Beebe Draw

By Tom Jerke

This is an historical account of growing up in rural Colorado in the mid 1940s through the late 1950s. True stories contain humorous accounts of growing up on a farm and attending a three room red-brick school. The tales are filled with fun and adventure. Beebe Draw is delightful reading.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Feb 21, 2017
• ISBN: 9781365775024

Book preview

Beebe Draw

Beebe Draw

BY

Tom Jerke

Copyright Page

Disclaimer:

This is a work of historical representation.  The stories contained in this work actually occurred to the best memory of the author.  In some instances literary leniency was taken to enhance the story telling process.  With the exception of immediate family members, fictitious names were used for all other characters represented in the individual stories.

@ 2016 by Tom Jerke

All rights reserved

ISBN: 978-1-365-65484-8

Printed in the United States of America

CHAPTER 1

CAN YOU SMELL THE BREAD

I am not sure how old I was at the time, but I had not yet started school and we had not moved to our own farm.  I am guessing I was somewhere in the range of four to five years of age.  However, there are snippets of that time that stand out very strongly in my memory.

My maternal grandparents were poor.  My grandpa was a hardworking man.  He had very little if any education and as a result he toiled in the coal mines in Colorado for years.  He and Grandma had twelve children.  As the kids got older they all worked as farm laborers, or any other kind of work they could find, in order to eke out a living.  Amazingly, as poor as they were, the kids were always well dressed, had shoes to wear and food to eat.  That was quite an accomplishment back in those days.  They made it through the Great Depression.

At the time of this story they lived in an old house with a couple acres of land along the South Platte River outside of Evans, Colorado.  Property was relatively inexpensive in that area because it was in a flood zone, and whenever the Platte River flooded, which seemed to happen about every three years, residents had to move out and pray that there would be something left to return to.

At the time to which I am referring, two things stand out in my memory; first is that they did not have any electrical or gas heating in their house.  The only warmth in the winter came from a wood burning stove in the living room and another in the kitchen.  My second memory is that my grandparents did not have an electric refrigerator; they had an Ice Box.  It was a device shaped like a refrigerator and every two or three days the iceman would cometh and he would carry a big block of ice into the kitchen and place it in the bottom of the icebox.  That provided the cold to keep perishables chilled.

I can remember watching the iceman carry that big block of ice with these great big tongs and I remember him being a rather small fellow and the block of ice was almost as big as he was.

Another of my memories was that over the kitchen sink was a red water pump. It looked sort of like a big pitcher with a long handle attached and when Grandma needed water to cook with or for washing dishes she would grab that red handle and start pumping like crazy and eventually the water would come.  If she wanted hot water she would fill a large pot and place it on the wood burning stove and wait for it to start steaming.  As you may have already figured out, I loved to pump the pump.  I would sit on the counter next to the red handle and give it all I had.  It was a lot of fun but it was also a lot of work for a little guy.

There was a basement in the house and it had been partitioned off into several bedrooms.  Grandma and Grandpa still had four or five of their kids at home and that was their area.  It was even colder down in the basement and there was no heat source down there; it was okay in the summer months, but in the winter it was like living in an igloo.

Another clear memory is of Grandpa’s truck.  He had a farm truck with a flatbed on the back which he used to haul junk that he found in different places.  On a portion of his property Grandpa had a small junk yard.  He would collect anything he could find which he thought he might be able to sell to be restored or used as junk iron for recycling (and we think recycling is a new concept).  What was so special about Grandpa’s truck was that it was an old, old Ford Model-A truck which was among the early trucks produced by the Ford Motor Company.  The cab was black as were all the Ford vehicles back when it was produced, but the most amazing thing was that you had to start the truck by turning a crank.

At the front of the cab, where the motor was, there was a metal crank which stuck out of the engine.  The driver would turn on the starter switch and then climb out of the cab and go to the front of the truck and give that crank a turn; which was not easy to turn.  I tried several times and couldn’t even budge the stupid thing.  The frustrating thing was that the truck hardly ever started up on the first turn; sometimes it would take many cranks to get it going.  I can remember times when the truck was being particularly stubborn and my uncle would give the old Ford a good hard kick.  Amazingly, it always seemed to start after that.

There was a danger in turning the crank and men had to be very cautious as occasionally the old Ford would backfire as it tried to take hold.  When that happened the crank would meet great resistance going the opposite direction and it could fly back with such force that it was not uncommon for someone to end up with a broken arm.

When the Model-A got going, I loved to ride in it.  You could actually see the ground through the floorboard.  Of course I didn’t realize at the time that I was riding in a piece of true American history.

As I said, inside the house was a very large wood burning stove in Grandma’s kitchen where she did all of the cooking; and oh, what a cook she was.  She could make the best fried chicken, mashed potatoes and milk gravy you ever tasted.  She fed her family three meals a day; all cooked on that wood burning stove.  After all, there wasn’t a McDonalds or Burger King to go to in those days and even had there been they would not have been able to afford the ten cent burgers.

The thing I loved most was when Grandma made homemade bread which was baked in that wood burning oven.  Oh, the aroma that came from that kitchen.  Of course it took forever to bake, so by the time it did come out of the oven you were salivating all over your face; then to add more to the torture, you had to wait for the bread to cool for a while before it could be sliced and served.  It was pure, heavenly torture.  When the bread was finally sliced and still so hot the steam was rising out of it, Grandma would go over to that icebox and take out a bowl of homemade butter.  There was no such thing as buying butter in the store.  They got their milk from a local dairy farmer and Grandma would skim off the cream and churn her own butter.  Oh my dear Lord above, when that butter was spread onto that steaming hot bread it was the most delicious tasking food I have ever had.  It was the combination of the bread being baked in the wood burning stove, which gave it a slight smoky flavor, along with the homemade butter.

People in the know tell us that smell is an essential part of taste; well, I am here to tell you that Grandma’s homemade bread was a testament to that theory.  After smelling that bread bake in that wood burning oven for an hour and then tasting the finished product, it was something to remember forever and I guess I will.  THANK YOU GRANDMA!!!

One of the things I’ve learned as I’ve gotten older is that the true treasures in life are not how much money you have been able to accumulate, or any of the things you bought, it is the experiences you have had.  Grandma and Grandpa had very little; they could just barely feed themselves; they were just able to have clothes on their backs.  But they gave me so many wonderful memories to treasure for a lifetime.  You can’t place a value on that, it is priceless.

CHAPTER 2

COWBOYS AND ROSES

I was five years old and I was excited; we were going to take a trip to Los Angeles for Christmas.  My Aunt Lydia, from my dad’s side of the family, lived in L.A. along with some cousins.  We would be driving from LaSalle to California and I just knew it would be the most exciting adventure of my young life.  The day finally came and we packed up the car to the point of just enough room for me in the back seat and away we went; the adventure of a lifetime.

You know, it is a long way from Colorado to L.A. and it didn’t take very long, riding in the backseat of the car with next to no room to move for me to develop a disgusting case of car sickness.  Oh man, I was sicker than a dog.  We hadn’t traveled long when Mom and Dad figured out that I would have to ride in the front seat or throw-up on everything.  Mom wasn’t too happy having to move to the back seat but I sure felt a lot better; I didn’t have one more episode of car sickness.

I also learned that once you left Colorado there wasn’t a whole lot of stuff to look at until you got to California.  After about 300 Cacti had passed by I didn’t particularly care if I ever saw another cactus for the rest of life.

But California was cool though; it had mountains too and of course when you got to the coast there was the ocean.  I had never seen the ocean before.  I don’t even know how you would describe the first time you lay eyes on the ocean; I guess about all I can say is that it was big and had lots of water.  I sure do remember the first time I set foot in the California Ocean that winter.  That is literally all I did was set my foot in the ocean; I was shocked at how cold it was.  There was no way I was putting my whole body in that icy water; one foot and that was it.

We finally got to Aunt Lydia’s house and it was so good to be able to get out of the car and breathe some fresh air.  But I will tell you, the California air smelled a lot different from the Colorado air; it smelled like flowers and fruit mixed together with another not so pleasant aroma which I could not identify; it was an interesting combination of odors.

One of the things that amazed me was that in her back yard Aunt Lydia had an orange tree.  You could walk out the back door and pick an orange fresh off of the tree; oh man, they tasted so good.

The inside of Aunt Lydia’s house smelled good because she was always cooking and baking, especially when she had guests, and I am here to tell you that she was a great cook!  She knew how to make all the really good German and Russian dishes; it was fun to eat at her house.  Soon all of the cousins were assembled in the small living room and dining area and we were feasting.

My cousins in California were all grown and so there was really no one for me to play with, but that didn’t mean that I did not get a lot of attention.  Oh man, my male cousins were great teasers and I was the prime target and I also got to wrestle a lot and heard a lot of interesting stories concerning life in Los Angeles.

We got to do some fun stuff as I waited for Christmas to arrive, like go to Knott’s Berry farm and that was awesome.  The best part for me was that they had live enactments of a western gun fight with the sheriff shooting the bad guys who would fall out of second-floor windows to the ground.  I couldn’t figure out how the actors did not get hurt because it sure looked real.  Of course I was really into the cowboy thing and that was how I spent the greater part of my play time, so I ate up the cowboy act.  I think I watched the shoot-out about four or five times; I am sure my parents were sick and tired of it by the time we left the park.  I wanted to go back the next day but Mom and Dad said that we had other places to see and that was the day we went to the beach so that I could freeze my foot.

Finally it was Christmas day!  I don’t know how Santa was able to find me all the way in California, but he did and he brought me all the things I had asked for.  After the presents were opened I was decked out in a cowboy hat, a cowboy vest with a sheriff’s star on it, a pair of chaps and spanking new cowboy boots.  But those were not the best of the gifts, I mean they were cool and everything, but the best was a pair of six shooters with a double holster.  Oh my gosh, I was in cowboy heaven.

Needless to say everywhere we went from then on I was decked out in my cowboy attire.  I would have slept in that outfit if Mom would have let me.  Every spare minute I had I was in the back yard playing cowboy.  I really wanted to climb up on the roof of the house and fall dead to the ground like the actors had done, but Dad put the nix on that real fast.  Of course I never thought that I might possibly break an arm or leg or something worse.

Our vacation flew by and soon it was New Year’s Eve day.  After dinner that evening Mom told me that I had to go to bed extra early as we were going to a parade very early in the morning and she said that I would need a good night’s sleep as it was going to be an exciting day; well, it didn’t sound very exciting to me.  I had been to the Fourth-of-July parade in Greeley and though it did have a lot of horses in it, it was really kind of boring.  So I was marched off to bed even earlier than usual; but of course I had a hard time falling asleep.  Between thinking about all my neat cowboy stuff and wondering what was going to be so great about this parade it was a while before the sandman took over.

Being a farm boy I knew what early was.  After all, in the summer Dad had to get up before it was even daylight.  But early in California was ridiculous.  At three o’clock AM my mother was shaking me and telling me to wake up, that we had to get going.  The next thing I knew we were all piling into one of my cousin’s big ole car and heading off toward places unknown in the city of Los Angeles.

It seemed as though we drove for ever and we never even left the city.  I was beginning to realize how big this place was.  What was also amazing was how many other cars were out at this ungodly hour and all heading in the same direction.

Finally we parked the car and I was relieved to know that we were finally there.  Well, I was wrong.  We now got out of the car and began to walk.  We walked and we walked and we walked.  It was just like driving there and there were millions of other people all walking in the same direction.  It was kind of like one of those zombie movies where all of the creatures are stumbling along in the same direction looking for someone to munch on.  I mean. I lived on a farm.  I could go all day and only see two or three people.  This was definitely a new experience.

I held on to my dad’s hand real tight.  We just kept walking.  After trekking about a hundred miles we came to a very wide street and everyone stopped walking.  Now we were standing.  We just stood there.  All these millions of zombies just stood there.

I didn’t realize it at the time, but we were very fortunate because we had laid claim to a spot which was right at the curb of this wide street.  We didn’t move; we just waited.  I thought we had spent a lot of time walking, well, that was nothing compared to the amount of time we spent waiting.  The sun was out now and it was beginning to get kind of hot; but still we didn’t move; we just waited.

It seemed like it took longer than for the Lord to create the Earth than for something to happen.  But, finally, off in the far distance I could hear what sounded like music.  This brought the millions of people to attention and they started moving; not moving feet, but moving inches.  They began to crowd and push to get as close to the curb as possible so they could better see what was coming.  Next thing I knew I was pushed right out onto that wide street.  Then a big ten foot tall policeman came and moved the crowd back to make room so I could stand back on the curb.  Dad put his hands on shoulders and held me in place.

The music was getting louder and then I could see them.  There was a marching band leading the parade down this big wide street.  There must have been a hundred people playing different instruments in that band and could they ever play.  What caught my eye though was this very pretty lady in a very short skirt like thing and she was throwing this metal stick way up in the air and it would spin around and around and when it came back down she would catch it.  She would then twirl it around really fast and then throw it up again.  Amazingly, she never dropped it.

As the band marched past my eyes became as wide as saucers and my nose jumped to attention.  I was dumbfounded.  Coming down the street was a float which was beyond comprehension.  In the Greeley parade there were always one or two floats but they were nothing like the one I was gazing upon right now; it was absolutely beautiful; it was decorated totally out of flowers and the aroma was heavenly.  Then there was another float and another after that and each was just as spectacular and beautiful as the next.

Soon there came a float with Mickey Mouse and Donald Duck riding on it.  They both looked right at me and waved.  Wow; I sure was liking this parade a lot.  There were also more marching bands, each as impressive as the previous one and each band had one of those pretty ladies with the metal stick they threw into the air.

This went on for quite some time and I was not in the least bit bored; let me tell you I was wide awake now.  So were all those millions of people I talked about.  They were clapping and yelling and whistling for all they were worth.  I looked up and Dad had a grin a mile wide; Mom was clapping and jumping up and down.  It may sound strange, but I had never experienced anything that smelled as good as the smells that were emanating from all those flowers on the floats.

Little did I know that the best was yet to come.  I have described what a cowboy fanatic I was; well, for a boy my age there were several Western movie heroes that every kid admired.  There was Gene Autry; he was my favorite of all the cowboys; then there was Roy Rogers and his wife Dale Evans, The Lone Ranger and Tonto, Hop-Along Cassidy and Tom Mix.  Those were the big ones.

As I stood there I looked down the street to see what was coming next and there he was; riding his palomino horse was Gene Autry.  He was riding right toward me on my side of the street.  I am sure my jaw dropped open as my hero came slowly clopping right up next to me.  Then the most amazing thing happened.  The parade stopped and standing right next to me was Campion and Gene Autry.  I could have reached out and touched them.  I just looked up at Gene with stars in my eyes.  Next thing I know he looked down and saw me standing there and he gave me a smile and, as the parade began moving forward, he presented me with a two-finger salute from the brim of his wide western hat and moved on.  I looked up at Mom and Dad and they both had happy smiles on their faces because they knew how much that salute and smile meant to me.

As the parade continued I also got to see Roy Rogers and Dale Evans as they road by.  A little later there was Hop-Along Cassidy, then Tom Mix.  Toward the end of the parade here came the Lone Ranger and his trusted friend Tonto.  It had been quite a day for I had been able to see all of my heroes; but the most special had been Gene Autry.

Our California vacation came to an end the next day and we headed back toward Colorado.  It wasn’t any more interesting on the way back than it had been on the way there; however, I didn’t mind the ride nearly as much.  I was wearing my new cowboy outfit and I could still see all my heroes riding along the parade route.

If you have never had the opportunity to see the Rose Bowl Parade I would highly recommend it.  I have never been back to see the parade since I was five years old, but you know if I close my eyes I can be right back there on that street curb.  I can still hear the music of the bands and I can see the twirling of the batons by the majorettes.  I can also still smell the wonderful fragrances emanating from the most beautiful floats I have ever laid eyes on.  But, most of all, I can see Gene Autry smiling at me and giving me that two-finder salute as he rode off into the sunset.

CHAPTER 3

MOVING HOME: MAYBE

My father’s family had been farmers for many generations.  To give you an idea of how many generations I will share some family tree history.

My father’s family was German.  There were many regions of Germany back in history and each had its own German dialect.  Our family heritage was Swabia.  Back before the birth of Christ the Swabia’s were barbarians.  History suggests that we fought against, and occasionally for, the Roman army.  In 58 BC the Swabia’s lost a key battle against Caesar.  It is even possible that the Jerkes may have some of Caesar’s bloodline as the Roman soldiers would wed German women.

Moving ahead to the time of Catherine the Great (Queen of Russia back in the mid-1700s).  Russia needed farmers.  German farmers were