Gl in wf winter

Good Living In

West Frankfort No. 24 Winter 2014

Showcasing the People, Places and Pride of West Frankfort, Illinois

Good Living in

West Frankfort No. 24 Winter 2014

Publisher’s Letter

Good Living In

West Frankfort

T

hink of this publisher’s letter as a short issue of True Confessions. We were working away on articles and ads a couple of weeks early in November, thinking we were making pretty good progress. Then suddenly, somehow, our November 18th deadline was nearly here. Wow. We almost decided that we were going to have to let you proofread this one yourselves.

Luckily, we had already agreed to share the creative jobs with some of our favorite writers, so in spite of having to speed up the process for this issue, we’ve still got some great stories. When we started Good Living in West Frankfort, we committed to ourselves that every magazine would have some real humor in it, and I think this one really lives up to that promise. We enjoyed Aaron Hopkins vacation blog so much that we decided to call him back for an encore. His insightful story on being a twin, especially at Christmastime, will be a treat if you or your kids were a child of the 1980s. If not, you’ll still enjoy the parts about the twin battles. I shared some of my own childhood memories in this issue. (I guess I usually do.) My stories have a moral. If you are a duck or a turkey, don’t come pecking around my house. It may not end well.

It was during a late night conversation with Sherri Murphy about husbands and grocery shopping when we realized there was an article just waiting in the wings. Before you send dear husband to the store on Christmas Eve to pick up what you forgot, remember to be specific.Very specific.

I always refer to Gary Marx as our favorite professional journalist. I’m going to have to think of an even better title. Ever since we used to read his Sunday columns in the Southern, we both admired his writing. He often made me laugh and then cry in the same article. He just did it again in this one. We are so honored that he agrees to write for our little magazine. He makes us better than we are.

Back in West Frankfort, E R Brown Furniture turned 100 years old this year, and we take a stroll back down the Main Street of years past via some old Daily American advertisements and personal reflections. We are so grateful that people are so willing to share their precious memories with us.

I think my husband can hardly wait for the year 2017 and the eclipse that is going to settle over Southern Illinois.

Michael has gone back to the year 1500 AD on the NASA website and not found a total solar eclipse occuring here. It will truly be a special time in the history of Southern Illinois and West Frankfort.

Other than the many holiday greetings from our advertisers, there may not be a lot in this issue to characterize it as a classic Christmas edition. Nevertheless, we are proud of what is within these pages. We have put a lot of effort and a lot of thought into it. We’ve also added a lot of love, for this community and for each of you. Wishing you a blessed Christmas , Dear Reader. God bless you all.

Gail Rissi Thomas, Publisher Good Living in

West Frankfort No. 24 Winter 2014 3

PLEASE SUPPORT OUR ADVERTISERS THEY MAKE THIS MAGAZINE POSSIBLE Aaron Hopkins, Attorney ....................... pg. 11 All American Hearing .............................. pg. 31 Baldwin Piano .......................................... pg. 15 Browning Clark Automotive ................... pg. 15 Calico Country Sew & Vac ..................... pg. 13 Dr. Toni Young-Norman, Orthodontist..pg. 17 E. R. Brown Furniture ......................... pg. 13 Frankfort Area Historical Museum ..... Back Gandy’s Auto Body Shop ..................... pg. 23 G. L. Williams Real Estate ...................... pg. 12 Glass By JenRuss ..................................... pg. 29 Good Life Publications .......................... pg. 13 Heights Market ........................................ pg. 20 Herron Rehab & Wellness Center ....... pg. 30 Howell Insurance ...................................... pg. 9 Honker Hill Winery .................................. pg. 12 iVapor Shop .............................................. pg. 29 J & S Professional Pharmacy ..................... pg. 2 Johnson Real Estate ................................. pg. 18 Lance Brown, Attorney ............................. pg. 26 McCollom Real Estate ............................. pg. 8 McCord’s Market ..................................... pg. 17 McDonald’s ................................................ pg. 27 Mike Riva, Attorney ................................. pg. 4 Nolen Chiropractic ................................... pg. 26 Parker-Reedy Funeral Home ................... pg. 27 People’s National Bank ............................. pg. 12 Ramey Insurance ....................................... pg. 18 ReMax Realty ........................................... pg. 9 Sandy’s Flowers & Gifts ............................ pg. 4 Severin Garden Center .............................. pg. 21 Southern Illinois Bank ............................. pg. 9 State Farm Insurance, Paul Lawrence... pg. 12 Stone Funeral Home ............................... pg. 29 Stotlar-Herrin Lumber ........................... pg. 21 Union Funeral Home ................................ pg. 24 Watsons Jewelers ................................... pg. 25 Weeks Chevy-Buick-GMC ...................... pg. 30 WF Chamber of Commerce ...................... pg. 29 Your Heart’s Desire ..................................pg. 9 Contact Michael A. Thomas at 937-2019 if you wish to advertise in “Good Living in West Frankfort”.

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Good Living in

West Frankfort No. 24 Winter 2014

Good Living In

West Frankfort 6

No.24 Winter 2014

Table of Contents

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6

2017 seems like a long way off, but be alert.

Don’t miss the most amazing event of your lifetime when West Frankfort is part of American’s Eclipse.

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16

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Two anecdotes from Gail’s childhood, both involving birds for dinner. She can’t make this stuff up.

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Gary Marx understands the importance of keeping it in control. Its meaning may change as we get older, but it’s still just as important.

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19

Sometimes a husband can try his best, but when it comes to shopping he still just doesn’t get it right. Sherri Murphy tells us why she can’t believe they can’t do better.

19

Aaron and Sean Hopkins are not identical twins, but growing up, the two were never alone which sometimes presented problems with Christmas gifts.

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Good Living in West Frankfort is a magazine about the people, places and pride of West Frankfort. Our goal is to showcase interesting, unique and previously unpublished stories about the citizens, events and places in our community in a positive manner.

Good Living in West Frankfort provides businesses the choice to advertise in a high-quality full-color venue at affordable prices. This magazine is free to our readers because of those advertisers.

No portion of this publication, including photos and advertisements, may be reproduced in any manner without the expressed consent of Good Life Publications . ©2014 ON THE COVER: Aleah Russell gives a her grandfather, Paul Lawrence, a kiss on the cheek. We’re pretty sure that Aleah is on Santa’s nice list, but it never hurts to make sure.

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There are two kinds of dreams: dreams of the past and dreams of the future. West Frankfort is rich in both. We go back in time through the pages of the Daily American and the memories of some of our readers to recall when West Frankfort had it all.

Good Living In

West Frankfort A production of Good Life Publications 309 East Oak Street West Frankfort, IL 62896 (618) 937-2019

E-mail Contact: GoodLifePublications@Gmail.com

Photo by Michael A. Thomas

Good Living in

West Frankfort No. 24 Winter 2014

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“America’s Eclipse”

Is Coming to West Frankfort in 2017

A Total Solar Eclipse Has Not Been Seen Here In Over 500 Years

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Good Living in

West Frankfort No. 24 Winter 2014

By Michael A. Thomas

W

est Frankfort and most of Southern Illinois will be in for a rare astronomical treat on August 21, 2017, for that is the day when much of “Little Egypt” will experience a total solar eclipse. This is not to be confused with a partial eclipse or a lunar eclipse. This is the real deal. For nearly 2 entire minutes, West Frankfort will see daylight suddenly turn to darkness as the moon passes between the sun and the Earth and casts a shadow covering our city. Not since 1979 has a total eclipse touched any part of mainland USA, and that eclipse touched just a part of the northwest and upper Midwest, not even remotely close to us. But the event of 2017 will travel from coast to coast.

The shadow—or umbra as it is known in astronomical nomenclature—will begin in Oregon and move from west to east at an astonishing 1474 miles per hour, ending in the Carolinas. It will be the first such path a total eclipse has taken across the entire United States since 1918.

And what an event it will be. Not only will West Frankfort have a ringside seat, but Southern Illinois will also attract scientists and eclipse seekers from around the globe because the period of greatest duration of total darkness—2 minutes and 41.6 seconds—will be located in the Shawnee Nation Forest, just south and a bit east of Carbondale. This is important to scientists because every total eclipse is studied, photographed and analyzed to reveal new clues about the nature of the sun, moon and even the Earth, so the longer the shadow lasts, the longer they are able to conduct their experiments and take photographs. Even veteran eclipse watchers who are non-scientists will spare little in time or money to get the best seat possible to watch a total eclipse of the sun. According to some, even a second or two more time spent in the shadow is worth it.

On April 8, 2005, a group of eclipse chasers were aboard the cruise ship Discovery in a remote part of the South Pacific. Not all the passengers were eclipse chasers.

Some were aboard because of other interests, such as visiting the Galapagos Islands.

The eclipse would be brief but perfect. The morning of the eclipse, it was announced that, due to weather, the ship would move

to a different spot than planned, resulting in extra 1.5 seconds of totality. One passenger related the following: “You could tell which passengers had seen total eclipses before: They were the ones screaming and applauding. The others were rolling their eyes. A woman next to me sneered, "I don't get it. What's the big deal? It's just another second and a half." I grinned and said, "Never seen one, right?"

She hadn't, of course. I said, "Let's talk again after the eclipse." When I saw her that evening, she was still walking around in post-eclipse euphoria. I started to ask her if she got it now, but before I could finish the question, she said, "I get it! I get it!

When's the next one?"

Her response is not unusual. It has been said by veteran eclipse watchers, that five minutes after seeing a total eclipse, firsttime viewers are filled with such awe and wonderment that they are asking the experts where and when the next one will occur and mentally calculating the cost and convenience. But I will spare you readers the uncertainty of answering that question by telling you that West Frankfort is doubly blessed. For less than seven years after the August 21, 2017 total eclipse, West Frankfort will experience another total eclipse on April 8, 2024. It is rare that one area has two total eclipses so close to each other.

Usually the span, on average, is closer to 400 years. In fact, this total eclipse will be even better than the first because the path of longest duration will come within 3 or 4 miles of West Frankfort. It will practically pass right over the Tomlinson farm east of the city.

So, what can we expect? Since this event will go from coast-to-coast across this great nation, Americans will be hearing a LOT about it. It will capture our nation’s attention. It will be known as “America’s Eclipse”. When the last total eclipse traveled across our continent in 1918 it missed Illinois entirely. there were no national radio broadcasts, television, Internet or social media to make people aware or even give a live report. In 2017 there will be hype galore and don’t think corporate America will let this go by without cashing in. This will be like Super Bowl Sunday, New Years Eve, and the Fourth of July all rolled into one event. Well before the summer of 2017 begins, people will be very aware of the country’s most scenic viewing areas such as Grand Teton National Park in Wyoming

and parts of the Great Smoky Mountains National Park in North Carolina and even the Land Between the Lakes near Paducah.

Those places will have been teeming with people days before the 21st. Larger cities lucky enough to be located almost directly on the path such as Salem, Oregon, Lincoln, Nebraska, and Nashville, Tennessee will also draw large crowds. Even smaller places like Carbondale or Hopkinsville Kentucky are already making plans to attract tourists.

This shadow of total darkness that will travel across the country is about 100 miles wide. Some large cities near the edge of the path of totality will just miss being entirely included. For instance, parts of Kansas City and parts of St. Louis will see a total eclipse and parts will not. Unfortunately, if you plan on standing under the St. Louis Gateway Arch with your camera to get “the shot” you will not see a total eclipse. Move just a few miles south and you will.

Chicago will not be on the path, nor will many other major metropolitan areas such as Los Angeles, Atlanta, Boston or New York.

All those people will have to go somewhere else to experience the total eclipse. (Are you listening city fathers of West Frankfort?) Rooms in even the smallest cities on the path of totality will be at a premium as people find lodging. Shopping mall parking lots, empty fields and high school and college football stadiums fortunate enough to be in the path may be turned into viewing areas. Schools will close and people in towns like West Frankfort will plan family reunions as lucky relatives are invited to share in the total eclipse.

Of course, all of this depends on “weather permitting”, so you can bet that people will be tuning into the weather forecasts with special attention and changing their plans accordingly if there is a chance that their previously chosen spot will be overcast. Also, you must use special glasses when viewing the sun when it is not in total eclipse. You can take them off during the total eclipse and official viewing areas will have specially trained people alerting people when it is safe to look at the sun with just the naked eyes.

Take your camera and snap plenty of pictures until 10 minutes before total eclipse as veteran watchers say trying to focus your attention on taking pictures of the sun dur-

Good Living in

West Frankfort No. 24 Winter 2014

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ing a total eclipse is not a good trade-off to what you will miss ‘being in the moment’.

Besides, they assure us that you will be stunned at how bad any pictures you may see of it afterwards look compared to what you saw with your own eyes.

There are some interesting phenomena that happen before, during and after a total eclipse. The sky will darken to a deep blue and then a very dark blue. Stars and planets will appear. Birds begin to act strangely as do other animals and insects. Flowers may close their petals. There will be a drop in temperature as the warmth of the sun disappears, and a slight breeze may be felt if one is standing still. Shadow bands, which are wispy, undulating shadows that seem to come from nowhere, may appear on surfaces.

The “American Eclipse of 2017” will begin in West Frankfort at precisely 11:52 AM. That is when the moon will begin to “nibble” the sun as it transits across its face until eventually the entire sun will be blocked. But that will take almost 90 minutes and the anticipation and excitement will grow until 1:20 PM when the shadow reaches West Frankfort and the total eclipse begins. The sun will appear as a dark gray disc in the sky. At 1:21 the eclipse will reach its peak and the sun will appear as a black hole surrounded by a corona. At 1:22 totality will end. The sun will gradually reappear to fullness at 2:47 PM, and the show will be over.

Veteran eclipse watchers say that seeing an eclipse will change you forever. I, for one, hope it is an awe-inspiring event.

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Good Living in

West Frankfort No. 24 Winter 2014

Viewers watching along the Red Central Line (above) will have the longest periods of total darkness. The gray band (approximately 85 miles across) represents areas that will experience some total darkness. The farther from the red line the less the amount of total darkness one will experience. Areas outside of the gray band will NOT see a total eclipse nor any total darkness.

Left: The “Diamond Ring Effect” occurs in the final moments before and after a total eclipse. It occurs when the last rays of the sun peak through an irregularity on the moon’s surface.

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shrieked. “ Are we eating Samantha?” She jumped from her seat at the table and Alan and I joined her in scrambling to the back door. To our horror and surprise, the empty chicken coup confirmed that Diane’s translation was correct. Sure enough, Samantha and Donald were no longer pecking around in the sun.

In fact they had joined us for dinner.

Fowl Play

It Is Not Every Day West Frankfort Sees A Turkey On A Leash

By Gail Rissi Thomas

O

ur fine-feathered friends can make wonderful pets and companions — or so I’ve been told. Unfortunately, I can’t really attest to that in my life. In fact, I think in a PETA office somewhere, there is a photograph of me and below it is printed my name, and “Not allowed to own or become acquainted with any bird, even if she wins it as a prize.”

It all started when I was a child, young enough to be excited about winning two small white baby ducklings at a local festival I attended with my cousins and an aunt in Collinsville, where my grandmother lived. There were three of us kids and only two ducks, so deciding to house the baby birds in an old chicken coup in my grandmother’s back yard seemed to make life easier for everyone, my mom, Diane and Alan’s mom, and the ducklings; at least we thought so at the time.

My female cousin, Diane and I named our duck Samantha, on the advice of my mother who had a fondness for the bad tempered duck in the movie, “Friendly Persuasion.”

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Alan named his duck Donald, of course.

(It’s a guy thing.) Nearly every weekend we visited the ducks. I use that statement liberally. Let’s just say, we were both on the property at the same time. We were all pretty much afraid of them. Like the movie star duck that Samantha was named after, they both had pretty nasty dispositions. In fact Diane and Alan who lived with Grandma were careful to make a cautious visual survey out the back door before ever venturing into the ducks’ domain.

So the ducks lived on with little to complicate their lives until one Sunday dinner.

The table was spread with at least one kind of pasta, homemade bread, etc. The meat entrée du jour was something like chicken cacciatore. Everything of course was delicious. As we ate and listened to the grown ups chatter, it seemed my mom, her two sisters and Grandma were giggling a lot and, perhaps speaking more often in Italian than usual.

Suddenly, Diane, the oldest of the three of us sat up bolt upright with a startled look on her face. Having lived with my Grandmother, her understanding of Italian was much better than mine. “Samantha!” She

West Frankfort No. 24 Winter 2014

We all cried for a while, refusing to finish the meal, until my mother suggested we walk over to Joes Store for fudgesicles, establishing a couple of facts. First of all, any story involving a duck that is won by a child at a local festival probably doesn’t end well, at least not for the duck. Secondly, everyone always said that my Grandma could make anything taste good, even if you don’t know what you’re eating.

That is not the only story I recall from my childhood that involved an animal, even more specifically, a fowl.

Although the stories are very different, there are a couple of similarities. This incident also begins with the winning of a prize. This time, however, we began at a St. Johns Thanksgiving Bingo where the prizes awarded were what else but turkeys.

My mother, sister Genelle, and probably my brother Tim, all attended, while my father, it being the busiest time of year as a photographer, stayed home to work.

Some one of us, although we can’t remember who, was lucky enough to win a turkey that night. However I need to add here that on that particular year, I’ll guess about 1955, some genius had decided that it would be a good idea that the prizes would be live turkeys. I’m quite sure this fact was not advertised ahead of time, and I would guess we knew nothing of it until the last number had been called and we went up to claim our prize. A couple of the men from the Holy Name Society were only too happy to tie a rope around the bird’s neck, and we all walked home together to 328 East Main Street to the studio where we lived.

I wonder what the turkey thought as we strolled along down Main giving him his first, and last I have to add, look at his new home. I don’t even remember what we thought. I was pretty young, but if ever there was a video tape I would like to pull from my memory and see more clearly, it would be that image of us walking our Thanksgiving dinner home, feathers and all.

The memories are hazy, but my sister and I have compared notes, and oddly enough, yes, we agree that we were walking on the north side of the street, and we both clearly remember passing in front of ER Brown Furniture, perhaps because we could see our reflection in the window. Who knows?

Neither of us remembers my brother being with us, which might make sense. He, being the oldest, would have been smart enough to find a way to skip out on this little scenario and the ridiculous spectacle we must have created.

The rest of the night is kind of blurry. I wish I had a memory of my father’s face when we presented ourselves with turkey beside his retouching table. Let me explain

that if there was ever a man who was able at the drop of a feather to stop in mid stroke and go down the basement to build a crate to house a turkey overnight, it was my dad.

He had the wood, the hinges, the saws, the hammers and the know-how to do just that.

Heck, he probably drew a blueprint first.

On the other hand, if there was ever a man who was furious at the thought of stopping in mid stroke to go down the basement and build a crate to house a turkey on that particular night, it was my dad.

It was about 10 p.m. or later, way past my bedtime, as I sat listening to my father mumbling unusual expressions from somewhere below the basement steps the buzz of a power saw and the slamming of pieces of wood and metal. My mother was talking to a friend on the phone, laughing, very quietly and saying, “Oh Riss is so mad.” I didn’t get it at the time, although it makes much more sense now.

remember him sitting at the kitchen table at lunch later and telling my mother that after he dropped off the turkey to be slaughtered and dressed, he made another visit. He stopped to see Father Klimas, the parish priest at the time. “I asked him what in the hell he was thinking of buying live turkeys to give away,” he said. He told me, he got a good deal. I said, ‘Yeah, I bet you did.’”

He and my mom looked at one another and laughed. I breathed a sigh of relief and the turkey that graced our Thanksgiving table looked nothing like the one that walked us home several nights earlier.

So this was sort of another story between me and a bird that didn’t end well. The turkey wasn’t around long enough for us to give it a name, and I never got to know if it was ill tempered or not. But if a lovely feathered friend ends up at my house, its last stop will probably be the dinner table.

The next morning, my father drug the wooden crate containing the grumbling, gobbling turkey up the steps and out to the car where it made the short trip to the West Frankfort Packing House on the South side of town. I

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West Frankfort No. 24 Winter 2014 11

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West Frankfort No. 24 Winter 2014

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West Frankfort No. 24 Winter 2014 13

WATCHING THE WHEEL GO AROUND

By Gary Marx So there I was, acting cool and rolling a tire through the service center like I owned the place.

I admit I was feeling pretty darn proud of myself. I’d just performed a chivalrous deed, rescued my daughter from the roadside, and now I was acting like I knew what I was doing with a 15-inch all-season Goodyear Eagle.

I don’t have a lot of experience with this sort of thing, but I have changed a tire or two in my life so I’ve rolled my share of flats from the front of the car to the trunk.

Granted, long-distance tire rolling is a little different, but I was handling it like a pro.

Well … up to a point.

The tire came from my daughter’s car. It had exploded when she ran into a curb trying to avoid an accident. I met her at the scene, pulled the wheel and threw it into the back of my truck. At the service center,

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the mechanic said he’d take a look at it, so I said, “I’ll go get it.”

So, there I was, acting cool and rolling that tire like I owned the place.

That turned out to be a mistake.

As I rolled that tire, I started to congratulate myself for being such a great dad. Actually, I was just a dad doing what a dad’s suppose to do, but that was enough to make me feel good about myself. My daughter had been upset and crying at the roadside, so I dried her tears and jacked up her car and removed the wheel. Then I took her to the service center and everything was going fine, but you want to know something? You can’t keep your hand on a tire while you’re patting yourself on the back.

You know, I’ve never been one of those guys who played basketball. My problem wasn’t shooting (although I couldn’t do that either); my problem was dribbling.

I just straight up couldn’t do it. Once the ball left my hand and caromed off the floor, there was a 50/50 chance that it would find my hand again. It would bounce into my knee or ricochet off my tennis shoe… come to think of it, maybe my problem was that I was wearing tennis shoes on a basketball court. Whatever, it was always a mistake to pass me the ball.

It was tough to be a teenage boy and stink at basketball. All the girls liked boys who could dribble and find the hoop, so my adolescent ego took a real blow. I got over it eventually, and I started to feel better about myself about a year ago. And I was doing fine until the incident at the service center.

West Frankfort No. 24 Winter 2014

So it was during this self-congratulatory moment that I became aware that I had lost contact with the tire, and it was now going faster than I was. I reached for it, touched it and sent it wobbling away. It was like I was on the basketball court again. I lunged for it and my finger nicked it. The tire spun away from me and went into a tight little arc. I watched in horror as it crashed into a tiny little woman who was waiting to check in her Camry for an oil change.

She started to go down like a blind-sided cheerleader, but I arrived just in time to break her fall with a gush of apologies. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. What else can you say? I’m sorry, I’m sorry.

She got up and dusted herself off. She forgave me for being a dork while her speechless husband stood there and glowered at me. I backed away slowly, picked up my tire and lugged it to the mechanic and my daughter, who were pretending they hadn’t seen a thing.

sense. He knew what was happening. He saw the wheel rolling inexorably away.

things for the family. He could still snap a sprout off at ground level.

He talked about it, a few months before he died. His speech was slow, and he haltingly choosing his words from a once robust vocabulary. “What I miss … most,” he said, “I can’t … whistle.”

Things can get away from us quickly. But it doesn’t have to be horrifying. Some things are inevitable, after all. One day we’ll hit a bump in the road, and we’ll have to pull over. But we can go through that time with a certain amount of grace. We just have to keep going as best we can, keep smiling, and try not to hurt anyone.

It was the following spring when the final stroke came. He was in the garden picking asparagus. He had control over very little in his life by that time, but he could still grow

Yeah, I might not be able to dribble, but I sure know how to sweep a woman off her feet.

Merry Christmas

from Our House to Yours

The entire episode was mortifying, but there was one particular moment that I found most unsettling — that very instant when I realized I had lost control. It had the feel of a nightmare, like some primal fear.

To me, it was more than a runaway Goodyear. It was bigger than that.

No one wants to lose control over anything.

I believe that’s one of our greatest fears — as individuals and as social creatures. But it happens all the time. We watch our children grow up overnight. Suddenly they’re adults, or they think they are, and we’ve lost control over them. Rolling away … faster, faster.

We think we’ve got a nice setup at work, a solid career, decades of service to a single company. Then one day the boss calls us in and advises us to seek other opportunities. A life’s work, our futures … spinning away.

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May The

Joys of the Season be wiTh you.

But the hardest thing of all is to watch our own abilities slip away.

My father was slowly robbed of his skills and his love of life. He’d been a carpenter, a handyman, always helping other people, working on something for somebody in the garage or the barn. And whether he was pulling a motor from a relative’s car or building a piece of furniture for Mom, he’d be whistling, sometimes through the stem of his pipe.

A series of small strokes reduced his world to the backyard garden. From one stroke to the next, his abilities faded incrementally.

One day he couldn’t lift more than a 2-by4, and then his tape measure quit making

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West Frankfort No. 24 Winter 2014 15

I CAN’T BELIEVE THEY’RE NOT BETTER When it comes to the grocery shopping most husbands need more than a list

A

My husband was nearby, in the family room watching television, trying to relax after a long day at work. Although in the past, my requests for last-minute grocery store trips seemed to cause his blood pressure to rise a bit, I was certain that he would respond to this simple, one-item request without argument.

I began gathering the ingredients, and with both eyes wide open, I discovered I did not have the required amount of butter needed on-hand---an oversight on my part, which would cost me precious time as I would need to make yet another trip to the grocery store.

“Alan,” I asked, “Would you care to make a quick trip to the grocery store for me?” “I said Okay.”

I hear a loud sigh coming from the other room; then he asks, ”For what?”

“Just please be sure it says BUTTER on the label.”

“I need some butter. I need to make this dessert and I didn’t realize I don’t have “OKAY!”, he said emphatically, and he enough.” After another loud sigh, he quickly left to complete his assignment. obliges. Simple enough? Not quite. Due to many past experiences of my making I prepared the recipe in part, and waited requests that require him to purchase patiently for his return so I could begin particular items and then my unpleasant making the rich buttery sauce that is poured

By Sherri Murphy ll was well on Oak Street on an early fall day recently.

Guests would be arriving soon following the morning and afternoon that was full of grocery shopping, running last-minute errands and readying the house for company. I had begun to prepare a dessert that was sure to please— the ‘tastes-like-it-was-made-from-scratch, tried and true, Apple Cobbler’, that I could make with my eyes closed.

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surprise when he returns with the “closebut-no-cigar” alternative, I added, “ I need REAL butter, Okay?”

“Okay.” He answered.

“It has to be REAL butter. Not margarine or oleo. Not a spread or a blend. REAL butter.

It makes a difference.” I persisted.

over the top before baking. I became more impatient as it seemed to take much longer than I expected. I began watching the clock, becoming a bit nervous due to time constraints. I still needed to finish the recipe, cook the sauce, bake the dish, allow cooling time, etc. Just before I decide to send out the search and rescue team, the front door opens and he enters offering his apology. “ Sorry it took so long. I went to three stores before I could find real butter.”

“Well, thanks. I appreciate that.”

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I opened the bag ready to get started on the sauce and was disappointed to find MARGARINE inside.

“This isn’t butter, it’s margarine. You must have grabbed the wrong container by mistake.”

“No, I didn’t. That’s butter.”

“No, it isn’t,” Alan. “ It’s margarine.”

“No, it’s butter! It says so right here,” he responded as he points to the word “butter” on the label with an “Aha!” gleam in his eyes.

His eyes lost their twinkle when I pointed out the words preceding “butter”…. “I Can’t Believe It’s NOT…”.

“It says clearly it’s not butter,” and I felt the need to add one more snarky comment, “And I can’t believe you bought it!”

So, tally up another meaningless argument that at the moment felt so very important. He generously offered to go to yet another store to get REAL butter—not margarine, oleo, a spread or blend or anything that had the words, “ Tastes Like”, “almost as good as”, “no one will ever know it’s not” preceding the word “butter.”

I’m normally not very picky. I don’t mind that much when he brings home a sandwich topped with onions when I had requested no onions—I’ll just pick and toss. He can order me a sweet tea when he should know after three decades of marriage that I drink unsweetened, but I’ll drink it and enjoy every last drop of the added sugar.

But the REAL butter –vs.—margarine (AKA “melted plastic not suitable for consumption”) choice is non-negotiable when

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Good Living in

West Frankfort No. 24 Winter 2014 17

I’m the one preparing the food. So, over the years, I’ve learned that when he is so kind as to make those last-minute quick trips for me, I will do my best to make it easier for him to grab-and-go as painlessly as possible.

“It looks like parsley,” I explain, “ but the leaves are bigger. It will be in the first section on the right wall- about halfway down-right next to the parsley.”

For example, “Would you care to pick up some cilantro at the store? I’m making guacamole and I need it.”

(Big sigh) “I don’t even know what that is,” he says. “ Is it in a can? Fresh? Frozen?”

“Well, I can, but it will take longer, I can’t make it till I get back. You know, it’s not that hard to find. Just read the label. It will be clearly marked, CILANTRO…as I think to myself, “And please don’t bring home something that says, ’I Can’t Believe It’s not Cilantro’!”

“I need fresh. It’s in the produce section.”

“What does it look like?”

This one is already taking on problems.

(Another sigh) “ Can’t you just go?”

We’ve had a few laughs over these little mishaps over the years, and really, he is such a good sport. He even gave his approval for

me to write this article, so long as I pointed out that my sending him to the grocery store is the equivalent of his sending me into Ace Hardware for a particular screwdriver.

He insisted that I would be confused and overwhelmed. I agreed, but added that I would promptly ask for the assistance of the clerk, rather than search endlessly for a tool I know nothing about. I wouldn’t dare chance it and purchase a tool that resembled a screwdriver enclosed in a package clearly labeled, “I Can’t Believe It’s Not a Screwdriver!”

Well, we’ve been doing this kind of thing for over 32 years. Sometimes, we can’t believe it’s not 50.

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110 North Logan West Frankfort, IL 62896

HAPPY HOLIDAYS

West Frankfort No. 24 Winter 2014

112 E. Main Street West Frankfort, Illinois 62896 (618) 937-3040 Fax (618) 937-3099 Ryan Ridgeway, Owner & Broker

A TWIN’S LIFE AT CHRISTMAS Computers, Megatron and Luggage, Oh My!

Seventeen year-old twins Aaron and Sean Hopkins with a skeptical Santa. The old man had seen a lot from those two in years past. Would Christmas be different this year? photo provided

By Aaron Hopkins

M

any of you know that I have a twin brother. Terry and Jody (those are our parents for those of you keeping score) called him Sean. We’re not the cool type of twins, like the Winklevosses. What I mean is, we are not identical. We are Dizygotic or fraternal twins.

Does that mean we throw the best parties and the Dean was always trying to throw us off campus? Yes, but that is incidental. It also means from a biological sense we are not genetically identical.

We, like most of you, are just like any siblings, except by luck of nature and our mothers stuttering ovulation, we were born at the same time. However, that doesn’t mean we are free from doppelganger mo-

ments, not unlike those moments where you people for some reason think that I am attorney Terry Green. (Note: Every time someone thinks I’m Terry I act like I’m hitting on them or speak only in pig Latin and walk out the door backwards, you know, my little way of messing with the universe.) But this mistaken identity problem also happens to Sean as well. People think he’s me, not Terry Green. For some reason, Sean was spared that cosmic community service. Often one of my clients will see Sean at a drive-thru and wonder how their lawyer grew that beard and got full sleeve tattoos in less than a week. Of course these are the type of “clients” that I have that might have believed they merely blacked out for six months and this is their bleak Rumplestiltskinesque future.

The Hopins Twins at about age 18 months leave Santa looking shell-shocked.

Photo Provided

Good Living in

West Frankfort No. 24 Winter 2014 19

As a twin you are never alone as a child.

You play together, you eat together, and you sleep together because for some reason dad needed a home office more than you needed your own room. You share literally everything, even underwear. I know it sounds sickening but your parent’s buy you nothing but “twin clothes” and how are you going to tell Sean’s superman underoos from yours? Except for the fact that he wasn’t completely potty trained yet. (As you might notice, this is going to be a respectful homage to my brother as well as a well deserved “roast.”)

Yankee Stadium. Those of you born in the 70s and raised in the big hair and androgynous music video 80s might remember this little magical Pandora’s box. By today’s standards it had as much computing power as your standard electric razor, but it was the most sought after object in the universe at the time. That was because it could not only do word processing and make birthday banners with the multifarious software knows as “print shop”, but it could play the most whimsical and fantastic video games of the day. I’m talking of course about “Karatica” and the morbid “Oregon Trail”.

You also compete for resources, not just the food on the table. You compete for your parent’s attention, their time, their love, and most importantly you compete for toys! This is true especially around the holidays and Christmas when tensions are high to get the latest new toy, and to make sure you get it before the other obviously less deserving kids, even your brother.

These “games” were the graphic equivalent of a nearsighted gopher compared to today’s video games. Further, “Karatica”, considered a violent game at the time, pales in comparison when one considers the finish off moves of today’s game such as “Streetfighter” or “Tekken”. Nevertheless, “Oregon Trail” was the worst and most “graphic” in my opinion. It had me worried I was going to die of dysentery or consumption until I turned age 12.

As noted above, we were easy to shop for as little children. Terry and Jody, and everyone else following their lead, would simply buy two of the exact same boring thing. Two sets of matching clothes, two identical baby toys, and two teddy bears (I still sleep with mine, the wife thinks I need therapy, probably because I make “her” sleep in between us, this was especially hard to explain in college.) This competition was most heated around the holidays when we became older. The idea that the other would receive something a half penny more valuable was unacceptable. The scales of justice would be brought to bear and the weights would be counted. Judge Hopkins would render the final Verdict, and that was normally for us to shut up, be grateful for what we have, and go to our room. So cliché right? Or Terry and Jody would do the unwisest of things, that being, buy only ONE toy and expect us territorial savages to share it!!! This was like asking the chosen people and those of the Muslim faith to share the Temple Mount, it wasn’t going to happen! One shall stand and one shall fall!

The first example of this poorly formed social experiment regarding the yet foreign concept of “sharing” took place circa 1983 when Terry and Jody bought us an Apple 2e personal computer, one of the first personal computers ever made, that is, one of the first that could fit in a room smaller than

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Our parents expected us to just take turns playing with our first real computer. Such poor predictors of human behavior Jody and Terry were. I wonder how many other households suffered the barrage of fistfights and hair pulling that took place in el casa Hopkins during this dark period of time because of this now pathetically obsolete device. Sean used to bite too, good news is his “biting” was usually preceded by a

By now, the 3-year old twins know how to get on Santa’s nice list. photo provided

declaration of “I’M GOING TO BITE” followed by a righteous accomplishment of his threat. I’m quite sure that if there was X-Box back then, one of us would have ended up dead, or at the very least required multiple rabies shots. Nevertheless, I do remember how happy I was that Christmas when we found out we received a computer, even if I had to battle Mr. Chompers every time I wanted to use it.

For those of you history buffs, this was the same year that everyone went completely insane over Cabbage Patch kid dolls. Looking back I’m grateful that the parents did not buy us one. However, at the time, my heart was torn out because I was convinced that the omission of this gift from under

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the tree was proof positive that my parents did not love me.

Come to find out, due to the popularity of these creepy plastic Chuckys, only those parents who camped out for days or were willing to kill a homeless man were able to find them.

Regardless, if Terry and Jody would have got us only one to share I’m quite certain that particular “Patch” would have been much happier if it weren’t ever adopted. We most likely would have ripped its head off in some early version of Mad Max’s Thunderdome.

In 1985, we suffered a much more gruesome fate. This was after the original success of the Transformers TV series. At the time we were 10 years old. That year’s “toy to get” was the beloved Megatron Transformers action figure. Not only was it a robot, it could transform into a Walther P-38 pistol.

For some reason I found it sardonic that they chose a German weapon as the metal antagonist’s alter ego, you know, because of the ethnic cleansing. Regardless, Megatron was impossible to find. I have no doubt that Jody and Terry sought this most prized gift in every location possible in Southern Illinois, that being the KayBee Toys Store at the Carbondale mall. You have to remember this was before Amazon, and before Black Friday, and before cyber Monday, and before I knew that there were more important things in the world besides a stupid toy.

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Needless to say, Jody and Terry came up empty-handed that Christmas, at least as far as the beloved Megatron goes. They did give us, as most parents did at the time, the consolation prize of another less than popular Transformer robot. I think it was “Bumblebee”, but I can’t remember because the scars are too deep, and I have blocked out most of that Christmas due to my unfathomable sadness. But thinking back I am grateful. Because if Terry and Jody were actually able to procure “The Precious”, like Gollum in Lord of the rings, one of us would have coveted it to the point of madness and I would have just been bitten again and maybe taken one more shoe to the head, Sean’s other famous weapon of choice by the way. Sadly, Karatica didn’t teach either of us a darn thing about actual Karate.

All in all, as a twin I suffered through my childhood as best I could. For those of you feeling sorry for me from these brief recitations, I will be taking donations at the Law Office. Feel free to make the donations out to cash. I can assure you, your investment in helping me mend my scars will be spent at the finest of local Restaurants. To my dearest mother Jody, who I am sure will be reading this; I love you and appreciate everything you did for both of us every Christmas. This, despite the fact that you didn’t buy us the G.I. Joe Aircraft carrier for the Christmas of 1986 and even though you only bought me luggage for college in 1992. It was practical, but I would have rather had long underwear and flannel, it was the “grunge” era after all.

Till next time, Amanda, Julian, Everly and I wish you all a Merry Christmas!!!

Good Living in

West Frankfort No. 24 Winter 2014 21

Shopping West Fran At One Time West Frankfort Had It All

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fact that he was diabetic always led us to Holland or Pen Yu Drugs for sugarless gum, the consistency of shoe leather in those days or chocolate bars, which he craved, although sugar free chocolate at the time tasted like unsweetened baking chocolate.

My sister and I would stroll down Main The most important thing was that all that Street in pursuit of the perfect gift for my shopping was done on Main Street. We mother. We would drift from the Fashion didn’t have options of shopping at night or Shop to the Rosalie Shop and back again. on Sundays and there was no such thing as We would even browse around the Friedman Black Friday. Even as children, we could Shop, although it did seem too tiny a store go shopping without adult supervision. The West Frankfort took on the look of a movie scene, with Salvation Army bells ringing on the corner of Main and Emma, and the aroma of fresh bread and Christmas pastries wafting from Table Pride Bakery.

West Frankfort took on the look of a movie scene, with Salvation Army bells ringing on the corner of Main and Emma, and the aroma of fresh bread and Christmas pastries wafting from Table Pride Bakery.

I

By Gail Rissi Thomas n one of our early Christmas issues of Good Living in West Frankfort, we asked Brent Coleman to tell us his favorite Christmas memory.

His response has always been one of our favorites. In 1962 Coleman was home on leave from Officer Candidate Training School. After spending the holidays with his family, he would leave for Virginia and report for duty aboard his first ship.

“I remember West Frankfort was just bustling,” Coleman said. “The stores were crowded with shoppers, and out on the sidewalk there were lots of shoppers on foot, carrying packages. It always reminds me of that scene in the movie, “The Godfather”, where Michael Corlione and his fiancé are out Christmas shopping and they’re carrying packages under their arms. That always makes me think of that Christmas in West Frankfort.”

It seems that I have that same image of a remembered Christmas in my head somewhere. I don’t remember the year, or if it was more a collaboration of years, but I remember the feeling. At Christmastime,

to have much variety. We would at least window shop in Burgs, even though we knew that anything we bought there would probably be returned as my mother would declare it too expensive, regardless of the price tag.

My father was easier to buy for. He would get a couple of shirts and ties, white handkerchiefs too, from J V Walkers or Sohn’s Menswear. And of course, the

shopping bags of gifts that we carried home were already beautifully wrapped, and the people, many people that we met doing their shopping along West Frankfort’s Main Street greeted us with affection. They knew us; they knew our names; they knew our parents.

When I was in high school, for three Christmas seasons, I wrapped gifts at Jacob Lane Jewelers. I started the first of

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West Frankfort No. 24 Winter 2014 23

December, wrapping hundreds of gifts that had already been chosen by shoppers and waited in lay-a-way, some of them since mid summer. The two days prior to Christmas Eve the later shoppers would wait in a long line while I hustled to wrap the gift or gifts they had just purchased. Some would come to pick up their layaways, and I would hold my breath while one of the regular clerks would go to look in the room-sized vault to find if hopefully their gift was wrapped and ready, and found exactly where I had

appropriately filed it.

Maybe they waited because they felt the service was due to them, maybe because the gold wrapping paper was so beautiful and maybe—much to my displeasure— because I was required to finish off every package with an elegant handmade bow.

West Frankfort shoppers had the option of shopping at one of various jewelry stores that thrived in the 50’s, 60’s and 70’s. Only one of them is still doing business in the

It was a smart businessman who anticipated the shopping needs of their customers at Christmastime. In addition to their usual fine furniture, E. R. Brown added toys, bicycles, doll carriages and silverware to their stock.

We had to look up the definition of Velocipede and found out it is a bicycle with one large wheel and one smaller wheel. (See Below)

same location today. Watson’s Jewelers opened its doors in 1948 and is advertising in this issue of this magazine today.

If you needed more variety or more frugal choices, there were other stores to choose from. Newberry and Ben Franklin were two dime stores that nearly next door to one another on the 200 block of North Main. Probably the vast majority of the toys that awaited the children of West Frankfort on Christmas mornings were purchased at those two stores. But there were other choices. In the 60’s, West Frankfort had it’s own honest-to-goodness toy store, when Evelyn Patton added toys to her paint and wallpaper inventory. There were also two brokerages with some toys as well as bedding, housewares and a less expensive line of clothing.

West Frankfort was a powerhouse when it came to a shopping center, and it had been for a long time. Etheredge Tharp,

Customer satisfaction is the point of this quaint ad from J.V. Walkers & Sons Menswear. “After all, we’ve always said that no sale is final until everybody’s happy.”

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West Frankfort No. 24 Winter 2014

In 1935, the front page of the Daily American (left) announced a Parade to welcome Santa and his North Pole Friends to town.

(Above) In the 1950, the kids were treated to Saturday morning cartoons at no less than 3 movie theaters.

(Below left) Watsons Jewelers had been in business less than 2 years when they ran this ad. Notice their phone number 90R. Though they have since moved to a new location since, they still know where Santa finds nice presents. (Below right)

Santa Knows Where To Find...

• Clocks • Bridal Sets • Jewelry Repairs • Diamond Earrings • Diamond Pendants • Seiko & Pulsar Watches • Authentic Venetian Glass Jewelry

JEWELERS

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STORE HOURS: M-F 9AM - 4PM Additional hours available by appointment Ph: 618-923-2889 Good Living in

West Frankfort No. 24 Winter 2014 25

who is now 103 years old, has memories of downtown West Frankfort that date back long before the 50s and 60s.

Carp’s was a store for the common man and this advertisement from 1935 reflects practicality. With no item pictured above $2.98, it provided people with an attractive alternative to the more upscale shops in town.

“I used to work for Max and DeVera Burg at Burgs Ladies Store when I was a teenager in the 20s,” he says. “We had very elite people coming in from all over Southern Illinois. Now $100 was a lot of money in those days, and we sold $100 dresses, not just one or two of them but a lot of them. We sold fur coats, and often had over 40 of them in the store at one time.

Main Street was full of people. I used to dress windows, and people used to come downtown to sit in their cars and watch us dress the windows just to see what we were putting in.”

Merry Christmas from Our Family to Yours

It truly was the Roaring Twenties, and West Frankfort lived up to that style. “Harry Zwick bought Susman’s Department Store and ran a promotion like I have never seen.” Tharp recalls. “For every dollar you spent there, you got a ticket, and once a month he drew a ticket and gave away a Maxwell Touring Car. It was real pretty too. Eventually, he was financially exhausted. He closed the store and then it burnt down.”

One iconic symbol of Christmas in West Frankfort was the huge Christmas tree that graced the top of the Heights hill, standing in the middle of Main Street. Cars had to actually drive far to the right or left just to get around it. Some residents still remember it as being huge and shimmering with multicolored lights. There had been a huge flagpole there for some years flying the American flag, that too in the middle of the street. “The tree was erected by the Jaycees,” says Phyllis Hays, who lived in the Heights all her life along with her sister Alice. “I think it was only there for about two years, but gosh it was beautiful.”

Perhaps the few number of years it was displayed was the reason that so few people seem to remember much about it. For our family it was like Candy Cane Lane of the 50’s. We used to pile in the car nearly every night and drive up to the hill just to get another look at it.

There is probably no one around who remembers the West Frankfort that Etheridge Tharp does. But many people remember bits and pieces of the holidays as they were expressed in the community.

Personally, and I know many poets and

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Good Living in

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West Frankfort No. 24 Winter 2014

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writers agree about this, our memories, especially of childhood and holidays are like a piece of brass or silver that we have polished over the years. It has its flaws, maybe a dent or a scratch that is still visible, but we intentionally fail to look close enough to see them. We see what we choose to see, and memories like that gleam in our mind’s eye.

Many residents near my age might remember Greg Butta. He was a 1965 graduate of FCHS, well-liked and popular.

When he graduated, Greg left to enter the seminary and become a Catholic priest. He has spent much of his priesthood in various capacities as a pastor and teacher at parishes in and around Washington D.C. Father Butta was our guest one evening on a recent trip home, and as our conversation turned to aging and retirement, said, “I have been thinking a lot about retirement and what I want to do. I’ve thought a lot about coming back home and trying to help out here in Southern Illinois. I’ve thought about coming back to West Frankfort to live, but”…he paused for a moment… “but being here, I’m not sure if I’m really wanting to live here, or if what I really want is to live HERE.” And he placed his hand on the cover of one of our “Good Living in West Frankfort” magazines.

I knew what he meant, and I knew what he was feeling. Someone, and I don’t know who, once said, “The worst place to be homesick for is a place that has never been.” Oh of course, West Frankfort was once a town that thrived with leaders like Bob Bowen, my father, Roy Patton, Ken Gray, the West Frankfort Jaycees and so many more civic-minded people who thought it was important at the busiest time of their year to go up to the Heights Hill and erect an enormous lighted Christmas tree in the middle of the street. The community thrived. We had jobs. We had businesses, bakeries, restaurants and movie theaters.

We had shoppers. But was it really a place where, as Garrison Keeler says, “All the women were strong, all the men were good looking, and all the children were above average?”

Editor’s Note: We are indebted to the Frankfort Area Historical Society (FAHS) and the Daily American for providing public access to the old advertisements used in this story. In this age of increasing use of digital media it is worth noting that history and information must be stored in a way that is practical, accessible and as permanent as possible.

We appreciate the efforts of the FAHS for maintaining the past of West Frankfort.

Sweeten the Season

with a decadent McCafe White Chocolate Mocha or Latte

Merry Christmas from John & Mary Moreland Wishing the Blessings of the Season to the West Frankfort Community

Between you and me, maybe not, or at least maybe no more than they are today.

Memory is funny that way.

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West Frankfort No. 24 Winter 2014 27

By Gail Rissi Thomas A lot of important things happened in this country in 1914. Thomas Woodrow Wilson was President. The Boston Braves moved from last place mid-season to win the World Series. Ford Motor Company announced an 8-hour workday and a daily wage of $5.00.

In West Frankfort, Illinois, Everett Robert Brown went into partnership with L. C. Jones and opened the doors of E.R. Brown Furniture Store. The new Main Street business may not have been important at all on a national level, but in this community, its influence was enormous. Quality furniture, customer service and a loyal clientele gave four generations of the Brown Family a reputation which has allowed them to maintain a thriving business through good times and bad. E. R. Brown ownership was passed to Brown’s son, Warren Brown, and Warren’s son, Sloan, who owns it today.

In 1946, a second furniture store was added.

West Frankfort House Furnishings was managed for years by Brown’s brother-inlaw, Jim Gray. Both men were community leaders under whose partnership began the concept of West Frankfort being known as the “Furniture Capital of Southern Illinois”.

Keeping it all in the family, West Frankfort House Furnishings is operated today by Sloan’s brother, Andy, while Sloan’s sons, Matt and Kyle are both involved in the business, continuing the reputation and success and poised to carry on with the fourth generation and beyond.

Jane Brown (seated), the wife of the late Warren Brown, is flanked by her grandsons Kyle and Matt Brown (both kneeling). Standing behind her are Terri and Sloan Brown, Andy Brown and Molly Brown.

Photo by Michael A. Thomas

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West Frankfort No. 24 Winter 2014

Happy Birthday, E. R. Brown Furniture!

Congratulations on continuing to succeed and helping West Frankfort to thrive for 100 years.

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