Wednesday
- 1-21-98
1771 Bunker Hill Rd. S.
Salem, Oregon 97036
LETTER
TO: CLYDE N. (Norman?) Lund and to Merene
Hi Clyde, Cousin, Old Timer, you name it;
Well, here I sit.
There is a cassette tape running off an album of Johann Strauss’
Viennese Waltzes, always relaxing favorites with me. It’s 9:20 p.m. PST, which means that in a little
over an hour and a half the late news will be on, a finale to my daily
routine. By retiring near 12:00 I find my nights are considerably
more bearable; sometimes I will then sleep as much as three or even four hours
uninterrupted, and it makes the long winter nights a lot shorter. Of course, said routine is forever subject to
change. There are always a number of
variables which can intrude without warning; like falling asleep early in the
evening, or a long Sunday afternoon with one of my favorite lady friends who
lives nearby. When she gets me home at 10:00
p.m. --
that’s really a night on the town! Add
to that, whenever I get over ten miles from home these days I develop jet
lag! That’s a side effect of my not
having a car anymore.
This old age: you mentioned in your Christmas letter that
you are 80. Right? Try as I might it
seems that I never can catch up with you.
I am not closer to 80 than 75; but that makes no difference. As year by year by year I appear to be
gaining, that gap never closes. A
century from now or even in the year 3000 AD, that nagging difference in age
will remain, a matter of only two or three years. Proportionately it becomes of less
significance, and yet the lead you had when I came along in 1920 remains the
same, a set gap that’s fixed for eternity.
You’re still the oldest and you’re still the better man!
Oh, about that girl friend I just referred to, her married
life turned out to be sour grapes. She
is just a year or two beyond forty, so I can easily qualify age wise as her
daddy, or even her grandpa. Life has
always been known to come up with some most unlikely combinations; and some of
the most incongruous seem to work out the best.
It seems that Karma’s mother is remarried and that her father was a real
weirdo; who now claims to be an old time Indian Chief —Modoc, or whatever. (It’s not Napoleon!) I sometimes wonder how she can take to me the
way she does, possibly she experiences a bit of the companionship which her
daddy never supplied when she was younger.
Anyhow I have tried to let her know how much I appreciate her as a
person. I told her once that she was
like a daughter to me, and she made no objection, not in the least. She has twenty five acres less than a mile
east of me. She keeps just enough cattle
to supply good frozen beef, and she has a good paying position with the Oregon
State Revenue Service. Do you think
maybe that she’s just keeping me under surveillance? I’m not worried! She’s got a boy friend about whom she is
absolutely nuts, but he seems in no hurry to bet burned again ; as he also
represents a broken family of his own.
In this case I see no disadvantage in retaining my status as
second-fiddle!
As for now, the proximity to the given three
score and
ten brings into focus all the frustrations and problems of adjusting to old
age. It can be a bit like Uncle Johnny’s
old horse that had the heaves; or to Grandma Johnson’s cantankerous way of
trying to fool him into drinking postum when it was
coffee he really wanted! Uncle Johnny
was a favorite of mine, even if he could never see any rational reason for
going to church on Saturday, or any other day for that matter. There is a Bible saying to the effect that
when morning comes around old men want nothing more than for the day to pass
quickly; and when evening arrives they begin to fret and stew around: “Would to
God that it might be morning”. That’s
Deuteronomy 28:67 - OT.
You mentioned your $15.00 a month while you worked as a
farm hand. You must mean when you hired
out to Phil Alexander. Correct me on
that! I’m quite sure my dad couldn’t
produce money to that extent; at least he had me convinced! As I recall, he did buy new clothes for you
once or twice. That was a long summer
when you stayed with us in 1931. So many
things happened that year, and it was sometime along then when your new house
near Mound View School was being built. Your Mom was quite enthusiastic about your
being with Alexander’s. After you got
started to high school in town she remarked to my mother, “He takes those two
girls, he jumps into that car, and away he goes!” And it also seems that you were quite
enthusiastic about one of those sisters.
I can’t say, even now that I would blame you, for they were both nice
girls, and very attractive.
This winter I have an entirely new experience, for me,
that is. It’s not really baby sitting,
but it leans in that direction. It’s
also variable, sometimes three, sometimes four, or maybe only two days a
week. But beginning at 7:00
a.m. and
on to 9:00 I am across the road, just to be there, I guess. Both Mom and Dad have left by 6:30
a.m.; she
to teach at Sheridan, and he to work at Hewlett Packard in Corvallis.
At 7:00 a.m. the bus arrives when the older three leave for Jr. High;
and that leaves Kenneth (2nd grade) and Liz (3rd grade)
on their own. Kenneth’s bus comes at 8:45, and Liz leaves last, sometimes
it’s 9:10 or so. Well, can
old Joe possibly fill in? These
neighbors moved in a year ago last summer.
I had my misgivings at first, and at one point I decided it was too much
for an old —(fill in the blank as you like).
However I am still at it, and the two kids seem delighted to have me
around. The real pay off came one
morning when Liz was standing real close by my chair and said, “Can I have a
hug?”
It’s great if you can get upstate into Georgia now and then to see Lindy and Jeanette.
I have never met him; neither have I ever been introduced to my Aunt
Anne or my cousin Ray (Johnson). Jan has
no doubt approached you for your personal memories and impressions, not only of
Grandma and Grandpa Johnson, but also of the five girls and two boys which they
bore between them. Whatever you can
recall will be unique as from your special point of view and perspective. You told me of your reactions when Aunt Olive
had you at your father’s funeral; and you also had a few things to say about
your stepfather. From what I remember,
direct contact, and have heard from indirect sources; well, like Jeanette says,
“He was a “basket case”. Aunt Olive was
a real character herself; and so, in all fairness and discretion, “The less
said the better!” A college teacher
often repeated a favorite saying that had stuck by him, “None of us can go back
more than three generations without finding at least one horse thief.” Nowadays it seems there is more money in
stealing automobiles. It was certainly
unfortunate for you and yours when he (Uncle Arlie) ever came parallel to you
“road of life”. And it has been my
impression that Aunt Olive also played her hand in that deal. Correct me if I’m wrong.
On the brighter side you remember about the CCC’s. I remember
well the period when you were in “camp”; but I never realized before that you
had only $5.00 a month of it. Once
during that time you stopped at the bluff out by the road going south. You were driving your own rig and a sidekick
was with you. Were you still in, or had
you just been released? I was quite
impressed with your “27 Chev. Sedan, two door; was it gray
colored? My history never brought me
anywhere near the three C’s, but I always thought of them as being really
worthwhile. Out west; ‘39, ‘40, or
somewhere along there they were enquiring of my dad as to why I wasn’t in the CCC’s. Understand,
he was then on the WPA and that might help to
explain. In recent years I have been
acquainted with Harold Adamson and he still visits former camp sites here in Marion County that he remembers from his days
with them. Of course, out in this
country those camps have long been gone, sometimes replaced by modern
developments and sometimes obliterated by new forest growth. I had a Smithsonian Magazine for a long time
featuring a lengthy story covering the CCC’s on a
national basis. It was well documented
and illustrated with old photographs, black and white, taken in those
depression days. There were also later
ones in color of things that remain that they did. It was a great thing in those tough times and
the good that it accomplished as a government sponsored project speaks for
itself. A couple of years ago I gave the
magazine to Harold and he now moved across town. Possibly you may have seen the story for
yourself; I can only hope so.
Well, Clyde, I think I am well and all that, and I am still looking
ahead. I still “feel” good enough for
another twenty-five years, but that can always be wishful thinking; at least it
is positive thinking. It’s getting close
to the late news, and since I don’t want to bore you, “I guess it’s time to
shut the old barn door.” That is what David Brinkley used to say in younger
days of his career. We will agree, a lot
of water has gone under the bridge.
Write again!
Old
Joe - Carr that is.
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