From The Eagle's Nest: Growing Up In Goldthwaite

By Glenda Geeslin Helms

Growing up in the rural Texas town of Goldthwaite in the 50's and 60's was rich, not in material ways, but in the things that really mattered. Family was first; friends and community ran a close second, and life was full of adventure if you only used your imagination. In this coming of age story, a girl explores her past and her roots and embraces life in a small community. It is a look back in time to the way it was then.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Glenda Geeslin Helms
• Release date: Feb 21, 2015
• ISBN: 9781311195517

Glenda Geeslin Helms

I view my life in chapters. Letters home is about the chapter in my life that my husband was in the Air Force and we lived in Europe. It was an exciting, adventurous, wonderful chapter. In the next chapter in my life we both became teachers. The first ten years we both taught in a residential treatment center for emotionally disturbed children. We also had two children of our own. Moving to another town and teaching in a regular high school and watching our kids grow through their teenage years was the next chapter, followed by our retirement. We now have a craft business and stay busy working in the wood shop and taking our products to craft shows.

Book preview

From the Eagle's Nest:

Growing Up In Goldthwaite

Glenda Geeslin Helms

Copyright

From the Eagle's Nest:

Growing Up In Goldthwaite

First Edition

Copyright 2014 Glenda Helms

All Rights Reserved

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. It may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase a copy for each recipient. Thank you for respecting the hard work of the author.

Acknowledgements

I want to say thank you to all of the people who have helped me dust off the cobwebs and remember all the wonderful times we had growing up in Goldthwaite. There was Rita and Larry Pafford, Mike Welch, Elaine Watters, and Penny Pate. Thanks to Larry Pafford for the use of his old pictures of Goldthwaite and to Rita Pafford for some of the old family pictures. And to Goldthwaite...Thanks for the memories.

PROLOGUE

I’ve found the older you get the more nostalgic you get. I love to sit around with folks I’ve known since I was a kid and reminisce about the way things used to be, the things we did when we were kids, and the way we lived. Some of the things we did were sure different back then, and other things haven’t changed much from generation to generation.

I was born in 1951, so I grew up in the 50’s and 60’s. Most of that time was in a country house outside the little town of Goldthwaite, Texas, population less than 2,000. We didn’t have much in the way of material things, but in other ways, we had it all. Family was everything, and community ran a close second.

They say it takes a village to raise a child, and that’s kind of the way it was. Everybody knew everybody. There were familiar smiling faces everywhere you went, and everyone seemed to look out for you. I was Glen and Geraldine Geeslin’s daughter, and most people in the community knew who I was and who I belonged to.

It seemed like half of the town was related to each other, or acted like they were. My grandma was Grandma to lots of kids besides her own. Everyone seemed to have some kind of connection. Folks from the area were either related to you in some way, knew you from school, worked with you, were your neighbors, went to church with you, or were seen on a regular basis at some place like the grocery store.

There was never any crime. No one thought twice about letting their kids roam all over town playing. No one locked their doors, and I dare say, probably left their keys in their cars half the time.

Life was simpler then and ran at a little slower pace than it does these days. Everybody worked hard for the necessities, but were less concerned about having all the luxuries. Kids didn’t have a lot of toys; they used their imaginations and learned to entertain themselves.

If a kid did something wrong, they could pretty much bank on the fact that their parents would probably hear about it before they could get home to tell it. Word traveled fast. If you got in trouble with a teacher at school, you could count on getting in even more trouble at home.

My parents both grew up in Mills County; their families had lived there pretty much forever, but my parents moved away for a time because of their jobs. I wasn’t born in Goldthwaite, but when I was eight years old my parents moved back, so I guess I got there as fast as I could, and spent the rest of my childhood years growing up in Goldthwaite.

Goldthwaite and all of the things that make up that small community, has had a profound affect on my life. It’s pretty reassuring to live in a place where you have so many people interested in you, rooting for you, and supporting you.

In a small school everyone has the opportunity to get involved and be somebody. That can’t help but build self-confidence in a kid. I’ve had the opportunity to see the world and experience many wonderful things, but in the end, I feel the pull of my roots.

I don't live in Goldthwaite now, but I go back frequently and visit the old home place. When I do, I always think about my roots, and my parents and grandparents who are long gone. It's kind of comforting; I almost feel like they are still with me, like angels wrapping me in their wings. So from time to time, I have to fly back to the nest and regroup.

This is my story, but I dare say, my experiences were much like everyone else’s who grew up during that time. I hope if any of them read this, they will get a chuckle or two remembering the good old days. To other folks, I hope you will get a little peek of history and the way it was in rural Texas back then, and what it was like growing up in the little town of Goldthwaite.

My husband grew up in a small town in Iowa, and the experiences he had as a little kid in the 50's and 60's were very similar to the experiences I had: the things we played, the freedom kids were given to explore and play outside, the friendliness of the community, and the values. So I guess a lot of it was just life back then. But somehow Goldthwaite still seems a little special to me.

In Goldthwaite, the school is the center of everything. Everybody in Texas pretty much knows who the Goldthwaite Eagles are. Our football team is always a team to be reckoned with, usually going to the playoffs where we won several state championships. Everyone in Goldthwaite is an Eagle, and once an Eagle, always an Eagle.

I’ve done a lot of thinking about the way things were, and listening to other folks talk about their memories. If any of my stories don’t match the reader's memories of the way it was, well it’s not intentional on my part. It’s been many years since these things happened. If I get a few facts wrong, please forgive. Sometimes the cobwebs get in the way.

I had a terrific childhood. I feel very lucky in that respect. I know some people's childhood memories are not as happy as mine were. Now don't misunderstand me. I had my ups and downs too, as all kids do, but I always felt like my cup was pretty full.

I've included lots of names in this book, of people who I shared my story with. I hope that no one is embarrassed or offended by it. But I don't think you will be.

We are to a great extent the product of our environment, so our roots, our family, and the people we choose to have around us help make us who we are. So to tell my story, I have to start at the beginning.

CHAPTER 1: DADDY

To understand how I got to be the person I am, and what the times and places I grew up in were like, I think I have to start with my parents. To my mind, they were the best there was. I was one of the millions of Baby Boomers who were born after World War II, and like many other babies born in the years after the war, my father had served his country. He and the other men of his generation were a special lot. They endured years of sacrifice fighting in the war, saw places they would never have otherwise seen, saw combat and too much death, and endured hardships and deprivation. However, they came home older, wiser, and more experienced than their years. Having sacrificed so much for so long, after the war they were ready to settle down, have a normal life, get married, and start a family.

My daddy, Glen Geeslin, was born in Mills County in 1921 in the tiny town of Center City, a town so small it didn’t even show up on the census reports. The town is only a hiccup in the road these days that a passerby would not even notice existed.

He, his parents, Hubert and Mabel Geeslin, and his three sisters, Maxine, Cleda, and Ada Margaret, lived on a ranch they bought in about 1927. Hubert was a rancher who raised cows, goats, and sheep on their piece of land. My daddy loved being a country boy and learned to hunt and fish at an early age.

. My grandfather, Hubert, was a tall slender man, quiet and reserved, but well respected. He was one of twelve children born to Elias and Maggie Geeslin. Maggie was warm and loving, but Elias's treatment of his children bordered on child abuse, and they held little affection for him.

Hubert and Mabel Geeslin

Daddy's mother Mabel was a friendly outgoing person who never met a stranger. She came from a large family of eleven children born to Tom and Ada Venable.

When Daddy's older sister, Maxine, started to school, the teacher for the community lived with his family. The teacher thought Glen was a very smart precocious little boy and declared him ready to start school early. And so he did. So he and Maxine rode their horses to school each day. Daddy enjoyed the ride on pretty days, but the days it was raining or snowing and the wind was blowing, the trip seemed very long and awfully miserable. You've heard the old stories of our parents having to walk or ride horses to school in the rain and the muck and the snow. And of course it was up hill in both directions. Well, that's pretty much how Daddy told it.

Glen and Maxine Geeslin

Cleda, Maxine, and Glen Geeslin

After graduating from high school early, Daddy started to work at a bakery in town. When it came up for sale, he quickly bought it. He had learned to make bread, cakes, and pies, and had even learned to decorate a mighty nice wedding cake. However, soon after, World War II began, and his life totally changed with it. My granddaddy agreed to run the bakery when Daddy joined the Army.

Having only sisters in the family, Daddy had always been close to his numerous male cousins and buddies from high school. A bunch of them decided to join the army in 1940. Things were really heating up in Europe, and most folks figured that the U.S. would eventually be pulled into the war as well. Daddy and his buddies were hoping that by getting in early, they would have a better pick of what field they got into, and that’s pretty much how things turned out.

They first had big dreams of being fighter pilots. That didn’t work out for them, as all the men in the group were over six feet tall. The cockpits at the time were too small for any man over about five feet ten inches tall. They could have been bomber pilots, but they decided the hazards for that assignment were just too great. As it turned out, they all were assigned to various jobs and didn’t get to stay together as a unit.

Glen Geeslin

Daddy, along with the other men in the mostly Texan 36th Division, did his basic training at Camp Bowie in Brownwood, Texas. After basic, he was sent to Georgia for advanced training in mechanics. With a team of other soldiers, he was then sent to Boston, Massachusetts, to test tanks on their proving grounds. Their assignment was to abuse the tanks by running them out of oil and other such things until they broke down, and then tear them apart to see what had gone wrong.

One night he and his army buddies decided to go out for a night on the town. It was November 28, 1942. They took a vote between going to the Coconut Grove Nightclub in Boston, or another club. The other club won out. Losing that vote turned out to be a lucky thing for Daddy and the other men.

There was a fire at the Coconut Grove that night. There was a revolving door at the entrance, and the other doors were welded shut so that no one could get in without paying. When the fire broke out, the panic began. People began running for the front exit and piled so close together, they couldn’t get out the revolving door. Bodies piled up at the entrance as people tried to flee. Four hundred sixty people burned to death that night. Daddy and his buddies inadvertently escaped disaster.

Social customs were quite different in Boston from what Daddy grew up with in Texas. When allowed to wear civilian clothes when he was out on the town, Daddy always wore cowboy boots just like he did at home. He grew up wearing them, and that’s what he was comfortable in. In Boston when he went to the bars, he would always buy his first drink. Then he’d hike up his pants a bit to place his boot up on the foot rail. When other guys saw his boots, they would come up to the bar to see where he was from. They were always interested in what it was like in Texas, how many gunfights he had been in, and other such questions. He would tell them stories in his best Texas drawl, and never have to buy another drink all night. Daddy loved to talk and was a great storyteller.

Daddy spent part of the winter of 1942 at an encampment on Cap Cod. He thought it was the most miserable winter he could remember. There was so much salt in the sandy soil, the snow never really froze. It turned into a slush that always kept their feet wet and miserably cold.

In the spring of 1943, all of the men in the 36th Division went on maneuvers in Louisiana. The song The Yellow Rose of Texas had just come out and was on all the jukeboxes. The Texas men treated it like it was their national anthem. Any time it played, all present were expected to stand at attention. Texans have always had a lot of pride in their state.

One afternoon they went into a cafe, and there was a general there from another outfit having a steak. One of the Texans slipped a nickel into the jukebox and hollered, Atten-hut! The general got up without a word and stood at attention along with everyone else while the song played. Soon after, General Walker, Commander of the 36th, had The Yellow Rose of Texas removed from the jukeboxes.

In late spring of that year, the men headed overseas. Their first tour of duty was in North Africa. Their main duty there was to guard the prisoner of war camps.

While in North Africa, their unit adopted a little Moroccan boy of about thirteen. He had been completely abandoned and left to make his way the best way that he could. He was half starved when the men took him in. He became the unit go-fer, and in return, they would give him money, clothes, and food. Some of the guys gave him their addresses in hopes that he would someday make his way to the United States. His English had become pretty good by the time they all left North Africa. They never knew what happened to him after that.

While the 36th was in North Africa, other divisions invaded Sicily. The 36th was readied for the invasion of Italy. Finally the big day arrived.

The 36th landed in Salerno to a tough battle. The Germans had had good intelligence about the landing there, even down to the details of the units involved. The German soldiers who were taken prisoner by the Americans after