DB

During our Coolley years in Iowa, I always felt there was more of a connection to our cousin DB in Texas than with the NH cousins. I was so young when DB first enters my memory - he was always older and horsing around with the boys - but I remember his TX drawl humor and how he made Dick, especially, laugh. They made a pretty goofy pair of guys, who, especially in their teens, shared a funny bone that kept me entertained. Not sure if the Phillips came north every summer during the sixties, but it seemed when they did, going to the farm meant more fun than usual. I didn't participate efficiently - the downside of being too young to join in with the older kids and their games - but corn cob fights in the barnyard were always part of the drill it seemed. I think there are films of at least one. There was an incident at Gramp's that happened while the adults were away and involved Dick and DB doing something they shouldn't. Jeanne might remember. They either got into something in Gramp's closet or something else, but I remember them sitting in that front room of the living area plotting how to handle the fallout when Dad got back. I remember the house had a shared closet in the front bedroom to Gramp's bedroom that was a fascinating place to explore. He also had the attic cluttered with junk and the basement (remember that well?). I dream of the farm and the farm house quite often.

The best part was just watching the horsing around of the older boys - Ron, Dick, DB. And the laughter.

Rest in peace, Dan. Tell Dicky hello.

Coolley Family Reunions

Front row, r-l: Kim, Dick & DB (kneeling).
Second row r-l: Dan Phillips, Edna Pearl, Gramp, Twylah Phillips, Ruthie, Jeanne, Aunt Ve, Edna Arlene, Cletha, Grammie Coolley, Dad, ? Forrest, Harold

I've posted this photo before, but upon looking at it again, I thought I'd add a bit more insight from my memories. First of all, where was Ronny? Taking the photo, I think...yes? Second, who was the man standing between Forrest and Dad? Sometimes these reunions took place in Pella at Aunt Minnie's and Gerald's. I remember, perhaps not correctly, that they lived near a park with a Dutch windmill.

This was taken at the farm where the Coolley Kids lived - Edna Pearl, Forrest and Harold. One or both Velma and Cletha were married and lived elsewhere. If I remember correctly, it was a really nice little farm they rented. There were cows and a bull in the barn. Maybe horses? And lots of kittens. I believe there were some kittens hiding in that shrub of morning glories, which explains why I'm looking there and not at the camera. Harold is holding a kitten as well. They were wild little things and we spent the day chasing them down. Dick is about 14 or so here, with DB about the same age. I loved when the Phillips' came north for a visit from Texas - DB was funny and Dick loved the guy. They'd horse around the whole visit. From corn cob fights to playing hide and seek in Gramp's house when the adults had gone to town, there was always something to do there. I believe Dick and maybe Ron stayed over at these times to keep DB company and help Gramp on the farm. Both Jeanne and I felt left out of these overnights - at least Jeanne did. I think I tended to want to go where Ruthy went in those years (#Ruthy'sShadow). But I always got a big kick out of listening to the boys and being somewhat included in their games.

The reunion shown here was on a gorgeous summer day. The women - Ruthy, Aunt Ve, Cletha, Velma, Edna Pearl, Grammie - all spent the morning and afternoon fixing dinner. The men sat on the porch and walked the farm until the dinner bell rang and they were first in line. Jeanne, always a bit ahead of her time, found it appalling at the ripe old age of 11 or 12 that the women who slaved over the food had to stand back and wait for the menfolk to pick over the best of the dishes. I don't remember this, but Ruthie recounted a time when Jeanne just joined the men in line to the astonished gasps of all the old farm ladies. I do remember the small living space and sitting in the front room as the men stood in line and filled their plates. Aunt Ve, Cletha, Grammie - they were exceptional cooks and took great pride in the men going for second and thirds of their particular contribution. Fried chicken, gravy, potatoes, beans, cobblers, pies, sweet iced tea. Grammie also made a mean german potato salad and wilted lettuce dish with bacon drippings. Somewhere in there was a jello salad, likely made by Ruthie :). I remember Ruthie watching Grammie as she cooked to learn her technique, which mostly involved a lot of tasting rather than measured ingredients and recipe-following. And someone would be in charge of the hand-crank ice cream maker. I'm not sure if we'd do this at these reunions or at the house in DM, but I often remember Dick being given the job and managing to fob the middle part of the long effort off onto some unwitting younger family member until it was nearly done. Then the chore of pulling the paddle out of the ice cream was the gift of the first taste, and he owned that part.

DB and Dick help with the lambs (barely distinguishable in the background is the white supply shed, and beyond, the garage with the antlers over the door)

Ron, DB and Dick. Ron and Dick sported buzz cuts with extra bangs in front. This is a style that I see nowadays, too.

Gramps - Part I: The Sheps

I still have dreams about Gramp's farm in Albia. I can close my eyes and remember almost every aspect of the place. The part of the trip that I loved most during the visits were the animals: Trigger, who shlepped to the back forty to hide as we rounded the bend. The ever-changing litter of kittens Gramp usually had in the barn often hiding in a nest in the rafters....and Shep. Or, Sheps - as I recall once one Shep passed, another would take his place and become the new Shep. His one variation was Molly, and I think she pre-dated my time.

Gramp being what I believe was a typical farmer didn't tend to his animals a vigilently as we do ours. The cats were for eradicating vermin on the farm, period. Shep had his job to do and coddling him was not part of the deal. He didn't come indoors, ever. Ruthie would cluck her tongue over the treatment of the animals - Gramp's rationale for not feeding them leftovers hit a brick wall with her. He was goodnatured about it, but firm. She fed them anyway. We'd cook up Sunday dinner which generally consisted of fried chicken, mashed potatoes, etc., and always, ALWAYS a cream pie of some sort. Banana, vanilla, chocolate or coconut. These were Gramp's favorites.

As soon as dinner was over, the men would depart to the living room and Gramp would talk of old memories or the goings on in the area -- and Ruthy, Jeanne and I would start the process of gathering all the dinner scraps for the dog and the cats of the farm. She'd make up a huge plate for Shep, covered in leftover gravy (I'm sure Gramp always wondered why there were no leftovers for him to feast on the next day). We'd take that bowl out back out of the sight line of Gramp's easy chair, and Shep would be waiting, tail wagging wildly. I remember one time we got there later on when I was a bit older and Gramp had a new Shep - not the old black and white border collie - and the dog was so hungry Ruthie gave him a half frozen piece of beef she brought specifically for him. No time to thaw it out completely. Next we'd head to the barn for the cats. Once, when we didn't have much in terms of leftovers, she combined a plate of soft bread pieces and raw egg for the cats. They had a feast, but the next time we were down to the farm Gramp grumped about how the cats were breaking into the hen nests and eating the eggs. Oops.

But the Sheps were always a staple. Well trained for sheep heeling, but also sweet dogs. We never brought Tippy with us on these day trips, I gather because he was unlikely to take well to the other dog being with his people. As it was, Tippy would ignore us as we left for Gramps - looking away as we backed out and yelled goodbye to him on the lawn - and then run to the Murphy's across the street and hide when we returned. I always tried to lure him home and on occasion would see him peeking around the Murphy's house to see if we were looking for him. He knew we'd spent the day with that other dog at that other place, and wanted to teach us a lesson 

Fort Des Moines Methodist Church

Fort Des Moines Church (old church)

Maybe it's me, but it looks like there is a ghost standing in front of the church by the front steps...

I was very young when it came down, but I always had a preference for the old church. Probably my earliest and best recall is as a toddler having to climb a lot of stairs to reach the sanctuary. I don't think we were allowed in the sanctuary during service, but I do remember climbing to get there for some reason. In my mind's eye it was very big and there was a significant bell ringing tower. Sunday school was in the lower room beneath the old church sanctuary. The older kids were funneled off somewhere else in the church. I had a very old, very nice church lady who taught my class which was in a section of the big room in the basement. I can't recall her name, but she was sweet and way out of her element handling the little hoodlums in my class. We were taught to memorize and recite the books of the Bible and I did. I knew them all once. I was really shy and quiet, mixed in a class with rowdy, naughty boys, and the teacher liked me. At Christmas, she gave us all a plastic snow globe - everyone's was the same, with Rudolph and Santa - but mine was purposely different, and therefore more special. She gave it to me and said it was special because I was such a good girl. It had a manger scene in it, and I cherished it. That poor soul had to have found some peace in knowing that at least one kid was actually listening. I remember utter and total chaos 99% of the time. Leading the pack was Kent Cherry, of course. The church took on a different feel when they tore the old building down. I spent the entire time mixed in with hellions and mean girls. Dad forced me to attend MYF (Methodist Youth something-or-other) for teens. I think I was the only one in the family who had to go. Weds night, MYF, Monday night Rainbows. They met Wednesday nights at the church and it was almost as awful as Rainbows. (Honestly, how do teen girls survive these groups?) Being quiet, I didn't mix with these kids well. To the last kid they were outgoing and confident. The girls juggled for the attention of the (still) rowdy boys, and one girl in particular found torturing me in front of the group a particularly fun pastime. Argh. (Fun side note: This same girl was in Rainbow with me where the personal torturing continued unabated. She was a terrible person, to say the least. When she got engaged - side-side-note: she's now divorced - her announcement in the newspaper misspelled her name. Instead of "Melanie", they printed her name as "Meanie". Karma. Pure, wonderful karma)

A few other things I remember: Doris Stroud, the very nice, but very untalented Choir Director who liked to sing solos and had a terrible voice. Mrs. Dillard, the organist who wore moomoos and had stockings that slouched around her ankles. Being in the choir myself at about age 11 and singing my heart out in practice one day until I notice the girl standing next to me staring at me in horror. I think it was then I realized I couldn't carry a note. Attending MAYBE every Easter and Christmas, but not very often otherwise - and Mama and Dad never attending, except maybe once, when a special sermon was given by the older youth in our flock, including Dicky. There were four or five college-aged members chosen to give a short sermon, and he gave a rousing sermon...questioning the merits of organized religion. It rocked the congregation to the core. The first few sermons were pious and properly deferential to the church. Then came Dicky. I wish we had his words written somewhere. Jeanne may recall better what he said, but I know that it was controversial and there was quite a lot of huffing and puffing at the fellowship hall afterward. Good old Dicky.

Dicky June 8, 1949 - April 12, 1974

I've been thinking a lot lately about Dicky. What it would be like if he survived and was still in our lives. What kind of uncle he would be, where he'd be living and with whom. I have my own sense of what Dick was like when he left us, I know you guys do too. Being the youngest and Dick being 7 years older, I tend to see him as I did/do all of you: with a bit of hero worship, even still. You guys did everything before me. I saw your lives take shape and how your wings spread when it was time, thinking about when it would be my turn would I transition as successfully, as elegantly...as seemingly seamlessly?

What I remember most about Dicky and how I perceive him still is tied to his last year on earth. He was always part of that tumbling family history that we have together growing up, and those memories live on for all of us, I think. But when Dick faced his final year of life without a job or future prospects due to his health conditions and a narrowing of his world financially, and emotionally, he found himself back under the family roof. I knew what it was like to essentially be "alone" with our parents for four years, so having Dicky back home was a godsend for me, but also tough for him in ways I wasn't fully mature enough to recognize yet, but knew in my bones.

Honestly, considering the dynamics of pre-divorce Ruthy and Mace, and Dick's own long bout with a fiercely tempestuous and gut-wrenching disease, I thought he handled the move well. His small personal space was to be the recreation room, with a second television provided for his private area. I spent most of my nights home from school down there with him at his invitation, playing endless games of Risk - a favorite of ours, albeit he understood more about foreign policy than I did - and watching Night Gallery and various other shows Daddy wouldn't go for on the main television. For me, Risk was like making up Middle Earth fantasies with places like Czechoslovakia and Yugoslavia. For him, it was time he could control and amass his own defenses and create a world at his pleasure. We'd talk about everything and nothing during those long evenings. He'd riff on jokes, politics and ideas, for me or the world at large - but he'd never talk about the "thing" he had. I think it was a way to suspend reality. I used to look back to those board game nights and wish I'd taken our conversations deeper as if that is what he needed at the time. Now I realize that the reason he liked to 'hang' out with me was precisely because I didn't. In between working a gawdawful nightshift job Dad got him and sleep, he was able to forget the present insults to his life, and just be.

Some days I'd come home from school and he'd be waiting for me with game board set up and ready to go. Other days, he'd say, "Hey, let's go get a Mr. Misty Freeze at DQ" and we'd head off for a spin around town drinking our green DQ freezes (man, they were good, too. It had to be a certain kind of Mister Misty that included icecream). Once or twice he decided spur of the moment to head to Gramp's for a quick, mid-week visit. The entire drive would be just open conversation about school, life and especially politics. It's those drives across Iowa rolling hills in the late afternoon that I began to take special note of the magic that golden-light time of day casts on the landscape. Dicky wanted me to be more aware of the politics of the day and he'd fill me with his observations. He talked about Nixon, the war, current events, the cold war. I told him my History teacher talked about Communism and anti-Commie sentiments, and I asked the question "What's wrong with Communism?" The classroom erupted, the teacher - who was a really good guy - laughed....and so did Dicky. When we landed at Gramp's he'd chat with him about politics (Gramp loved his US News and World Reports) and his obsession with  UFOs, with some old-guy reminiscing of days past......I always wondered: Had Gramp seen an UFO at some point? Occasionally, we'd head over to Aunt Ve's near Drake and surprise her with a visit. Same thing would take place there: an old one getting to share her memories with young, attentive visitors. He made their day, always. My takeaway from Dicky from that time was his ability to turn himself completely over to the people who most of us just forgot about, and he really listened to them. He engaged them, charmed them and left them feeling relevant again. Aunt Ve and Gramp were funny to listen to. Their stories were hilarious; their memories sharp and rich. Even at 23, Dicky seemed meant to gather, observe and acquit himself in a manner that truly affected people in a positive way.

I don't recall him ever being insecure or questioning himself or his life, but I'm sure he did. He always seemed self-possessed, even when his health made him vulnerable. I was at a stage where I did question myself, all the time. He sensed this and spent time with me in a way that I wasn't used to in that household, given the life and death issues he had. Not to complain, because I often preferred blending into the wall during those years at home. My issues were petty, or seemed to be, by contrast. Cystic acne was my cross to bear at that time in my life, but by comparison, at least I had a lifet o look forward to....or so was the general thinking on my part. Dicky, as the focus, worked hard to move that constant glare elsewhere. He focused instead on whoever else was in his reach. He was adamant about my art and that I pursue art in a manner that was true to myself. Very much Dicky, I know, but the idea of selling out to a steady job instead of pursuing my art was not something he had high regard for. He gave me a $100 when he had little to spare to put towards a school of art to attend when I graduated from High School. In the recesses of my mind, I always knew I'd come back to painting - I always felt a little push from Dick in that direction. He's got more than a little bit of influence on my obsession with politics, too :)

In that last year, Dicky found a dog - or rather the dog found him and he stayed on with us. The night before Dick died, his beloved dog, Rags, disappeared forever. Rags came to us when Dick returned home to live, showing up out of the blue and staking his claim on Dick's heart. He was a wiry little guy and very clever. I thought we had movies or photos of him, but I've not been able to find a single thing showing what a crazy little creature he was. He was called Rags because he had a penchant for leaping at the laundry hung on the line and pulling them off. Dick made rags and used them for Rags to leap up with astounding athleticism. He'd do flips and jump nearly 5 feet from a standing position. Dick loved that old pooch. I don't think he was with us more than a year when Dick died. The night before Jeanne, Kim and I drove to U of I hospital, we couldn't get Rags to come inside, even as a storm started to rage outside. We heard him in the night just outside howling into the wind, but he still wouldn't come in or come close enough to catch. The morning we left for Iowa City, we didn't know it would be Dick's last day on earth and while we tried to get Rags safe, he was completely, bewilderingly gone by then. We never saw Rags again. We posted signs and searched everywhere. It was as if he vanished into the same place he came to us from. I still believe he was here for a short time to be a companion to Dick in his final months.

Dicky did some weird, uncharacteristic things in that last year, but I remember him as the kind of guy he was when his disease didn't chew away at his spirit in his darker moments. Right now, I picture him hanging with favorite people who have passed since - thinking especially of Leonard Nemoy. I can still see Dicky giving me the "Live Long and Prosper" hand sign as I drove past him on my way to school....

Easter Clothes

I vaguely remember spending a month or so before Easter shopping at the usual shoe shops (Bakers, Sears, Kinneys, Ginsbergs?) for new shows. Patent leather MaryJanes in spring colors. That was a big deal! Fancy stuff to wear to Sunday school and the Easter breakfast they held at the Masonic Temple on Army Post Road. 

Anyone else remember hunting for eggs around the house - usually the big colorful cream ones with mazipane coating and jelly beans? Stuff we'd find in July melted on a radiator behind the curtain.

Dicky liked the white chocolate bunnies. Someone would ALWAYS eat the ears off of my chocolate bunny. And both Jeanne and I loved the Peeps. Still do to this day. Yikes! There were baskets in the attic for years that got reused over and over again - green 'grass' still in each. I always found melted jelly beans in them from the year before. The people who bought the house after us probably found melted candy years after we'd all grown and left....

Tippy

I was told that Tippy was adopted from the Murphy's across the street whose dog had puppies some time before I was born. The Murphy's was Tippy's second home when we were out for the day or on those occasions he got in trouble and yelled at. He'd run over there and hide behind their house. 

My own memories of Tippy was that he was always following someone around and was a pretty good old guard dog save for the perpetually wagging tail. When I was alone outside playing by myself, which I did in the winter a lot after supper, Tippy served as my guard dog of sorts. I don't recall him barking much but he stood watch as a sentinel, always nearby. I'd swing on the bag swing or slip and slide around in the snow. I loved being outside in the yard at night - I suppose because I lived in my head a lot and had a constant narrative going on; sort of meditative, really. Tippy had an ongoing role in my inner dialogue and it was like he knew that, too. He was my "ranger", standing guard with a sharp eye on any movement while I whiled away the evening in my own little world. If anyone was aware of me hanging around outside making snow angels or sliding around in the street with my excellent slippery-bottomed rubber boots, they didn't worry much about me out there alone because Tippy was always standing sentry, ready to down anyone unknown who might enter the yard and mess with his kids. 

Tippy enjoyed the free life before leash laws, going out in the morning and not returning again until later or nighttime - unless a storm was brewing or someone set off a round of caps. He would high-tail it home at the sound of thunder or fireworks. Mama would stand on the back steps shooting off Dick or Ron's cap gun to get him home - it must have been a crazy sight for anyone passing by. Since he wasn't neutered, he had his times when the only way to keep him home safe was to tie him to the clothesline, but otherwise he was free to roam the countryside. 

It's amazing that he was never hit or hurt by a car, especially since he had a particular interest in the Patrick's dog FiFi, a miniature poodle. He would sit in the road in front of their house on Leland and pine, sometimes so overwhelmed by his love he'd just lie down and fall asleep. We got more than one call to say someone thought he'd been hit, only to find him snoozing in the middle of Leland. Mrs. Patrick was a nut anyway, but she got especially agitated when she saw Tippy and would chase him with a broom. He'd take to sitting juuuuuust far enough away that she could only yell at him. When I would cross the field to play with Kathy Chiodo, he'd sneak his way across the field after me knowing full well that the Chiodo's had a dog, too, who wasn't fond of Tippy entering his domain. I'd send Tippy home, but during the course of the day, we'd have to look over at the field to gage his progress - the black ear would protrude up over the weeds and get closer and closer each time we looked up. Every so often he'd breach the boundary and have a dog fight with Lasso, only to be chased back across the road by Mrs. Chiodo and HER broom. 

Keeping Tippy from following me was a daily issue. Was it the same for all of us? I'm sure it was. I'd see glimpses of him being chased away from Southtown Pool, Safeway, Whitakers, and Maple Grove. He had this way of covertly pursuing me/us.

When I'd come home for lunch from Maple Grove he'd sneak behind me on my way back. Turn and look - there goes a black shape running into the bushes way back there. Turn again and I'd spot him just as he jump out of sight again. He was clever! I'd give up and try to lose him at Safeway, going in the Leland side door and out the other side to head on to school. A dog caught on the school grounds meant the dogcatcher was called. Poor Tippy would sit in the front big window of Safeway watching for me all afternoon until school let out.

What's that blue stuff on mah face?

Hazelnut is happy when we return home, no matter how long we're gone - a minute or 5 hours. Tippy was smart and sweet, but he hated when we'd go to Gramps for the day and he held a grudge. Maybe it was everyone piling into the station wagon that tipped him off, I'm not sure - but he would sit on the front lawn as we left and refuse to look at us as we yelled goodbyes from the car. He was upset we left without him, I think. Returning home in the late afternoon, I'd look everywhere for him and finally spot his white muzzle and black nose peeking out from behind the Murphy's house. He'd go there to sulk and watch us unload from afar. It took some coaxing to get him home, but when he finally came he was overjoyed - wagging and mumbling, telling us all about how upset he'd been while we were gone, I'm sure. I don't remember Tippy barking much, but he did mumble when he was excited and happy.

I shared my cereal (Crispy Critters was a mutual favorite) with him, and sadly, half my bag of M&Ms everytime I got them. I'd sort out the reds and blues, he got the browns. To this day I think that his cancer was likely due to eating all the terrible things I fed him without a clue that they were harmful. But he lived to be 14 years old and a loyal, smart, loving sweetheart of a dog to the end.