On another note

It seems that the time has come for posting other information. There have been some goings on in my daily life that have taken on a very high degree of importance. Today, my darling wife was to go to see a local doctor about having some elective surgery performed to reduce the size of her bounteous bosom. But there were tests to be run, including a mammagram. She had had one done a couple of days ago, but the radiologist desired another look. Well, things seem to be not all good in the land as they now are going to do a biopsy on 3/5. This is not always good to hear and it is definitely nerve wracking. But it will be done as always when it is what must be done. She and I have come to the conclusion that we will face whatever comes. I can do nothing else. She is my partner and best friend. And, as I have told her repeatedly in the last 10 years, there is nothing that the two of us cannot overcome together. So, I had to tell all about it as a means, I guess, for her to find all of the support and love that she deserves. It is not a new story for me. Nor for my older sibs. This is where the story of Lillie came to an end so many years ago. BUT NOT THIS TIME. We will perservere.

And again more memories

It is a saturday morning here in sunny Florida. I have been a little under the weather but recovering very nicely. Just a bad cough and cold or something. Saw the doctor for some antibiotics and all is getting better. Except for the sore ribs from coughing. But it has kept me from posting the memorys. I have a couple more that may be of interest, so here they are.

I remember sitting for hours at the feet of our father and grandfather as well as assorted others over the years in the yard of Dick's ranch while the spun there stories and probably tall tales. I believe I was witness to one of the oldest forms of history, the oral historys and tales that were part of our family. I do not know if I can even remember a small portion of the content of those hours. But will always remember the time spent and the enjoyment I received listening to those older men talk. They told stories about hunting, baseball, and just general goings on in the community. Some of my memories come from there, but others from different times.

I have been asked and it has been postulated by others that Tom was a baseball player. Yes, he was. At least according to him and as I had heard no one else deny it, it must be true. He came from a family that played a lot of baseball. His brother Charles and he did play on the same team according to one of the stories. Tom may have been a pitcher at one time, but the one story I definitely remember was when Charles was pitching and Tom was the catcher. He was a great believer in use of psychology and prevention being the better than a cure. So, as I remember the tale, he had only one good throw to second from the catcher's position. Supposedly he had a sore arm for some reason. But anyway, when it came time to make the throw to second after the warm up pitches, he would make the throw from the catcher's crouch behind the plate. The second baseman would put his glove on the bag and Tom would hit it dead on from the crouch. Now wouldn't that make you think twice about trying to steal second?

There is also the story about stealing home plate. Now I have investigated this one because it does require a knowledge of the rules of the game. I was an umpire for a season and at the time, I read the rule book to determine if this was possible. And, dear readers, it is. The way it would work was when a runner got third base, and the score was close or tied, or when it was advantageous to get one run, the procedure was as follows. The runner, as I heard it being Charles Miller, would take a good lead off third. This was always something that we were taught to do. Give the pitcher something to think about besides pitching. But never get farther than two steps and the length of your body away from the bag. Anyway, there was a special sign for this maneuver. I don't know what it was, but trust me, there had to be one. The batter would also have a part in the play. He would take a wide stance at the plate. And as the pitcher was getting ready, the runner would break for the plate at full speed, hollering at the top of his lungs when about half way done the line. He would then slide into home plate between the batters legs. This would cause the pitcher to throw to the plate rather than balking and the catcher to come out to get the ball. This was the beauty of the play. The batter would not move as according to the rules of the game, he has a right to swing at the pitch. So he does. Not hard, but just hard enough to tick the catcher who is coming out to catch the runner. This constitutes obstruction to the batter and awards the batter first base and the run scores between the batters legs. Now this may be a little bush league, but it is strickly legal according the strict adherence to the rules of the game. And it is something I learned from Tom.

It also seems that during the 1930's, when the Pittsburgh Pirates were world champions, some of the players of that team would vacation in the Burnett county area after the season was over. At least that is what I have been told. And being true sportsman and loving the game, they would become involved in pickup games with some of the local lads, Tom being one of the locals. This is how it came to be that he played on the same field as Pie Traynor and Burleigh Grimes, the reputed last of the great spit-ball pitchers. It must have been a good game because I was told that Tom was offered a chance to play minor league ball for the Pirates. But he turned it down because he could make better money doing whatever it was that he was doing at the time.

More memories

After yesterdays posting, I got to thinking more about what I remembered. And I started to write it down in the form of stories that I had heard. These are going to be disjointed, but somehow I find that I am having fun doing it. I hope you all enjoy. Here is what I have written in the last 36 hours.


Who was this man, Thomas Eugene Miller?

To some of us, he was our father. To others, he was grandpa, or uncle, or just a good friend. To some he was brother. He was born on January 26, 1909 in Gaslyn Wisconsin to George and Melissa Miller. He was the third son of that union.

He grew up as a son of a farmer in a farm community in northwestern Wisconsin in the first quarter of the twentieth century. He was a lean, whipcord man with a ready whit and faded blue eyes. He never weighed more than 160 pounds in his entire life and he was proud to tell you that he was 5 feet 10 inches in height. Now, what I am going to tell you are the memories of one man who was his son. I am only attempting to recite those things that I heard from and about him during the years that he and I were alive together. And there are other things that I have been fortunate enough to learn from others in the years since his passing. I loved the man so there may be a tendancy to elaborate and embellish but only because he deserves it.

There is the story of Dutch. Dutch was a german shepard dog that was obtained by the family while Tom was a young man at home. The pup was less than a year in age when he came to live with the Millers, but he was unruly to say the least. They had gotten him on the premise that they had to break him or kill him. That sounds rough. But that was the way of things in the rural communities. The animal was to be a watch dog for the home and there was a need to have a strong willed protector. Anyway, as the story was told to me, Tom was out working on the farm setting fence posts. This being a thing that needed to be done to maintain the safety of the livestock. Dutch was not the least bit happy about being tied out and not allowed to roam and have fun like any good young male dog is wont to do. Tom went over to where he was to attempt to quiet the dog. As he went, he carried a length of timber that he was using to tamp the dirt around the fence posts that were being set. When he got to where Dutch was tied, he discovered that he had made a slight miscalculation. Somehow he had gotten between the dog and the tree to which he was chained. Now remember, Dutch was somewhat ill-tempered at being tied. So he did what any animal of this temperement would do. He attacked. He went for Tom with blood in his eye and his eye on Tom's throat. Tom did the only thing he could do, he defended himself and his life. He swung the tamping stick like a baseball bat, catching Dutch in the ribs. Now Tom had played a lot of baseball in his life and knew how to swing a bat. Anyway,
Dutch went down in a heap, rolling back to his feet and immediately back to the attack. As he lept at Tom again, the procedure was repeated and it was another ground ball as the dog rolled away. Dutch was not done yet. He again went for Tom and Tom swung again with the same result. This time things changed. Dutch crawled to Tom's feet and licked his shoes. He was beat and he had found his master. He acknowledged that then and there. From that day until the day that he died, there was never a time when he did not act as protector for the Miller home and family. There are many more stories of Dutch that Tom told over the years. And I will try to record them all as I tell the story of Tom.

Why not another one now as I think of it.

Tom had a nephew, George, the son of his oldest brother George who was called Bob. Because of a divorce, young George was being raised by his paternal grandmother as his father had obtained custody, another story for a different time and place. Anyway, Tom was acting more the role of father to young George and would for a long time. At the time of the story, George was a very young lad and Dutch was acting in the role of babysitter while George was outside playing. The family heard Dutch whining and idly wondered what was happening until it went on
long enough that Tom went out to see what was happening. When he went out the screen door of the farm house he saw George leading the complaining Dutch around the yard. The reason Dutch was complaining was that George had grabbed him by the tongue and used it as a leash. It seems that Dutch was panting as dogs are known to do and it fascinated the young lad. So, he grabbed the tongue and walked off. Dutch could have made the boy let go by closing his mouth on the hand, but he did not. Instead, he suffered the indignity of being led by the tongue rather than hurt the child. Good dog.

And another comes to mind.

Tom was working on a road crew as he lived at home. His father, George or as he was known, Fritz, was a county commissioner so his family was involved in the work as well. Tom had a friend whose name has been lost in the passage of time who stopped by every morning to give Tom a ride to the site where the days work was to be done. He had been doing this for 6 months according to the story I was told. He would have a cup of coffee and play with Dutch every day. They had become good friends. As the story goes he made a comment to Tom that he and Dutch were the best of buddies. Tom told him that it did not matter for if he were to give the command, the dog would obey. In the usual form of male bravado and machissmo, the friend laughed and said it would never happen. They were outside heading for the car to go to work. Tom decided to prove his point and quietly said "Get him Dutch" and found he had to react very quickly to call the big dog off as Dutch took off to do as he was told. Loyal dog and obedient to his master.

And there is one last one that comes to memory.

It seems that during these times, it was not uncommon for gypsies to come visiting the rural homes looking for anything that was not tied down to steal. The method, as I heard it, was for more than one gypsy to get out of the car. One would go the house to ask for directions and engage in small talk while the other would quickly look through the outbuildings for something of value that could be taken and used or sold. Well, one day this happened at the Miller homestead. Our grandmother Melissa was at home in the kitchen with only Dutch for company. When someone knocked at the door, she went to see who was there. Dutch went with her and as was his way when alone, he positioned himself between her and the door. He was not a small dog. According to the description I heard, he was table top high at the shoulders. But this day, Dutch did something unusual. He went out the screen door and disappeared around the corner. Grandmother shortly thereafter heard a shout coming from one of the sheds. She went out and found a man standing with one foot off the ground. That foot was in Dutch's mouth. And he was
growling. Grandmother ordered Dutch to let him go and then ordered them off of the place or she would set the dog on them. They left quickly. Smart dog.

What does this prove about Tom? I don't know if it proves anything other than he had a dog who acknowledged him totally as his master. And a dog that I feel he loved as well. I think that says something about a man that he had inspired that kind of love and loyalty.


Well dear sibs, that is the beginning and there will be more.

Memories

As I sit here at this keyboard this day, it comes to me that it is time to share memories as they need to be shared before there is no time to share them anymore. Not that I am being maudlin, but I just want to put them down as I have been hoarding them and I feel the need to let them out.

I wrote a lot in TT comments on the aniversary of dad's birthday. That is what has opened the log jam. Things like the statement that he used to use about having to sight on a fence post to see if something or someone was actually moving. It is an old farmers way of talking about things that were moving slowly. He talked of a team of horses pulling a stone sled. I dont remember why they had them but they did use them to train horses to pull a load. It was a wooden sled with a lot of rocks in it. I remember it around the Anderson place when I was young.

I remember the cooking things better than most I guess because cooking and baking were a special memory for me. It is something I got from mom. For some reason, she spent time teaching me kitchen things. And I love it to this day. She taught me to make cocoa from scratch. I baked cakes with her. That is why I know that a cup was a coffee cup and a teaspoon was the one we had on the table. The table spoon measure was the one that was used for soup and serving. Egg shells made for good coffee. And the coffee did not get good until the pot was half full of grounds. And never wash the coffee pot because it would spoil the flavor for at least a month.

I remember talks with dad after mom died. I was only 13 at the time and did not really understand much about what was being said at the time. But looking back from the years I have reached, I start to see some of what he was trying to say. He missed her terribly. He had taken off work to be with her at the end. He knew the end was near as the doctor had told him that she had a week or two and that the pain was going to be bad for her but she would be as sedated as possible. The doctor told him that he had only just begun to get to the early stages of morphine injections just before she died. Dad told me how he had been sleeping in the chair in the room with her and he heard her breathing change. How she had been fighting for air. She succumbed to pnuemonia at the end, what he said was called the sick persons friend. He talked about the love between a man and a woman to me a teenage boy and I did not then understand. I do now. But it took me almost another 5o years to do so. God, do I miss them both.

He told us after the funeral about the fact that twice before in his life he had seen families broken up when the mother had died and HE would not let that happen to his children. I never forgot that lesson. When the accident happened to my family and Laurie was killed and the rest of the family in the hospital, he asked me why I had not opted to have my children taken care of by others but insisted that I take them home and I told him that it was the lesson I had learned from him. He cried.

He always told me that anything that he and I could do together, he called it pulling in a double harness, would alway be something that would get finished. I never forgot that. I passed it on as the lesson that you do what ever you need to do to get the job done. And the job has always been family. That is the only job we have. The rest is details.

Dear sibs, there is one more lesson I learned. I don't know if you know this so I am going to pass it on. Dad told me that at the end of her life, mom did one of the hardest and bravest things possible. She knew she was dying. She could very easily have given into grief and sense of loss. That is the normal thing. She could have pulled us close and hung on to us in her final days. But she did not. She and he discussed it and she decided that we need to be turned to dad. He would be who was there with us after she had gone. So she did that. She turned us away, gently, to our father. It made the grieving easier and our subsequent lives easier. But not her end. For that I love her.

From our parents, I learned lessons that I have tried to formulate in my own way as 3 laws of family. Borrowing heavily on the great author Isaac Asimov, they go like this.

Law 1. Family comes first. Take care of your family in all things before all other things.

Law 2. Take care of the individual members of your family as long as it does not cause harm to the entire family.

Law 3. Take care of yourself as long as it does not interfere with the first 2 laws.

This to me means that as long as you do this, you should never have to worry about yourself as the others in the family will have done it for you. So on this basis I give you all, siblings and children, my love and my promise to live this way.