Mrs. Rudge

Mrs. Rudge was a sweet little English women who ran a candy store to support herself.  She had followed her married sister from England to our town.  Mrs. Rudge was certainly unique.  She drove a little black Ford and she drove just like they did in England.  She didn't believe in stop signs or right-of-ways or driving on the right side of the road. She maintained that every one knew it was safer to drive on the left side of the road. It was always a major adventure whenever Mrs. Rudge began a drive.  Other drivers would see Mrs. Rudge approaching on their side of the road and were completely confused as to whether to swerve, stop or back up. This was especially difficult for tourists who were passing through our town.

Several proposals had been made to the city council to blow the town's siren whenever Mrs. Rudge started a drive.  This would warn other drivers to get off the road because Mrs Ridge was coming.  This siren could be heard all over the valley and was originally installed to alert volunteer fire fighters that they were needed to fight a neighborhood fire. This proposal was never adopted because fire fighters would not know whether there was really a fire or just Mrs. Rudge.

Mrs. Rudge not only campaigned to change our driving habits, she also felt that women should dress with comfort as the primary consideration.  She wore a pair of old house slippers whenever she left her little home.  It didn't matter if the event she was attending was formal or a Church function or a trip to the store.  She always wore her house slippers.  Some of the local ladies were envious, especially those with bunions.
However they just didn't have the courage to copy Mrs. Rudge.

Personally, I loved Mrs. Rudge.  She had the most interesting store in the whole world.  I would stand looking through the front store window for long periods of time trying to decide how I would spend my 25 cents.

Cool, hot lunches

Let me tell you about the hot lunches we received at school.  Remember, this was during the great depression and this program was one of many Federal programs initiated by President Franklin D. Roosevelt. It wasn't much of a lunch but it was better than nothing.  Nothing was what some of the poor little children had for lunch.

The lunch consisted of three things: a half-pint of milk, one half slice of bread with butter, and one entree.
I will never forget some of the entree's.  Some days we would receive one-half of a grapefruit; another day a bowl of spinach.  Some other entree's were Spanish rice, Tapioca Pudding, Goulash, or Vegetable Soup.
The cost to the student was 5 cents a meal.  That's right; five cents!  Even that small amount was hard for some families to pay.

My father give me 25 cents each Monday morning to pay for the week's hot lunches.  Unfortunately, I had to walk past Mrs. Rudge's candy store to get to school.  Every time I walked past that store I could hear the candy calling my name.  I gallantly resisted the temptation for the first two weeks of school but on the third Monday I succumbed to the candy's call and went into the store and spent the entire twenty-five cents.  Now, that isn't much today, but in those days most candy was only one penny.  So I walked out a happy child with twenty-five pieces of candy in my pocket.  I ate candy throughout the whole day and didn't share one piece.

 I had made a decision to eat candy for one day rather than hot lunch for five days.  At that age it seemed like a logical decision to me.  I could survive without hot lunch for one week.  There were many children in the second grade that could never afford hot lunches.  They simply went without or brought a piece of bread from home.  I thought if they could do that, I could too.

At lunch time the lunch ladies proceeded to serve lunch to those students who waited at their desks.  Since I didn't have anyone to play with until they finished their lunch, I continued sitting at my desk.  Then a miracle happened. The ladies served me even though I had not turned in my 25 cents.  I was thrilled.  I thought they must have given me lunch because of my good looks. The same thing occurred during the balance of that week and all the remaining weeks in the school year.  I spent my 25 cents for candy and the lunch ladies continued to serve me hot lunch.  I didn't wonder why this was happening, I just felt it was an entitlement that I deserved.

Now comes the retribution for a very faulty decision.  On the last day of school a lunch lady gave me a sealed letter to be delivered to my father.  I delivered the letter which informed my father that he owed $5.25 for the hot lunches I had eaten during the school year..  I was doomed.  My father didn't beat me about the head and shoulders even though I certainly deserved it.  But he did give me a very intense, uncomfortable lecture about honesty and good judgement. I like to think I learned that  lesson.  I have remembered it throughout my life. But, I so loved Mrs Rudge's candy store.  By the way, more about Mrs Rudge tommorrow.

Some near death experiences

I was raised on a farm.  We were always surrounded by  chickens, pigs, sheep, goats, cows, rabbits, cats and dogs.  These various animals were kept in pens, or corrals or in the case of the chickens in a special chicken house.  Many times a cat or dog actually resided in our home.

When I was about three years old I learned that not all animals are cute and cuddly.  I had recently learned how to open the latch on the gate leading into the farmyard.  The way was now open for me to personally learn about these various animals.

A large rooster saw me coming and must have felt that since I was so small I could be challenged.  And challenged I was. The rooster came running and jumped up and hit me squarely in the chest.  He knocked me flat on my back.  Then that bugger hopped on my chest and proceeded to try to peck out my eyes.  I was terrified!

In the best three-year fashion, I started to scream at the top of my lungs and flail with my arms and kick with my legs.  I eventually rolled over and the Rooster strutted off knowing that he had successfully defended his kingdom.

We had a fenced back lawn at the rear of our house.  My father would occasionally bring home large ram's (a male sheep, also called bucks)  from his sheep herd. These would be placed in the fenced back lawn.  One day I noticed a ram and decided to investigate.  Out the door I went and immediately the buck started to back up.  If you have watched nature shows on TV about mountain sheep, you will remember that the rams back up just before they run and butt each other in the head with their huge curved  horns.

I recognized that the buck's intentions were not exactly friendly, so I bent over to pick up some kind of weapon to defend myself.  The weapon was a little stick about four inches long.

Just at that moment my mother looked out the window and saw the situation and let out a scream.  Out the door she flew and grabbed me just as the buck started his charge.  Thankfully the buck, noticing that there were now two enemies and one was a lot bigger than the original, stopped his charge.  I think that if that buck had hit me I would still be flying through the air.  Thank goodness for mothers.

The Family Reunion

Let me tell you about the Lewis family reunion.  (my mothers maiden name was Lewis).  From the time I was about seven or eight years old until I went away to the University, I attended the Lewis family reunion..  These were exciting events in my life.

The extended Lewis family was composed of two groups:  The religious and the non-religious. The religious attended church on a regular basis and did not drink alcoholic drinks or coffee.  The non-religious attended church as seldom as possible and lived on coffee and drank any alcoholic beverage that was available.  The family was about equally divided into these two groups.

Planning for the reunion started in January of each year.  Every time some of the family got together, a debate would invariably start as to whether the reunion should be held on Friday and Saturday vs. Saturday and Sunday.  The religious wanted the reunion held on Friday and Saturday so they could be home and attend church on Sunday.  The less religious wanted the reunion held on Saturday and Sunday so they wouldn't be tempted to attend Church.  These were lively debates and neither group ever won.  The site of the reunion was usually some campground located in the Ashley National Forest.

When the reunion week-end finally arrived, the religious generally arrived at the reunion site early on Friday.  The less religious arrived a day latter on Saturday.  When the less religious group arrived they would go a very short distance away from the cooking fire that was already burning and start their own fire.  They had a huge coffee pot and would immediately start to brew their coffee. When it was done, they would sip the coffee, all the while saying, umm, umm, umm, isn't this coffee delicious.  They said this just loud enough to be heard by everyone.  The religious wanted to kill them.  I loved it!

Each year a different master of ceremonies was selected.  One year my uncle Charlie was chosen for this position.  He started the meeting by telling a dirty joke.  All the less religious slapped their legs and hee-hawed and rolled on the ground in great humor.  The religious scowled and didn't crack a smile.  I was sitting on a log next to my mother.  I looked over at her and if looks could kill, Charlie would have been dead at that moment.  She had the meanest look on her face I had ever seen.  I wanted to laugh at the joke, but I didn't dare.

In between these shenanigans, every one had a great time eating, telling yarns,  talking about ancestors, teasing each other and playing games.  After the reunion was over, they all left with good feelings for one another and anxious for next January to arrive so they could start the process all over again.

The terror of First Grade.

Let me tell you a terrifying story that occurred in my first grade of school..  I can't remember what the teacher's objective was, but she had chosen me along with two others to draw paintings on large pads of paper that were positioned on easels at the front of the classroom.  We didn't finish the paintings that day and were instructed to finish them the following morning.   I thought my painting was exceptionally good.

The following morning when I arrived at the class, lo and behold, the other boy (Alvin K. Pitt) had stolen my painting because, of course, my painting was much better than his.  I promptly complained to the teacher that A.K.had stolen my picture and she made Alvin go to his own painting.  Alvin was furious.  When the three pictures were finished we all returned to our desks and continued reading our exciting book "All about Dick."  You know, See Dick, see Dick play, see Dick run, etc.  While I was studiously reading, A.K. sneaked by me and whispered, "I'm going to beat you up during recess."  I was terrified.  My closest sibling was ten years old when I was born.  I was almost like an only child.  I never had a brother to fight with.  I didn't know how to fight.  I was doomed.

As the recess bell rang, I hurried out of the classroom trying think of some place I could hide.  But, here came A. K. with big fists on the end of each arm.  I did what any reasonable coward would do, I ran.
A. K. ran too, but I could run faster.  So I spent the whole fifteen minute of recess running about the school building with A. K. following.  (He was one persistent little bully). When the ending recess bell rang, I quickly ran to my desk with a good feeling that I had survived.  However, A. K. quickly walked by me and whispered once again, "I'm  going to beat  you up during lunch time.  Wo is me.  I spent the balance of the time before lunch hour wondering what I could do to prevent complete annihilation.

I dawdled at my lunch hoping A. K. would get impatient and  leave the room. But he just dawdled at his food too.  Finally the Lunch Women came and insisted that we both finish so they could clean up.  Out the door I burst on a dead run with A.K. close behind.  As I was making the first round of the school building I finally faced reality.  I can't continue this for each recess and lunch period for the balance of the school year.  I just as well fight him.  If he kills me, so be it.  I suddenly stopped, spun around, and attacked Alvin.  Before he could do anything I hit him in his face and bloodied his nose and made him cry.  Off to the teacher he went to tell on me.  Can you imagine my feelings.  I had actually survived a fight and not only that but I had won! That was pretty heady stuff.  Mrs. Stringham (my first grade teacher) never said a thing to me.  I think she must have been aware of my fear and what was going on.  Alvin never bothered me again..

More about horses

After my experience of falling off the horse during my first horse-back ride, I was apprehensive about future horse back rides.  My father must have been aware of my fear for he was continuously telling me of the fun he had riding horses when he was young.  In fact, my father purchased a horse for me.  Can you believe the excitement I should have had.  I owned my very own horse.  My experience with horses should now become a pleasure.  But, once again, I faced disappointment.

I soon started to ride my horse with two friends in the neighborhood that also had a horse of their own.  My two friends had horses that were quick walkers.  My new horse was a slow plodder.  Whenever we rode our horses together they quickly left me behind.  I was forced to shift my horse into a trot gear to keep up.  My horse was not only slow but it had the most uncomfortable trot ever felt by man..  My friends were gliding smoothly along on their fast walking horses.  I followed behind on a trotting, spine jarring, nag that I soon learned to despise. Eventually I stopped riding it altogether.  I think my father was very disappointed in me and eventually sold the horse.

On to the next horse riding event.  I came from a huge family of aunts, uncles and cousins.  We frequently held family get-to-gathers.  One such event was held at an uncles home who was a farmer and also owned several riding horses. Several members of the family had also ridden their horses to the family event.  So this party turned into a mini-family horse back ride.  My uncle was evidently aware of my horse phobia and assured me that he had a perfect horse for me and I could safely join the family ride.  The horse he referred to was named  Old Calico.  He assured me that to ride old Calico was like sitting on an over-stuffed couch. at home.

So off we went down the road like a well organized cavalry unit.  About a mile from the starting point something happened that I will never forget.  The saddle turned on Old Calico..  One moment I was sitting on top of the horse and the next moment I was dangling underneath the horse.  Of course the horse was frightened and started to run. I couldn't let go and drop to the ground because the rear hooves would have trampled on me. The front hooves of the horse were coming within one inch of my head.  I was terrified..  The other members of our cavalry unit didn't know what to do.  They said they were hesitant about chasing after Old Calico for fear that would make her just run faster and further.  So they just sat with their mouths hanging open.  I can't say I prayed.  It all happened too fast.  But within a few seconds, Old Calico stopped  and I was saved.  After cursing the unknown person who had failed to tighten the cinch, I saddled up and finished the ride.  But I vowed to myself never to mount a horse again.

Now for the final horse story.  I was about eighteen years old and had been dating Joan (my future wife) on a regular basis.  One Saturday she suggested we travel into the Uintah Mountains and visit her brothers who were running sheep on their summer range.  Anything Joan suggested was okay with me.  Once there, Joan suggested we go fishing.  She knew of some small creeks that were well stocked with fish. Her brothers furnished us with fishing poles and we mounted the horses to ride to the fishing holes. I must admit I was a little hesitant, but who could resist anything Joan suggested.  So off we went. We hadn't gone more the 25 yards from the camp when my horse started bucking.  I started yelling, "Whoe, you blankey-blank, whoe".  In between her hilarious laughter  Joan yelled, "The horse is not bucking, it's just being bitten by a horse fly.  It certainly felt like bucking to me and I jumped off and told Joan that I would walk and she could fish.  Joan,and now her brothers, were all laughing hilariously.  I was so mad I almost divorced Joan before we were even married.  One of the brothers told me later that I should investigate becoming a rodeo clown.

Well, that's the end of horse stories.  You'll hear no more from me about horses.

I don't like horses!

How could any twelve year old boy, who was raised in a farming and ranching community, not like horses?  I enjoy watching beautiful horses but only from a distance.  I enjoy watching horse races but I never desired to ride one.  I even enjoy watching rodeos but mostly so I can watch the clowns.  Well, let me tell you of four events in my life that will perhaps explain why I don’t like horses. 

Event #1 – The Smith family, who were our next door neighbors, announced that they were the new owner of a pony.  A pony in this case meant a mature but smallish size horse. The father said that he had purchased the horse so that his children could learn about the use and care of a horse. The oldest of these children were two boys ages eight and ten.  All of the boys in the neighborhood were very envious of the Smith’s. But we were equally excited about having a real live horse living next door.  This was especially true since the two boys announced that all of the neighborhood boys would have an opportunity to ride their pony.

The exciting day finally arrived when the horse was delivered. It would be kept in a pasture next to the neighbors home.  For the first several days, the Montgomery boys pretty much monopolized the horse. But then it was announced, neighborhood-wide, that on the following day every boy who arrived at the pasture at 9:00 a.m. could ride the horse.  This ride would be bare-back meaning there was no saddle.

The ride was to a point about fifty yards from the starting point and then return. About fifteen boys turned up for this momentous event.  The first four of five boys completed their ride without any mishap.  At the end of their ride each of them raved about how totally exhilarating the ride was.  They immediately began a campaign in their home for the father to buy them a pony.  As I watched each of these rides it appeared to me to be a fairly routine ride.  You calmly took hold of the reins, kicked the horse in the flanks and completed your ride.  It looked simple to me.  It was simple; for the first ten or fifteen bounces.  The horse was trotting in a very dedicated manner and I was having trouble staying mounted.  I still hadn’t learned that the only way to stay on a trotting bare-back horse was to clamp your legs.  I didn’t learn soon enough and the next thing I knew I was sitting on my rear end on the ground.  And that wasn’t the worst of it.  I had fallen into a “Red Ant” hill.  I quickly became aware of this when I felt Red Ants furiously climbing up my arms and legs.  There is only one way to solve this problem.  You quickly start the Red Ants Dance.  This dance is simply to jump up and down and high as you can in hopes of dislodging the ants who are now gleefully feasting on your flesh.  After a few minutes this seemed to work but that was only the beginning.  I could hear riotous laughing.  No one was thinking of riding the horse.  They were having too much fun mimicking my horse ride and dance. I had never experienced such humiliation.

            Check tomorrow's blog for the other three events regarding horses.