I have decided to make my writers workshop piece about my father's work history and how he came to Connecticut from West Virginia, and met my mother. He is turning 90 years old in October, and I think it would be lovely to have a narrative to share at his bash. To this end, I have interviewed him about his childhood and early life. I plan on adding to this post, so it is not a finished product at this time. I am currently on vacation and have limited access to a computer.
STRANGE CREEK, WV TO CONNECTICUT
Careening down the street, in my brother Bert's black '36 Plymouth, I struggled to control the car as classmates jostled me. Eight were squooshed inside the four door sedan, while others stood on the running boards, as we made our way to town for lunch. Only two students in the high school had cars. Ann Swan, whose father owned the local theatre, and me, Roy Eugene Keener. I was eighteen years old and returning to high school to get my degree. As an eighteen year old in ninth grade, I was teased often, but when it came time for lunch, everyone wanted to know me, because I had a car!
Back then, there were no school lunches. You brought your lunch, or bought it. Well, everyday I would drive my car to town and a group of us would chip in to buy a loaf of bread and some bologne. We would then make quick sandwiches before heading back to class. About half the time a police officer would tell me there were too many people in the car, and some of the guys would have to hoof-it back up the hill to school.
Strangecreek, West Virginia, were I was born and raised, held the family farm. My parents had fourteen children - seven boys and seven girls - within a thirty year span. You had to raise your own farm hands in those days. I was very good with numbers and my brother Bert, who had moved to Logan, convinced me to return to school to get a high school diploma. We were only required to go to school through the eighth grade, back then.
Since I was going to stay at a boarding house, I needed to find a job to pay for it. I found a position as a "grease monkey" at a Super Pepper gas station. I worked 72 hours a week for $65.00 a month. I went to school during the day, then worked the station from 2:00 to 10:00, Monday through Friday. On Saturdays and Sundays, I worked 16 hour shifts. There were no laws regarding days off at that time. My brother Bert lent me his car to get to school and work - his contribution to my education.
Needless to say, I never had time to do all the homework that was assigned. I was taking a Spanish class, and the teacher, Mrs. McDonald, could see that I was not handing in assignments and she asked me if I was planning on going to college. I told her that I didn't think I would make it through high school. She made a deal with me. If I came to every class and took every test, she would give me a "D". I wouldn't have to turn in homework or repeat the class, if I continued with my education. Miss Barber, my math teacher was impressed with my skills with numbers. I got 100 on all the tests and never studied or turned in homework. Math just came easy for me.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
Marie,
ReplyDeleteThis is really interesting and I love to hear about family history stories. The end was a little sudden. Maybe you could finish it up by telling us how much schooling he finished and what he ended up doing professionally.
Marie,
ReplyDeleteGreat topic to write about! I love hearing stories from family members about their lives, and how different times were back then compared to what our lives are like now. You are such a descriptive writer and I was able to picture clearly things you were describing.
My grandparents came to America around 1950 from Scotland so it would be interesting to interview them and write about their experience of moving to a new country. You might have just given me my next topic to write about :)
Marie,
ReplyDeleteI really enjoyed this post. Your are a natural writer, the words just seem to flow! As a history teacher, I absolutely love your idea for your blog. What a fabulous way to record your father's experiences. I have had my students conduct interviews and write papers on their family history as a part of our immigration unit. These items are always the highlight of the year because the students get to share so much of themselves. Your narrative begins in 1936 in the latter half of the Great Depression Era, I would love know what your father has to say about growing up during such a challenging time.
Tiffany - Thank you for your post. I agree with the ending being awkward, because I haven't finished yet! I figured that I would add more each week, rather than writing a new piece.
ReplyDeleteMary - Thank you for your post. Your query had me calling my dad to ask about the depression era. My mother was a city girl and often talked about the depression and having mashed potatoes with prunes for dinner, and only having meat on Sunday. Dad had never talked about it because it didn't really affect him in his life on the farm. They had always raised their own food, while the men worked in the coal mines for money. The farm had been handed down for generations, so there was no mortgage.
ReplyDeleteI just read in his West Virginia Magazine that, in the hills, people were unaware of the depression in the country because it nothing had changed for them. I am going to find a way to add that in! Thank you for initiating a new tack! Marie
Kate - Thank you for your post. I smiled when you said you might write about your grandparents, because this course lends itself to getting ideas from the posts of other students. It's how those discussion threads keep going. Good luck! Marie
ReplyDeleteMarie, this is truly a beautifully written account of a snapshot in time, your father will be so very proud! Your well-chosen words breathe life into his story, I look forward to reading more about him. Thank you for sharing such a special memory!
ReplyDelete