America The Beautiful - A Time Of Memories

The Anderson Kids - Photo Of My Uncles & 2 Aunts  - Taken About 1907

Sitting, Left To Right: Wes, Elizabeth (Bid), Bob
Standing, Left To Right: Avery, Arie, Hazel

Click Image To Enlarge

The short stories of growing up in America in this blog are all true.  Some of the names, and exact places may have been eliminated or shortened to respect privacy.

In addition to this blog, I hope you will use the links in the left column to visit my other web sites and blogs.

You can contact me by leaving a comment with your email. I will not make the email viewable by the public.  If your message requests a reply, please understand that it may take some weeks or even months before I or one of the folks helping me replies or responds (as my health is failing rapidly now). * 

If expecting a reply please be sure to check your spam/junk mail filter as some have reported the email reply ends up there.
 
Hope you enjoy the stories and memories....


Dave

Photo: Anderson Uncles and Aunts about 1907 at Conneaut Lake, Pa. (East side lakefront near Shady Avenue). Using the photo above as a guide, can you name them? Back row left to right: Hazel, Wes, Elizabeth (Bid) Middle left to right: Arie, Ave Front: Bob

American Family Heritage

http://www.mundia.com/ca/Person/62028547/44079572179Granddad 1906 at Conneaut Lake

He was born in Lancaster, Keokuk County, Iowa in 1872.

He was my Granddad, my friend, my mentor, and with Grandma, they were the most important people'http://www.mundia.com/ca/Person/62028547/44079572179' in my life. 

Grandma hugged a lot but she

didn't say too much, instead setting an example of how a grandma should be. 

Granddad didn't hug as much but had a lot of incredibly important things to say and even more to teach his grandchildren.

In a quiet, respectful, loving and very special way, they taught me about life, about our country, about our wonderful world. Most importantly, they taught something intangible called values and honor and respect and dignity. And they taught me the incredible values of religion.

Among other things, Granddad showed me (and many of his 39 other grand kids) how to plant corn and prune an apple tree or even pluck chicken feathers.  How to shoot, hunt and fish, tend a garden, scythe a field and hundreds of related skills. 

And perhaps more importantly, how to work, how to pray, and the importance of family and respect for others. Grandma, how to hug, love, care, cry and many ways of life.

When with Granddad or Grandma, I was showered in respect, dignity, courage, love and all the other great attributes they had learned growing up in Iowa, visiting family in Trinidad Colorado and then finally moving east around 1895.

Granddad was a self educated, self made, serenely quiet man.  In his city house he had over 1000 books in his library, and they were not there for show.  He had read them all and could quote many. 

He loved poetry, billiards, hunting, fishing, drawing, flowers, gardening and most of all his wife and family.  He was soft spoken, very stern, but also very warm.  His concepts of responsibility and wisdom and hard work brought him to the world of both financial and personal success. The N.Y. Times described him as a "Pittsburgh Industrialist" but to me he was just Granddad.

Truth is, he didn't seem to be interested in money or financial success, or it least he never showed it.  He usually wore a somewhat wrinkled white cotton shirt like shown in the photo above but skipped the tie when working in his garden or tending his flowers and dozens of fruit trees. 

He taught me practical things like how to sharpen a scythe and tend the garden, trim a mulberry tree and shoot at the blackbirds and crows that raided our corn.  Where else could a city kid like me get an education like that?
And he taught me something called values. Values I’ve cherished and carried with me through a lifetime of over seven decades.

Like Granddad, Grandma was quiet, warm and loving. Most of the time she had one of her Grand kids or Great Grand kids in her arms and her knitting on her lap.  In my mind I can still see her sitting in her rocking chair on the front porch with the latest grandchild on her lap*.  Enjoying the breeze and overlooking the lake at their summer house with a sparkling glint in her eyes and a graceful, and very soft smile.  If she was not there, she was upstairs sewing on her treadle powered Singer sewing machine.  

An old fashioned woman living an old fashioned good life.  In my entire life, I never heard her complain or say anything bad about anyone or anything.

When I was little I also visited Granddad and Grandma almost every weekend at their "City House" in Ben Avon, Pa.   I'd climb the first flight of stairs past the stained glass windows on the landing and on up to the library.  

Sometimes up another flight of stairs to granddad's billiard room where across from the cue rack and spittoon was a very large play area for kids.

Opposite the door to the billiard room was Uncle Ave's room.  Ave worked  Granddad's factory and wholesale business and had been wounded and badly scarred by mustard gas in world war I.  

Ave was artistic, quiet and shied away from obnoxious people.  Like Granddad he painted beautiful pictures, mostly oils and many in the style and appearance of Frederick Remington.  

 

Shortly after Ave came home from the first World War, his wife took their kids and took off with one of her unscarred boyfriends.  I never heard Ave speak of his family or even acknowledge his family.  The wife took the children and abandoned Ave. 

I met and spoke with Ave’s children, my cousins, in later years but heard no good words and many inappropriate words about their father.  Cousins who really only knew or seemed to remember memories  embedded by a self righteous mother rationalizing some or most of her own behavior.  Although living only a few miles from Granddad’s summer home, tragically those cousins never chose to associate with the rest of the family.  Even though they were invited and even long after Ave’s untimely death. 

But fortunately I did get to share my life and growing up experiences with dozens of other first cousins at Granddad's summer place at Conneaut Lake. 

But today I was still a child standing  in the billiard room where there were large window seats.  And when you lifted the lids of the window seats there were hundreds of children's building blocks and toys galore.  

Giant block towers were waiting to be built and come crashing down, only to be built again in a newer and better way. 

There were exquisitely detailed pen and ink drawings on the wall that Granddad had drawn and some of Ave's western paintings. 

There was a huge blackboard showing diagrams of Willie Hoppe's best angles for 3 cushion billiards.  A blackboard that we grand kids couldn't touch but boxes and boxes of toys that we could, should and did touch and enjoy.  

The fine billiard table and a rack of tweve fine cues meant Granddad took his game of 3 cushion billiards very seriously and the heaps of toys meant that he took his grand kids just as seriously.

In those long winters of my childhood, I spent many a weekend snuggled upstairs in Granddad’s library pouring though almost a thousand books. That was long before TV and there was plenty of time for Granddad's stories and rocking slowly in his giant dark stained mahogany rocking chair.


Granddad in July 1899 at a family reunion in Trinidad Colorado.  I looked just like him at a similar age!
Stories of covered wagons and how the Indians had scalped an older relative in Colorado. Of growing up in the years after Abe Lincoln. Of children that had perished when Grandma and Granddad had moved east. 

Of men great and small.  And of their hopes and dreams. 

Of cherishing but not too much.  Of religions and Mose,  Lot and Abraham.  Of Mathew, Mark, Luke and John and Peter and all the rest. 

Of the lessons and philosophies of other major religions and world history.  Archimedes, Socrates and Plato. Science, Philosophy, Poetry and Music. Of John James Audubon, Luther Burbank and Charles Schweitzer.  

Of slowly and patiently turing 4 separate dials on an old floor model crystal radio that had 2 giant tubes and even a speaker.  Of joy, happiness and later sorrow and weeping.  Sadness and tears when a cousin died in the war and silent weeping when Grandma died a few years after the war ended.

I wept too, not just when family or friends died, but when winter weekends (or the summer season) ended and I had to go back to my parents home and the terrible fear and trauma of their sadistic world of abuse and greed, hate and anger. That was a far different world than the peaceful security of my Grandparents home.

In later years I would come to realize that Granddad and Grandma knew the abuse was going on in my parents home and that they both tried to keep me away from my own family as much as possible.  In those days there were no social service agencies. 
And in those days of old, families tried to take care of their own problems.

I grew up to be an engineer, teacher, college professor and a businessman.  And for every day of the more than 75 years I have been here sharing God's good earth, I appreciate more and more the memories and wonderful experiences and philosophies given so gently and gracefully to me by Granddad and Grandma.

So in a way, this short story and this blog are a way of thanking my Grandparents and those wonderful friends and relatives that have stood by me over the years since.  

A very special thanks to those wonderful Grandparents who took time out of their lives for me and 39 other grand kids.

It would take much more than a Blog or even a book to tell all they taught me, all they did for me.

Footnotes:

 << Photo of Granddads city house in Ben Avon as it looks in 2008.

He bought it in 1906 and sold it shortly before his death in 1954.

Not much has changed on the exterior except the back porch was replaced with a newer modern one and some updates to the patio.

In the old days the lot next door was also granddads and had a large gazebo and incredible flower gardens.

When his sons went off to war, Granddad got discouraged and sold off some of his West Side and East Side property at Conneaut Lake. 

The photo to the left is an ad he placed in the Pittsburgh Press in 1918.

Later, living on the west side of the lake, Granddad sold a 100’ of Lakefront beside his dock to the Rockwell family from Meadville, then in about 1949 sold about a half mile of lakefront (now the beginning of Aldina Drive) to some investors who wanted to fill and develop the lakefront.

In about 1953 he sold his summer house, which we called the “big house” overlooking the dock and lake to Art Britton who claimed he wanted it for his crippled daughter.  Art promptly re sold the house to the Wiley family, who years later resold it to Cyril Mead who added the swimming pool where beautiful gardens once stood and my Aunt Katharine and Uncle John Dearing were married .

Of his original 40 acres or so on the west side of the lake, Granddad kept about 18 acres for his heirs.  And they still use some of that land, including the dock with the willow tree he planted in 1938, to this day.

As a teenager Granddad (Cecil Robert Anderson) began working for Martin Hardsocg near Ottumwa Iowa not too far from where he was born.

Later he invested in Martin Hardsocg’s company (the company was named Martin Hardsocg for its original founder in Iowa).   Granddad eventually became Secretary Treasurer of the company and later President and sole owner.

During those years Granddad got many patents and sold some of  them to mining tool manufacturing companies including Martin Hardsocg.

At the bottom of this page are clips from newspapers and other documents mentioning Granddad between 1880 and 1930.  Some of the clips can be clicked for more information.

With many friends help I’ve constructed a family tree and made the family tree public on Ancestry.com.  It now has over 2000 family members and hundreds of photos and as I am able, I try to keep expanding its scope.  

For  family branches such as the Wray family it dates back to about 1050 (England/Wales). 

For privacy however names and photos of living relatives are not shown to the general public but are available to bloodline cousins on written request if they provide their email address to me.

* The last grandchild she rocked in that front porch rocker was cousin Alan Wray.

Pictures At An Exhibition

*** This story was extracted from one of Daves unpublished books *

Fred J Harrison & Charlie Benack never knew each other but together they played an incredFloridportant role in my life. 

Here's how it all started:

It was one if those especially picturesque, crisp but not especially frigid Christmas days.  The snowflakes seemed to dance as they fluttered and gently painted over the grayness of a very polluted post war Pittsburgh. 

The peaceful and soft muted whiteness spread slowly beyond my vision.

My camera, a Voightlander Vitessa, was hanging loosely from its strap. I lifted it anticipating photographing the special scene of the snow dusted but ice encrusted gazebo in Granddad's vacant lot next to his Ben Avon house.

Photography and capturing the beauty of God's great creations was one of my favorite hobbies.  I developed, printed, enlarged, retouched and framed my own pictures. And loved doing it.

Just as I snapped a photo, a car door slammed and I looked over and noticed my Uncle, Fred J Harrison, from Greenville, Pa., walking into granddads house carrying a large massive camera with a big lens, black bellows and diver colored attached flash.

My gosh!  It was a Graflex, the very type of camera used by the real pros.  I forgot what I was doing and hurriedly followed Uncle Fred onto the back porch, then into granddads big old kitchen and on into the coat room. Uncle Fred was hanging up his very worn, gray fur covered overcoat next to Granddads giant old iron safe.  The faded coat looked like it was from Uncle Fred's roaring twenties Penn State days.

"I had no idea you had a camera like that"! 
Uncle Fred broke into a very rare grin explaining he had loved photography since he was just a boy.  Fred was an outdoorsman, a Penn State man who never missed a football game who especially enjoyed fine scotch, golf and the country club life. 

An engineer who had gone to work for Chicago Bridge and Iron in their early days and accepted stock in lieu of cash for part of his pay.  The stock did exceptionally well, and so did Fred who became a multi millionaire as Chicago Bridge grew and prospered. 

Wealthy yes.  Ostentatious no.  Fred was a man's man who loved deer and elk hunting, golfing and people. He quietly gave a good portion of his wealth, mostly anonymously, to charity.  A humble man who had lost his only son and namesake Freddie Jr, a B17 pilot, in the Pacific near the end of WWII.  I never heard Uncle Fred complain about anything.  I never heard him say a bad word about anyone. He was a remarkable but unnoticed man.

My excitment that day overwhelmed my usually cautious and reserved manners.  Without thinking, my lips uttered  the words "do you want to sell it?" 

"Not really" said Fred.  "It means a lot to me. No I really couldn't sell it"

After our fine family Christmas dinner with Granddad, Fred, Aunt Betty and my parents, I was caught up in the excitement of seeing a real Graflex. I found myself sitting on the piano bench in Granddads living room enthusiastically telling Uncle Fred of my love of cameras, enlargers, filters, developing my own pictures and everything else about my hobby.

Much later that evening I was sitting on the couch in the library when Uncle Fred approached me and said he would "sell me" the Graflex for maybe $100. I didn't really know how much it was worth, but Fred was offering me the bargain of a lifetime, even if I didn't know it at the time. (Later I found out the camera with all the accessories, filters and lenses he gave me later were worth about $1000. ) 

I didn't have a hundred dollars (a large sum in those days) but asked if I could not pay him a little at a time, then he could give me the camera when it was paid.

He looked me straight in the eye, smiled broadly, and then handed me the camera.  "I trust you" he said. 

Excited?  I was more than flabbergasted. 

I was overwhelmed with something called joy.  I couldn't belive it.  I just couldn't belive it.  I now owned the camera of cameras for professional black and white photography. 
That cold wintry Christmas day Uncle Fred's generousity permanently changed my entire life in a happy, wonderful and glorious way. 

A couple years later I took on the job as yearbook staff photographer at my high school in Clairton, Pa.  Aided and coached by the towns professional photographer Charlie Benack, I learned the arts of composure, developing and editing and related skills. 

In fact Charlie gave me one of his older enlargers and some other equipment and patiently taught me darkroom skills and how to make ordinary photos sparkle with life. 

Charlie was a professional photographer who started out in the early 1900's walking from one steel town to another with his equipment on a donkey, making portraits and school class photographs.  A rare and generous man.

Using Uncle Fred's Graflex and Charlie's tireless lessons, within just a few years I would earn hundreds of dollars selling my photos to local newpapers and later even paying for part of my college education. Over the many more years to come those earnings became thousands of dollars.  That Graflex of Uncle Fred's went wherever I went.  Photography had become one of my closest loves and one of my reasons for being.

Many years later, in 1975, sitting in the living room of Uncle Fred's East Side Conneaut Lake cottage near Oakland Beach, an aging and now very fragile 84 year old Uncle Fred was sitting on his couch, carefully balancing his eternal glass of undiluted Scotch.

I found myself thanking him again for giving me the opportunity to own such a fine camera.  Then I somewhat hesitantly asked why he decided to sell it to me after first saying no. 

"It was Christmas" he said.  "It was Christmas".

Sadly just a few months later Uncle Fred was gone forever, but his kindness and willingness to give up something very precious to him to help a kid was something I will never forget.

A few years after I got the Graflex, using money earned with the Graflex and the skills shared with me by Charlie Benack, I bought a Leica 3f red dial with a Summarit f1.2 lens.  Later I added a Leitz 35mm wide angle lens as well as a Novoflex 400mm telephoto. 

I used the 35 mm Leica for color photography, the Graflex for black and white.

Those two cameras captured much more than my life and the life of my children and family. 

In 1957 or 58 one of my photos (of water lillies next to our dock) was even exhibited by Kodak at the Rochester International Exhibition. (See similar photo below).  

Another, a candid personal portrait, sat on the desk of endochronologist Dr Edward H. Rynearson in his office at Mayo Clinic in Rochester, Minnesota.  

Photos I took of the moons of Jupiter with the Novaflex telephoto helped get me an A in Astronomy at Florida State University in 1957. 

Other photos from those wonderful cameras live forever in old school yearbooks and aging micro filmed newspapers and goodness knows where else. 

My heartfelt thanks to the generous Uncle who gave up something he really cherished and had paid a small fortune for, to help a young man and make all that possible.

And my special thanks to Charlie Benack for taking me under his wing and teaching me professional photography.

These men didn't act for money. They didn't know each other.  They were plain hard working folks acting out of kindness and compassion for another human being.  A young man named Dave. 

There were literally over a dozen men like that who contributed, with absolutely no expectation of money or financial benefit, their time, effort and resources to helping me when I was growing up. 

And this brings me me ask: "Are you reaching to help a young person explore and cherish this amazing wonderful world we live in?"

*** Footnote: Inspired by the Fred's of this world I went on to become a teacher and later a professor. Not long ago I received a message from a recently retired student I had taught in 1969 thanking me for my effort on his behalf and telling me how well he had done in life. What greater reward can anyone have? *** This story was extracted from one of Daves unpublished books ***

Photo: This photo I found on the web is similar to my 1957 water lilly photo displayed by Kodak in 1958. (Unfortunately many of my original photos were lost or became faded).

Uncle Freds house in Greenvile Pa in 2013. It looks exactly like it did when Fred was living there.  He also had residences in Conneaut Lake and Clearwater, Florida.