Memories: An Autobiography by Robert L. Hoover

Memories (1)

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MEMORIES

AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY

by

Robert L. Hoover


Written - December, 1983. Epilogue - September, 1999
Epilogue II - January 2010


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FORWARD

This autobiography has been written, not as an ego trip, but in the hope that
the experiences and happenings I have described might be interesting to my
progeny and give them a little more knowledge of their heritage. I hope it is
taken in this manner. I would like to dedicate this especially to my
grandchildren and step-grandchildren in the hope that they will read it and learn
a little more about their granddad, and, perhaps, pick up a little advice that may
help them in their journey through life.

RLH

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TABLE OF CONTENTS

PAGE

Residences. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1

Schools . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 6

Athletics. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 11

My Pets . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 12

Outdoor Life . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 15

Vocation . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 18

Organizations . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 20

Family . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 22

Summary . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 26

Epilogue . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 28

Epilogue II . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 32


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RESIDENCES

The earliest memory that I have is o f a happening when I was, at most, three
years old. We lived in a small house in South Condit, just north of the intersection.
I walked into the bedroom, stood in front of the full-length mirror, turned around
and saw: - a lump in my little pants! This was obviously the result of not yet being
completely potty trained. Why this stuck in my mind these many years, I will
never know.

The house I have referred to was the third my father, mother and I had lived
in since I came into this world. I was born March 13, 1919, in a house in Harlem
Township, Delaware County, Ohio, just north of Center village, on what is now
State Route #605. Coincidentally, this was the same house in which my father was
born some twenty-seven years previously. Within a year we moved about one and
one-half miles north, still in Harlem Township.

About this time my father resumed his career as a schoolteacher, being hired
to teach the one room school at South Condit. Thus, the move to the house of my
"first memory". The following year he taught at the one room school in North
Condit and we moved to a house on the old 3-C highway, just east of the
intersection with #605. It was here that my dad bought me something that was to
play an important part in my childhood days,- namely, my dog , Jack. He was a
small rat terrier pup, destined to a life of many happy experiences with me, and
many accidents and illnesses. More about him later.

By this time I was just five years old. My grandmother Forwood had just
died, leaving my grandfather alone. He owned twenty acres, with house and barn
on State Route #605, just three houses south of State Route #37, in Trenton
Township. This community is known as Vans Valley. This house had at one time
been a frame one-room schoolhouse, probably in the last half of the nineteenth
century. Sometime around the turn of the century, it was moved closer to the road
and remodeled. In addition to the barn, there was the "buggy shed", "coal shed",
"straw shed", and chicken house. In the barnyard and adjacent lot, apple, pear,
peach, cherry and plum trees produced delicious fruit yearly, Grape arbors, a
rhubarb patch, raspberry bushes and a strawberry patch added to the well-stocked
shelves of jellies and jams. A small garden, plus a large "truck patch", yielded all
sorts of vegetables to be eaten fresh, or preserved by canning or drying.

Into this "Garden of Eatin" my parents and I moved, somewhat alleviating
the loneliness of my grandfather, and providing us with a good home. This was
my home until I was married. To me, this was my only boyhood home.


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I would like to describe life as I remember it, living on this small farm in the
1920's and 1930's. We always had one or two milk cows. Of course, this meant
they had to be milked night and morning. At an early age I learned how to do this,
with only an occasional swat in the face with a manure covered tail, or a cow's foot
in a half-full bucket of milk. After finishing, there was always the cat's dish to fill.
Usually there were three or four cats around the barn, to help keep the mice and
rats in check, and, occasionally, one extra special one that was made a house pet.
The milk was then brought to the house and strained through cheesecloth into some
sort of container. Since we had no refrigeration of any kind, the milk had to be
disposed of in some manner before it soured. Of course, we had fresh milk twice a
day for table use and for cooking. The really staple fare for the evening meal often
was bread and milk, with maybe some honey on the side, taken from the beehives
in the barn lot.

Much of the time we had a hand operated cream separator with which we
separated the cream from the skim milk, and either sold the cream or made butter
from it. To do this, we had a churn, a gallon glass jar with crank operated paddles
inside, to stir the cream until the butter separated from the buttermilk. The butter
was then put into a large wooden bowl and "worked" with a large wooden paddle,
adding some salt, until all the buttermilk was eliminated and the butter was
smooth.

The skim milk was often used as hog feed, mixing some bran and tankage
with it and pouring it into a trough from which the hogs ate. This was known as
"slopping the hogs'". I can remember only one or two occasions that we butchered
our own hogs. This would take place in the late fall or winter, so that the meat
would cool quickly.

One butchering day, a large fire was built from wood. Over this was hung a
large iron kettle. This served two purposes, first to heat water to scald the hog,
and second, to render the fat into lard. Over a large barrel a tripod was erected,
with block and tackle hanging from the top. The barrel was filled with scalding
water and we were ready for the unfortunate hog.

The hog chosen was killed with a .22 rifle. My dad told me to draw an
imaginary line from the hog's left ear to its right eye, and another one from the
right ear to left eye, and where the line crossed, that was the spot to place the
bullet for an instant kill. The jugular vein was then cut to allow most of the blood
to drain. Then the block and tackle was fastened to the hind feet: the carcass was
hoisted above the barrel of scalding water, dipped into it several rimes , and then
scraped thoroughly with metal scrappers to get rid of all the hair. It was then
opened up, all entrails removed, and allowed to cool out. If stuffed sausage were
to be made, the intestines were salvaged, turned inside out and thoroughly cleaned,
and put aside to be filled later with fresh ground sausage, and tied off into links


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After cooling, the hams, shoulders, sides and loin were cut, and the
remainder was cut into small pieces, the lean to be ground into sausage, and the fat
put into a large iron kettle and rendered into lard, the leftovers being called
"cracklings". The hams and shoulders were either smoke cured or sugar cured and
the sides cured into bacon. O course the various organs were saved, - the liver,
heart, brains, pancreas [sweetbread], and even the testicles [sometimes called
mountain oysters!] Yes, everything of the hog was utilized except the squeal.

Our farm was divided into four fields, roughly five acres per field. One of
these, the one nearest the barn, was a permanent pasture while the others three
were planted to corn, oats and clover, in rotation. The power to do the fieldwork
was furnished by a team of horses, - Goldie, the mare, and Nig, the gelding. The
soil was turned over with a horse drawn single furrow walking breaking plow.
This was slow work, - being able to plow only about one acre in a full day. The
soil was then worked down with a horse drawn single disc harrow and spike-
tooth harrow. The corn was planted with a horsedrawn two-row corn planter,
using a wire with a knot every 40" stretched full length of the field. After arriving
at each end, the wire was moved and fastened by a special stake. By using this we
were able to plant the hills of corn in a checkerboard so it could be cultivated both
lengthways and crosswise. This was done with a horsedrawn on-row cultivator,
usually about three of four times before the field was "laid by".

In the fall the corn was cut by hand with a long corn knife and put in shocks,
ten hills square to the shock. After allowing a few weeks for the corn to dry, the
shocks were torn down, one at a time, the ears taken from the husk by hand,
[known as "husking'], piled in a pile on the ground, and the remaining fodder was
tied into bundles and laid over the top of the piles of ear corn. Later the piles were
uncovered, the corn loaded on a wagon, and hauled to the bardyard and stored in a
slatted corn crib. The fodder was left in the field to be hauled in later to be used as
livestock feed or bedding.

July was the time of the year for the harvest of wheat and oats. Since we did
not have a grain binder, a neighbor was hired to cur our oats. The grain binder cut
the grain, tied it into bundles, and dropped them on the ground. Our job then was
to set them upright in shocks, four in a row and three on each side, with two used
as caps. After a week or ten days drying time, the grain was ready to be
"threshed'. i.e. separating the grain from the straw.

The customs surrounding the threshing process in that time were rather
unique. A threshing "ring" was established, simply a group of eight or ten farmers
living near each other. They exchanged work and use of their teams and wagons.
The threshing machine, or separator, and the steam engine to power it, were owned
by an individual that made this his profession.


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When it came our turn, the rig came rolling into the driveway and to the spot
designated to set up, depending upon where the straw was to be blown.

We usually had a "straw shed", a framework over which the straw was piled,
leaving one side open. This made a good shelter against wind and sun for the
livestock. Some of the members of the threshing ring would already have been in
the grain fields, loading the shocked grain onto wagons, by pitching it by hand
with a pitchfork. The owner of the team and wagon would load the grain, in a very
precise manner, so that one wagon could haul much grain without it sliding off.
By the time the threshing rig was set up, two or three wagons would be waiting to
unload the grain into the separator. It was pitched into the conveyor, one bundle at
a time, and always head first. Usually two wagons could unload at one time, one
on either side of the "mouth'". As the bundles, or sheaves as they were called,
passed through the separator, the grain was separated from the straw, the straw
being blown out a long metal pipe that could be maneuvered to build a stable straw
pile, and the grain came down a spout into burlap sacks. Another wagon was
available to haul these filled sacks to a storage bin somewhere in one of the farm
buildings. The sacks were emptied and brought back to be refilled.

There was another very important phase to the threshing operation, and that
was the huge thresher's meals usually provided by the women of the ring. It was
necessary to determine just where they would be working at meal time, a no small
task at times, and the wife of that farmer would prepare a dinner, or supper,
whichever it might be, for as a many as a dozen or fifteen hungry men. Usually this
was a very lavish menu, - fried chicken, roast beef, mashed potatoes, and gravy,
vegetables, rolls or homemade bread, jam and jellies, and, of course, pie. The
threshing ring not only accomplished the job of getting the grain harvested
economically, but it also provided an opportunity for good fellowship and was one
of the social functions of the year. Of course, no money changed hands, except to
pay the owner of the threshing rig.

This was also a big time for the kids of the area, being in July when school
was out. One thing required to keep the steam engine running was water, and this
came from a large tank on wheels, drawn by a team of horses. Usually several
trips a day would have to be made to the nearest creek to refill the tank, and I can
remember riding on the tank back and forth after water. Also, we would ride the
grain wagon to the bins and back, and the wagons going to and from the fields. Of
course, to watch the big old steam engine huff and puff away was very exciting to
a small farm boy. It was not to difficult to entertain a child in that more simple
time.

Since we had no electricity until 1936 [my parents felt that $5.00 a month
was too high]. our mode of living was very much different than now. For light we
used the kerosene lamp, a gasoline lamp or the Aladdin lamp. A kerosene lantern


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was used to do chores after dark. The best way to clean the globes of either the
lamps or lantern was to wad up a sheet of newspaper and rub the inside thoroughly.
This took the smoke off that had accumulated. Cooking was done on the wood and
coal range, complete with baking oven , warming closets and hot water reservoir.
This also provided heat for the kitchen in the wintertime.

Washing of clothes was done by hand on a washboard set in one of two large
galvanized washtubs sitting on a special rack, with a hand cranked wringer
fastened to the tub. One tub was for washing, the other for rinsing. The clothes
were dried outdoors on the clothesline, winter and summer.

Heat for the rest of the house was furnished by wood or coal burning Round
Oak or Heatrola stove. It was primarily my job to keep the coal buckets filled from
an outside coal shed, or wood box filled from the outside woodpile. In the summer
the heating stove was taken down, cleaned, polished and stored until fall.

The way of life as I have described it seems very primitive and laborious,
but if you had known no other way, it was enjoyable and satisfying. Each
generation lives in its own age, and believes their mode of living is the best, and
that is as it should be.

I lived in this house in Vans Valley with my father, mother and grandfather
until the death of my father in 1939, then with just my mother and grandfather until
I was married in 1941. Helen Harris and I began going together the end of our
junior year in high school, and continued all through my college days, and were
secretly married June 28, 1941. The reason for the secrecy was the fact that she
was working at Timken Roller Bearing Company in Columbus, and at that time
they allowed no married women to work there. In December we announced our
marriage and went to house keeping on a 125-acre dairy farm on Sunbury Road,
about four miles south of Galena. The nearly three years we spent there were very
enjoyable in many ways, but as a financial venture, it was a complete fiasco. The
farm belonged to Helen's cousin and her husband, they having just bought it and
had no experience with a farm. Also, we were young and had no experience
managing a farm. To begin with, there was no written contract, no definite
agreement between us, only that Helen and I were to operate the farm and help
them pay the mortgage payments. Adversity hit in the form of bang's disease
among the cattle and we really never did make any profit on the operation. It was
really a relief in a way, when I received my induction notice to enter the armed
forces in September of 1944, to be relieved of an almost hopeless situation.

Before I left for the navy we rented the old schoolhouse that had been made
into a dwelling, located just across the road from my mother and grandfather. The
intention was for Helen and Brenda, who had come along by now, to live there
while I was gone and be near to help my mother. But since my mother died
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mother, continuing to rent the school house as a place to store our furniture. For
two years after I returned, we lived in the school house, paying the huge sum of
twelve dollars a month rent. By this time Don had joined the family, being a war
baby. This house had electricity but not much else in the way of conveniences.

In March 1948, the owner of the school house informed us that he intended
to move back there, and that we would have to move. We found a house on
Rainbow Avenue in Sunbury that had just been built, that we could rent for forty
dollars a month. This seemed like an almost prohibitive price at the time, after
paying only twelve dollars, but we decided to try it. A year later we were able to
buy it, borrowing the down payment on a personal note and financing the balance.
Of course, this is where I still live and will probably be my residence for the rest
of my life.


SCHOOL

As my father was a school teacher, and my mother was a former school
teacher, and as I was an only child, it was only natural that I receive intensive early
instruction in my ABCs and my numbers. Consequently, in January before my
sixth birthday in March, I was enrolled in the Vans Valley one-room school
directly across the road from our house. The following fall I went on into the
second grade, putting me a year ahead in school of most others my age. When I
was in the third grade my father was my teacher. The following year he was hired
to teach the four upper grades in a two-room school at Norton, in northern
Delaware County, where he taught for three years. He and I drove back and forth
every day in the fall and spring, and had light housekeeping, rooms there in the
winter where we all stayed during the week. My fifth and sixth grades were under
my father again. This fact can have its advantages and disadvantages. It was
almost necessary that he bend over backward not to show any partiality. I
remember a time in the sixth grade when he promised the class a small prize to the
pupil making the highest grade in a health and hygiene test. Well, I made the
highest grade, but he gave the prize to the second highest, and gave a duplicate
prize at home.

I think much can be said in favor of the old one and two room schools. For
one thing, due to the limited time a teacher could spend with each class, and on
each subject, just the fundamental subjects were taught. However, they were
thoroughly stressed, and each student was given special attention, since classes


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were very small. Another result of all grades being in the same room , all pupils,
from first to eighth grade, could overhear the other class reciting and
consequently, could pick up material two or three grades ahead. This made it a
little easier for them when they advanced to a higher grade. As an example, I
remember when I was in the third grade I heard my dad teaching the upper grades
how to diagram sentences in grammar class. This intrigued me so I had him help
me at home, and I was able to do this several grades in advance. We were able to
salute the flag and recite the pledge of allegiance each morning, and could have
prayer if desired.

After three years at Norton, my father went to Galena where he taught the
seventh and eighth grades until his sudden death nine years later. By then the Vans
Valley one room school had been closed, so I rode the school bus to Sunbury for
my last six years of elementary and high school.

I was fortunate to have two great teachers for my seventh and eighth grades,
Harold Tippett and Rolland "Pop" Neilson, respectfully. Both of them were strict
disciplinarians, yet fair and compassionate. At that time a countywide eighth grade
test was given to all eighth graders in the county. Due to the excellent teachers I
had over the previous years, I was able to place second in the county, a fact that
pleased Mr. Neilson, and of course boosted my ego somewhat.

I went sailing through high school with very few problems, and ended up
being valedictorian of our graduating class. I was president of the junior class,
consequently, the master of ceremonies at our junior-senior banquet. I was
president of the science club and captain of the basketball team my senior year.
Helen and I had the leads in both our junior and senior plays, and I had the lead in
an operetta presented when I was a senior. I also played clarinet in the high school
orchestra, and sang in the glee club.

Naturally it was in this stage of my life that I began noticing girls seriously.
I first started dating the beginning of my junior year, when I was fifteen. Since this
was previous to the enactment of the driver license law, there was no problem of
transportation as I had been driving for years. I dated Geraldine Morris
[McNamara]for about three months, Then Frances Williamson [Ruthig] until May
of that year. I took Helen Harris to our junior class picnic at O'Shaunesy Dam,
and this was the beginning of a relationship that led to our marriage six years later.
Dates during high school consisted mainly of going to school functions, skating
parties, occasional movies, or just riding around the country. Money was in short
supply during the era of the great depression.

It was a forgone conclusion on my parent's part that I should attend college.
So, after studying several college catalogs and brochures, I decided upon Miami
University at Oxford, Ohio. The estimated cost of a full year there, including
tuition, room, board, books, fees, etc, was $420.00. I had saved some money from


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various projects and jobs, and with some help from my dad, I was able to swing it.
Neil Harvey, a high school classmate, roomed with me at a freshman dormitory.

At the time I had very little idea of what I wanted to do in my life. I
enrolled in liberal arts college, and took courses in English, chemistry, history,
German and physical education. I found the studies here to be a little more
difficult than I had experienced previously, consequently, I ended the year with
only a 2.5 point average.

This was the first I had been away from home, but I adjusted very well. I
was able to come for holidays and my parents visited occasionally, bringing
Helen with them. Also, another high school classmate, Mary Katherine Condit,
was attending Western School for Girls, with adjoining campus. Her boyfriend,
Alva Cornell, would come down frequently on weekends and bring Helen. She
would stay with Mary Katherine and he would stay with me. We would visit
various attractions around there and in Cincinnati, and attend a few college
functions.

By the end of the college year I was forced to make a more definite decision
as to what course I should pursue. My dad suggested that I might like to become a
high school agriculture teacher, since this was the highest paid position in the
school system, even higher than school superintendent. This would mean I
would be close to Helen and could see her often. This was a factor that probably
played the most important part in my decision to transfer.

The first year at O.S.U. I roomed with Elliott Wilson, another high school
classmate, at a private rooming house on Frambes Avenue. The second year, and
fall quarter of the third year, I roomed with Gordon Ryder on Woodland Avenue.
That January 1939, my father died suddenly from peritonitis following an
appendectomy. This necessitated my dropping out of school for the rest of that
school year. An effort was made by our county superintendent of schools to obtain
for me a temporary teaching permit in order that I might complete the rest of my
dad's year at Galena. But the state department felt that I did not have enough
education courses and refused the permit.

That summer I worked as a paint contractor, painting farm buildings with the
use of a spray gun. I hired Clark Belt as a helper for the huge sum of twenty cents
an hour. That fall I went back to school, obtaining a NYA part time job in the
Agriculture Engineering office, and working in a restaurant for my meals. Soon
the restaurant closed, but then I got a job serving meals and washing dishes at a
sorority house for the rest to the year.

In the summer of 1940 I got a job at Nestles', working on construction.
When it came time to go back to school, they offered me a job inside the plant,
working from 10P.M. to 6 A.M., enabling me to drive back and forth to Columbus


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to attend classes. This I did for my entire senior year. I worked five nights a week,
carried a full schedule of classes at school and still was able to see Helen often.
Needless to say, I didn't get a whole lot of sleep. Many a time my notes in an eight
o'clock class would dwindle out to nothing as I dozed occasionally. In spite of the
rigid schedule, I was able to complete my entire college course with a 3.2 grade
point average.

During my senior year I began to have doubts about wanting to teach. I was
called into the dean's office, prior to my final commitment to practicing teaching,
for a conference. It was then that I decided not to finish in Agriculture Education,
but to skip the practice teaching, take some specialized courses in the spring
quarter and graduate with a B.S. degree in general agriculture. It was also at this
conference that I was informed that in the entrance I.Q. tests I had placed in the
upper ten percent.

And so it was, in June of 1941, I was a member of the class that, it was said
instead of being graduated, it was "launched". The ceremonies were scheduled for
5 P.M. in the stadium. About that time a torrential rain and thunderstorm struck.
They tried to hold it under the stadium, but since no one could be heard, they gave
up and sent us our diplomas through the mail.

Although this completed my formal education, I like to think that the
training and course of instruction I received in the navy was an extension of my
education. When I registered for the draft in 1941 I was classified 1A, and in
September of that year I received my official "greetings". Only three day before I
was supposed enter the armed forces, some of my neighbors in Vans Valley
interceded on my behalf and persuaded the draft board to change my classification,
thereby keeping me home. They did this because they felt I was needed at home to
support my mother, since my father had recently died. I learned later that those
that were drafted at that time ended up in the army in the North African campaign,
fighting Rommel, the"Desert Fox".

After we moved to the farm on Sunbury road I received an agricultural
deferment. But this finally ended, and on September 15, 1944, I was sworn into
the navy at Columbus. Since the swearing-in ceremony was held in the forenoon,
and the train for Great Lakes Naval Training Center did not leave until evening,
there was some time to kill. We were asked who had some college education, and
who would be interested in taking the test for the radio technician program.
Thinking I had nothing to lose, but not expecting to pass it, I volunteered to take it.
We were not notified at that time as to the outcome of it.

We rode the train to Great Lakes Naval Training Center, were issued our
gear at mainside, marched five miles to our barracks, and began our boot training.
Five days later I received word that my mother had died suddenly of a stroke, and I
was given an emergency nine-day leave to come home. The yoeman who made


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out my leave papers told me that he was a brother-in-law of Billy Southworth of
Sunbury, and that he would be there while I was home, and for me to look him up.
The outcome of this chance meeting was that, upon returning to boot camp, I was
made battalion clerk, with my own office in our barracks. Because of these duties
I escaped much of the more distasteful training in boot camp.

At the end of the twelve-week period of training, when we received our pay,
I found that I had twice the money coming as the other boots. It was finally
determined that I had passed the exam for radio technician that I had taken in
Columbus, was promoted to seaman first class, and was supposed to have been in a
special four week R T company. Somewhere things had been mixed up [SNAFU"
being the navy term for it] and was not straightened out until I returned after boot
leave. The R T program took precedence over everything else so upon return to
Great lakes I entered this training.

I spent eight weeks at High Manley School in Chicago that the navy had
taken over, studying fundamentals of electricity and mathematics. I then went to
Great Lakes Training School Command for three months in primary radio school,
studying radio transmission and receiving. After that it was eight months of very
intensive training at Navy Pier in Chicago, studying radar and sonar, and learning
how to service them. If I had really applied myself here I could have come out
with a very good basic education in electronics. However, I was interested mainly
in keeping my nose clean and getting home to my family as soon as possible. A
very good navy buddy of mine, John Buchen, used this training as a basis to enter
the electronic and, later nuclear field, and is still employed as a research scientist
in Los Alamos, New Mexico.

After graduating from Navy Pier, I was sent to Norfolk, Virginia, for
assignment aboard ship. But before this happened, I became eligible for discharge
under the point system, was sent back to Great lakes and eventually, to the naval
armory in Toledo, Ohio, where I was discharged February 18, 1946, having served
seventeen months during and after World War II.

Nothing much very exciting happened to me during my navy career. It was
a period of very uncertainty, never knowing when I left my family after a leave of
liberty, when, or if ever, I would see them again. But I was very fortunate, much
more so than many others, and returned home, none the worse for my experiences.
This was the end of my formal and technical education.


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ATHLETICS

My first introduction to organized athletics came when I was in the sixth
grade in Norton. We had a sixth grade basketball team, complete with uniforms.
We played in the township house, a building used for various purposes, but a great
basketball court it was not! In the seventh and eighth grades at Sunbury, athletics
was limited to noon and recess, and occasionally during physical education period.

My facilities for practicing at home were very limited. For basketball, I had
an old barrel hoop nailed to the side of the barn, and for a ball I used a small rubber
ball, or a football which I was fortunate enough to have. I did have a fielder's
glove and catcher's mitt for baseball, and I played catch often with my dad or a
neighbor boy. I was always throwing stones and consequently, developed a
pretty good arm.

In high school I played reserve basketball my sophomore year, both reserve
and varsity my junior year, and varsity my senior year. It was in my senior year
that I was captain of the team, and at one time high scorer in the county. At that
time there were twelve high schools in Delaware County, outside the city of
Delaware. Some of the gyms we played in were really "cracker boxes". At Powell
you could not arch a foul shot, as you would hit the ceiling. A zone defense in one
of those small gyms covered practically the entire half court. We won the league
championship that year but lost out in the finals of the county tournament. I like to
think it was because I was sick in bed with laryngitis the week prior to the game
and, consequently, wasn't up to par.

Sunbury High School's baseball program was very strong at that time. My
senior year marked the thirteenth consecutive year they won the county
championship. The coach for that entire period was the superintendent of school,
Guy McFarland. He knew baseball and he taught us thoroughly the fundamentals
of the game. I attribute my later limited success in college baseball to the training I
received under him.

I played varsity baseball my junior and senior years, having to drop out my
sophomore year because of a sore arm. This was caused by throwing too hard, too
much and too soon at the beginning of the season. I recall that in the county
tournament my senior year I batted an even .500 for the whole series. I played
outfield, third base, and pitched occasionally.

At the time I entered college there was not the intensive recruiting or
scholarship programs for athletes that there are today. When I was at Miami
University, I simply tried out for both basketball and baseball. I made the
freshman squad in basketball but did not receive numerals. In baseball I made the


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squad and received my sweater and numerals as a pitcher. When I transferred to
Ohio State I still had to play freshman baseball. A group of 185 aspiring players
was cut to a squad of 25 and I was able to survive the cut and went on to win my
numerals. Since I had to drop out of school the following year because of the
death of my father, my college baseball career came to an end.

I am thankful that God gave me a healthy, strong body, with good
coordination, so that I have been able to enjoy many sports. I have always
considered myself to be not a great athlete, but a little above average in most sports
in which I have participated. I have enjoyed ice skating, bicycling, water skiing,
golf and bowling. I have bowled in league play from 1950 to the present,
averaging 170 to 184. I was secretary of the bowling league for twenty-two years.
I did not start to play golf until I was thirty-three years old, but have played it
steadily since then. Again I have not been a real good golfer, but a little above
average, with a handicap of around twelve for eighteen holes. I have enjoyed golf
very much and still do. I like the fellowship that accompanies it, and I have been
able to make many friends that, otherwise, I would not have done.

I believe that organized sports are very helpful to the growth of a boy or girl,
both physically and emotionally. It teaches them discipline, self-assurance and the
ability to get along with others. I think that in all competition one should always
try to win, but also to know that winning is not everything.


MY PETS

Earlier mention was made of my rat terrier dog, Jack. He was given to me
as a pup when I was four year old, and lived a charmed life until I went away to
college. He finally had to be put to sleep on account of old age and a tumor that
developed. He survived bouts with distemper twice and being hit by a car at least
four times. The first was when he was just a pup, nearly killing him. The second
time he had a hind leg broken, causing him to run on three legs for over a year,
then he was hit again, breaking the leg over, and after that he was able to walk and
run on all four legs again.

Jack was a great rat killer. He was very instrumental in keeping the
population of rats down on our farm. He also loved to chase groundhogs, although
he was not large or strong enough to kill one. Many a time in the spring or
summer we would hear him barking in a field, maybe as much as a quarter of a
mile away. Upon going to where he was we would find him and a groundhog he
had cornered. He would constantly circle it, keeping it from running back to its


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burrow, until we would kill it. sometimes it would be a couple of hours from the
time we first heard him bark until we would finally get to him.

Another animal I had that gave me great fun and excitement was my
shetland pony, Buddy. When I was six or seven years old, Stelzer's grocery in
Sunbury held a contest at Christmas, the first prize being a pony. Shoppers were
given votes for the boy or girl of their choice. Through the efforts of my dad and
granddad, I received the most votes. What a happy Christmas for me! I learned to
ride him bareback since I did not have saddle until the next Christmas. I
remember the first time I rode him bareback at a gallop, he shied from a blowing
piece of paper, throwing me off, and stepping on my eye. In seconds my eye was
swollen shut and mother was sure I had been killed. But it was nothing serious.

George Ford, my very close boyhood chum, also had a pony. We had great
fun riding together, playing cowboys [how I longed for a real cowboy suit but
never got one], and racing across the fields. At harvest time we would ride our
ponies back and forth to the fields with the wagons. I often dreamed of having a
paper route in the community so I could deliver the papers on my pony, like the
pony express riders of the old west. I can remember racing Buddy across the
pasture field with Jack running on one side and Bill, a pet sheep, running on the
other, often jumping stiff-legged.

Buddy later developed an affliction, common to shetland ponies, that caused
his hooves to turn up so that he had to walk on the back of them, crippling him.
No amount of trimming or any other treatment seemed to help, so I was finally
forced to sell him. With money I received from him, and from the saddle and
bridle, I bought the very best bicycle available at the time.

Other animals I owned, but not really be called pets, were sheep and
hogs. When I was about ten years old my dad bought me four shropshire ewe
sheep. From this start I was able to build a flock of nearly fifty by the time I went
to college, and the sale of them helped pay my first year's college expense. I also
bought a registered spotted Poland China gilt and from her, and one of her
offspring, raised several litters of market hogs. Old Frank McMahon of Galena
bought one litter, and never after that did I see him that he failed to tell me what a
great pen of hogs those were.

Soon after Helen and I were married and started farming, an English
shepherd, named Rover, or as we usually called him, Buster was given to us. He
was a beautiful, intelligent dog, but strictly a one family dog. We could do
anything with him and later Brenda and Don could play as roughly as they wanted
and he would seem to love it. But he had nothing to do with strangers and woe to
anyone or anything that attempted to harm the children. One time when Don was
about two years old he wandered away from the house. When we found him he


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had gone to the road, but there was Buster, nudging him back and keeping him
from going into the road.

He was a great rat killer, and loved to hunt groundhogs. Unlike Jack, he was
big and strong enough to kill them by himself. Once I saw him dig into a
groundhog's burrow until he was able to grab it by its face, pull it out of the hole,
throw it into the air in one swift motion, then catch it and break its neck in seconds.
He would chase a rabbit, run it down and catch it, not easy for a dog to do. But he
was no good as a hunting dog. He was extremely gun shy, even shaking at the
mere sight of a gun. He was also very frightened of thunder.

On the dairy farm we usually had fifteen to twenty cows. At times they
would be turned into a thirty-five acre woods during the day to graze. When it
came milking time in the evening they would have to be rounded up and driven up
a long lane to the barn. After going with me a few times, Buster learned to go by
himself and all I would have to say was, "Go get the cows, Buster", and he would
be off and running as fast as he could back the lane to the woods, and soon here
would come the cows with him at their heels.

Buster moved with us to the schoolhouse in Van Valley, but while we were
gone to Michigan on vacation in 1947 he died under rather mysterious
circumstances. I never did really know the exact cause of death.

Soon afterwards Helen obtained a cocker spaniel pup which we named
Sandy. She was the household pet all during Brenda's and Don's growing-up
years. She was the one who used to allow Brenda to dress her in doll clothes or at
Christmas decorate her with bows and ribbons. She lived to be about fourteen
years old before dying of old age [helped along by stumbling beneath Don's
moving car].

Of course, all during my boyhood days we had an assortment of cats, some
of them being house pets, but most of them being barn cats. We had one strain that
had seven toes on each foot, a rather unusual characteristic. I also raised rabbits
for several years, selling some of them for meat. I had one old buck rabbit, named
Pete, that ran loose in the barnyard all the time. He was big and strong enough to
chase the cats instead of them chasing him. Then there was the little turtle about
the size of a quarter that I found one time, kept it in a fish bowl for about six
months, and then cried when my folks made me turn it loose.

It is my opinion that a pet is a good influence upon the life of a child
providing there are facilities for the proper care of them. They teach a child a
sense of responsibility, sensitivity to life, and an awareness of the rights of other
beings. Besides, they are cuddly and lovable.


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OUTDOOR LIFE


I guess I am and always have been, an outdoors person. I would much
rather be on a lake in the wilds of Canada than downtown in the most modern city
in the world. I suppose being raised in the country, with no brothers or sisters, and
very few other children with whom to play, may have contributed to my desire for
solitude, and love of field, forest and stream.

As a boy I spent many, many hours tramping the fields and hiking along
the streams, watching the wild animals and observing the varied plant life and insects.
George Ford and I spent many an afternoon walking in the woods, talking, and
maybe imagining we were in the deserts of the west, or on safari in darkest Africa.
Later, we spent much time together hunting squirrels, rabbits and pheasants.

I cannot discuss my experiences in the out-of-doors without bringing up the
subject of guns. I was introduced to them by my dad when I was only five years
old. He would take a .22 caliber cartridge, remove the lead bullet, and stuff a wad
of paper in its place, making it a blank cartridge. This he would load into an old
Stevens single shot rifle and allow me to shoot it. By this means he taught me the
proper way to handle a gun, both for effectiveness and for safety.

The next step was to allow me to use the same rifle, but to substitute a .22
caliber shell filled with many small lead shot. With one of these I went out to the
straw shed and killed a rat, my first game with a gun! I recall another amusing
experience when I was only six or seven years old. I took the same Stevens rifle,
two cartridges, and my dog, Jack, and went "hunting"in the fields behind our
farm. Jack began barking around a large brush pile. I didn't know what to do so I
went back to the house to get either my dad or granddad, but neither one was
home. So I went back to the brush pile and by that time Jack had "worried" a
large possum out into the open. I shot it in the head with both shells, broke a club
over its head, then let Jack shake it. You see, I had heard my granddad tell how a
possum would play dead then later get up and run away. I dragged the possum to
the house by its tail since it was too heavy for me to carry. Granddad skinned it,
stretched the hide, and I later sold it for $3.00.

I shot my first pheasant, on the wing, with a .410 gauge shotgun when I was
ten years old. The year I was freshman in high school, at daylight on the opening
day of hunting season, I took Jack and went pheasant hunting near our farm. He
flushed several in a fencerow. I shot one, then a few yards farther he flushed
another, and I drowned it, completing my limit. I took them to the house, changed
my clothes, still got on the school bus for school. Another interesting
experience happened some fifteen years later. George and I were hunting near


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Magnetic Springs. We were walking along the end of a field of standing corn,
looking down the rows. I spotted a cock pheasant, quickly fired, and when I went
to pick it up, there lay two , dead. Two birds with one shot! Fortunately, they were
both cocks.

When I was in boot camp at Great Lakes Naval Training Center we were
given instructions in the use of a rifle. First, we were taken to an indoor range
where we fired .22 caliber rifles. On a test with it I scored 144 out of a possible
150. Then we were taken to a 200-yard outdoor range where we shot the 30-30
rifle. Here I scored 136 out of a possible 150. Both of these scores qualified me as
an expert marksman. Fortunately, I never had to use this training during the rest of
my navy career.

When I was a boy at home I used to listen to our minister tell of some of his
experiences on vacation in the forest of Michigan. I thought how great that would
be, but never expecting then to be able to do something like that. In 1947, Don and
Irma Paul and Helen and I spent a week at Oxyoke camp on the Au Sable River in
Lower Michigan. The first day when we got in the boat and headed upstream,
pushed along by our 5-hp motor, we thought we were really in the wild. Boy!
this is it! Nothing but water and trees! I still get that feeling when I head out on a
lake in Canada. I hope I never get over it.

In 1953 we began going as a family to Willisville, Ontario, and the camp on
Charlton Lake. We spent every summer vacation there from then until Helen's
death in 1967. I can truthfully say that some of the happiest weeks of my life were
spent there, with my family, and with the Dawsons, Pauls and Nettlehorsts. I still
am enjoying summer trips there with Evelyn, my kids and grandkids. I am pleased
that my children evidently enjoyed their times there enough when they were
young, that they want to take their children now.

There are many things that stand out in my memory of times in the Canadian
land of lakes and forests, - the lonely cry of a loon calling its mate, the sudden
splash of a beaver's tail upon the water as it signals the approach of danger, the
beautiful sunsets over the water and between two small mountain peaks. I recall
one night when Chuck and Ralph Nettlehorst and Don and I portaged into Little
Beaver Lake, fished in the evening, then rolled up in our sleeping bags on the rocks
for the night. The mosquitoes were so bad that Chuck and I finally got up, built up
the fire, and sat around it the rest of the night. About four o'clock in the morning
we witnessed the most beautiful display of Aurora Borealis, or northern lights, that
I have ever seen. Bright streamers of white, blue and red light, coming from all
points of the horizon, terminating in an apex overhead in the center of the sky. The
rustling, crackling noise was continuous, giving the whole phenomenon an eerie
atmosphere. This continued for maybe a half an hour, then gradually subsided.
This experience was well worth the mosquito bites we suffered.


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The fishing at Willisvillle has ranged from poor to excellent, depending upon
the weather, the time of year, and plain old luck. My largest fish taken there have
been an eight and one half pound northern pike, a seven and on half pound
walleye, five pound largemouth bass and four pound smallmouth bass. Rarely
were we able to catch our limit for one day. I recall one trip that Gary Girberd,
Don and I made to Little Beaver Lake. We hit the bass just right and came back to
camp with twenty-eight for the three of us. The limit was six per license.
Someone mentioned that we were over limit and old man Imhoff said,
"Anyone knows that three times six is twenty-eight".

Not all the time was spent fishing. Each summer we would pick blueberries
for delicious pies and muffins and sometimes have enough to bring some home.
Much exploring was done. I have walked the trail to the gold mine in the area,
finding an operation bigger than expected. At one time some men from Sunbury
owned part of the mine. On one occasion Chuck, Ralph, Don and I made a three-
day portage trip, camping in a tent at night. Our route took us up Charlton Lake,
Howry Creek, Murray Lake, Howry lake, Gem lake, Fish Lake and finally Great
Mountain Lake. Along the way we crossed several beaver dams, the largest we
estimated to be one hundred feet long, and twelve feet high, built in the form of a
shallow V. On top of the dam we discovered the tracks of a very large bear. On
this three-day trip we saw no one except members of our own party. Another time
the Dawsons, Pauls, Nettlehorsts and Hoovers went in three boats through Lang
Lake, Walker Lake, Fox Lake, Hannah Lake and Great Bear Lake to the foot of the
dam on Lake Panache. All of this water is crystal clear, where one can see the
bottom in fifteen feet of water. I remember on this trip we had several tin cans of
food to be used for our shore lunch, but no one had thought to bring a can opener,
so we opened them with a hatchet. The list of memories of times spent here is
endless.

The summer following Helen's death, Chuck, my son-in-law Curt, Don and
I took a fold-down camping trailer and spent two weeks in the White River area of
Ontario. Most of the time was spent at Lake Quinkwagwa. The fishing was poor,
but we had a good time. Chuck had movies of the trip, including the step by step
construction of a privy, complete with folding seat and half moon in the door. It
was here also that Curt kept saying that someone was stealing our beer, but in most
scenes in the movies he had one in his hand! A ten and half pound lake trout was
the catch of this trip.

I have enjoyed other fishing trips to Canada, including the time at Lake
Quinkwagwa when three bears kept Chuck and I up all night, trying to keep them
away from the tent. I made five fly-in trips to Brunswick Lake, where the walleye
and northern fishing was excellent. Besides the usual loon, beaver and otter, we
saw several moose in the area. The flights in and out in floatplanes were over


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miles and miles of nothing but forests and lakes, - my kind of country. In the trips
Evelyn and I have taken with our travel trailer, I was always happiest when we
were in some wilderness area, far from the congestion of thickly populated areas. I
still say I am just an outdoors person.


VOCATION

I have already mentioned my job at Nestles' in Sunbury during my last year
in college and for a short period thereafter. I was operator of a set of
pressurized steam percolators used in the manufacture of instant coffee. This was
rather interesting work as it was still in the experimental phase, beginning regular
production while I was there. I was offered an opportunity to stay with the
company, having already been given a boost in pay over others as an incentive.
But since plans were already formulated for Helen and I to go on the farm, I turned
them down and left there in December 1941. I might mention that just one week
after I quit, on the same shift and same set of percolators I had been operating, a
cell blew up and killed the operator on duty.

On the dairy farm we operated for nearly three years I milked twelve to
fifteen cows every night and morning by vacuum operated milkers, cooled the
milk in an electric refrigerated water tank, and shipped the whole milk to a dairy in
Columbus. The power for the fieldwork was supplied by a Massey-Harris farm
tractor, used to pull the various implements. Our main field crops were corn, oats,
soybeans and hay, use primarily as feed for the livestock. I enjoyed the work on
the farm, but as, as I have stated previously, the financial arrangement left much to be
desired, so it was with some sense of relief that I had to leave to enter the navy.

Upon my discharge I fully intended to look for a job related in some way to
my agricultural training in college. But before I did anything about this, Carroll
Williamson, postmaster at Sunbury, came to see me to tell me there was a vacancy
for a clerk's job in the post office and would I be interested. I went to work the
next day, March 11, 1949, thinking it would be only temporary until I found
something else. Well that "temporary" turned into over thirty years with the
postal service.

About a year later I took a civil service examination and was made a regular
clerk. In the spring of 1950 an examination was given to fill the position of rural
carrier on route one. Along with about fifteen others I took the exam, came out
with a score of 102 out of a possible 100 [5 point veteran preference] but did not


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get the appointment as Danny Conant, a disabled veteran, was chosen. Soon after,
route two was vacated by the transfer of that carrier to another post office, so I
applied for transfer from clerk to rural carrier and was appointed in September of
the same year. This position I held until retirement in 1976.

I enjoyed my work as a rural a mail carrier. When I started the route was
fifty-two miles long with two hundred thirty boxes. When I retired I was driving
seventy-nine miles, serving four hundred and thirty boxes. I always said that my
job was one at which I would never get rich, but it did provide real security. I went
to work at six in the morning, seven in later years, and was home by twelve or one
most days. Leave was very liberal, over five weeks a year, and eight holidays were
observed. This allowed me to spend much time with my family, a fact for which I
have always been thankful.

It might seem that it would be very boring to drive the same route day after
day. But with the ever-changing seasons, the planting, growing and harvesting of
farm crops, and the building of new homes, there was always something of interest
to see. Also, I was in contact with many friendly people daily {and occasionally
some that weren't so friendly!]

It was only in the last few years before retirement that the work became a
little more irritating. This was because of the great increase in rules and
regulations within the postal service, brought on, I believe, by the mistrust on both
sides between labor and management. Every duty had to be spelled out in detail in
writing, and every minute had to be accounted for. I began to get the feeling that I
was considered to be dishonest unless I proved myself other wise. It was this
feeling that influenced my decision to retire at a relatively early age. I suspect that
if conditions had been like they were twenty years previous, I might have stayed on
another four or five years. But I have never regretted for one minute my decision
to retire when I did.

Since I had to be on the road six days a week, the weather was a big factor in
the enjoyment of my work. In the spring, summer and fall the main concern was
whether I had to wash mud off the outside of the car or clean dust off, outside and
in. There were times when floods made some roads impassable for a day or two.
The worst one I experienced was in the spring of 1959. School was cancelled so
Don went with me. There were two bridges washed out, and several roads closed
by high water. But I believe, by backtracking, we were able to deliver most of the
mail, driving through water in several places.

In the winter snow and ice could be a big headache. The worst spot on the
route was on Hogback Road where the road made a big dip, going down steeply,
around a curve then back up just as steeply, with an abrupt drop-off on the side
next to a creek below. Many a day when the snow was deep or the ice covered the
road I did not attempt to travel this spot, instead, drove eight extra miles to get


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around it. There were a few times I could not complete the entire route on account
of snow. I recall one day it was snowing very hard with a stiff wind causing it to
drift badly. I had a brand new 1958 Chevrolet and had installed chains that
morning. I kept plowing through drifts until the motor would hardly run. Upon
investigation, I found the snow had backed up in the engine well, filling the space
to the hood. The carburetor was pulling melted snow in through the air intake,
nearly drowning out the engine. I managed to limp to a service station where we
had to put it inside where it was warm and wait until the snow melted away from
the engine. In the twenty five of driving the route I only once had to have a
wrecker come to my assistance. This was on heavy ice when I slipped into a small
ditch trying to get away from a mailbox and couldn't get out under my own power.

Over the period from 1950 to 1976 that I was on the rural route, I owned
sixteen Chevrolets, all but the first being new when I bought them, and all but two
being sport sedans. I was hard on tires, getting twelve fifteen thousand miles at
the most from a tire, and was especially hard on brakes. The constant starting and
stopping caused the linings to heat up and crack. Sometimes I would get only
three or four thousand miles from a set brakes. Fortunately, I could buy relined
shoes and install them myself. In all the time on the route I did not have an
accident, earning several safe-driving awards from the National Safety Council.

Although there were times during my career that I felt that I should have
gone into some other line of work, something at which I might have been able to
earn more money, I am happy now with the course I followed. It was a job with
much security, - I never had to worry about being laid off, and it gave me much
free time. Now I am enjoying a very liberal retirement annuity, and have no reason
to believe that I won't continue to do so for the rest of my life. Yes, the Postal
Service has been good to me.


ORGANIZATIONS

The first organization that I belonged to was the Boy Scouts of America. I
joined the day I reached the minimum age of twelve. My scoutmaster for the first
year was our minister, Rev. Alonzo Green, who was also a good friend of my dad.
After he was moved to another church, my dad became scoutmaster, and continued
as long as I was active. I attained the rank of life scout, only lacking two or three
merit badges of reaching Eagle rank. I learned much from my association with the
Boy Scouts, and enjoyed many activities. The one that stands out most vividly in


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my memory was the day of the G A R convention in Columbus. This was a
gathering of the surviving veterans of the Civil War. We, as scouts, were each
assigned a veteran to escort to all the activities of the day. In the afternoon we
walked with them through the rotunda of the state capitol building where we met
and shook hands with Governor White of Ohio, and the President of the United
States, Herbert Hoover. I also recall ushering at football games at Ohio Wesleyan
and Ohio State Universities, participating in the Boy Scout Jamboree at the
coliseum at the Ohio State Fairgrounds, and camping at Camp Lazarus. I was
senior patrol leader and several times led out patrol on hikes and campouts.

In 1941 I became a member of the Masonic lodge in Sunbury, Sparrow
Lodge #400, F & A M, in which I still hold membership. In 1946 I started through
the chairs and in 1951 I was elected as Worshipful Master. It was during my year
as master that much was done towards the plans for a new temple building, and
later I was elected secretary of the association that supervised the operation of the
temple after it was built.

Helen and I became members of Columbus Chapter #33, O E S, and in 1950
I was elected Worthy Patron and served with Elizabeth Hoover, and in 1952 Helen
and I were elected matron and patron and served the year together. We enjoyed
the offices and were able to make many new friends. I do not now belong as I took
a demit several years ago.

When Brenda and Don were in school, Helen and I were active in several
school related organizations. In about 1959 I was president of the band booster
organization, and it was due to my efforts that the band calendar program to raise
money was instigated. As far as I know , this great fund raiser is still in operation.

I became a member of the Methodist Church at Vans Valley at a very early
age, and was active in both Sunday School and Church. At various times I served
as teacher, superintendent and song leader. Of course, our congregation was very
small. When we moved to Sunbury, Helen and I had our membership transferred
to Sunbury United Methodist Church, where I still worship. During the years here
I have been chairman of the official board and finance chairman two or three times.
Also, I have sung in the choir every year but two in the past thirty-five.

Music has played an enjoyable part in my life since childhood. My father
was a very good singer and sang many solos, as well as singing in a men's quartet.
He and I often sang together, for our own enjoyment and sometimes at various
functions, he in his baritone voice and me in my boy soprano voice. In high school
I sang in the glee club and played a clarinet in the orchestra. Since then I
have sung solos at church, Eastern Star, school, funerals and weddings, including
my own daughter's. I was interlocutor and soloist for two of the Lion's Club
minstrels, and have sung tenor in four or five local barbershop quartets. Yes, I
have enjoyed music all my life. Nothing can make tears come to my eyes quicker


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than to hear a really good piece of music, especially if it is as old standard, or a
good patriotic number.


FAMILY

I have already mentioned several members of my family. Now I would like
to list all the members of the immediate family that I remember and tell something
about each one of them.

My grandfather Hoover [1848-1925] was named Gaylord. He was married
three times, my grandmother being his third wife, and had eight sons. From these
eight sons, I, and my progeny, are the only ones to carry on that family name. I
don't remember much about him as I was only six when he died. I don't really
know what he did for a living, but I suspect he was a small farmer. I know he lived
at Condit Station when he died.

My Grandmother Hoover's name was Rebecca. Her maiden name was
Hanover. She was a half-sister of Frank Hanover of Johnstown, and Ella Willison,
who once lived on Letts Avenue in Sunbury, where Polly Brehm now lives. My
most vivid memories of her were eating her brown molasses cookies and playing
the old pump organ in her living room. I can also recall the little wooden kiddy-car
they kept for me to use, and of riding it down their concrete side walk to the road
where I would sit and watch the many trains that came and went at the Condit
railroad station. After my grandfather died, she moved to South Condit, where she
died in 1933. Their graves are in Fancher Cemetery in Harlem Township.

My Grandfather Forwood [1860-1947] was named Ezekiel Brown. I am
sure he was named for his Great Grandfather Ezekiel Brown, who was one of the
first settlers of Berkshire township. He was married to Allie Huddlestun, daughter
of John Huddlestun. Since she died when I was only four, I have no recollection of
her. They had three daughters, but I was their only grandchild. It was with my
Grandfather Forwood that we lived from the time I was five until I was married.
Zeke, as he was called by most, was a carpenter during his early years. Among the
houses he built is the one on State Route #605 that Terry Day now owns. He built
it for Perry Feasel. In the later years he dabbled in many things, among them: selling
newspaper and magazine subscriptions, selling several small gadgets that he
ordered through the mail, and operating the small farm on which we lived. He was
the first salesman in Delaware County for Farm Bureau Insurance, the forerunner
of Nationwide Insurance Company.


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I remember my Grandfather Forwood as being a slow, easygoing man, very
methodical, never raising his voice, and at times, stubborn. He was of slight build,
had sandy hair that never turned gray, and a small mustache. His first and only
automobile was a 1925 model T Ford coupe. He was not known for his great
driving ability. It was said that he only took half the road, but that was usually out
of the middle! Fortunately, he never did have an accident. One thing he used to do
that would exasperate my mother was, unknown to her, pick a basket of fruit or a
bucket of elderberries, bring them to the house and expect her to care for them
immediately. He usually had a dozen or more hives of honey bees. Often
some neighbor would all and tell him of a stray swarm of bees that had alighted on a
fence post or a limb of a tree. He would take his bee net, smoker, an empty hive
and a piece of oilcloth, go where they were, and gently scrape them into the
oilcloth, on which sat the hive. They would enter the hive; he would close it up,
take it home, and have one more hive of bees to produce honey for us. He outlived
his wife and all three daughters, dying in a nursing home in 1947. He and his wife
are buried in Sunbury Memorial Cemetery.

My father was named Ralph Errett [1892-1939]. He was the youngest of
eight boys, four of whom grew to manhood. He was born in Harlem Township,
raised in the country, graduated from Harlem High School and attended Ohio
University for one year. He began teaching immediately and, with three or four
years off when he farmed, he followed this profession until his death. During the
summer months he had any number of jobs, including driving a milk truck, driving
a dump truck, working on highway construction, selling cemetery plots,
encyclopedias and insurance.

When he was twenty-two, he lost his left arm in a corn shredder accident. In
spite of this he was able to do most anything. He had the ability to figure out ways
to compensate for his handicap. He had tremendous strength in that one arm.
About the only thing I remember that he would call upon my mother to do for him
was tie his shoelaces. He was an intelligent man, ambitious, outgoing, sometimes
quick tempered, of high morals, and always a loving husband and father. He
taught me many things, both by precept and example. He played ball with me,
talked with me, and helped me with my sheep and hog projects. Many stories and
sayings I sometimes tell came from him. I only hope my children will have as
many good memories of me as I have my father. He died in 1939, just six day
after having an appendectomy. If this had happened three years later, after the
discovery of antibiotics, he probably would have lived many more years. His
sudden death was a great shock to all of us.

My mother was Carrie Lela Forwood [1893-1944]. She was raised in
Trenton Township, graduated from Sunbury High School, and was a schoolteacher
for a year or two. She and and my father were married in 1917. She was good looking


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kind, quiet, loving, and a good cook. She would get perturbed at the occasional
outbursts of temper on my father's part, and let him know about it. She also had
a tempering influence upon him when he would come up with a somewhat wild
scheme or idea.

As far back as I can remember, my mother had almost daily headaches.
Many, many afternoons she would have to take aspirin and lie down. She and my
father spent much time and many dollars trying to find out what caused them, but
they never did. I recall one time an x-ray of her mouth showed a tooth buried
crosswise under three of her lower front teeth. The dentist pulled the three teeth,
then spent nearly an hour chiseling out the buried tooth from the jawbone. When
the dentist was finished, dad asked what the bill was. He said, "Well, that was four
teeth, so it is four dollars". This was in the middle of the depression.

The sudden death of my father was a terrible blow to her, one from which, I
feel, she never recovered. She suffered severe burns on one hand and arm, and one
ankle and leg, in a flash fire while trying to light a fire in the coal cook stove. She
also injured a leg in a fall, causing a huge blood clot. These things happened after
he died. Just five days after I entered the navy, she suffered a stroke and died.

My parents were religious people, being very active in church work, and
living their faith and beliefs. I grew up in a very strict atmosphere. Of course, I
attended Church and Sunday school regularly, alcohol and tobacco were strictly
taboo, and playing cards were forbidden, as was dancing. These restrictions may
seem a little severe now, but I believe that if more parents raised their children in a
little stricter manner, there might be less trouble with drugs, crime, violence and
other problems of the younger generation.

Helen Winona Harris [1917-1967] was born and raised to high school age in
Columbus. Her father was Charles W. Harris and mother was Zella {Prosser}
Harris. They were divorced when Helen was a young girl and she lived with her
mother until we were married. She moved to Sunbury in her junior year of high
school and soon after we started dating. We went steady for six years and were
married in 1941.

Helen was a beautiful girl, above average student, and somewhat athletically
inclined. She was full of fun, always joking with people, but with a bit of a
temper. During our life together we had many interests in common and did many
things together. We bowled, played golf, fished, and worked together in various
organizations. Of course, we collaborated in producing two wonderful children,
Brenda and Don. Helen was always very proud of them and I am so sorry she
couldn't have lived to see how well their lives have progressed, and to see her five
wonderful grandchildren.

In the winter of 1964-1965 she began to increase in size around the waist.
Some thought she was pregnant, but we knew better. I begged her to go to the


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doctor for an examination, but she kept putting it off. Finally, in July, she went
and it was determined that she an ovarian cyst. When they removed it at the
hospital, it weighed nineteen pounds. She seemed to be recovering satisfactorily,
but soon started having pains, and an examination showed that she had cancer in
the area from which the cyst had been removed. When I was told of this, it was the
most shocking moment of my life. I just couldn't believe that this could be true.
Dr Livingston told me she might live two years at the most.

He and I discussed whether we should tell her or not. He said it depended
upon the temperament of the individual. Knowing her fears of water, railroad
crossings, airplanes, etc., I told him that I didn't believe she should be told. To this
day I don't know whether that was the right decision or not. I do know that it
made it harder on me, knowing the truth but having to put up a false front.

After a series of cobalt treatment, she lost weight until she weighed only
sixty-eight pounds. I had to carry her from place to place. Yet she and I, and
Brenda and Curt, went to Canada for a week that summer. It was there that she
started to walk again, and was able to attend Don's wedding a month later. Soon
after is was necessary for her to go back to the hospital and have a colostomy. this
she fought tooth and nail, but finally gave in. After this, she began eating well and
was soon back to normal weight. this condition continued for several months. She
and I spent four weeks in Canada, enjoying it to a limited extent.

About the first of October 1967, she took a sudden turn for the worse, and on
the morning of the thirteenth she died in her sleep, at home, with just me sleeping
nearby. Her suffering had ended.

This began a period of drastic change in my life. I tried to be callous and
dry-eyed on the outside, but I was broken up on the inside. I may have said some
things or acted in such a manner that led people to believe that I was enjoying
being single again. Believe me, nothing could be farther from the truth. I loved
Helen very much and missed her terribly. But time has a way of gradually easing
the pain, thank God, and life can go on and be good.

In the years that followed, several people tried to play cupid and fix me up
with a date with someone. I just took the attitude that "what will be will be", and
did not take any initiative towards trying to find another wife. I think this must
have been the way things were intended.

Carl and Evelyn Dawson had been very good friends of ours for nearly thirty
years. We had partied together, gone on vacations together, and our children had
grown up together. They lived just five houses up the street. In 1972 Carl died
suddenly, leaving Evelyn alone. It only seemed natural that she and I should be
attracted to each other and in about six months we began dating. Nearly a year
later, September 29, 1973, we were married. This has proved to be a very good
second marriage for both of us. We have had no problems with our children since


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everyone was so will acquainted previously. Evelyn is a very warm, loving and
caring person. She is vivacious, full of fun, and very easy to live with. We have
had as very enjoyable life together, and look forward to many more years just as
good.

Since our marriage, Evy and I have done much travelling, beginning with
our wedding trip. On this we went to the Black Hills, Yellowstone NP, Teton NP,
Salt Lake City, Brice, Zion and Grand Canyon NPs Phoenix and back through
Texas. After our retirement in 1976, we pulled our travel trailer on a 10, 000- mile
trip to the Pacific Northwest, down the California coast and back across the
southern United Stares. That winter we started going to Florida for two or three
months, a practice we are still following. In October 1977, we toured the New
England States as far north as Bar Harbor, Maine. In the summer of 1983 we spent
two months pulling our trailer on a 10,400-mile trip to Alaska and back, a trip we
thoroughly enjoyed. hopefully, we will take many more trips in our lives.


SUMMARY


In writing these sketchy memories of my life so far, I cannot help but be
thankful for many things. I am thankful for being born of good parents, in a land
of freedom and opportunity. Nowhere in the world except in the United States
could I have enjoyed life as I have. Our government is not perfect, far from it, but
it is still the best in the world. Thousands have died to build and preserve our way
of life, and it is the obligation of every citizen to see that it is not destroyed.

I am extremely thankful for all of my family, - the home in which I was
raised, the two loving women with whom I have shared my life, and the wonderful
children and grand children I now enjoy. I am also thankful for Curt and Ruthie,
my son-in-law and daughter -in-law, who have been such a great addition to my
family. I lost part of my family when I was relatively young -my father when I
was nineteen, my mother when I was twenty-five, and my wife when I was forty-
eight. But, in spite of this, with the help of God and many loving people
surrounding me, I was able to continue to enjoy life fully.

I am thankful for the health I have enjoyed. The human body and the human
mind are extremely complex, almost unbelievable in the way they function, and it
behooves us all to do all we can to preserve them and keep them operating as
efficiently as possible. To deliberately tear them down by the willful use of drugs,
alcohol and tobacco, by overeating or poor nutrition, or by lack of exercise, is just


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Plain dumb! Peer pressure is probably the cause of much of this, but we should
stand by our principles and conduct our lives the way we see fit. We have only
one go-around in this Old World, so we should make the best of it.

Every person has a certain reputation among his friends and acquaintances,
either good or bad, and the way we live from day to day determines what kind of
reputation we have. It takes years of constantly living a good life to build this
good reputation, but only one bad episode can tear it down instantly. So, we
should weigh our actions carefully, making sure we do not destroy with one action,
that which has taken so long to develop. So I say to my children and
grandchildren, please take the advice of your old dad and grandad and live your
lives accordingly, with God's help.


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EPILOGUE


Nearly sixteen years have passed since I wrote the autobiography.
Much had happened in that time so I would like to update it.

One activity that has been very enjoyable, and which I have not
touched upon, is - gardening. The year we retired I bought a Troybilt Pony
rototiller, with which I tilled and cultivated a vegetable garden at Evelyn's
property. When she sold this property in 1979, I proposed to Chuck
Nettelhorst that he allow me to have a garden on his vacant lot across the
street from me in exchange for me keeping the whole lot mowed and cared
for. This I did every year until giving it up the summer of 1999.

My garden plot was approximately fifty feet by seventy feet. On this I
grew a variety of crops, including: broccoli, brussels sprouts, cauliflower,
cabbage, carrots, beets, peas, lettuce, radishes, onions, green beans, lima
beans, corn, cantaloupe, watermelon, turnips, potatoes, sweet potatoes,
zucchini and tomatoes. Consequently, we kept our freezers full, also had dry
onions, potatoes and sweet potatoes stored in the basement. We also gave
away much produce.

We not only enjoyed eating all these good vegetables, but I
thoroughly enjoyed planting them, cultivating them and just watching them
grow. I also developed quite a reputation as a gardener among the people of
the community. It was with some regret that I gave it up, but all good things
must come to an end.

I have touched upon some of our travels previously. I would now like
to summarize all of our travels since retirement.


Summary of the travel of Bob and Evelyn Hoover - 1976 to 1990


Bought 25 foot Holiday travel trailer from Ed and Grace Wilson in 1975, for
$3600.00. Both of us retired in June 1976, Bob from rural route two out of
Sunbury Post Office, and Evelyn from Sunbury Community Library.


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August 1976 - Began 19.00 mile western trip with trailer, with practically
no experience. Learned as we went. Traveled northern tier of states, into
Alberta and British Colombia, then down Pacific coast to Los Angeles, and
home through southern states.

1977 - Winter at Sherwood Forest campground west of Kissimmee, Florida.
September - 2500 mile trip through New England.

1978 - 1990 - Winters at Sherwood Forest, Florida.

1983 -Trip to Alaska with Ed and Edna Hoke. 10,00 miles, 8 weeks.
Traveled through Michigan, Ontario, Manitoba, Saskatchewan,
Alberta, British Columbia, Yukon Territory and Alaska. Came back
on state ferry from Haines, AK, to Prince Rupert, British Colombia.

Highlights - Algoma Central railroad trip north out of Sault Ste.
Marie; Alaskan highway from Dawson Creek; Watson Lake signs [left one of Sunbury], "Frantic Follies" at Whitehorse, Yukon
Territory; Daylight at midnight at Fairbanks, AK; Denali National
Park trip ;earthquake at Anchorage: Alaskan pipeline at Valdez;
800 mile ferry ride, stopping at Juneau and Sitka, disembarking
at Prince Rupert, BC.

1984 - bought new 27 foot Airstream trailer.
Trip to New England and Maritime Provinces with Ed and Edna
4800 miles, 4 weeks.

Highlights - Niagara Falls, tours of Montreal and Quebec City, Gaspe
Peninsula, Cape Briton, Fundy National Park and Golf course,
Bar Harbor, Maine.

1985 - Trip west with Hokes. 5000 miles, 3 weeks.

Highlights - Pikes Peak, Air Force Academy, Rocky Mountain National
Park, Durango-Silverton narrow gauge railroad trip, Mesa Verde
National Park and Carlsbad Caverns.

1986 - Trip to Las Vegas with Hokes. 6000 miles. 4 weeks

HIghlights - Laramie, Wyoming; Flaming Gorge reservoir; Moab, Utah;
Colorado River canyons; Bryce and Zion National Parks; Las
Vegas casinos; Hoover Dam tour; Arizona desert; White Sands
National Monument; Carlsbad Caverns [again]; Cowboy Hall


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Of Fame at Oklahoma City.

1987 - 5500 mile trip to Edmonton, Alberta, to huge mall. Traveled
through Upper Peninsula of Michigan, through Wisconsin,
Minnesota, Ontario, Manitoba, Saskatchewan, Alberta, Montana,
then on home.

Highlights - Wheat harvest in Manitoba and Saskatchewan; West Edmonton
Mall; Jasper National Park; Columbia Icefield Parkway; Banff
National Park; Lake Louise; Glacier National Park, Yellowstone
National Park; Teton National Park.

1988 - Trip to Las Vegas via Kansas, New Mexico, Arizona, and back to
El Paso, Texas, Then we followed the Rio Grand River to
Harlingen, Texas, and on home by way of Louisiana, Mississippi,
Alabama, etc. 6000 miles. 3 weeks.

Highlights - Grand Canyon; Hoover Dam; Las Vegas; Big Bend National park; Rio Grand Valley; South Padre Island; Louisiana Bayou
Country; Natchez Trace Highway.

1989 - Trip to Great Smokey Mountain National Park, to Virginia and
home . 2000 miles. 2 weeks.

Highlights - Great Smokey Mountain National Park; Biltmore Estate; visit with daughter, Brenda, and family at Burke , Virginia.

1990 - I-80 to Pennsylvania, down to Gettysburg, then Burke, Virginia.

Highlights - Beautiful fall foliage along I-80 in Pennsylvania; Hershey, PA;
Gettysburg battlefield.

Have visited all the states except Hawaii and Rhode Island, and all the
Canadian Provinces except Newfoundland. Have visited 23 of the 33
national parks, plus many of the national monuments. have met many
interesting people, some still in contact. RVing is a chance to see much of
our great country at a very reasonable price. We have thoroughly enjoyed
all 75,000 miles of our travels with our travel trailers.


# # # # #


About this time Evelyn developed rheumatoid arthritis, and a little
later, osteoporosis. These conditions made it impossible for us to continue


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our travels comfortably. Later circulation problems arose, leading to the
amputation of the big toe on her left foot. Circulation continued to worsen
until she required by -pass surgery on the blood vessels of her leg. This was
effective for about a year, then that failed and she had her left leg amputated
above the knee.

This condition meant that she was wheelchair bound. Through all of
this she maintained a very positive attitude , and had a smile for everyone.
We attended Leslie's wedding in November, and in many ways tried to lead
a happy life, although it was very difficult.

In August 1998, the blood vessels in the other leg became blocked,
requiring another by-pass operation. By now it had become too difficult for
me to adequately take care of her by myself. She needed more medical care
than I could provide. So, in September 1998, she entered Morning View
Care Center in Sunbury.

I was very pleased with the care she received there. It is not a fancy
facility, but it is very clean, the food is good, and the nurses and staff gave
her excellent care. Yes, I would say they gave her very loving care. I
visited her twice a day, every day. It was very painful, seeing her lying
there, her condition constantly deteriorating. We knew she would not live
long, but when the end came March 5, 1999, it was terribly heartbreaking for
me. I loved her very much.This was the second time I had to go through
this experience.

Evelyn is buried in Sunbury Memorial Cemetery, on a five-grave plot,
with my father, mother and Helen. There is just one grave left, - for me,
between Helen and Evelyn, this suits me perfectly as I shared my life with
two wonderful women


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Epilogue II


In has been ten years since I wrote Epilogue I. They have been ten years of many
joys and much sadness. After Evelyn's death in 1999, I was once again alone. I was
still active, with golf and work around the house and yard, but it was a lonely life.

Marion [Rudy] and Virginia Owen had lived across the street from me since
1948, having built their house in 1947. We had been friends all this time, but not
real close friends. One morning. February 27, 2000, Virginia came over and said
something was wrong with Rudy. And would I come over. At first glance I knew it
was something serious so I called 911. The squad came and worked on him for a
short time, then took him to St. Ann's hospital where he was pronounced dead from
a heart attack.

I knew what Virginia was going through so I did what I could to help her. That
spring I mowed her lawn and did other chores to help her out. Virginia was
diagnosed with breast cancer, and had a lumpectomy performed. After this, she was
directed to have radiation for seven weeks, five days a week. I went with her to St.
Ann's most every day. Naturally, we got to know each other better, and became
close friends. After that we were together more and more, even eating most of our
meals together. We fell in love, and that fall we decided to get married. We felt at
our age we should enjoy what happiness time would allow us. We visited Pastor
Brian Smith and asked him if he had ever married two eighty-year olds. He said
that his last Church he had married an eighty-four year old man and sixty-some
year old lady. So, on April 7, 2001, we were united in marriage in the Sunbury
United Methodist Church. We at first had planned to have just our immediate
families present, but so many people told us that they would like to attend that we
made it an open wedding. At least one hundred people attended the wedding
ceremony and the following reception.

In February before the wedding I had the kitchen completely remodeled. We
planned it and picked everything out together. I felt this would give Virginia more
of a feeling that this was her kitchen and her home.

Virginia and I both liked to travel, So , we visited Brenda and Curt in Virginia
twice, visited Charlotte and husband, Brooks Berkley three times in Phoenix, AZ.
We took a tour by bus twice to Branson, MO, and a long trip by plane and bus to the
Canadian Rockies. We went with Brenda and Curt to South Dakota, and even on a
fishing trip with Don and Ruthie and family to Willisville, Ontario. That was not
one of her favorites! But, really, we just liked being home by ourselves, enjoying
each other's company.


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In 2008, Virginia began not feeling well,-feeling weak and not having much
energy. She was examined by four different doctors, but none could find anything
really wrong with her. In fact, they marveled how well she seemed to be for her age.
Finally, after one blood test, it was determined that she had high enzymes, whatever
that means. She then had an ultrasound of her liver, and finally, a catscan. That
showed she had cancer of the liver. She went to Dr. Segal, a cancer specialist, and
he confirmed the diagnosis. She, the doctor and I all agreed that she should not have
chemo or radiation at her age. I asked Dr. Segal what the prognosis was and he said
weeks, or maybe months. This was the first week of January, 2009. Her condition
continued to deteriate and finally in the middle of February, I felt I could no longer
give her proper care. So, she entered Country View nursing home in Condit. I
visited her every day for fifty-six days. Finally, on April 6, 2009, one day before our
eighth wedding anniversary, she passed away, with her entire family at her bedside.
Her funeral was held at the Sunbury United Methodist Church and she was buried
beside Rudy, her first husband, in the Sunbury Cemetery.

Again, I was left alone, but this time at the age of ninety. I lived alone all
summer, eating meals from Meal on Wheels, all by myself. Finally, in the fall I
decided to move to a retirement and assisted living facility. It was a very hard
decision to make, to leave the house I had lived in for sixty-one years, where I had
raised my two children and shared with three wonderful wives. On the fifteenth of
October I moved to Feridean Commons, a very nice facility, just north of
Westerville. One of the main reasons for choosing this was the location, only eight
miles from Sunbury and two miles from son Don's house. I have adjusted fairly
well, but will never be completely happy without "Ginnie".

I am thankful to have ninety years allotted to me so far, and to have had a strong
body and a keen mind. I have had many joyful experiences, but also many sorrows.
I do not know what the future may bring but whatever it is, I hope I am up to it.


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