Laddie: My Four-Legged Protector

By Don Marler

Back in 1945, on Christmas Eve day, a blizzard hit Wichita, Kansas. A freezing puppy wandered into Tex's Welding Shop. How could Tex know what would happen to his family if he took the dog home to his four-year-old son for Christmas?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Don Marler Enterprises LLC
• Release date: Feb 13, 2017
• ISBN: 9781532309427

Don Marler

Don Marler is an author living in Wichita, Kansas. His memoir, "LADDIE: My Four-Legged Protector," is well written and contain twenty-nine photographs of his boyhood dog and himself as they grew up together in Wichita, Kansas from 1944-59. The book will have special appeal to twelve-year-olds and older, who have ever loved a dog. Those familiar with the Samoyed breed will recognize the "Sammy Smile" that occurs when Samoyeds are feeling love for their master. Don's first camera, at age sixe, cost fifty-cents and a Wheaties box top. His second camera at age ten used flashbulbs approximately the size of a 40 watt light bulb. His third professional camera was a 35 mm and created the beautiful images of his beloved companion wearing a golf hat and sunglasses. This is an inspiring book that is hard to put down once you read the opening scene that occurred during the flood of 1944. Hope you enjoy, "LADDIE: My Four-Legged Protector."

Book preview

CONTENTS

1 Lassie Come Home

2 Pork Au Jus

3 Love without Words

4 Remembering Red

5 Tossing the Caber

6 Turtle Rock Sanctuary

7 Sugar & Peanut Butter

8 Polar Bear Fighters

9 I’m Sorry

10 Tex’s Training

11 Memorial Day

12 King

13 Not That Newspaper

14 Dime Banks & Coats

15 Scary Things That Bite

16 Goodbye, Tar Baby

17 Stay There

18 Never Give Up

19 My Caddie

20 Eva’s Gifts

21 Where All Good Dogs Go

Acknowledgements

AUTHOR’S NOTE

Ibought my first camera at age six. It cost 50 cents and a Wheaties box top. It had a cheap plastic lens that took blurry, 1x 1 pictures. Unfortunately, the images I captured of Laddie with that camera were too fuzzy to use in this book.

At that time, my mother, Irene, had a Kodak box camera with a glass lens and 3x 5 negatives. The pictures she took came back from the drugstore somewhat sharper. She took the picture of Laddie; our next-door neighbor, Jeanette; and me that appears in Chapter Nine: I’m Sorry, as well as the one of Tar Baby and me in Chapter Sixteen: Goodbye, Tar Baby.

My Great Uncle Roy took the picture of Eva and me on her front porch, that’s in Chapter Twenty: Eva’s Gifts. My great aunt Eva took the picture of Irene and me on my first day of school, shown in Chapter One, Lassie Come Home, and me wading in a mud puddle, which appears in Chapter Thirteen: Not That Newspaper. Before they passed away, both Irene and Eva gave me their photos and told me, The pictures are yours now. Please do what you want with them.

At age ten, I purchased my second camera, which had a glass lens. It used flashbulbs almost as big as 40-watt light-bulbs, and it created crisp, focused images. That upgrade allowed me to take the sharp picture of my father’s welders that appears in Chapter Four: Remembering Red.

After coming home from the Marines at age 26, I purchased my third camera, a professional 35 MM model, to photograph Susan Hampton’s purebred Samoyed dogs that looked and acted just like my boyhood dog, Laddie. Susan, a Samoyed breeder, lived and raised her dogs in Bel Aire, Kansas. She gave me permission to use her name and image, and one of her puppies as a stand in for Laddie in his younger years, and her adult male champion in the photos in Chapter Nineteen: My Caddie. All other dog photographs are of Laddie himself.

I wrote Laddie’s story from memory, as honestly as I could 55 years after it took place. All of Laddie’s story remains intact.

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Susan Hampton, Samoyed breeder

1

LASSIE COME HOME

Every year or two during spring rains in the 1940s, the Little Arkansas River would overflow its banks and flood our entire neighborhood in Wichita, Kansas. My parents, Tex and Irene Marler, would watch the floodwater slowly flow up 21st Street, and Irene would pray for the rain to stop before it came inside our house. Tex wasn’t religious, so he never prayed. When the rain didn’t stop, and the muddy water reached the floor of our front porch, Tex would put all of our furniture up on cinder blocks. Then he’d hoist me onto his shoulders and swim out to his big welding truck, open the door, and deposit me on the front seat. After closing the door, he’d swim back for Irene. The three of us would then drive sixteen blocks to Tex’s shop on Santa Fe Street. We’d camp out in the attic for a week or more until the water had receded enough to permit us to go back home.

Our homecomings would be less than joyful. We’d reluctantly climb the front porch steps, knowing we’d be walking into a stink worse than a pack of wet dogs. Every time, the floors would lay covered by at least six inches of mud and sticks, and the walls would be stained by who knows what. Wasting no time, Tex would swing me up onto our sofa, and I’d watch the cleanup from my perch only inches from the ceiling. Tex would shovel wave after wave of mud out our front door and then Irene would use the garden hose to spray the floor and the base of the walls before chasing the last of the silt out the front door. She’d mop the floors and walls with Clorox water and then, so our floors could dry, we’d take to our beds and try to ignore the overpowering smells that made sleeping difficult.

Tex, Irene, and I first moved into our rental house, also known as a shack, in 1942, when I was just a year old. The house was in a poor northwest Mexican laborer’s neighborhood. The floorboards had been through so many floods and shrinkages from so many hot Kansas summers that the cracks between them had become wide enough in some places that we could see clear through to the ground. Tex and Irene never let on that they hated the place. But my Great Aunt Eva, who lived next door to us, would often say, This is all anyone in the neighborhood can afford.

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It was 1945 when I started kindergarten at Waco Elementary. I was four years old, I had never been outside my city block before, except for when Irene made me go to Fairview Christian, Irene’s church, or to family reunions. So Irene and Eva walked me three blocks to school on the first day. Irene surprised me by gently taking my hand to guide me through the front gate. I wanted to enjoy her contact even though her change in behavior confused me. As we passed through the school’s front doors, I sensed the vast interior of the building looming over me. It felt like I might wet my pants, so I squeezed my insides as tightly as I could.

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Me, age four, with Irene (Hall) Marler, first day of school

As Irene and I slowly climbed the giant wooden staircase leading up to the first floor, I smelled the sweet-sour odor of vomit mixed with sawdust. It reminded me of having the stomach flu and throwing up when I smelled my Great Uncle Roy sawing boards. Why does school smell like this? I wondered.

Irene pointed at the concrete stairs that led to the basement and said, When I was here for the orientation for mothers of kindergarteners, I spoke to Mr. Brown, the school janitor. I know him from church. He told me his desk and cleaning supplies are down there, next to boys’ and the girls’ toilets.

We reached the first floor landing, and Irene sweetly instructed me to look into the classroom off to our left. See your teacher at her desk, talking to the other kindergartners?

My classmates had already turned five, so most of them—many of them tan-skinned Mexican boys and girls from my neighborhood—stood taller and looked older than I. Being short, skinny, and pale, I stood out like a pasty gringo trying to hide in the middle of Pancho Villa’s gang.

Then Irene pointed at a sturdy wooden door with a frosted glass window that had black letters printed on it: PRINCIPAL’S OFFICE. Ominous shadows moved behind the glass. You don’t want to do something naughty and have to go in there, Irene said. And then the door swung open suddenly, and I jumped. Irene said hello to the smiling woman who strode out. Then Irene walked me into my classroom and stepped right up to my teacher, who introduced herself as Miss Gardner and then Miss Gardner asked me to take a seat at one of the tables. I found the last empty chair at a table for six children.

Irene and all the other mothers stood in a group by the door while Miss Gardner asked us kids to say our names out loud one by one. Then she explained that when we needed to use the restroom, we were to ask to borrow the restroom paddle that hung on the end of her desk. We were to show it to teachers we might meet in the hallway. Then Irene snuck out the door, to leave me alone with strangers.

The next morning I ran to school. Irene had said Waco Elementary wasn’t that far from our house, so I had to walk there without her. Being all alone when I saw the gray, two-story building towering in the distance, I felt a little sick. But then the bell in the school’s bell tower rang out, and it seemed to talk to me. Don’t be afraid, it said. Things here might not be as bad as your mother warned you they’d be.

By noon that Friday, I’d learned why the school smelled the way it did. One of my classmates had gotten sick and lost his breakfast on the floor. Miss Gardner notified Mr. Brown, and he soon clamored up the stairs, carrying a push broom and a dustpan filled with sawdust. When he lumbered into our room, his boney legs caused his overalls to bulge from side to side. I noticed he’d hung a red shop rag from his right hip pocket, but I didn’t know why.

Mr. Brown sprinkled some wood shavings on the floor and then swept up the vomit and sawdust mixture, stirring up a God-awful odor. I started gagging, and I didn’t stop until I looked away and made myself think about Jesus like my Sunday school teacher had said I should when something bad happened. Mr. Brown didn’t use his rag for anything, but after that day I never doubted that he had his reasons for carrying it.

At first, I was cautious around the other kindergartners. I’d look at the floor instead of staring at them. I’d avoid playing with other kids. But then when no one tried to hurt me, I relaxed some. Then I accidentally looked directly into the face of a boy named Larry who sat at my table, and he smiled at me. Wow! After that I smiled at all the kids in my class, and everyone except for one girl, who looked as afraid as I’d felt, smiled back.

One morning, I needed to do number one, so I asked Miss Gardner, Can I use the restroom paddle? Miss Gardner handed it to me, so I went down the stairs and into the bowels of the building. Enormous, scary pipes hung from the ceiling. They clanged, like the sound of Tex banging his sledge hammer on a piece of metal. Terrified now, I inched toward the restrooms. And then when I passed an open door, I smelled the sweet aroma of tobacco and saw a man sitting in a small, dimly lit room like a squirrel’s cubby hole. The man was smoking a dark brown pipe. Then his head jerked up, and he saw me! It was Mr. Brown! With my heart in my throat, I scurried to the toilet. I was scared while I peed. I told myself that I’d never go into the basement again if I could help it.

As the days wore on, I discovered there were more good things than bad about going to school. Miss Gardner was the best thing. I could tell that she liked kids. She had a kind smile, talked nicely to all of us and never hit anyone when they were naughty. I could speak to her whenever I wanted, and she answered me. I also especially liked eating Graham Crackers, drinking milk, and lying on a rug.

My class had assigned seats. Larry sat on my right. He’d pick his nose when we ate Graham Crackers and drank milk. He was ornery. Once he grabbed a green crayon from the box of crayons he’d brought to school for art and scribbled with it on the floor. He said I should do it too, but I didn’t want to. Then when Miss Gardner caught him, I thought She’s gonna take him to that Principal’s Office where naughty boys go. She didn’t do it, but I was still glad I hadn’t joined him.

A girl named Marlene sat on my left. From the very first day of school, I understood why everyone said they wished they could sit next to her. She used a fancy rug during nap time and wore a fancy satin party dress and black patent leather shoes five days a week. I had to wear the same pair of holey jeans every day. She’d tell everybody, My family is rich. We have a movie theater. I’d look at her and think It’s not fair.

Since I didn’t have any sisters, I didn’t know how to act around girls, so I watched Marlene and the other girls and hoped I’d learn what to do. But instead, they just mixed me up. Marlene would say she wanted to draw a picture with me, but then when it was time to color, she’d work with Larry instead. I wanted her to like me, so I’d try not to act mad. But she didn’t care anyhow. And once during recess, for no reason at all, a tall, skinny girl named Kay wacked me on the side of the head with her purse. When I got home, I asked Irene why Kay did that, and Irene said Kay probably liked me. Well, I thought that didn’t make a speck of sense. I concluded that girls did stuff I didn’t understand. I decided it was safer to stick with the boys during recess.

Two weeks before Christmas, Marlene’s mother, who looked like a Pekinese wearing a wig, showed up at our class, carrying a handful of red and black birthday invitations. She handed them out, making such a fuss that I wondered if they were World Series tickets. I hoped they were. Miss Gardner read one of the invitations out loud. "Please come to Marlene’s birthday party this Saturday afternoon at one o’clock, at the movie theater on the corner of 21st and Market. You won’t have to pay to see the show. Everyone will get free popcorn. Your entertainment will include a Popeye cartoon, a Rocket Man serial, a Durango Kid movie, and a surprise, the main feature. You will see it in glorious Technicolor."

I held my invitation in a death grip all the way home from school. I’d never been to a movie before. I trembled with excitement when I handed my gift to Irene. She read it and said, I’ll let you go if you make your bed every morning and always eat everything I put on your plate. Irene always made me straighten my bed anyhow, so that would be easy. And Sunday was the only day Tex stayed home and I always got something to eat. So the other six days a week eating everything would also be a snap.

It had snowed the night before the party, so on the big day I put on my jeans and t-shirt, and Irene helped me into my black peacoat, which she’d bought from the Salvation Army thrift store. I pulled Tex’s old, bright red hunting cap that had earflaps out of the closet, put it on, and pulled it down over my ears. Then I stepped into my cousin’s hand-me-down combat boots and laced them up with shoestrings full of knots. When I’d tried and failed to put on my brown mittens that were tied together with a three-foot cord, Irene had me take off my coat before feeding the string up one sleeve and down the other. After putting my coat back on, I peeked at myself in Irene’s bedroom vanity mirror and thought I looked pretty good.

Then Irene and I were ready to walk to the theater. As soon as we stepped outside, Irene began grumbling. She tromped through the snowdrifts, and I gasped for air and trotted along behind her. My short legs struggled to keep up with her. I asked her to hold on to my hand, but she said she didn’t want to. So I wiped my nose on my coat sleeve and ran. That helped.

When we reached the theater, we stood outside, and Irene handed my invitation to a strange looking lady in a glass booth. She had purple hair, wore pink glasses, and had red lipstick painted outside the borders of her lips. She talked to Irene through a round hole surrounded by a brass ring. Marlene’s birthday party lasts two hours and forty minutes, she said, talking out of one side of her mouth while a cigarette bounced up and down in the other. Take your son to the candy counter and give the attendant this. She’ll give him his popcorn. The woman slid a ticket stub through a waist high opening in the booth and Irene picked it up.

I followed Irene through brass doors and into the lobby of the theater. A couple of kids and their mothers were already waiting in line at the candy counter. When Irene and I reached the counter, a short lady with painted on eyebrows handed me a tiny bag of popcorn. Can I have a bigger one, please? I asked.

Irene slapped my arm and said through clenched teeth, Be glad you got one at all. A mother standing behind us coughed and then scowled at Irene, making Irene change her tone. Now be good, she sweetly said to me. I’ll meet you here after the movie. The other mother stepped up to the candy counter as Irene turned to leave.

Irene turned to