Originally published in the Goering Gazette, July 1989
The following are glimpses of real life experiences that I recall about Mother and Dad (ed: Jessie Schrag Goering and John B. Goering) during my childhood. Some of these events may not be totally accurate, but do reflect character and personality of our parents in the late twenties and early thirties.
One of the early remembrances was a time they took me along a springtime eve to view the crop prospects at the other side of the section on which we lived. On the return home I viewed the setting sun, like a big ball of fire. I asked, “Is that God?” The most I remember about their response was a cheerful chuckle.
In my preschool year I recall napping on the living room floor while Mother sat in a rocker, she often sang hymns like “Golden Bells” at the same time mending cloths. It was close to this time, about 1927 when the whole family went to Uncle Val’s to watch an air show. Mom and Aunt Ida and us little ones stayed to the yard, while Dad and others walked across old 81 highway to Sam Field’s pasture. That is where the planes landed and took off again to do stunts for all to see. I have since had information that one of those flyers was, in fact, Charles Lindberg, who made his solo trans-Atlantic flight about a year later. Several years later Mom sent Frieda to fetch Al, Bill, and I as she had tuned in the proceedings of Hauptman’s execution for the kidnapping and death of the Lindberg baby. She wanted us to know of it and showed anger about it like it was all wrong.
Elva served as a second Mom, often dressing me, etc. I specifically recall her being the Sunday School teacher at Eden Church, the class was held in the kitchen. Later on I remember how, very often on the way to church, Elva would inspect us for cleanliness, pulling earlobes and declaring — goodness, gosh — there’s enough dirt in there to plant potatoes.
Soon after rural electrification at the farm, Dad bought a small table top radio. This was a great delight for Mother, for now she had available news broadcasts and other programs she followed regularly. Mother loved the western singers, their joke telling, and often the numbers were religious songs. Dad finally took Mom and some of us kids to visit the studio at Clay Center and Salina.
Mother endured some trying times too. One day, most likely a Monday, while Mom was hanging clothes, a salesman came up carrying a case of goods, etc. He must have had good training because he first complimented Mom on her beautiful children: of course, that must have been Bill, Herb and me, and perhaps Martha. Then he got down to business trying to sell her some extracts and the like. Perhaps she had no money at her disposal, anyway, she kep saying no, but he would not quit, insistiing that she had to have these things. Finally she pulled herself to full height and maybe a little more and declared, “Must I swear on a stack of Bibles!”
Another exhibition of genuine disgust came during harvest one year. Dad had sent me home to bring back a fresh horse. Might have been for the three horse hitch on the binder. At any rate, either I was too small to harness the horse myself, or I didn’t know how. Mother was very put out that Dad would expect her to help me. For sure, quite a few un-gracious words passed my ears before I left with the horsse.
A celebration at Uncle John’s comes to mind. It was Uncle John and Aunt Ollie’s 25th wedding anniversary on a dark February evening. The older children formed a chorus and gave a beautiful rendition in song, “Count Your Blessings.” Us younger ones had memorized recitations in German, which wasn’t one of our best suits. Well, as luck would have it, a bunch of us were outside playing a tag game. The night was already crisp and we were wearing our head gear which at that time was the pilot’s caps with snaps for attaching goggles. Herb and I had a head on collision which on impact left an indentation on my forehead and at the same time cancelled out my memory bank. You can imagine my panic, sitting on the running board of a car trying to recall the lines in my recitation. I finally went into the house and found Mom and had her rehearse my piece about four times over, but when time came to give it I stumbled through it terribly, I’m sure most thought I’d never really learned it.
Some others my age and older may remember the time the folks had a group of people to visit from South Dakota. We were sent to bed rather early so they could talk without interruption. The next morning we found all the chairs in a big circle with a little pile of dust in front of each. Apparently the yard was wet and muddy as they entered which dried and rubbed off while they sat and visited into the wee hours.
Mother issued me an emphatic “no” in 1933, I believe, when I mistakenly thought I had an inside track to go along to a big church conference at Pretty Prairie. I felt very hurt becuase it was, after all, my 12th birthday. Anyway, I guess, Mom felt equally bad about that and made arrangements for a special number for me on radio on my next birthday.
A lesson in retribution was learned when Mom insisted on my carrying a duck over to the neighbors to our west, because I mistakenly shot one of their ducks instead of a wild one. The Mrs. of that house laughed and told me to take it back home and let Mom fix it for supper.
Mother invited a black man to say for supper and that night, as he traveled on foot from Hutchinson to some point East of us. He refused to sleep in the house, instead on a hay rack.
Dan Goering