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.