While working on cleaning out my father’s house a few years ago, I came across a draft of letter he wrote and gave to his four sons on Christmas, 1994. I’m reproducing it here, more or less as he wrote it, except for a few comments for clarity and a hyperlink or two. If you want to bail out on it early, I understand. It’s a tale of growing up in an almost 100% Catholic farm town in Southern Illinois.
The Childhood of Dear Old Dad
When about a year old, my parents along with my Uncle Henry and Aunt Zenobia, drove to Texas where Pop’s older brother, Theodore, lived. So I lived with my Aunt Sarah [father’s sister] and Uncle George who became my second parents. When my parents returned, I didn’t want to go back with them claiming Sarah & George as my parents.
I spent a lot of time with the and Grandpa Timmer [another guy named Theodore!] who lived with them. Grandpa died when I was 5 years old [i.e. 1934] leaving me to remember his final days when Father Eckert would come to the house to visit him. I was petrified of this man in black so much even that I would hide behind the stove when I saw him coming.
Mr. Peters lived across the street. He had a drinking problem that was shared with a man who sold sweet goods from his Model T. Sarah would give me some money to so that I could buy some goodies. But the man would spend hours with Mr. Peters so that I seldom got to spend my money.
Sarah would send me to the grocery store to buy a loaf of bread. The cost was 10 cents for a one pound loaf. They didn’t have any varieties, only one pound loaves of Wonder Bread. Sarah told me how to find the fresh bread and how to read the code.
Grandpa had a large garden and some chickens. He taught me how to use the water hose on those hot days.
Sarah would feed the beggars who came to to the back door for something to eat. In those days, beggars would offer to do something for their food, usually they would sharpen your kitchen knives.
When it was time for me begin school, Mom had Brother Les take me with him when he would herd the cows. It don’t know if Les was a lousy teacher or I was just plain dumb, but he gave up trying to teach me the ‘Our Father’ and ‘Hail Mary’ but I recall that first day of school when Sister Marlene asked for someone to recite those prayers. I volunteered and could say them as though I had been saying them for years. In fact the next day I could say the Apostle’s Creed.
Our school had 4 class rooms but enrollment was so high that the first grade was held in the convent. Another addition was being built to accomodate the extra students. The 6th, 7th & 8th grade boys were taught by Teacher Gramann who was also the church organist. My brothers were taught by him, but when I reached that point, I transferred to St. Augustine’s in Breese. Aunt Sarah had been pushing that idea for a long time. She wanted me to have dinner with them on those meatless Fridays. And so the transition began.
While a St. Boniface in Germantown, everyone was at to attend daily Mass at 7:45. I walked over two miles to school and was never late for mass while Roger Micheel who lived a stone’s throw away, was always late.
Father Eppmann always gave out the report cards each month. We had one kid, Dennis Evergord, who just was not meant for school. Dennis wore the old bib overalls and always seemed to have a runny nose. His grades followed the same pattern. I can still picture Father Eppmann slapping the poor kid from left to right, all to no avail. I never saw the boy after I transferred to Breese. Maybe he came a bank president or CEO of a large company. But I doubt that since he didn’t come to high school like the rest of the Germantown kids.
Thanks for sharing this, Bob! Such a different time, especially in respect to the pervasiveness of priests and nuns in the community.