Building the American Dream

By Gary Knapp

Building the American Dream depicts the journey of author, Gary Knapp, from his very beginnings on a rural dairy farm in southern Michigan through his teens, his tour of duty in the army, his broadcast training and then follows him as he begins his career in radio broadcasting and branches into television. Through his remarkable passion, ingenuity and enormous energy, he overcomes whatever hurdles he encounters and turns them into advantages which eventually enable him to build a network of television stations to serve the northern Michigan area.

His journey is fueled by his inability to accept defeat, his persistence in finding a way to accomplish his goals by creating innovative financing when the traditional routes failed him, his trust in, and loyalty to reliable advisors and a family who supported him through thick and thin.

The reader gets a first hand look at what goes on behind the scenes in radio and television production, sales and management. They accompany him as he moves from one phase of his interesting career to the next.

Author Knapp, takes us back to the days of our childhood and the simple good life about which we all like to reminisce. We can smell his moms apple pie baking as the family gathers around the radio set listening to Fibber McGee and Molly. He stimulates our memories of past parades, local celebrations, community events which he covered as a newsman and broadcaster and recreates the home town atmosphere of typical small towns through out our country.

This book, with its motivational and informative hints, could be considered a handbook on how to attain ones goals and dreams, or by some, a guideline showing the steps necessary to succeed in business ventures and by others, just a good read.

Gary Knapp has brought to life, a story, rich in human interest, history of radio and television, entrepreneurship and events in the town of Cadillac, Michigan, where Gary took broadcasting to a higher level while building his American dream.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: May 23, 2007
• ISBN: 9781467801195

Gary Knapp

Gary Knapp is a divemaster and renowned underwater videographer who has a tremendous passion for capturing and sharing life under the ocean and around the world. While filming for the Dive Travel adventure series, he has traversed the planet to every corner of the globe. With over one thousand dives to his credit, he has created thirty-seven DVDs of the top global dive destinations. He is a man who chose to do more than spend his remaining retirement years in a recliner.

Book preview

© 2007 Gary Knapp. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 02/17/2017

ISBN: 978-1-4259-6103-9 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4259-6104-6 (hc)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2006908815

CONTENTS

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

INTRODUCTION

CHAPTER 1

Growing Up On The Family Farm

CHAPTER 2

Challenging Teen Years

CHAPTER 3

You’re In The Army Now Basic Training

CHAPTER 4

Army Overseas Adventure Germany

CHAPTER 5

Career Academy Of Broadcasting

CHAPTER 6

First Broadcasting Job - KGPC, Grafton - North Dakota

CHAPTER 7

A New Beginning WATT Radio Cadillac, Michigan

CHAPTER 8

WITW - Roundtable Talk Show

CHAPTER 9

Cadillac’s Very Own Cable TV 3

CHAPTER 10

New TV Station - Fox 33 WGKI

CHAPTER 11

FOX 33 WGKI - FOX 45 WGKU Stations Relocation

CHAPTER 12

Life Reflections

DEDICATION

I would like to dedicate this book to my parents, my wife and children, as well as all my beautiful grandchildren.

I also want to praise God that I have a story to write and for enabling me to put it on paper.

All our dreams can come true,

if we have the courage to pursue them.

WALT DISNEY

Man often becomes what he believes himself to be.

If I keep on saying to myself that I cannot do a certain thing,

it is possible that I may end by really becoming incapable

of doing it. On the contrary, if I shall have the belief that

I can do it, I shall surely acquire the capacity to do it, even

if I may not have it at the beginning.

MAHATMA GANDHI (1869-1948)

Indian Nationalist Leader

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

My parents brought me into this world, gave me much love and protection and allowed me to follow my dreams and ambitions even though I knew my dad would have liked me to take over the family farm, as was the case with my brother before me. I could not have had a better pair of loving parents, and I am grateful. I realize now, that I was born in the right place, at the right time, and to the right set of parents. Even though now they are both gone, I am so proud of them and their accomplishments during those hard years in raising us on our little farm, and for the achievements, as well as the sacrifices they made and thereby honor them with this writing.

My mom wrote poetry and always wanted to have her poems published. I, therefore, share some of them with you through-out this book. I now rely on my brother and my sister, both of whom I love dearly, for my family connection.

My wife supported me from the day we were married. She was, and still is the light of my life, and she came to me at just the right time in my life. We were blessed with two children. Later she gave up our newly remodeled three-story home in town, to our first business venture. The business totally took over the first floor of that home, with us living on the second of three floors. Not many ladies would offer to do that for their man. She always supported me, not only in my earlier radio career, but also in decisions as we started our own business. She worked along side me at the station as we were developing the TV station group. We’ve made a great team over the years. She was our business manager and watched over the financial and business end while I concentrated on the many commercial expansions, infrastructure and creative end of the television business.

We brought two wonderful daughters into this world and I am indeed proud of them both. I also want to thank them for giving up their privacy in our home, during that all important time in their own lives, for our business venture. It had to have been difficult and sometimes stressful for them trying to live in a business atmosphere. I will always be grateful, even though looking back on it now I wished we could have separated our business from our home life, but you cannot go back and change things.

Both daughters, at one time or another, helped out by working at the TV stations. I am indeed proud of all my family members who were there when I needed them during those difficult times and are still there for me today.

I am also writing this book for the benefit of all my loving grandchildren so they will someday better understand our family history, my broadcasting career and read of the often difficult times we experienced in building the television stations over the years. Perhaps someday they too, will be inspired to pursue their own dreams and goals in life as I did.

I would also like to thank the many Cadillac business associates, professional staff, advertisers and investors who believed in me over the years. And the special friends and faithful listeners and viewers who offered me their kind wisdom in helping to make both my career and the television stations a reality and a success. Without them I would not be writing this story.

The material for my story came mostly from memory of the events as they transpired throughout my life. Some came from my immediate family, my mother’s diaries, memories from my brother and sister, from in-laws, my friend in Germany and from friends of the family. In addition, I used schoolbooks, my army files and associated reference books. Relatives, friends, or companies representing individuals named in my book contributed information as well. I also gathered material from the many documents and the paperwork I retained in my lengthy files, my mini-museum and ledgers of guests and entertainers who had appeared on my many talk shows.

The Authorhouse publishing team has given me a tremendous amount of help in putting this book into final print, beginning with Julie Sowell, sales representative, who coordinated the process.

To Trina Lee, an Authorhouse design consultant who fired back e-mails like silver bullets, and who over saw the entire project from the very beginning to the end, I am so very grateful.

A special thanks to Erin McChesney for the challenging job of framing my words, photos and mementos which go back over a century and Bridgette Swab, the book cover layout designer, as I am sure it was a challenge for her with the quality of photos I provided.

Thanks also to all the additional staff at Authorhouse for their diligent efforts in turning my manuscript into a book.

And what can I say about Judie Sprague, my book editor? We have become close friends and without her untiring efforts, this book would probably not have been published.

Judie took this project on as if it was her very own story, and for that I am very grateful. In her cool, elegant way she gave me the courage to get started and the advice that made it possible to keep going. Judie plants good ideas and uproots bad ones, constantly tending the landscape of our common turf, always inspiring and nudging me to higher ground.

A special thank you also to those few who pre-read the unedited manuscript in advance of it being published and their comments and encouragements along the way.

For whatever mistakes, slights, oversights, and overstatements contained herein, I am responsible. Because of the particular nature of this book, I did rely a great deal on personal memory, and although I pride myself on recall, I know that others may remember events somewhat differently.

I greatly regret that I couldn’t mention, by name, everyone who was important to me while growing up as there were so many - from pals, role models, and friends of my parents. I am indebted to you all.

Reference Listing for

materials used in this book:

A Century of Radio - by Mike Adams

The Cadillac Evening News

The Traverse City Record Eagle

The Detroit News

The Grand Traverse Business Journal

The Chamber of Commerce history from Coldwater, Grafton and Cadillac

The Wexford County Library

The Wexford County Historical Society

The History of Radio - Career Academy of Broadcasting

History of Cable Television

Marconi’s first trans-Atlantic wireless experiment - Joe Craig, VO1NA 100 years of Radio Broadcasting from the California Historical Radio Society

Television History - The AT&T Television Spotlight 75th Anniversary of first U.S. television broadcast from the Internet.

Cable television from Wikipedia - The Free Encyclopedia

Ad Access - a brief history of the television industry by John W. Harlman Center for Sales, advertising and marketing history

The History of Television

The View from the Courthouse Hill by Judge Wm. Peterson

Reflections of the Sawdust Trail - Cadillac Centennial historical play script by Joe Simmons

Before the Heart Attacks by Doctor H. Robert Superko M.D.

INTRODUCTION

I have been planning for several years to write a book about my life story, since many people have urged me to do so. I have relied much on personal memory in writing this book. I regret I couldn’t mention everyone who was important to me as I was growing up but there were just too many. From pals, to role models, relatives and family friends, I am indebted to you all.

First let me say, however, I’m not writing this book to impress you with my own personal accomplishments. In this book I share with my readers, lessons learned over the years, both from other business people as well as gained from my own practical experience. This book is written in neither sophisticated nor intellectual form. It’s written as a simple, down to earth story, detailing my own life’s experiences in my sincere hope to benefit young people today who have dreams and goals of their own but are not sure just how to get there, as well as those thinking of going into business for themselves. Perhaps you will pick up some hints or tips to apply to accomplishing your own goals and dreams.

I had little education and no money, but it did not stop me from reaching both my short and long range goals. There are ways to get where you want to go. You just have to look for those opportunities.

Today, when asked to speak at high schools and universities, I try to inspire students to make the most of their lives and never to give up on their dreams. I encourage everyone to get as much education as they possibly can.

Young people today often lack self-confidence. No one will believe in you unless you believe in yourself. Only you can be yourself; no one else is qualified for that job. While many of you have a specific lifetime dream, you may not be encouraged to follow it but rather urged by peers to follow a more secure traditional job opportunity, or as some might say, look for a good job. Many times parents, school counselors and others push young people into something other than what they would consider to be their dream career. It is done in an effort to protect and steer them towards a more secure, dependable position. Perhaps that’s because they too, had given up on their past dreams.

When I was a mere six years old I knew what I wanted to be. I already had a dream and a goal in place that I relentlessly followed many years later. At first I didn’t know how to obtain it. While some friends, during high school, tried to persuade me against going after it, I was determined to follow my dream. I was also grateful to have supportive parents.

I hear so many people today grumble about their life’s work; they hate this and they hate that and they grumble, grumble and grumble everyday. What a pity! Anyone can get just a job, but why not go for the gold? After all, it is your life we’re talking about isn’t it? You alone have to make the final decision. In the end, the choices we make dictate the life we lead.

The truth is, if you don’t go to work each day with a smile on your face, then you’re not in your dream job, are you? The real question is, if you could accomplish anything, what would you want to do?

I think to achieve success you not only have to have self-confidence and believe in yourself, but a belief in God is important. My faith and many prayers are responsible for much of my success and I thank God for His guidance.

Many people who witnessed my business growth have told me my story of success could only have happened in America, the land of opportunity. I, therefore, decided to make that the title of my story - Building the American Dream. In reality, you could call it a ‘rags to riches’ story about a young lad raised on a small rural farm in southern Michigan, who went on to beat out all odds in accomplishing not only his career goal as a radio and television broadcaster, but later built a very valuable television network of stations - TV 33/45 WGKI/WGKU FOX.

I was neither born with a silver spoon in my mouth, nor was I supported financially by the banking institutions in my endeavors, and while I later in life hired professionals to assist me along my path, my motivation and achievements came from within, fueled by the inspiration that came from my faith.

My broadcasting career overall has been very rewarding; 14 years in radio and 17 years in television. It came with a lot of stress and hard work, leading to many difficult years of building my business. I never had a college education and in high school, as a somewhat shy student failing miserably, I probably would have been judged by my peers as one of the least likely to succeed. After graduating from high school, I spent three years in the army, right in the middle of the Vietnam War, after which I attended a trade school, the Career Academy of Broadcasting in Milwaukee.

Many years later, after losing my job when the last radio station for which I worked was sold, I decided to go into business for myself by filing for a low power television station license. The rest is history, but not first without experiencing the pitfalls that surrounded me. Local banks refused to support the project but for seven long years I held onto my dream of eventually building a television station while struggling to find creative ways to fund it. A limited partnership was finally formed with 35 investors to fund our operation. Through it, I managed to raise hundreds of thousands of dollars for our project, of which not one dollar came from the traditional local banking institutions.

Individuals and businesses alike, right in my own community, took bets I would fail. Perhaps my desire to prove them wrong made me try all the harder to succeed.

With this as my motivation, and with my broadcast experience, I was able to build a small group of television stations right under the umbrella of several much larger stations in northern Michigan. A mere 10 years later our stations sold for millions of dollars. In fact, what we sold them for was the highest price ever paid for stations at the time and in this northern part of the state, far exceeding the price paid for the largest station in the market.

Becoming wealthy, however, was never part of my original goal but it allowed me to retire comfortably at the age of 51, following 31 years in the broadcast business.

Accomplishments never come easy. You need to have a raw hunger, a thirst, a driving ambition and a strong burning desire to go after your goal, and never give up until you have sought out all options. Everyone who has a desire of something they want to accomplish knows it’s like having a flame burning inside.

I never lost sight of my long-term dreams and ambitions. Most people who have dreams give up on them much too early.

You must be focused and have a strong work ethic. Nothing meaningful or lasting comes without working hard for it, whether it’s in your own life or with people you’re trying to influence. There are always those who call you lucky when you do finally succeed, as if it was a pure stroke of luck that made you what you are. Don’t be fooled by those negative self-doubters out there; they sit waiting for you to fail. Maybe those doubting your ability are just envious of you and disappointed in their own lack or failure to be successful.

My advice is to never give up on the long range goals you want to accomplish. If you do, they will be lost forever as you join the crowd who wished they had followed their life long ambition when they had the opportunity.

That’s what this book is all about, and if I can inspire readers to seek out their own dreams, goals, and ambitions, then I will consider the writing of it a success. You can do it. I did………… and if I can do it, any one can.

So shoot for the stars and build your very own American dream.

CHAPTER 1

GROWING UP ON

THE FAMILY FARM

It was 7:00 a.m. and I was lying in a room at Mercy Hospital, in Cadillac, Michigan, at the age of 55, nervously awaiting a cardiac heart catheterization. Only weeks before as I had been jogging my morning two to four mile run around the lake near my home, I experienced some chest pain, along with severe pain running down both of my arms. I was in great shape, weighing 160 pounds, fairly lean with a 32-inch waist. I exercised daily, ate a low fat diet and felt youthful, though it wasn’t always that way. I had lost weight two years earlier and kept it off since I had started a diet and exercise program. In fact, physically I was probably in the best shape of my life. Even the doctor couldn’t believe I was having a problem, but the damage had already been done to my arteries. I had high cholesterol from not eating right for years prior, plus genetics played a major role, as my family has a history of heart disease.

Following a stress test, the results revealed the possibility of mild Ischemia, a possible artery blockage in my heart. When the amount of blood to a muscle is insufficient, that low-oxygen state is called Ischemia. Coronary Artery Disease is often also called Ischemic Heart Disease (IHD).

My cardiologist suggested a heart catheterization to see if there was any visible blockage. This test was and is presently, the only 100 percent accurate test available to determine this.

My risk factors were mostly genetic, since I had an infant sister who had an enlarged heart before she died. My father died of congestive heart failure and my brother had by-pass surgery at 49 years of age, so the problem was obviously in my genes.

The test proved that I did indeed have blocked arteries; one, 90 percent, one 80 percent and one 60 percent. But my heart was in great shape, as I had never had a heart attack. I was one of the lucky ones, being diagnosed before actually having a heart attack. I could have easily dropped dead on my morning jog! But I was now destined to have open-heart surgery. It was something no one ever wants to hear. You always think, while it happens to others, it will never happen to you. While it has become somewhat routine, it was still major surgery. I met with my cardiothoracic surgeon and he informed me that I had an 85 percent chance of having a heart attack in my present condition. But I would have to wait approximately three weeks before the operation could be scheduled as it was close to Thanksgiving and the first available date, outside of an emergency, was December 4. I had plenty of time to study heart by-pass leaflets on the procedure. I also obtained more information than I ever wanted to know about the operation off the Internet.

When my brother had his operation over 20 years earlier, he was in the hospital approximately three weeks. I was told that I would be released in five days. The operating time was to be only about two and a half hours; a time much shorter than years ago when it used to take up to six hours or more to perform.

I was amazed that the heart, about the size of one’s fist, beats about 70 times a minute, which adds up to a staggering 100,000 times a day and 2.5 billion times over the course of the average lifetime. The heart pumps 2000 gallons of blood through 100,000 miles of veins and organic tubing in your body. The tube, that eventually becomes the heart, begins beating about 23 days after conception and keeps going until it stops for good. Yes, the heart pump is a pretty fantastic organ. I’m sure I heard all about that when I was a student, but until something vitally serious affects one’s life, very little attention is paid to those facts.

It’s 5:30 a.m., December 4, 2002. As I arrived at Munson Medical Center in Traverse City, anxious and nervously awaiting my triple by-pass surgery, I kissed my family good-by. I knew it might be the last time I ever see them here on earth. With this type of surgery there is always a chance of not making it through the operation. I didn’t want to dwell on any negativity, but I think it always crosses one’s mind.

I had led an extremely good life; now retired, I was in the beginnings of writing my book and wished to do more traveling. That aside, I had made peace with God; I was ready if God were to call me home. Many people were praying for me. I walked through double doors to a pre-op room with beds lined on both sides of the long room where people were being prepared for surgery. I was asked to get into one of the beds. While watching them make preparations, I was given a drug to relax me.

As I drifted off into a deep sleep, I was recalling how my life had begun so many years ago.

I was born at 1:34 a.m. on a cold November morning to Arloss and Hazel Knapp, in a small town in southern Michigan and would be raised on a small rural farm 12 miles southwest of the city of Coldwater.

I was born at the right time and to the right set of parents; parents who did not limit my dreams.

My parents, married on April 19, 1930, had eloped with my mom’s sister, Dorothy and her boy friend, Howard. Both couples were married the same day. However, Dorothy and Howard were married in Bryan, Ohio and Mom and Dad were married just across the line in Angola, Indiana, as Mom was too young, by Ohio law, at age 20. You had to be 21, which was apparently not the law in Indiana. Dad had just turned 22. They were young, in love and wanted to start a family. They lived various places, settling on a farm just a mile or so southwest of where I grew up and where my sister was born. They moved to our current farm, just prior to my birth. They purchased my Great Uncle Charlie’s farm, previously owned by my grandfather, just north of Number Six School; five generations of our family lived on surrounding farms.

They had a lot of heartbreaks as a young couple, losing two daughters in a short period of time during infancy; two sisters I never had the opportunity to know. Their first born, Janet, died at birth. Mom later said that had she been in a hospital for the birth, the baby might have lived, but none of their children were born in a hospital except for me and that was many years later.

Next came Wendell, my one and only brother, 14 years my senior. He was born at a house on Fenn Road, south of Coldwater, later moving to the farm in Quincy.

Then came Allene, living only a short year and nine months. She was born with an enlarged heart but died of whooping cough. We have a beautiful picture of her; how adorable she was at that young age and the thought of losing her must have been another heart wrenching experience for my young parents, especially Mom. It was later told that Wendell also got whooping cough and Mom handed him to Grandma and said here you hold him; he’s going to die too. After losing two children already and so soon in her young life, I can only imagine how frightened she must have been. She was scared to death of losing more, although at the time it was quite common for families to lose children, with diseases running rampant, few cures, few doctors and most children being born at home.

Loretta was born at home on another farm on Hatmaker Road, formally owned by my grandparents. She is my one and only living sister, eight years older than I.

Last but not least, I came along. I was the only one of the family to be born in a hospital. But I too, had some initial problems and was referred to as a blue baby and had to stay in the hospital a week after Mom was released. I was sick on and off for the first year of my young life, as Mom would write in her diary, worrying herself to tears that I might die as well. Both my mom and dad came from big families, with six siblings on each side. My dad had three brothers, Leo, Nelson and Deloss and two sisters, Arlene and Ila. My mom had three sisters, Lucile, Rodene and Dorothy and two brothers, Clifford and Mark. While most of my dad’s relatives lived north of Coldwater, my mom’s relatives lived either in the city or near our property, south of Coldwater.

Let me tell you a little about the history of where I grew up. In 1833, the original name of Lyons was changed to Coldwater. The city derives its name from the Indian word Chuck-sey-ya-bish, meaning cold water. When the first settlers came to this vicinity, they found this area inhabited by the fierce and warlike Pottawatomie Indians. The old Indian trail between Detroit and Chicago, now US 12, (also referred to as the Old Sauk Trail, or the Chicago Road) saw great numbers of pioneers passing this way, bound for Illinois and other parts of what was then the far west. The presence of roving bands of Pottawatomie Indians deterred many who might otherwise have settled here. The defeat of the British in the War of 1812 and the death of the great Indian leader, Tecumseh, in 1813, caused the Pottawatomie to lose heart and in 1821, Chief Topinabee and his people sold, to the government and settlers, what is now Branch County, although they continued to occupy it as before, but only on reservations. One of those reservations, a six-mile square, was in Coldwater and Quincy townships. The present city of Coldwater occupies part of what was then a beautiful prairie some three miles long from east to west and two miles wide, surrounded by a magnificent forest of trees.

It was natural that our first white settlers came to trade with the Indians. In 1822, Joseph Godfrey established a trading post near downtown Coldwater. In the year 1829, Branch County was laid out and so named by the Territorial Legislature in honor of John Branch of North Carolina, who was then President Jackson’s Secretary of the Navy. The first white settlers here were Abram Bolton and John Morse, who established, in 1831, a grand hotel on the Chicago Road which was a welcome sight to many weary travelers going west. The hotel became as celebrated on the Chicago Road as the famous Palmer Hotel in Chicago. The village of Coldwater began to grow steadily after the Indians departure for Kansas in 1840 and continued to grow with the railroads arrival in the 1850’s, transporting many emigrants from New York. In 1882, Barton Smith Tibbits built his famous Tibbits Opera House which, when opened, attracted a long list of entertainment celebrities as they passed through Coldwater going between Chicago and Detroit, mostly by train or horse and carriage on the unpaved city streets. Word spread and the excitement was contagious. Coldwater was one of the few places in this young nation which had a social and cultural center and it was also the only place that could boast an Opera House second to none. Even before Coldwater grew into a big town, it was known for its fine entertainment. That beautiful opera house, with its horseshoe balcony, timeless architecture, chandeliers and excellent acoustics, is still a centerpiece in downtown Coldwater today.

In an attempt to explain the manner in which I was raised in Michigan during the post World War II years and after, let me define that era as well. Soldiers were coming home, getting married and families were booming! As an example, in 1940 there were 23.7 million homes in the United States. By 1960, it had doubled to over 40 million homes across America.

It was the called ‘baby boom’ years and I was the first of the generation of baby boomers to be born in a time period starting in 1946 and lasting through 1964. With the war now over, the economy was also booming around the country. In Detroit the automotive industry was on fire. But in the rural farm belt, which relied on a backbreaking economy, it was still a struggle to survive.

My dad, Arloss Reo Knapp, Art for short, was born in 1908. He worked as a machinist with the Regal Engine Factory of Coldwater for many years, which produced shells and shell casings during the war. He later quit his job to farm full time. Dad missed having to go into World War II as he was at the borderline age of 35, a little too old to be drafted into the service; besides, by now, he had a family and a farm and many farmers were exempt. His brothers, Deloss and Nelson, served in the Army, as did Mark, on my mom’s side of the family.

My mom, Hazel Lorene Layman, was born in 1909; she cleaned houses as a young woman. Both my parents had only an eighth grade education, which was common for that generation. Less than a quarter of the young men at the time went on to high school.

My parents came from the ‘waste not, want not’ generation; nothing was ever wasted or thrown away. We were not prosperous but neither were we poor; always enough to eat and our welfare was taken care of. Money was not easy to come by during those lean years and they didn’t spend money on anything that wasn’t practical. I guess I learned from that early experience, as even now, when I can readily afford to pay for an item, I still question if it’s really necessary. My wife still clips coupons and I still look at price tags first and I am always looking for a bargain while shopping.

When my folks were growing up in the early 1900’s, the average wage in the U.S. was anywhere from 10 to 22 cents an hour, with the average U.S. worker making $200 to $400 per year. The average farm family had an annual cash income of $400. It cost about $125 a year to attend college for the very few who went at the time. In the job market, a competent accountant could expect to earn $2,000 per year, a dentist, $2,500 and a veterinarian between $1,500 and $4,000 per year. The average life expectancy at that time was 47. Only 14 percent of the homes in the U.S. had a bathtub and 8 percent had a telephone. More than 95 percent of all births in the U.S. took place at home. There were only 8,000 cars and only 144 miles of paved roads in the entire United States. One in ten U.S. adults couldn’t read or write. Only 6 percent of all Americans had graduated from high school. Sugar cost 4 cents a pound, eggs were 14 cents a dozen and coffee cost 15 cents a pound. The population of Las Vegas, Nevada was 30.

Crossword puzzles, canned beer and iced tea hadn’t yet been marketed. There was no Mother’s Day or Father’s Day. Most women only washed their hair once a month and used borax or egg yolks for shampoo.

So much for U.S. statistics for the year 1902. Now you can begin to appreciate, or realize what life was like for our parents, at that time in their lives.

Even in the 1940’s, only 54 percent of the homes in America had complete plumbing and running water, bath and toilet. Almost a quarter of all homes in the United States still had no electrical power.

In 1946, the year of my birth, it cost 3 cents to mail a letter, 1 cent for a postcard and only 20 cents to mail up to a 10 pound package. A new car cost $1,400, gasoline was 21 cents a gallon, the average cost of a house was $12,500, bread was 10 cents a loaf, milk was 70 cents a gallon, the minimum wage was 40 cents a hour and the average salary was $3,150.

Also in 1946, The Yearling was a new movie, along with It’s a Wonderful Life, The Big Sleep, Annie Get Your Gun and a new movie from France, Beauty and the Beast, long before Disney’s version in 1991.

In Germany, the Nuremburg trials were underway and in the U.S., car production was at an all time high. The Studebaker was now being produced, along with Jeep Willys. Harry Truman was President of the United States.

I think of our forefathers and the rough time they must have endured, carrying water with no indoor plumbing.

Ice boxes were used before the production of refrigerators. My parents needed ice every few days to keep things cold and there was no freezing capability during warm months. With only candle or gaslights, the phrase ‘early to bed, early to rise’ must have been born. To think today, when power goes out even for a few seconds, we get upset. What a spoiled generation we have become.

A married couple faced a lot of hard work on the farm in those early days. The husband would drive a mule to break new ground to farm, removing rocks, stones and tree stumps from the soil, plant and harvest crops, butcher cattle for meat, build fences to keep cattle in, dig a well and build a dwelling and a barn for the animals. In addition, repair machinery, feed and milk cows, as well as other livestock and manage the farm to make a living. While the wife would cook and bake and prepare dinner for sometimes as many as a dozen or more thrashers who just might be on hand after working in the fields, manage a garden, can the vegetables and fruit for preserves, wash and hang out the clothes, make her own soap and makes clothes for the family to wear. As well as, nurse a sick child, churn butter from milk, can meat, obtain suet from beef, render fat from pork to make lard and gather the eggs, all while trying to keep the house clean. My parents and their parents before them had done all that and more…. it was all part of the rough life of being a farmer.

A sense of personal responsibility and a commitment to honesty were also characteristics of this generation. These were values bred into young people; it’s how they were raised. If a young person did something wrong, someone might point out to them, That is not how you were raised.

Meanwhile on the farm, Mom constantly cooked and baked, canned and froze food for later use throughout the year. Every family member pitched in to work; no time was ever wasted and we worked from early morning until dusk.

My dad told me one day, something very important that I have remembered to this day; he said, while we may not have a lot of money, one thing about living on a farm is you will never ever go hungry, and he was right. While we may not have had many material things, we never went hungry. We, like many Americans at the time, seemed to have everything but money. We lived on beans, corn, homemade bread and milk, Johnnycake, oatmeal and common soup staples. We raised our own popcorn, shelling it after we harvested it and pouring it from pan to pan to get rid of the chafe. Mom made jams and jellies from our fruit on the farm; behind our house we had plum trees and a pear tree and even an apple orchard in the back field behind the house. In the fall we gathered walnuts and hickory nuts and cracked and shelled them for the long winter ahead.

Today food is so abundant, we are spoiled. We no longer have to hunt our food as in those early days, as now it’s all laid out on shelves for us at the grocery stores. No wonder many of our generation are considered obese with food being so plentiful, accessible and convenient.

Our parents had learned a piece of wisdom following the great depression running rampant during the years 1928-1933, when people living in town lost everything they had. Families living on the farm could at least provide food for their family by trading food such as garden produce, grains, meat, chickens, eggs and dairy products of milk and butter, for other items they might need, if necessary and their investment in the farm land was more secure. At least they had their land, contrary to those living in the city and having as their security, money in the bank, which they lost during the great depression. The towns people, for the most part, owned little or no land and had no crops to trade and were desperately poor having lost everything. Dad and Mom told us about the huge bread lines that formed during the great depression, sometimes blocks long, in the big cities, all poor people who were hungry and cold from the winter, with little heat. Hoboes, as they were referred to, searching for work, hitched rides on trains across the country to look for work to provide food for their families back home. Stories abounded about people who had just deposited their paychecks in the bank only to be told the next day that the bank had been closed and they had lost all their money in an instant. The great depression seemed to touch just about everyone, everywhere. We were told some people were so devastated that they even committed suicide. We were fortunate living on the farm as we never knew what it was like to be hungry or cold. While we had little money, neither did our neighbors. It was definitely a low point in America, but it taught us all one thing - to be humble and appreciate what we had and most of what we had was the love of family and friends.

During the war, food, sugar, gas and other items were rationed by issuing a quantity of stamps to each family per month. My folks traded ration stamps with my relatives. My folks didn’t need the meat ration stamps so they traded those for gas rations and so on. The family farm, no matter how small, made business sense at the time. Small farms cropped up all across America; today, however, these same small farms have fallen by the wayside as big farms have now taken over the landscape of America.

During those golden years we learned to share with everyone less fortunate, especially neighboring farmers, as well as our relatives. We learned at an early age it wasn’t how much money one had in his pocket that counted, but rather what a man had in his heart.

Neighbors pulled together, when a farmer died. Usually many area farmers got together to help the family of the deceased put in their crops or if at harvest time, harvest them for the widow and her family. It was heartening to see all the tractors from area farms lined up entering a field on a day mission of help.

Dad started out working for the Regal Engine Factory, but during the great depression, the factory filed bankruptcy and my dad started farming, after purchasing the farm from my Great Uncle Charlie. The factory later opened up and he went back to work for a while before deciding to farm full time in the early 1950’s. Wendell, my brother, worked at the same factory one summer during high school.

Originally Dad farmed with a team of mules; mules were a common sight on many farms during the 1930’s. In 1938 he bought his first tractor, an F-12 Farmall tractor with steel wheels, later trading it in on a 1940 Farmall B N tractor which we still had when I was growing up. By then he had added two more tractors to the farm operation.

There was always plenty of food to go around and we constantly had guests at our house, with all Mom and Dad’s relatives as regular visitors. With all the cows we had on our farm, we had lots of milk to drink. Mom also churned butter from the raw milk we had. It always amazed me how the cream would float to the top of a one-quart glass milk jug in the refrigerator - this was before the advent of pasteurization. You simply skimmed off the cream for making butter or other cream products like whipped cream. While the milk may not have been as safe to drink before being pasteurized, (which is a heating process), it sure tasted a lot better. Nothing was better then real cream fresh from the farm.

With all the milk we had on the farm, we always had home made ice cream; seems like we made it every week. We made it to share with relatives who visited and always served it on everyone’s birthday and special get-togethers, both winter and summer. In the winter, we used to cut big blocks of ice from the lake, or sometimes the frozen ice came from our cow’s outside drinking tank which was always covered in ice. We crushed it to make ice cream in our hand crank machine and we all took turns cranking the machine, as the metal canister, filled with a special mixture, turned against the cold ice; much later we had an electric ice cream maker. Either way, it was always a big part of growing up on the farm.

Mom’s baking day was Saturday. She would get up and bake pies, cakes, cookies, doughnuts and bread - everything imaginable. With all those visitors, we went through a lot of baked goods. Mom had that special touch and no one was able to duplicate her glazed doughnuts, which were superior to those in a bakery. In reading the diaries she kept over the years, when we were growing up on the farm, it amazed me just how many people always dropped by to visit. Not a day went by when we didn’t have eight to ten guests visiting. In fact, only on a rare occasion did she write, it was a lonely day today as no one stopped by to see us. It was a more relaxed time then, when people just dropped by without a special invitation, which today seems necessary. It was a special generation of close family ties when people were not in a hurry; certainly not a resemblance to life as it is today. I’ve come to understand how important those early influences of family, home and values were in making this life possible.

Monday was always washday for Mom. She had an old-fashioned ringer washing machine and to dry clothes, she hung them on the line outside, both summer and winter. Dryers hadn’t been invented yet. She used to buy laundry detergent that came in big boxes and I was always excited as it always came with free glasses, dishes or towels hidden inside. Other boxes I was interested in included cereal boxes which many times carried interesting prizes in them, like decoder rings, or a tiny submarine that would run on baking power, as well as other small games and toys.

A while back I read a book called A Painted House, which was later produced as a Hall Mark Hall of Fame movie. I truly enjoyed both, as the story seemed a direct parallel to my life growing up on the farm during that same time period of the early 50’s. Grandma and Grandpa Knapp also lived with us for a short time on the farm just after I was born. They helped my parents remodel our kitchen and bathroom. They didn’t have indoor plumbing until just before I was born. After my Grandpa Knapp died, in 1952, Grandma sold the house they had owned and she traveled between her children, spending a month with each family. I used to look forward to her visits.

My earliest childhood memory, which was confirmed by my sister Loretta, came about at the age of two or three; I recall walking to the barn and getting flogged by a big white rooster. The barn was only about two hundred feet behind our house, but just as soon as I would get out of the door, I would be attacked and end up screaming and running back to the house for cover. The whole family had to protect me from that monster chicken. Wendell was later told to shoot it. He said he shot it in the head with a 22 and chopped its head off and it ended up being Sunday chicken dinner. I can also remember other mean spirited roosters chasing me around. Since I had light red hair as a small boy, maybe the roosters thought I was competition.

Both my dad and my brother Wendell used to set me on their laps when I was one or two and drive me around on the big tractor. Little did I know the tractor would become an important implement in my life on the farm for the next 18 years.

I can also remember, when I was a little older, leading baby calves around the outside of the barnyard. In fact, many were bigger than I and as I recall, they did most of the leading. We had a great selection of farm animals to be taken care of daily, so my task was to help feed and water the chickens, ducks, pigs, cows, calves, steers, a couple of pet rabbits and always, the dogs and cats. I learned from an early age what responsibility was and it has stayed with me to this day.

My parents were fortunate to have had a movie camera and we have movies of our early life on the farm with all of us kids and family members, now frozen in time. They took baby pictures of me with my curly red hair, just as soon as I was born, along with pictures of me riding a black and gray and red wooden rocking horse, which was made for my brother Wendell, but I rode it as well. Also pictures of me later standing in a navy uniform that Wendell had sent to me when he was in the service and I was about 6 years old. Those movies provide a precious memory of all our family members and relatives at that time in our early lives and the good times we had living together on that rural farm. Every time I see them I am deeply moved with nostalgia from that time period now so very long ago.

Mom used to love to write poetry and wrote about those special times in our lives.

My Rocking Horse

We travel to far off places

My rocking horse and I.

Although it’s all imaginary

Its lots of fun to try

I can make him go fast

Or make him go slow,

Just lean back and forth

And away we go

He’s nothing but a wooden horse

And not so very high

But we have fun together

My rocking horse and I

I can remember in particular, one of the few times that I got a spanking, I don’t remember many, but I deserved this one for sure. I was in the chicken coop/hog house one day, feeding the chickens, who were on one side of the little coop - the pigs were located on the other side of the building, both in separate pens.

For some reason, I thought it would be fun to throw the chickens into the pigpen to see what would happen. I’ll never know what made my little juvenile mind do it, but anyway the pigs were happily squealing making quick work of the chickens, while the poor chickens were squawking for help. I got caught in the act and after a good spanking, I never tried that again. Many years later when I was a teenager on the farm, my folks wanted me to take down the old blue colored coop, as we no longer had chickens or pigs on the farm and it brought back memories of that earlier incident.

In the years 1948-1950, my folks used to take us up north hunting during deer season. We had a small travel trailer and Loretta and I used to stay in it and play while Mom and Dad and Wendell and sometimes other relatives, went hunting. We traveled north on old 27, passing through Clare and traveling on north to Vanderbilt, Michigan. We camped at Round Lake, located a few miles east of Vanderbilt, in elk country. At the park, the smell of pine trees had a rich aroma with the heavy pine needles lying on the ground underneath intermixed with snow. Loretta and I used to pick the wild wintergreen berries that grew there, poking up through the snow; the taste was a wonderful treat. It was a magical moment in time. Mom and Dad always looked forward to the hunting trips; it was a vacation for them from the farm. A few years ago, Loretta and I took our families on a trip to that same spot, which is now a federal park and the wintergreen berries were still growing there. The smell of the trees and the berries rekindled those fond childhood memories from so many years earlier.

In those early days on the farm, life was simple; no television, only radio. For entertainment, we had an old upright piano. Loretta took piano lessons from a neighbor in exchange for milk and eggs; the old barter system at work. So picture this Norman Rockwell scene, my sister playing the piano, Dad playing one of several mouth organs he had in his possession and Mom, Wendell and I singing along. It certainly warmed out hearts and helped those long winters pass ever so fast, as the snow was gently falling outside.

Before Christmas each year our family would walk back in our pasture field, a wooded area, pulling a small sled and we would pick out a wild cedar Christmas tree that grew on our land. They were not as pretty a tree as the ones you buy today, but because we cut it down and hauled it back to our farmhouse on that sled every year, it was always a special tree to us. When we got it home Dad and Wendell would trim it and we put it up in the living room. Then we got busy decorating it with decorations we had from previous years and