and the decision was Jeff’s to make. With that approved we intensified our search for a place to call home.

We found a temporary two room unit in a motel on the beach with a pool on Siesta Key and were finally able to leave the Pink Flamingo after a month. This new motel was owned by a family with 3 children attending the same school in which we had just enrolled Jeff. The first day of school was uneventful and left Jeff with no trepidation. I spent the day basking in the Florida sun on beautiful Crescent Beach with the warm beautiful white sand caressing my body. So began our life on Siesta Key. Coonie would join us in October.

Jeff, at 12, made the transition from his New England small town roots of West Lebanon, to the hustle and bustle of his many new school-mates alien to him. He was a trooper. Jeff and the Smith children (owners of the hotel) became close which helped Jeff’s transition to this “new world”. The balmy weather, pool and beach were exquisite. We played at vacationing for a few weeks before we began our search for a permanent home. We made instant friends in the neighborhood around the hotel and with their help found a duplex on Midnight Pass road just steps from the Smiths. It was small and nondescript with two bedrooms, one bath, a small living room and kitchen. It was, however, furnished. We moved in just days before Coonie’s arrival. My selection of our new home was met with disdain. The area with all its amenities was appreciated, but our choice of living quarters appealed to neither of us, but the price was right so I compromised. A mistake in Coonie’s eyes.

This was October 1969. Janet and Don Douglas, our new next door neighbors, took us to heart immediately, and opened a new world for us. Coonie felt like a “fish out of water”. Golf now became our passion. We picnicked with our new friends, canoed at the beautiful Myakka State Park, and square danced (we even earn our square dancing diploma). Best of all we were TOGETHER in this early retirement. Coonie was a very welcomed new member of the Sarasota Lions Club and I became a “Lioness”. In just a brief time he was State Chairman.

That Thanksgiving we drove to Ft. Pierce (east coast) and enjoyed a few days with my cousin Betty. For Christmas we opted to return north to be with family. We flew into New York to see Jean, Joe and daughter Katherine. Then on to New Haven to visit Mary, George and daughter Ana. We stopped next in Exeter, N.H to see John, Donna and children Courtney and Steve. Paul, with his studies, (and girlfriends) did not join us. We were ill prepared for this trip weather-wise as we were now true Floridians and had no winter coats.

New Year 1970 found us back on Midnight Pass (Siesta Key, Sarasota) ensconced in the good life. The crisp, balmy weather of our new state was most welcome. We certainly enjoyed having Christmas with the family, spread all over New England, but sloshing through the snow and slush of Mother Nature and her New England winter decor was a minus.

So we were back in our small Siesta Key villa with The Smith children happy to have Jeff back and our new friends eager to play. Coonie was promptly back in the Lions chair and we gals went to work drumming up ideas for needed funds. In fact, the Florida State Lions Convention of 1969-1970 was held in Sarasota and Coonie was the National Chairman!! Paul made time for frequent visits with his girl of the week.

The Months wizzed by and it was nearing time for our summer hiatus. School was over for the summer and we were to return to West Lebanon and the final decision. Do we sell our home and become Floridians or settle in for the duration in West Lebanon. It was not an easy choice to leave our long time friends and the familiarity of twenty-four years.

June arrived with its steamy, humid Florida weather. We blessed, the inventor of the air conditioner (never having had one in NH). In Florida everything was air conditioned; our homes, automobiles, golf clubs, restaurants, etc...

We learned to play golf in the early morn. It was siesta time when the thunder rolled, lightening lit up the sky and the heavens opened to a dramatic downpour.

The month was June 1970 and plans were made for our return North.

Jeff, at 13, was to have his first plane trip alone. He was to visit his cousins in Knoxville and we would follow by car.

As plans often do, ours went awry. The month before we were to head north Paul announced his July wedding plans with his girlfriend Barbara Larence. Barbara’s mother, Phyllis, hurriedly flew down from Illinois. Rev. Poole was reluctant to this marriage because of the very short courtship. With his counseling, however, we hurriedly put together a lovely summer wedding. And I might add they’ve been married over thirty eight years as of 2008! So much for our concern over their short courtship.

Two weeks delayed, we departed for Knoxville. Jeff had been there for three weeks and was eager to see us. He and Cousin Mary had run my brother and his wife to a frazzle. A few days stay with my brother and we were on our way.

Back in our hometown for the summer and the big decision to sell and become Floridians. I’ve drawn a blank in my memory where we stayed that summer. But it was decided that we would sell our home and begin a new lifestyle of which we had had a sample. Our children were married with lives of their own and our only responsibility now (in our fifties) was rearing our 13 year old Jeff. He was comfortable with becoming a Southerner and the three of us became a close knit second family. With all the I’s and T’s dotted and crossed, we returned to our new home.

Enroute we met Paul and Barbara in Seven Springs, Pa where we had planned to see Jean and Joe (his mother’s home). Paul and Barb had given up on Florida and were returning to N.H. A few days stay and we were on the road again.

We arrived on Siesta Key and found a new abode in Polynesian Gardens. A beautiful two bedroom, two bath Villa with Clubhouse, pool and steps away from the gulf. Jeff returned to Brookside and we quickly became ensconced in our Condo Association. We made friends with the O’Brian family, two doors from us. Lucky for Jeff they had a son the same age. What a life of luxury.

For some diversion from complete retirement Coonie joined Joe O’brian in his paint business. Joe had a contract to paint condominium units as they were completed in a luxury high rise complex on the beach. However this was short-lived as Coonie experienced a decline in his energy level. His involvement with the Lions and golfing with his buddies and our busy social life was quite enough.

The season past quickly and it was time for summer in N.H. Jan and Doug gave us storage room as we vacated Polynesian Gardens and would have new quarters when we returned in the fall. Coonie was reluctant to purchase a home. His plans were to coast along until his Navy retirement at age 60.

Summer 1971 Coonie and Jeff took a road trip out west to attend the National Lion’s Convention in Las Vegas. Problems at home took me to NH. With the convention finished Coonie and Jeff traveled to NH to join me for the remainder of the summer. Returning in the fall we moved into Beachway; a beautiful condominium smack on Siesta Key Public Beach.

The summer of ‘72 the three of us attended the National Lion’s Convention in Atlantic City enroute to our last summer in NH. 1973, while living at Beachway on Siesta Key, we had devastating news. Coonie was diagnosed with prostate cancer. Suddenly our financial planning became a crisis. By that fall we no longer could afford our expensive Beachway condo. Jan and Doug offered their rental duplex for a fraction of what they normally charged. They also helped us move. Coonie’s health, however precarious it was, had not yet reached the debilitating stage. Desperate and restless, he went to work for the Howard Johnson hotel as night clerk from 3 to 11 pm. He still was able to enjoy golf with his friends and carry on with the Lions. However he did tired easily. To bring in necessary added income, Jeff worked after school and week-ends and I searched for work and a new place to live. This turn of events was devastating for Coonie. He had always had his “ducks in a perfect row”. How could this have happened? He had planned everything so carefully. The sale of the airport was supposed to allow us to enjoy the seven years until his retirement from the Navy at age 60. We had no one to turn to. Our children were married, having babies and building their future.

With a little bit of luck Siesta Royale, the condominium next to Beachway, was looking for a rental manager. I applied and got the position! Once again we were living in a 2 bedroom 2 bath lovely beach condo. Coonie’s health continued to be stable. His work at Howard Johnson kept him just busy enough to keep him out of constant, deep depression.

Our group would meet every Sunday for breakfast on the beach and we found solace together. They helped me face an unknown future.

My job and our apartment was situated so I could be available at any moment should he have an emergency. Jeff had just begun classes at Manatee College in Bradenton. A pattern was soon

established of Doctors visits. Soon work was too taxing for Coonie and short stays in the hospital became frequent. For Christmas 1974 I had planned a small party with our close friends, but cancelled due to Coonie’s rapidly deteriorating mental and physical condition.

1975 came quietly. Frequent stays in the Hospital throughout the year. I had to retire from my rental management job. In August I was told there was nothing more the doctors could do for Coonie and he had just a short time left to live. Hospice came and set up a hospital bed in the living room which gave him a view of the Gulf. He did not want visitors and meal preparation for Jeff was frustrating as the smell of food made Coonie sick. Out of desperation I had my cousin Betty come to stay with me. Had I not had Jeff I doubt I would have made it through this challenge. He was just 17 and my life line.

September 14, a Saturday morning, he asked for a cigarette, dropped it and was gone. I panicked, called 911 and followed the ambulance to the hospital. As I walked out the door Jeff’s concern for me was obvious as he said simply, “Mom are you alright”? Arriving home later, friends from the Lions Club had removed all the hospital equipment and, with their help, Jeff and I planned a Memorial over the next few days. We were tomorrow’s past and I will cherish forever what made my husband unique and will hold him in my heart forever.

While living at Beachway we met a charming retired couple from Kentucky. Hugh Potter had been historian of the state of Kentucky and owned a radio station. His wife, Cliffordean, was a prima-dona and had her own radio program with her own personal style. She was a vocalist with celebrity friends (Ann Margret was a favorite).

Coonie had found his double, bonded with Hugh immediately and was inducted into the Lions organization.

Cliffordean added her expertise to the Lionesses.

I tell this story to give credence to a most memorable memorial for Coonie. Hugh gave an unforgettable eulogy.

His format, “This Is Your Life Coonie Atherton”, was overwhelming to his many friends learning of Coonie’s accomplishments during WWII and throughout his life. He never spoke of his credentials. Did I not say he was one of a kind?

His burial in West Lebanon had been taken care of before Jeff and I arrived for another memorial in our former hometown. He now rests in the West Labanon Cemetery where I shall join him when I am called.

Our stay was short as Jeff had much catch-up at school. It was time to assess our living arrangement. Betty was still with us and we concurred, with careful planning, we could keep the apartment at Siesta Royale. A “round table” conference took place and we calculated our incomes. Jeff and I had been given $250 each in social security disability and a $20,000 policy which Coonie had. Betty’s salary was $350 monthly. We would each put a third in the pot for rent and a third for food and incidentals. Betty would give Jeff transportation to and from college. His four years of college was paid for by a military student load through the Officer’s Association. Job hunting was in store for me. We were a team and careful planning still gave us our million dollar sunset.

1976 Time to close a door and walk through to a new beginning. The need to expand our money pot was a priority.

I needed a job, simple as that. Before I committed myself to a new employer, however, there was something I needed to do. My heart ached, far too long, to visit my daughter in Alaska. It was not possible for Jean to travel to Florida and she had missed her father prior to his death. This caused her much personal grief.

My itinerary was put in order and I coaxed Edith Hutchinson (Joe’s widowed mother) to join me. This was perhaps late May early June (the date is foggy). Edith joined me on the plane in St. Louis and on to Ketchikan we flew together. The airport was on Gravina Island. Joe was there to meet us with his boat. Their home was 12 miles north on the same island. It was a twenty minute ferry ride from Gravina Island to the city of Ketchikan.

Boarding Joe’s small outboard was no simple task. We were no “young’uns” for this mode of transportation.

Edith made it but rocked the boat which put me in the water while boarding. Once we were all securely aboard, along with all of our luggage, Joe gunned the throttle, shot up a spray of ice water and we were on our way. It was an emotional reunion. I held my daughter and eight year old granddaughter close to my heart.

Their temporary home was one room with bunk beds, wood stove, a table and a few chairs, a loft, and outhouse (YES, an actual outhouse!). Joe was in the process of building a three bedroom home. This was true isolation; except for an elderly couple living near-by. It was a twenty minute boat ride to Ketchikan.

After a few alterations in sleeping arrangements we settled in. We were truly isolated here on Gravina Island.

Joe would go to work with the one boat and we were stranded. No matter.

Jean and I had four years of catching up to do, as well as a granddaughter to pamper. The beach was their front yard. We watched the cruise ships as they left port for Sitka and Skagway. Large ferries carried passengers from Island to island. Float planes sailed by overhead. One day Edith, Jean, Katherine and I rented one of those float planes and had a high adventure flying all around the islands of Ketchikan. Meal preparation was accomplished over a large wood stove with a built in reservoir providing hot water. Jean served up sumptuous meals of salmon and halibut. Evenings were spent around the stove being entertained by Joe and his guitar.

Days flew by. We trekked all over Ketchikan. Sat at the dock and watched the passengers depart their cruise ship eager to buy the native crafts and bouy up the Ketchikan economy. I took a ferry to Sitka for a couple of days.

Sitka is a small island with a Russian atmosphere.

Soon it was time to leave my Alaskan family. The journey home began with a ferry ride to Prince Rupert Canada, through customs, then a train and bus to Calgary. Three days to enjoy Calgary because the planes were all grounded due to an airline strike. Then it was off to Denver where Debbie and Brenda (Edith’s daughters) met us. We spent the night in Denver then on to Vail. Brenda owned a boutique in Vail called Cabbages and Kings which was quite fitting for this popular ski resort. We wined, dined and partied the nights away.

Exhausted, it was time for me to continue my trek home. Edith remained in Vail.

I finally arrived home with the fresh memory of Alaska, a wondrous corner of our country, and, most important, Jean and her family. I regaled Jeff and Betty with all the details.

Now it was time for me to make sure our money pot was fluid. I was confident I would make it my way. When I chose to play, I would play. With that in mind, I designed a catchy business card offering personalized services.

Companion Sitting Letter Writing Chauffer Nurses Aide Condo Care Etc… I scattered them in beauty shops, grocery stores, restaurants, hospitals social service departments, condominiums, clubhouses, and wherever I could get permission. It was an immediate success. Location played a big part. Siesta Key had many pricey condos and many more wealthy snowbirds in need of summer care. I was an entrepreneur! I worked and played as I wished and our money pot overflowed.

My good friend Jerry Fox was also widowed by this time and the two of us braved the new single life. Our first

adventure involved attending a singles dance. We were both filled with anxiety. Although we had much to learn, we were soon initiated into the single club.

We made a pact to stick together on our dates. Jerry met Tony and I fell for Peter. Jerry and Tony soon were a twosome. Not so with Peter and me. He was a ladies man and I was never sure where I numbered on his “list”.

Still, I sat by the phone awaiting my turn at a date with Peter. I was very vulnerable. I would have an occasional, nondescript date with other gentlemen between calls from Peter, but he was definitely number 1 on MY list.

My business was growing with many condo contracts and companion service. My days were rounded out with golf, dinner with friends, attending Jeff’s musical performances and chatting with Betty about her day. Life was good.

By 1978 I had moved up on Peter’s list, but still no commitment.

Betty had become good friends with Sally, one of her older Beauty School students. Sally arranged for Betty to meet a Dr. Fleetwood who was a fishing buddy of her friend, George. Betty agreed and a double date was arranged for a Saturday night. They were to go dancing in St. Petersburg at the coliseum. Betty donned her gown and was off to Palmetto, just over the bridge from Bradenton. She returned home Sunday, disgruntled.

The Doctor was in the process of breaking off his current relationship and had gone to meet her, leaving Betty in the lurch. A few weeks later Betty was asked again to meet the Doc. No way! So I was asked if I would like to fill in. With nothing on my schedule I agreed. This is how I met Dr. Raymond Fleetwood. If Betty’s date had been more successful, SHE might have been Mrs. Raymond Fleetwood.

Ray had lost his wife in 1975 and was lonely and looking for someone to share his life. His family did not approve of Betsy (the woman with whom he recently broke up) they felt she was after his title and worth. I was heartily welcomed into the family and he into mine. Ray was a kind, gracious, gentleman, but having lived alone for 5 years, he was a diamond in the rough. I performed a few minor make-overs and our friendship blossomed into a loving marriage. April 1st I became Mrs. Raymond Fleetwood. In a lovely ceremony Jeff sang There Is Love and his girlfriend (now a famous opera singer) Stella sang The Lord’s Prayer.

1979 My home is now Tropic Isles Mobile Home Park. I had won the most eligible bachelor in the park much to all the widows regrets, who had been hopeful with their casseroles.

The role of Mrs. Raymond Fleetwood was prominent in this respectable, senior adult park and I was determined to fill the role. In short order I made my mark with new ideas to their activities. A yearly spectacular event, a yearly rummage sale, and I became their travel representative.

Leaving Siesta Key was a heartache. Betty had a stroke while visiting her daughter, Jeff had been attending Florida State University and I had been living alone. Ray had been helpful as I dealt with Betty’s ordeal. In time her children had a home built on a small piece of property in Holt, and she was capable of living alone. Her sister Florella lived nearby.

This new life was a new beginning and new experience. Our large, comfortable mobile home was on a canal ten minutes to the open Gulf with a boat docked in our back yard. Fish was a staple thanks to Ray and George’s successful fishing trips. In time a new twenty-four foot SeaRay (24 foot cabin cruiser) was purchased. It was a very comfortable 24 foot cabin cruiser with a galley (kitchen for you land lubbers), two double beds, a head with shower, spacious deck and the captain’s chair. With my old friend Doris, divorced and remarried to Franz Arend, we would enjoy overnight trips to Sanibel and Captiva Islands. Travel became a priority. As

travel representative I was soon escorting groups to Mexico, Hawaii and many cruises as well as bus and train excursions to many hot spots.

Jeff had finished college and returned to Palmetto where he was welcomed to stay with us while interning as a choir director at Manatee High School. He soon found a small apartment in Bradenton. He quickly became active with The Manatee players (the local community theater) and landed the position of choral director at Sugg Middle School. He also was hired as part-time music director at the First Methodist Church in Bradenton.

Ray and I would alternate attending our own church in Palmetto and visiting Jeff’s church to watch him “perform” his music director duties. I volunteered in the box office at the Manatee Players. It wasn’t long before Jeff was being cast in major roles. This meant opportunities for a “dress-up” evening of dinner and theater. It was comforting to have a child fresh out of the nest and yet so close by. We still had the traditional Christmas, Thanksgiving, etc…

1979 - 1987 Ray and I also covered the 49 States in our new bright yellow Cadillac. I was the chauffeur and Ray the navigator. Summer we traveled to Indiana (Rays’ home state) to attend his 50th class reunion in Indianapolis.

Then it was on to Nappanee, his home and where he had his medical practice for so many years. Ray was a family Doctor. He delivered hundreds of babies, made house calls and would stay the night if the need was critical. Many times he would be reimbursed with a chicken or home canned vegetables. An office visit with Dr. Ray was seven dollars. He retired at 62 due to a heart condition and spent the next 10 years as admitting Doctor at the Veterans Hospital in Indianapolis. In Michigan I was introduced to Cleo’s large family. Cleo was Ray’s first wife. Indiana and Michigan became a summer retreat.

Our first lengthy jaunt was to Trinidad, California to visit one of Ray’s longtime friends, Dr Davis. A dentist of the Hollywood celebrities, Dr. Davis was now retired as well. We drove to LA did all the tourist things and continued north along the coast. Visits to the Hearst Castle, Pismo Beach, San Francisco’s trolley cars, Chinatown, the Golden Gate bridge, Alcatraz and on through the Red Woods to Trinidad close to Oregon. The Davis’s opened their lovely home on the Atlantic to us and were very gracious hosts for two weeks. Dr. Davis escorted me through the Red Woods, the vineyards and led me on a narrow path around a very high cliff above the beach. I did it blindly. We watched the seals as they played among the rocks, and we were fascinated with Dr. Davis’s stories of life among the Hollywood Stars. I flew to Alaska for a few days, returned for Ray and made our departure.

We made our way to Reno, NV but no luck at the casinos. On to Salt Lake to visit the Mormon Tabernacle and a dip in that famous Salt Lake. The lake was without a ripple, eerie. We spent the night among the Indian cliff in Mesa Verde. We traveled through Yellowstone Park, Mt Rushmore, the Ozarks, and Carlsbad Caverns (where we watched thousands of bats take flight from the cave). We arrived home safely with many stories with which to regale our neighbors.

Later in the 80’s my friend Jeri, Ray and I made plans for another lengthy summer jaunt back to Alaska. Jeri had never been west, nor to Alaska. We planned our trip strategically. Ray and I would furnish the car (our yellow Cadillac) and pay for half the gas. We agreed to share motel room and food expense. We were each responsible for our own touristy attraction expense. When in Alaska we would first share a condo in Ketchikan then stay a week with Jean on Gravina Island.

Having made this trip before, my memory is a bit hazy as to how, what and where each journey took us. Nonethe-less, we departed Tropic Isle around the first of June. Jeri and I took turns driving while Ray enjoyed the scenery and dozed in the back seat. Rays energy was by now at a low point, but he was still very eager to go.

Our travel itinerary was loosely planned. Our first stop for more than just an overnight) was St. Louis. We also had short visits in Colorado Springs and Boulder. We were in Boulder for a week for an Elderhostel (back to college for senior citizens). On to Jackson Hole, WY which was the location of our first disaster.

On a Sunday, 18 miles from Jackson Hole at five o’clock in the evening and 100 degrees, Jeri drove over what we thought was a small rock. Somehow it hit the gas tank and we pulled off the road to have a look. Sure enough, the gas tank was punctured and all our gas had leaked out. A couple of good Samaritans stopped to assist. They agreed to take Jeri to look for a tow truck. So there Ray and I sat in our car (which was a sauna) for two hours! Jeri finally arrived with a tow truck and we were towed to Jackson Hole. Luckily there was a motel nearby. We checked in and promptly collapsed in our room.

The next morning we learned the mechanic could only repair the ruptured tank to get us as far as Idaho, but we would than need to buy a new gas tank. We made the best of our situation and did the touristy thing around Jackson Hole for two days then drove to Idaho.

I had called our insurance and their appraiser was at the Garage when we arrived. The appraisal complete, it was the consensus that a new gas tank and other repairs were needed and it would take about three weeks. We had another conference to decide whether we would stay put or continue our journey. We agreed to complete the trip as planned. From the trunk we gathered our belongings and flew to Boise, then on to Seattle. We rented a car in Seattle, spent three days sightseeing then drove to Vancouver and Victoria. Three days to enjoy the beauty of these Cities. Butchart Gardens was awesome. We turned in our rental car and boarded a train to Prince Rupert.

The train dropped us at the ferry to Ketchikan. We reached our destination intact.

Our condominium (earlier reserved) was to be our home for the following two weeks. We were a 20 minute boat ride to Joe and Jean’s home on Gravina Island. Jerry took a back-pack boarded a ferry and was off to cover Alaska. Ray and I were ready for solitude and visits with the family. Having been to Ketchikan before, we took a slow and easy pace. Jerry returned a happy camper. Our third week was spent on the island with Jean. Salmon and Halibut plentiful in the Inland Waterway right in front of Jean’s house. Our Stay on Gravina was a high point of the trip. All too soon it was time for us to tackle our return to Idaho Falls. Again the ferry took us to Prince Rupert, train to Calgory, rental car to Idaho.

Just outside Calgary we had trouble with the rental car. We found a dealer and were given a replacement.

Arriving in Idaho Falls we retrieved our freshly repaired car, a 35 dollar check for over-payment by the insurance company, and we started our trek home to Florida. We mapped our itinerary through places we had not covered in previous trips. Arriving home intact we agreed to forget the pitfalls and tackle a new journey in the New Year. Ray had endured our lengthy experience, but continued on a downward health spiral.

The mid eighties were filled with numerous hospital visits. Our dear friend Jeri was killed in an auto accident. In the summer of 1987, after three weeks of constant care, Ray passed away in the hospital. Following the tragedy of Jeri and the death of Ray, my life had reached another turning point.

1987-1992 I continued living in our mobile home in Tropic Isle, and kept my status as travel escort. Busied myself with the various amenities of the Park, and found the Manatee Players a stronghold. Jeff continued teaching at Sugg Middle School and was well ensconced as an actor at the Players.

An “aha” moment hit me one day as I was busy selling tickets at the Manatee Players. I thought of Peter. It had been years since that little romance. I called, he answered.

Thus began a continuation of an old romance. I was 73, Peter 82 and the time frame was late 1988. Peter had aged and so had I. He still possessed that same charm that attracted me all those years ago. Most of his goodtime buddies had said good-bye and moved on. His wealth had dwindled and also the names in his “little black book”. He was no longer the “ladies man” of the past. We did, however, treasure the time allotted us.

Peter had time shares in Mexico where we spent many happy days. We spent New Years Eve 1988 with the revelers on Bourbon St. in New Orleans. Summer 1989 was a jaunt through the White Mountains of N.H. and Canada including a week in Stowe, Vt. Back in Florida, Peter would drive up often, from his home in Sarasota, to visit. We had fun times together. Peter was a gentle giant. Affable, romantic, charismatic and lovable and I loved him. Summer 1990 Peter passed away and I am left with warm memories.

Again I am at odds with myself. The cost of living in my Mobile Home was beginning to strain my limited budget. Bob and Ginny Bartlett, my life long friends, were living just East of Tampa in Sun City. This, along with several other advantages and amenities made Sun City an attractive move. The “for sale” sign went up in my window and, with my first prospects; I got cold feet and immediately withdrew the sign. This was a very difficult decision for me. To make matters, worse I had just met George Aubin.

What can I say about George? A “diamond in the rough” from the French Quarter of Quebec. He worked many construction jobs, lived in the fast lane and with his cowboy boots, cowboy hat, and Quebec slang, he was a charmer. George was fourteen years my junior, which made me a bit uncomfortable, but with his wit, humor and attentiveness, I fell.

The “for sale” sign went back up April of 1992. In record time a couple were viewing the canal from the vantage point of my dock. I froze for the moment waiting for the knock on my door. In a matter of a few days, with check in hand and the movers at my door, I readied myself for my new King’s Point, gated community in Sun City.

George was very helpful along with friends from the Tropic Isles. My new home, purchased with the approval of Jean, Mary and John, was a two bedroom two bath villa conveniently located near the beautiful club-house with its many amenities including an indoor-outdoor pool. George was smitten but King’s Point with its many rules and regulations was not a good fit for him. Our friendship, however, continued. In a short time, I was golfing, playing tennis, swimming and had become the president of the travel club. My travel escort days resumed. Hawaii, Europe, cruises to Mexico, and many train travels.

Tropic Isle did not let me go quietly. At a Saturday morning breakfast, I was roasted and presented with a handmade card: “Thanks for the Memories”. I cried bittersweet tears. I loved my new home, but missed my dear friends.

1992 - 2007 To show off my new home I gave a catered party in our lovely banquet room at the clubhouse and sent a blanket invitation to Tropic Isle. This introduced several of my friends to King’s Point and resulted in two couples moving to there. My friends Bob and Dottie Ivens introduced me to George Fieldhouse. A new friend in my life.

My life continued with new friends, much travel and a care-free lifestyle. It wasn’t all fun and games, however.

I gave to the community many volunteer hours.

The days turned into weeks, the weeks into months and the months into years. I had resigned from the Travel club, my activities lessened and in 2005 I celebrated my 90th year! What a gala that was! My entire family at a

catered dinner in our banquet room at the club-house. From near and far they had come. What joy and warmth filled my heart. A memory forever.

Now retired and as ole Frankie sang, “…and now I face the final curtain”. It was now time to look back and take stock of my life. For what purpose was my life intended when it began all those years ago in that small Polish community in the big city of Chicago? It was a life of twists and turns. My early years were carefree. I was in awe and wonderment of life. My young heart dreamed of filling the universe with laughter. I was a blend of Minnie Pearl and Carole Burnett. Along the way I had bits and pieces of that dream. On my own I worked and played, married and was blessed with our five children. I believe that was “my purpose”.

In ’05 my energy and stamina dramatically declined. A few more games of golf and tennis and my body could not keep pace with my desire for physical activity. Doctor’s visits became more frequent. My decreasing energy soon made my volunteer work of visiting the house-bound, impossible. George Fieldhouse was still in the picture with an offer of marriage. We sailed around New Zealand and talked of marriage, however, George made his tranisition before me were able to get to the alter.

2007 - 2012 May of 07 delivered a surprise and a turning point. In a fall in my living room I broke my ankle. Jean rushed down from Apalachicola to find me in the hospital. Within a week I had been moved into an assisted living center called Aston Gardens (in Sun City). This was to be my home for the next month. September I returned to my home with the help of my new physical therapist Barbara Mitchell. During this same time Mary arrived home to Vermont for R&R from the Peace Corps.

Christmas 2007 a mini family reunion in Sun City. January 2008 Mary returned to Africa. Barbara would visit several times a week for physical workouts and general help around the house. Not being able to get around as I had prior to breaking my ankle, really put the brakes on what little physical activity I had been able to muster.

My health declined and my only outings were visits to the doctor, assisted by Barbara. I looked forward to frequent calls from family and a game of cards on a good day.

September ‘08 another fall put me in the hospital followed with three weeks rehabilitation. Jean, Paul and Barb arrived and a decision to move me near Jean brought me to Beacon Villa Assisted Care Center in Port St. Joe, Fl. Beacon Villa a small assisted living for 30 residents at capacity in a very rural area along the Gulf called Mexico Beach. As the new occupant I made 17 senior adults in all manner of health. Many were battling dementia. My quarters were a room, bath and kitchenette. Two large windows gave me a pleasant view of the vegetable garden and strawberry patch. My daughter Jean had worked diligently to find a comfortable home near her. She would found Beacon Villa a quiet, lovely home. Its lobby with fireplace, lovely decor and bright dining room was certainly nice. I, however, was devastated. The adjustment for me was unbearable. Miss Sadie (everyone was called Miss or Mr) across the hall lived with her faithful dog, Barney. My first night Barney howled incessantly and I was certain it was my death toll. My attempt to acquaint myself seemed futile. I fell apart. For days I was in a melt-down. I trashed everyone. Yes, Heaven help me, even my family. The days and nights were horrifying.

Finally spent, with help from the staff and kindness of my fellow house-mates, I began the climb back to sanity.

Not completely but I reached a happy medium. I found true friendships and was more or less at peace and did my best accepting Beacon Villa as my permanent home. There was my physical health to deal with and in this rural area there was a scarcity of quality doctors. I had to travel 35 miles when routine problems arose.

June arrived with news my daughter Mary would move from Vermont to Sun City. She asked if I would like to

return and share our home together.

And so it was in 2009 July I bid farewell to Beacon Villa. It was a tearful good-bye to my friends , George especially. We had formed ,a warm friendship, spent many evenings card playing and just sharing stories. I had fully thought I would return for a visit. I didn’t, George passed away and the desire was gone.

Mary had remodelled the King Point home, it was clean and lovely and my room was just as I had left it. We settled in to a mother- daughter living relationship. I was handicapped to the point of the bed to the lift chair.

Certainly not the Mother I wished to be. Mary was a patient caregiver. Would do her best to get me out when she shopped. Over-time with much thought it was Sun Towers, an independent-assisted living facility. I had previously toured the Towers and should have acted then. Mary and I celebrated Christmas 2009 and plans were made for my move to Sun Towers April 1. To find the Just-Right apartment was time consuming, but the perfect place became available. April 1 came along with the movers and within two hours I was enjoyng my screened balcony with view of pool,lake and vista. My apartment is warm, cozy, comfortable. Large Living Room, very large bedroom with alcove, two bathrooms and Kitchenette. I am on the fourth floor of this 7 story building, near elevator and few steps to Dining. Mary is close-by.

As I write this it is now January 13-2011. I have made a circle of friends and am content and feel Life is good.

Wrong choices have been made, hurdles have been jumped, twists and turns. Now I am at Peace and looking forward to a March 20th 96th birthday.

November 2012 A very good year until a fall put me into the nursing home and physical therapy. Hopefully I will be back in my apartment early 2013. March 20, 2013 marks my 98 years of life.

Now I bring this story to a finish with no great flourish.

I ask you all to be kind and love each other as I love you...when I am among your thoughts I will smile.

Mom, Mother, Ma, Mama Grammy Bell Great Grammy A