Sam Millsap was a family friend who, though totally blind, owned and managed several restaurants in office buildings in San Antonio, Texas. For several years, my mother worked for Mr. Millsap as his bookkeeper. In cases like these, oftentimes the spouse, in this case Millsap’s wife, Ruth, acts as the sighted guide.
A blind person has to place complete trust in his or her sighted guide. The Turner couple is a good example. Mr. Turner was completely blind, a result of two injuries as a child, yet he held the rank of a GS 14 at Ft. Sam Houston. For recreational activities, Turner loved to water ski! I recall my husband and me meeting the Turners at a Texas Hill Country lake, (so many years ago!), as we also loved to water ski. Imagine our awe as we watched Turner confidently and skillfully ski behind the boat that his wife drove. They both had to be bravely resourceful.
Concluding with a whimsical story, we had a Red Heeler female dog, Lasso, who became completely blind having developed glaucoma. Being a healer, she loved to find something to “heal” and her victim of choice was a basketball. Lasso would chase that basketball all over the yard and beyond and run and after it and bop it back to the yard and chase after it again and bop it the other direction. Although blindness set in, she continued with her game. Lasso would bop the ball, listen to where it landed, run toward it, and bop it back to the yard. Her favorite bopping spot was against the rock garden border. That ball suffered many a bounce against those rocks. The minute one of us stepped outside, she would run and find her ball, sometimes with a little help from the “sighted helper”, and bop that ball, expecting us to play the game. And of course who could resist. Although blind, Lasso lived a happy life.
Category: Commentary
N. B. “Jack” Sikes. It was an accident with lye that caused his blindness.
N. B. “Jack” Sikes, as he was known in later life, was totally blind, but he told his older daughter, Carole, that the epitome of his philosophy of life, was “Joy in Life.” And he did live it in a big way. A disability can make one bitter or better.
According to Sikes, he lost his sight in an accident at age two or three. Playing in the garage, he spilled lye, which blinded him in both eyes. He went through many medical treatments, including the removal of both eyes, while attending The Blind School in Austin and received prosthetic eyes. This tragic event, too, led to having joy, initiative, ambition, and a high work ethic. He achieved many successes among some trials, and he had so many wonderful life experiences, occupations; but, he said above all else, he “desired understanding that is not construed as sympathy.” His description of “understanding” is perhaps monumental sighted as well as blind.
As N. B. said, “Understanding is the state between persons wherein one may know the other’s moods, feelings and a condition of truly plumbing the emotional depths, each of the other. I have overcome the so-called handicap of blindness insofar as earning a living, making friends, even influencing people. But a blind prson is denied that contact of vision, which is the basic intercourse between all humans and even animals [he had several trained guide dogs, which he had to train with them]. Because while I am thinking one thing, I cannot see the emotion or attention that is mirrored in a person’s eyes, and that is sort of like always feeling that I do not have their full attention (they could be reading a magazine, looking out the window, etc.) Just that lack of being able to look into a face and see therein whatsoever may be there shown, has cost me dearly in all walks of life. I am not bitter. I feel in all things, I must do a little more–a compensating technique, as it is known, psychologically.”
Bitter Sikes was not. He graduated from The School for the Blind in Austin with an emphasis on a vocational education and Austin High School in 1938 where he took needed requirements to get into college. He finished University of Texas in Law and Business Administration, patented a metal folding ironing board sold by Sears, and ironed his own clothes on that board. Later, he bought a couple of mattress factories where he stuffed and sewed mattresses with his mother and a couple employees. He was a self-proclaimed “Fix It” man, who repaired his own appliances, car, neighbors’ items. For awhile, he had his own cabinet shop.
Then, Sikes went to work for Texas State Commission for the Blind as a placement counselor, then he said he got the wunderlust and went to Detroit as a public relations manager for Pathfinder and moved to Canada later to work as a diesel machinist. He reaturned to Austin and was district manager for the Lanier Company who sold office equipment.
Here he was awarded the Distinguished Salesman Award.
Reporting became Sikes’ first love after being certified as a court reporter in Austin. He loved the investigation of crime scenes, trials, interviewing, etc. Eventually, he was appointed Federal Court Reporter for the Austin district. His wife, Jerry, would type all the documents, then he would bind them and present to officials and lawyers.
Sikes pursued the court reporting career until his untimely death on his birthday December 24, 1961, when he and his wife perished in their house that caught fire in the middle of the night.
As a family man, he had one daughter, Carole Sikes Boyce with his first wife, then with Mary Annis Sikes, his second wife, he had Portia Sikes, McKown, Elgynn Derek Sikes and Mark Stanton. He and wife Jerry did not have children, but she had two daughters.
Sikes loved life, camping, playing the guitar, working, and his family. A Jack-of-All Trades, inventor, mattress maker, cabinet shop, salesman, trainer of Weimer Runners for Blind, court reporter, son, father, husband, philospher…a man for all seasons who was an overcomer and overachiever, who never became bitter because of his blindness, rather he always found that “Joy in Life.”
This article is told by N. B. Sikes’ daughter, Portia McKown Sikes, both of whose parents were vision impaired.
Pictured are N. B. and his guide dog, Ladeen.
A Cheerful look at Daily Life
One of the most insightful quotations about being blind was made by the infamous blind Helen Keller. She was an author, lecturer, actress, and political activist who was blinded at 19 months of age by a mysterious illness and the first blind woman to get a Bachelor of Arts degree. The movie “The Miracle Worker” told her life story and that of Annie Sullivan who tutored Helen. Her quote is the astounding comment about blindness: “The only thing worse than being blind is having sight but no vision.” What extraordinary vision she had.
Kathleene Runnels, author of Glimpse, is showcasing men and women who “…endured vision impairment but improvised to overcome.” She featured her dad for the first person in the column where she is honoring and recognizing men and women for Blindness Awareness Month. One of her dad’s and mother’s friends was Mary Annis Sikes, who was born blind and later designated legally blind, having also had macular degeneration, detached retina, eye cancer and removal of one eye. However, these issues became stepping stones, not roadblocks.
Like Helen Keller implied, Annis had many visions: graduate from high school, get training, get married, raise her three children (who were 51 weeks apart in age), keep us kids housed, fed, educated, all as a single mother for most of her life.
Annis graduated Brackenridge High School in mid-thirties after overcoming many obstacles and married in 1940. After five years of marriage, there was a divorce. Determined to carry on, she was invited by Van Treese family to stay with them for the better part of a year before moving to government housing. While there, she assisted in house chores, baby sitting the Van Treeses’ two children and helping in any way she could.
Even though she was blind, it was never mentioned to her children. As we got older, we figured out she didn’t have very good vision, but we children never asked about her sight. She did not want pity and was out to prove she could raise the kids. But a few things gave us a clue about her vision as we got older: threading an entire package of needles [for her], reading street signs and grocery prices, watching the cars as she crossed streets. Otherwise, life went on and until she passed away, we never really knew for sure what she could or could not see.
Annis went to Texas School for the Blind in Austin to take a short course to learn how to run a lobby newsstand–also called blind stand, newspaper stand. These businesses gave the visually impaired priority to manage the facilities, which sold drinks, candy, tobacco products (sometimes giving the lobby business the name of cigar stand), newspapers, etc. These businesses were located in lobbies of government buildings, hotels, and commercial buildings, created by The Randolph Shepherd Act of 1936.
Annis’ first lobby stand was in the downtown San Antonio Arsenal, a major army supply depot for World War II (presently H.E.B. headquarters).
Living on the southeast part of San Antonio she rode the city bus to work and back. When coming home, she had all the money from the day’s sales in a cigar box with a rubber band around it. Now comes the ingenious improvisation and a valuable lesson for her daughter, about 10 years old. Annis had her stack money in dollar amounts: four quarters, 20 nickels, etc. Then, the daughter would pick up the coins, tell Annis the denomination, put them back in cigar box. She told her how to write the amount in a column. When all coins were written on the pad, Annis would add the amounts in her head and get the daughter to write them down. Usually, this was done twice to check for accuracy. So, improvisation for the momma, math practice for the daughter. Sadly, she had to give up this career as too many people would steal items from her.
In the interest of improving the housing and neighborhood, the family moved from the government housing to a duplex in the southeast part of town. She took a job with the State Tuberculosis Hospital for a short time, then she transferred to the San Antonio State Hospital where her social worker friend asked for her to be assigned to her as a “housekeeper,” the official job title. Here, she helped Bertha Sperring do all sorts of things: baking cookies for patients at Christmas and wrapping presents, setting up various parties, going to “rich” people’s houses to retrieve donated goods, etc. She helped Mrs. Sperring give parties for Handicapped Club, cooked for church and neighbors.
One more final house move. Annis bought a house converted into a duplex and had permanent income in addition to her state retirement. This brought on another innovation! She had to move all her furnishings. Of course, we never had a car. Mostly, we walked or rode the city bus. This time, the two “grown” sons, around 16 and 17, helped. They had a two-wheel trailer loaded with household furnishings, which they pulled by the tongue, and Annis pushed from behind. It had to be a dire emergency for her to ask for help. The daughter was in college and was only told this story.
The main transportation was a Red Ryder wagon. It was pulled down to the corner grocery store for groceries then hauled up hill a couple blocks loaded with groceries.
When the daughter was in 5th grade and had an ingrown toenail removed, the boys had to pull her in the wagon, up the hill a couple of blocks. The ride home was usually a big shove of the wagon to go downhill, sometimes overturning. But Annis accomplished lots with that wagon and refused to call on people to drive us around.
Wash day was always a trip. The old wringer Maytag was drug out of the shed, filled with water and sorted clothes. Once, the colored clothes had a garment that kept rising out of the hot soapy water. One of the kids told her and she got her broom handle, poked around the garment, which kept coming up. Finally, she took the stick and pulled the garment out: a poor, drenched but still alive kitten was inside that Annis didn’t see.
Annis usually worked two jobs-the state hospital and she worked in the nursery at church on Sundays and Wednesdays. She also did a lot of cooking for the people of Hot Wells Baptist Church, across the street from her house. She was a Charter Member of Hot Wells Baptist Church and was one of two remaining members when the church burned the note. She also babysat neighbor kids.
Annis’ house had swinging doors on it. Many people have lived temporarily with her, kids were always welcome and fed. Often she brought home mental patients for holiday meals. Once, she and Mrs. Sperring hosted 20 University of Mary Hardin-Baylor girls who came to San Antonio for a religious convention.
Another vision Annis had was she determined that all three of her kids would graduate from high school, not exactly smooth sailing with one of the siblings skipping school. She would ride the city bus to the school whenever the principal called. Dreaded event! All three graduated. One son joined the Marines and went to Vietnam, the other was drafted into the Army and went to Korea. They returned home and went to college. Both sons were self-employed as well as having other successful jobs. One graduated, the other lacked only a speech course to graduate, but wouldn’t take it.
The girl graduated and became a teacher. So, another vision accomplished.
Annis had many, many friends. A lot were vision impaired and they often met together and would eat and play dominoes while the young kids played outside till dark. When they went in the house, the grownups were in the dark playing dominoes. The kids would ask permission to turn on lights.
Annis used to say that where there’s a will, there is a way. She definitely had a strong, independent will and always found a way. On about $200.00 a month, she managed to get her three children grown, educated and they all have had rewarding and good lives. They gave her eight grandchildren.
In her last couple of years, Annis moved into a nursing home per her request in McGregor, TX, where she lived until she was a few months shy of 90. She always helped others; she gave sacrificially; she had an outgoing personality, and accomplished many visions. Her oldest grandson Bobby said it best: “To some it seemed she was handed more than her share of adversity. She didn’t seem to notice. Always smiling and always happy. It tells a lot about a person.”
The above story was written by Annis Sikes’ daughter, Portia Sikes McKown, who remains a dear family friend.
Blindness Awareness Month…A Look at How They Improvised
By Kathleen Runnels
In recognition of Blindness Awareness Month, I want to showcase men and women I know who endured vision impairment but improvised to overcome. Indulge me as I begin with the story of Hubert Van Treese, my father.
As an adolescent, Hubert was playing with a sling shot when the rock ricocheted and permanently put out his left eye. A few years later, he was messing around in the pasture when his friend told him to “look down this pipe,” at which time he shot a rod down it, putting out Hubert’s right eye. I was told he rode home on his horse, with his eye bleeding down his face.
This last injury left Hubert completely blind, and for a year or two his older sister, Vida, became his “eyes.” Vida read all lessons to him, enabling him to remain in school. But when Vida was promoted to high school (This was in Karnes County), Hubert had to leave home and attended The Texas School for the Blind, located in Austin, Texas. (Changed in 1989 to Texas School for the Blind and Vision Impaired). There he learned to read braille and continued his education, which emphasized vocational training and physical exercise, until age 19. By then, Hubert’s vision had returned to the extent of 20/400 in the upper left of his right eye – the second one injured.
As an adult, one job Hubert and many vision-impaired people took back then was working for the San Antonio Lighthouse for the Blind, now known as Vibrant Works, located on Roosevelt Ave. A word about this facility, today they are one of the largest employers of vision impaired individuals in the nation! They are also one of Texas’ largest manufacturers of U.S.-made military apparel as well as providers of independent living skill programs for people of all ages who experience vision loss.
At this job, Hubert made cane-bottom chairs, but another opportunity was presented by the State Commission for the Blind to provide specific job training for blind. In the mid 1940s, Hubert chose a 9-month poultry husbandry vocational course held at Texas A&M. All the men in his class were severely or completely vision impaired, and Hubert became life-long friends with many of them.
Having kept my dad’s text books, certificate of graduation, and photos from his studies there, I recently donated the books and copies of the photos and certification to the university’s Department of Poultry Science. The recipients were thrilled to receive and display these treasures. I feel certain that they are the only artifacts remaining from that program.
So, Hubert finished his poultry husbandry studies and went to work on various chicken farms in Wilson and Gonzales Counties before establishing his own chicken farm south of Somerset in the sandy Black Jack country. He built four chicken houses and worked in that industry until “the bottom fell out of the chicken market,” as I often heard my parents say.
After that, Hubert bought a merchant patrol business in San Antonio, and the family moved first to Southton and later to San Antonio. Hubert continued running that business as a Bexar County Deputy overseeing and patrolling dozens of downtown and outlying businesses until he sold it and retired in 1968. Needless to say, this was before electronic surveillance.
I often wondered how my daddy could function in his role as a deputy when his vision was so severely impaired, yet I know that he was able to compensate, such as working at nights when the sun didn’t exacerbate his vision. And I remember he loved to ride on his riding lawnmower where he often came over to cut our grass (after 1968 my parents lived within a couple miles of us), and he hated pyracantha bushes because he couldn’t see them to avoid the thorns. And he often plowed down first one plant, then another, those that were on his left side because he just couldn’t see them. But he had a shop replete with tools and all sorts of paraphernalia that men keep in their shops, and he had the screws and nails of all different sizes in little jars and all he had to do was reach for whichever jar for whatever size screw he needed. And if my brother used a tool and didn’t replace it exactly where it was supposed to be, it was not a happy picture! Or if he moved a jar of screws!
Hubert loved to be around people. He was an avid “42” player, holding all seven dominoes close to his face in one big hand and laughing heartily at a good play. Another pastime was his love of music. Hubert played both the guitar and mandolin in a western band while in his 20s, and he continued to strum with his good friend who sang along in those old western songs.
And he was a bowler, continuing to participate in a couples bowling league into his late 50s. He used a two-step, hop approach because he struggled all his adult life with a leg injury incurred at age 20 from a car wreck, leaving him with 73 broken bones and months to recover!
Needless to say, Hubert experienced more than his share of injuries; yet, through it all, he never complained. He was not self-pitying, even known to laugh at himself when he made a blunder because of his near blindness. He did love to laugh and always maintained a cheerful attitude! And, as the oldest man in his extended family, Hubert was the one that family members came to for help, like a place to live temporarily or for a financial boost. He took care of anyone who needed help. No, Hubert’s “handicap” did not keep him from enjoying a happy life and being a positive inspiration to others.
HUBERT VAN TREESE could laugh at his own blunders
Hubert Van Treese standing at the door of a chicken house at College Station during his poultry husbandry course. His photos and books have been donated to the poultry husbandry Museum at Texas A&M.
Hubert VanTresse in one of his chicken houses with his two children Travis and Kathleene.
A Tortilla for Uncle Hilmer
“If a man has any greatness in him, it comes to light, not in one flamboyant hour, but in the ledger of his daily work.”
-Beryl Markham
Several months ago, after visiting family out-of-state, my wife returned home raving about Uncle Hilmer’s homemade flour tortillas. Regular readers of my column may remember Uncle Hilmer. He’s on my list of favorite people, and I’ve written about him before. Hilmer played a vital role in a crime-fighting family adventure we had a few years ago that I wrote about (Uncle Andy’s War-Fighting Crime in the Country – a 100% true story) and with his knowledge and insight inspired my column from last year regarding the mysterious D.B. Cooper case (No Funny Stuff – True Crime in the Air). Once again, hard-working Uncle Hilmer has motivated me to pen another column. Spurred by his dietary interest, today I am writing about that unsung gastronomic jewel of the Southwest, the humble yet glorious flour tortilla.
Within the bounds of culinary culture, few foods are more contentious than the flour tortilla. While snooty foodies rhapsodize about the earthiness of the mighty corn tortilla (Mexico’s gracious gift to the New World), the flour tortilla is often considered a gringo quirk, more of a Tex-Mex anomaly than anything else. Some will even say that the flour tortilla is not real Mexican food. Flour tortillas get little respect. Perhaps this is because the standard “Flat Stanley” versions sold in grocery stores are often bland and clammy, like what they used to wrap your bean burritos at lunch in Jr. High. But if you spend much time foraging in the hinterlands of this great country you might discover something better. And, if like Uncle Hilmer, you care to roll up your sleeves and learn in the kitchen, you can make the best flour tortillas you will ever eat. I decided to follow Uncle Hilmer’s lead and do just that. I started making flour tortillas. For others who might be inspired, here is Hilmer’s recipe, with one minor change.
I learned that here in Texas, flour tortillas are often made with a bit of baking powder. This makes them puff up and bubble when cooking, which is a good indicator that it’s time to flip. I liked this indicator, so…LOGIN TO CONTINUE READING at www.devinenewsmembers.com. You will get instant access to our full E-edition, and begin getting the newspaper delivered to your home next week for $36 a year in Medina County. Support important local city, county, and school news like this!
The Strange Story of Silence Dogood
By Jody Dyer
“If you would not be forgotten, as soon as you are dead and rotten, either write things worth reading or do things worth writing.”
Benjamin Franklin – 1738
Poor Richard’s Almanac
Benjamin Franklin is perhaps my favorite Founding Father. In the annals of U.S. History, there are few characters who were more interesting and few who were more important to the American cause than Franklin. Known for his wit and wisdom, he was a true polymath – a creative writer, printer, publisher, scientist, inventor, statesman, diplomat, and political philosopher. Without his efforts to procure the help and support of France during our Revolution, we might still be under the rule of the bully British. Franklin’s contributions to American life are almost too numerous to mention.
Franklin was the only Founding Father to sign all three of our nation’s most foundational documents – the Declaration of Independence, the Treaty of Alliance with France, and the U.S. Constitution. His genius and productivity as a scientist and inventor is almost unparalleled. Among his creations were the lightening rod, bifocals, the Franklin stove, a flexible catheter, swim fins, an improved streetlamp, the odometer, and the glass armonica, a musical instrument made of spinning glass bowls. Franklin founded the U.S. Postal Service, the first public library, and the first fire department.
Franklin possessed…LOGIN TO CONTINUE READING at www.devinenewsmembers.com. You will get instant access to our full E-edition, and begin getting the newspaper delivered to your home next week for $36 a year in Medina County. Support important local city, county, and school news like this!
Vintage Cinema & Cowboy Girls
“The silent pictures were the purest form of cinema.”
Alfred Hitchcock
In the early days of filmmaking before movies came with sound and Hollywood took over, something big was happening in Texas. Many of the first silent films were being made. Mostly westerns, they were set among the mesquite plains and scrub oak of the Hill Country and filmed with real cowboys. And some of those cowboys were girls – cowboy girls.
The silent movies were a unique art form. The absence of dialogue elevated their visual storytelling. Emotion had to be conveyed through physical movement and graphic imagery. It could be said that silent films gave us a more pristine cinema. And some of the best early cinematic work was done in Texas.
In 1910 a pioneering crew of actors and technicians from the Star Film Company in New York City made their way south to a rented ranch in what is now the Padre Park area of San Antonio with the intention of making movies. And make movies they did. From early 1910 through the spring of 1911, they made more than 70 short silent films, most of them westerns. They worked non-stop, only taking a break in late summer of that first year when the Texas heat started melting their camera film. They returned to work when the weather cooled in December.
The talking heads and tech geniuses at Star Film Company were drawn to San Antonio because they wanted to make authentic westerns, shot in realistic and picturesque settings. Working at what became known as the Star Film Ranch, they were successful. Audiences loved these Texas-made westerns. And the movies were praised for their authenticity and action.
Much of the filming was done along the San Antonio River. Other scenes were often shot in the barrio neighborhoods downtown and around the missions (Missions San Jose, San Juan, Concepcion, and Espada). Because of lighting challenges, all scenes were shot outdoors, with most staged at midday to avoid shadows. Interior shots were improvised, with bed sheets hung to soften the light and create indoor settings.
Movie stories were packed with action and included threatened heroines, last-minute rescues, chases on horseback, and plenty of fistfights and shootouts. And women played a prominent role. Every film required a country girl, daring damsel of the plains, or rugged ranch wife ready to fight the bad guys of every stripe. The list of rough and ready silent film leading ladies who worked for Star and other movie companies during this era is long. Among them were Jehanne D’Alcy, Dolly Larkin, Helen Holmes, Marie Walcamp, Olive Carey, Ruth Roland, Victoria Ford, Fritzi Ridgeway, Hazel Keener, Louise Lester, and many more. But of all the silent film female stars, one stood out. She was the lovely and talented 17-year-old Edith Storey.
Edith Storey was born on March 18, 1892, in New York City, and began acting as a child. She was onstage at the age of eight and made her motion picture debut at 13. By the time she was 21 she had 75 film roles under her belt. Many of those films were westerns. Working in Texas, she won the respect and admiration of the cowboys on set for her good temper, grit, and equestrian abilities. She performed her own stunts and was at home on horseback with excellent riding skills. It was said that she could ride “anything with hair on it.”
Besides being a good hand with her horses, Edith Storey was a marvelous and sensitive emotional actress and deft comedienne. Her fresh and unmannered acting lit up the screen. People loved her. And despite her fame, Edith was a down-to-earth girl. She loved her little fluffy white dog “Sooner.” And she liked to knit. In her down time on set, she could often be found knitting sweaters for her brother in the Navy. He served on a torpedo boat, and she knew he got cold at sea. She would knit several for him every year.
During her career, Edith Storey made over 150 films. Known for her historic contributions in the silent film era, she was awarded a star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame in 1960. Her star is located at 1523 Vine Street in Hollywood.
Edith Storey retired from acting at the early age of 29 and moved to a small farm on Long Island. After retirement she served as a clerk for the village of Asharoken in Huntington, Suffolk County, Long Island. She died in the neighboring village of Northport on October 9, 1967, at the age of 75.
The silent westerns were pure and golden cinema. And stars like Edith Storey made them live. She gave us a taste of the wild and wooly west, and we loved it.
Thank you Edith Storey – you were a real cowboy girl…
The Forgotten History of Father’s Day
“A father carries pictures where his money used to be.”
-Steve Martin
Settled on our calendars and marked the third summer Sunday in June comes the most humble of all our holidays. More socks, ties, and crayon-covered cards are awarded on this day than on any other in the year. Some call the day “Dad’s Second Christmas.” No matter our age, if we are still blessed with a living father, we celebrate. If Dad has passed, we remember him. Dad’s day is, of course, Father’s Day. How did it start? I wanted to know…
While it seems that some forms of father remembrances were practiced even in ancient times and at various places, as it turns out, two intrepid women deserve credit for launching our American version of Father’s Day.
We know that Mother’s Day gained traction first (originally organized in 1908 and then recognized as a national holiday in 1914). Perhaps inspired by the success of Mother’s Day, the first Father’s Day service occurred in Fairmont, Virginia in July of 1908. But the seed of this first Father’s Day was birthed from tragedy.
The Monongah mining disaster was the result of a coal mine explosion that happened on December 6, 1907, in Monongah, West Virginia. It has been described as “the worst mining disaster in American history.” The official death toll was 361, but it is believed that the actual number was much higher. The disaster widowed 250 and left over 1,000 children fatherless. Overwhelming grief permeated the entire state.
Six months later, in the summer of 1908, Grace Golden Clayton was mourning the loss of her own father. Prompted by her grief and considering the recent and incalculable loss of fathers in the mine disaster, she organized a special memorial service, held on July 5, 1908. This observance was well received, but did not, however, become an annual event, in part because of its date. They tried to continue the practice every year, but the day was always overshadowed by the 4th of July. But Father’s Day was to catch on in a different place, on the other side of the country. The next year, in 1909, a woman in Washington State would take up the cause.
The practical origins of Father’s Day as we celebrate it here in America are primarily the work of Sonora Louise Smart Dodd of Spokane, Washington. She initially proposed the idea of a Father’s Day to honor her father, William Jackson Smart.
William Smart was a farmer and Civil War veteran. Born in 1842 in Arkansas, he had the unusual experience of fighting on both sides during the war. As an Arkansas native, he first fought for the Confederacy. But in 1863 he switched sides to fight for the Union. When the war ended, William married his first wife Elizabeth. In 1878, she died and William was left to care for his three children – an infant daughter, a five-year-old son, and a six-year-old son.
After two years of single fatherhood, William remarried in 1880. His second wife Ellen had three children of her own. William and Ellen, apparently determined to be fruitful and multiply, added seven more children to their family and moved from Arkansas to a farm in the Pacific Northwest.
William was widowed again in 1898 when Ellen died. His older children were grown, but he was left to raise his 16-year-old daughter Sonora, and five sons, ages 7-15. Sonora said in later years that her dad performed the role of father “with courage and selflessness until we were all in homes of our own.” William Smart was a good dad.
While attending a Mother’s Day service in 1909, Sonora Dodd was inspired. She thought we needed a holiday for fathers. Soon she convinced the Spokane Ministerial Association and the YMCA to set aside a Sunday in June to celebrate fathers. On June 19, 1910, the first Father’s Day events were held in Spokane. These popular and publicized events struck a chord with the rest of the country, soon reaching all the way to Washington, D.C.
In 1913 a Father’s Day bill was introduced in Congress. In spite of an endorsement from President Woodrow Wilson, it did not pass. Eight years later, President Calvin Coolidge signed a resolution in favor of Father’s Day, but nothing more happened. Later, in 1966, President Lyndon Johnson signed an executive order proposing that Father’s Day be celebrated the third Sunday in June. But it wasn’t until 1972 during Richard Nixon’s administration that Congress passed an act establishing Father’s Day as a national holiday.
This Father’s Day, if you are still blessed to have your dad, consider doing these three things. Forgive his failures. Being a dad is hard work and it’s easy to make mistakes. Then give him a good, hard hug. Dads need these too. And tell him you love him. That’s all he needs. And maybe just one more pair of socks…
The Best Baseball Glove
“People ask me what I do in winter when there’s no baseball. I’ll tell you what I do. I stare out the window and wait for spring.”
-Rogers Hornsby
My true affection for baseball began in 4th grade. After a solid school day and long walk home from the bus stop, most afternoons I would retire to our “shop” – a corrugated tin shed that rested behind our house. There I tinkered with my bicycle – or I should say bicycles, plural, for I had a few. Smelling of WD-40, with a crescent wrench in my hands, I spent many afternoons working on my battered bikes while listening to Vin Scully broadcast Dodger games. Our sterling neighbor Mrs. Williams loved baseball and kept her radio positioned next to an outdoor PA system so she could hear games while she worked outside. The whole neighborhood got to listen, and that was a good thing. For me, the sound of baseball was intoxicating.
At about this same time in school we began to play baseball in earnest (we actually played softball – but we called it baseball). From early spring through the end of the school year, we played baseball with abandon, at P.E., during recess, and on weekends in the dirt fields at home. At school, I was the only kid who didn’t have a baseball glove of my own. I always had to borrow one when we played. One day, out on a shopping trip with my dear mom (we were prowling the aisles of what we used to call a “Dime Store”), I found a glove. I begged my mom to buy it for me. She did, reluctantly.
The next day my triumphant entry into the world of elementary school baseball glory was met with ridicule and shame. The other kids teased me mercilessly, for my new glove was nothing more than a cheap toy, unfit for the rigors of baseball in the 4th grade. I was crushed. But soon things changed…
A week later my dad came home from work with a surprise for me – a real baseball glove. The best baseball glove that I’d ever seen. It was a second-hand J. C. Higgins brand Bob Allison Signature Model 1646. I believe Dad got it from a friend of his at work. Well broken-in with an old-school leather patina, it looked like it had already caught a thousand fly balls. I loved it! At school it gained me instant respect from the other boys. When I took to the field with this seasoned glove on my hand, I looked like I’d been playing ball for years. And I was in heaven.
That glove became my most valued possession. With a black marker I wrote my name on it in large letters. All was good until my glove was stolen later when I was in 6th grade. I had left it at school, and during our annual Halloween Carnival some low-life yobs infiltrated our classroom and nabbed it along with some other baseball equipment. I was heartbroken. After the word went out that my precious glove had been stolen, another student saw my glove in his hooligan neighbor kid’s backyard, and he stole it back for me (I will always be grateful – thank you Raymond Laye).
In recent years I’ve done some research on my vintage glove. J. C. Higgins was a brand name used by the Sears & Roebuck Company beginning in 1908. The brand name was used on much of Sears sporting goods up until 1961. John Higgins was an actual Sears employee, working as a bookkeeping manager and company comptroller until retiring in 1930. For some reason Sears’ executives liked his name and asked to use it, adding the “C” since Higgins did not have a middle name.
My glove was a Bob Allison signature model. Bob Allison played 13 seasons in the Majors (from 1958 to 1970) with the Washington Senators and the Minnesota Twins. He was the American League Rookie of the Year in 1959, and was named to the All-Star team three times, in 1959, 1963, and 1964. I believe my Bob Allison signature glove is a 1960 model.
I loved my old baseball glove. I used it playing ball all through elementary school, then in junior high, and finally in high school my sophomore and senior years. My daughter even used it for a time when she played ball. And she and I carried it to Texas Ranger’s games, always arriving early to watch batting practice while enjoying our hot dogs, with gloves at the ready just in case a fly ball flew our way.
That old glove sits on my desk right now as I type these words – loving leather soaked in warm personal history. The memories are so thick I have to brush them away from my face.
Thank you Dad – I love
The Forgotten History of Mother’s Day
“There’s no way to be a perfect mother, and a million ways to be a good one.”
Jill Churchill
Mother’s Day is important. Celebrated in the U.S. on the second Sunday in May, it’s a day when we honor those brave women who have born us and blessed us with love beyond measure. Most don’t know how we came to mark this special holiday. It’s forgotten history that we need to remember…
Ann Maria Reeves Jarvis was born in Culpepper, Virginia in 1832, the daughter of a Methodist minister. In 1850, at the age of 18, she married Granville Jarvis, a merchant. During the course of their marriage, Jarvis bore eleven children. Only four survived. The others succumbed to a laundry list of diseases, among them typhoid fever, diphtheria, and measles. Sadly, the infant mortality rate in the 19th century was nearly 30%. Throughout Appalachia, childhood illness and death was common.
Ann Maria Jarvis was a dynamic and determined woman who decided to channel her grief productively and meet the needs of her community. She had an idea and launched Mother’s Day Work Clubs in several neighboring towns to improve health and sanitary conditions. These became part of a growing public health movement in the U.S. The clubs provided assistance and education to families in Appalachia, with the goal of reducing disease and infant mortality.
These Mother’s Day Clubs provided vital services to their communities. Before there were state requirements, they developed programs to inspect bottled milk and food. They raised money to buy medicine and to aid families with health problems. Members offered home visits to educate mothers about health and sanitation.
During the Civil War, western Virginia became a hotbed for conflict, with both northern and southern sympathizers living in the region. Jarvis’ Mother’s Day Work Clubs altered their mission to meet new demands brought about by the war. Jarvis pledged neutrality, providing aid and comfort to both Union and Confederate soldiers. They fed and clothed soldiers stationed in the area from both the North and the South. When measles and typhoid fever epidemics broke out, Jarvis and her club members nursed suffering soldiers from both sides.
After the Civil War ended, Jarvis’ efforts to keep her community together continued. In 1868, with public officials in Taylor County seeking her help, she and her club members planned a Mother’s Friendship Day for soldiers and their families from both sides. They held the event on the grounds of the Taylor County Courthouse. Despite opposition, the event was a success. Jarvis shared a message of unity with the crowd. Bands played the Star-Spangled Banner and Dixie. The event ended with all singing Auld Lang Syne. Many in attendance were moved to tears.
Throughout her life, Jarvis continued her social activist work. She taught Sunday School and was very involved with her church. She gained popularity as a public speaker for audiences at schools, churches, and organizations, lecturing on subjects ranging from public health to literature to religion.
Throughout her life, Jarvis worked to honor and help mothers. After the death of her husband in 1902, she moved to Philadelphia to be near her two sons and two daughters. Her daughter Anna became her caretaker as her health declined. Ann Maria Jarvis died peacefully at home on May 8, 1905, surrounded by her four surviving children.
After Jarvis’ death, her daughter Anna recalled hearing her mother’s prayer during a Sunday School lesson in 1876, asking for someone to start a day to honor mothers.
On the first anniversary of her mother’s death, Anna announced plans for a memorial service the following year. On May 8, 1907, a private service was held in honor of Jarvis.
The following year, in 1908, Anna organized the first official observance of Mother’s Day. It was held on Sunday, May 10, 1908, at St. Andrew’s Methodist Church in Grafton, West Virginia. A donation of 500 white carnations, Jarvis’ favorite flower, was made for those in attendance. Another service was held that afternoon at the Wanamaker Store Auditorium in Philadelphia. 15,000 people attended.
In the years following the first celebrations, Anna’s Mother’s Day holiday gained recognition in several states and a few foreign countries. Intent on making Mother’s Day an official holiday in the U.S., Anna mounted a campaign to do just that. And she succeeded. In 1914, President Woodrow Wilson signed a congressional resolution making the second Sunday in May a national Mother’s Day. We love our moms – Happy Mother’s Day!