SAY CHEESE, PLEASE - Larksfield Place · PDF fileWe encourage you to download this large print book from our website, ... thing I remember most about that teacher was that she slapped

SAY CHEESE,

PLEASE

(Family Portraits)

Nelda Kell

LARKSFIELD PRESS LARGE PRINT BOOKS

Say Cheese, Please (Family Portraits) © 2000 Nelda Kell All rights reserved by the author and her heirs.

Editing assistance: Rita Pearce

Layout and technical assistance: Terryl M. Asla

Published as a public service by I, Witness to History, The Online Library of our Lives, a program of The Cramer Reed Center for Successful Aging, 7373 East 29th Street North, Wichita, Kansas 67226. 1-888-755-9841 We encourage you to download this large print book from our website, http://iwitnesstohistory.org, and print it out for the education and enjoyment of yourself and others subject to the following conditions:

1) The publication may not be altered in any way. 2) Reproductions of this book may not be sold for profit without prior written

permission. LARKSFIELD PRESS is a trademark of The Cramer Reed Center for Successful Aging, a not-for-profit applied research center on aging.

With thanks to the capable, cheerful cooperation of the Resource Learning Center personnel at Larksfield

Place this, my life work, has finally been published—my dream come true.

Nelda Kell, December, 2000

Table of Contents

THE PLACE TO BE ……………………….…………………..……………….. 1

FAMILY PORTRAITS……………………………………………………...…… 9

MY MOTHER…………………………………………….……………… 9

OTHERS IN MOTHERS FAMILY………………….………………….. 19

MY DAD……………………………………………………..…………. .23

EMILY, MY SISTER ………………………….…………………...…… 32

OUR GRANDMA……………………………...………………..……… .39

KANSAS PIONEER……………………………………….……………. 43

A TIME OF GENTLENESS…………………………………………………… 47

RODA-TA-DODAST GEMS……………………………...…………………… 53

PRECIOUS MOMENTS………………………………………..……………… 66

GRANDMA SPEAKETH……………………………………………………… 67

AUTOBIOGRAPHY…………………………………………………………… 71

KNIGHT IN SHINING ARMOR……………………………………...………. 79

AFTER WORD……………………………………………………...…….…… 91

1 Nelda Kell

THE PLACE TO BE "This is the place to be." How often I heard that from friends who

lived at Larksfield Place in Wichita, Kansas! Even in the early years when everything was just getting started.

My husband, Jim, and I had looked at many retirement places so I knew he had something like this in mind for our future. We had been present at the groundbreaking for Larksfield Place and had made an investment in its beginnings. Therefore, when I lost my dear one in April of '96 after almost 64 years of marriage, it was probably natural, at least, for me to look into the possibility. We had just spent almost three years in Kingman, Arizona where our Granddaughter and family were caring for my husband, who had Alzheimer's. I was living in an apartment equidistant from the hospital to where they were.

I could write a book about those three years but that isn't the subject here, so I'll say simply that Jim got love and that is so important for us all whether we're in good health or bad.

In late May of '96, I made a trip to Kansas with the intention of deciding what I should do with the remainder of my life. I, of course, visited Larksfield Place and when Sharon showed me this apartment overlooking the lake, I seemed to feel that this is where Jim would want me to be. He loved the water and I'm sure this would have been his choice, too.

There were at least two deciding factors for my decision to move back to Kansas. First of all, I would be taken care of and my family would not ever have to worry about me. Then, secondly, a prairie-born child such as I, would be returning to the prairie for, as Dorothy put it, "There's no place like home."

Even with all the "This is the place to be", I was not aware of all the amenities afforded here. I will speak of only one and that is the "Resource Center." We were urged to write something of our early years for the "I, Witness To History" program as so many of our grandchildren know nothing of a world without air conditioning, computers, and all the electric gadgets we all take for granted. We were urged to find pictures to illustrate what we wrote about. That

2 Say Cheese, Please

was a difficult one for me, as the only picture I found was of a telephone like I used to know about back in the '20s. I found a picture of a washing machine that was operated by a handle that you moved back and forth, but the picture left a lot to be desired. I, nevertheless, turned in my piece, which I had titled "A Time of Gentleness."

Because of this piece, I was introduced to Rita Pearce, a Wichita State University student who was working on a master's degree in Communication, which she has since acquired. Much to my surprise, she asked for an interview, which she would tape. Then, she asked how many copies of the tape I would like. All this was far more than I would ever have dreamed or imagined.

But, when you get to know Rita, you know she doesn't stop with halfway measures. The next surprise was that she had me come in and read a paragraph into the computer. Then, a day or so later, she presented me with a taped copy of our

interview—miraculous!

So, I had in hand my original piece, which she had made copies of, plus the typed-up tape conversation. Somewhere at this point or a little later, I invited Rita to have lunch with me and she asked me to bring other things I'd written.

Again, this was a surprise to me but I've learned that Rita is full of surprises—such a thoughtful, capable, and dear person. She typed or scanned all my stuff, even asking if I would like to include something I'd mentioned in our interview. So, with a few changes here and there, I can have the whole in book form to pass on to my family. Thank you very much, Rita, as I know what a tremendous task this has been.

Larksfield Place, Wichita, Kansas.

3 Nelda Kell

So much of our interview were things I had already written, so, to avoid too much repetition, I will give my answers to only the questions she asked that will not be found in the rest of the text.

Rita asked about childhood diseases and I said that as I look back, that they were probably worse then than they are now. I had the chicken pox and still have a mark on my nose where I must have dug the pox off.

In our discussion of the Harvey House, I stated that Jim, his mother, and his sister all worked at the Harvey House in Syracuse, Kansas. Jim was just a boy and they all told of many wonderful experiences they had. One of Jim's jobs was to take the paddles out of the ice cream maker. This, of course, was a great job as he got to lick the paddles. He also brought in the heavy cream. We don't see heavy cream like that any more—almost like butter. He could sample that, too, so he liked that kind of job. The manager's name was Bounty. On Jim's first day on the job, there were some fellows working outside with Jim and they were teasing him. They asked, "Did anybody tell you that you don't get paid for the first month?" Jim didn't know what to say about that but, all of a sudden, they all looked up and there was Bounty at the screen door, and he told them off.

I went to school in Florence, but I can't remember anything about first and second grades. In the third grade, I had a teacher who played favorites. My little friend and I were Mutt and Jeff because she was short and I was so tall. The teacher would bawl-out Beth about something and then take her on her lap and pet her. The thing I remember most about that teacher was that she slapped me. I had a circular comb I wore in my hair and I was combing my hair—probably while reading or studying, and she came back and slapped me.

In the fifth grade, we put on an operetta called "The Quest of the Pink Parasol" and Beth, my friend, was the main character. She did it beautifully. I don't remember what I was but I was in it, as music was my forte. Later I played piano for quartets and choruses.

When I was a junior, the coach asked me if I would start a Pep Club. Wonder of wonders, I was a cheerleader! One of my


classmates was a cheerleader along with me. He had broken his neck so couldn't play sports but he was a wonderful fellow. He understood the game better than I did so he could tip me off when it was time to cheer.

High School was a wonderful time for me. We didn't have senior proms, but we did have senior banquets. Juniors fixed the food and I wrote to my fiancé, Jim, about our menu. There was salad, meat, potatoes, bread, dessert, and drink. I told him we would be charging fifty cents. I asked in my letter, "Do you think that's too much?"

We were married in 1932 and the first child was born when we lived in Florence. We went to Dr. Hertzler in Newton. Hertzler was a famous name, but it was connected to Halstead rather than Newton. This doctor was related to the famous Dr. Hertzler—a nephew—I think. I don't think anybody can believe now what little it cost us to have a baby. We could go any time to see the doctor. He told us that the fee would be $25.00 for the whole thing, including delivery and any visits afterward. The Doctor said he preferred we pay as we went along, which we did, as Jim had paid $10.00 of the $25.00 when our little girl was born on September 3rd, 1933. He had said at the time that MOST people paid ahead. When he asked for his $25.00 after the baby came, Jim let him stew a bit, then reminded him that we had already paid some. His response was "That's right, you did. So FEW people pay ahead."

I think it was 1934 when we bought our first car—a brand new Ford. Imagine getting a brand new car for $500.00. Jim bought a new car about every year thereafter as he was on the road all the time. The car we had when we got married was a Maxwell.

Before we were married and Jim was attending Dague Business College in Wichita, he worked at Livingston's Cafe for his meals and worked in a parking garage for a place to sleep. I think that cafe is still in business—run by a son, no doubt. At the parking garage Jim had a roommate, Maurice Johnston, who "sold" him the Maxwell in exchange for a musical instrument and something else, I don't recall just what. The radiator overheated, but all we did was add water. That car got us by for quite a while.

Jim's job was as a traveling representative for the Wichita Eagle

5 Nelda Kell

newspaper. He got that job when he finished his college training at Dague and he might have worked up to circulation manager. After a few years, the new manager named was the son of the former manager—Long was his name and Frank was the son. Frank and Jim became very good friends. I don't believe Jim would have appreciated an inside job because he was a really good salesman and enjoyed going out in the field and working with people.

During the war, when we thought we weren't going to get gas and tires, Jim sold Britannica Juniors. He made night calls and was top salesman for Britannica in Kansas for one month. Because he seriously thought he might be out of a job because of gas and tires, he bought a shoe repair shop. It was on Douglas, close to Hillside and called "Ralph's." He bought the name "Ralph's," so when the man he bought it from wanted to start another shoe repair shop further east and call it "Ralph's," Jim thought he was going to have a law suit on his hands, but it was worked out without going that far. This business was lucrative enough that he bought three other shoe repair shops. One was on Harry and two were on 21st St. Jim was still with the Eagle but he had good help in all the shops and was able to learn the trade in his spare time.

There was an older man who took an interest in Jim and suggested a book called "Gold Ahead." I don't know who wrote the book but Jim read it and believed strongly in its philosophy. Jim believed so strongly in that philosophy that I used to call it his "Bible." I'm very thankful, now, that he had that vision because it has seen us through many difficult times.

Rita asked about Prohibition and this was my answer: I'm thankful for Prohibition because I was never confronted with anybody who wanted to give me a drink or insist that I drink. My church had the dry philosophy. The Methodist church was a forerunner in wanting people to be temperate and avoid those things. One time we had a party. I don't remember how old I was, but it was quite a party. Everyone knew each other at the dance. A fellow spiked the punch. I was so mad that I went home. We did not have any say-so, you know. He was forcing something on us and I didn't like that. My Mother belonged to the WCTU (Women's Christian Temperance Union). After Mother was gone, Dad told me


that his doctor said he should drink a little wine, but he said, "I didn't, because I don't think Mother would approve." I thought that was sweet of him.

About the depression, my remarks to Rita were that I don't think I suffered much as my folks saw to it that I didn't. When I was away at school, it seemed as though every time I wrote home, I was asking for money. I remember seeing a dress in a store window that I fell in love with but I knew I couldn't have it because my folks couldn't afford it, so I didn't give them a hard time. I know I was aware of the depression, but, as far as suffering from it, I don't think I did.

My brother started to work when he was probably 12 years old. He had the idea that he was going to put himself through college. So, he always saved his money. He had jobs all that time, and when he went to the University of Kansas for five years, he had jobs there as well. He did something I know of very few doing—he sent money home for Dad to pay taxes on our properties or anything else important.

In talking with Rita about my piano playing, I had to admit that I have lost many of the skills I once had. My hands have gotten stiff, my eyes don't see as well as they used to, my brain doesn't always cooperate, and my hearing is getting a bit strange. But I still play because I think I should and it's a comfort to me. I'm very thankful

that my folks kept me at the piano. I also played the cello and I wish I had kept up on that. I played maybe one piece in a program and I guess I didn't like carrying it around. It was my music teacher's cello.

We got our little boy to go with our little girl in December 1936. We were living in Wichita by then and went back to Dr. My favorite picture of our two

children, Jeannine and Larry, 1939.

7 Nelda Kell

Hertzler and the Newton hospital. I should add here that I don't remember the cost of hospitalization then but, of course, there was no insurance, and I stayed 10 days each time—what a luxury!

I was teaching piano when our daughter was old enough to start piano but I thought I shouldn't be teaching her. I took her to a woman whose son had been a winner at the state piano contest and she had been his teacher. Our son, Larry, was probably two-and-a- half-years-old at that time, and we would take Jeannine to her lesson, let her out, then go back and get her. Maybe once or twice, we went in while the lesson was in progress and the teacher would say something like, "quarter, quarter, half note," teaching Jeannine the kinds of notes they were while she was playing. We thought Larry's comment so funny that it's worth repeating. We stopped to pick Jeannine up one day and Larry said something about this being the home of "Mrs. Carter, Carter, half note dot."

While I was teaching my piano pupils, Larry would sit so quietly and sweetly at his little table with his blocks. I think he may have absorbed something, as he is far more musical than his sister is now. She's an artist. He plays keyboard—largely by ear, guitar, and I don't know what else. He had the talent for it, which is truly a gift. He is to get my piano when I no longer need it.

Larry's birthday is the day before Christmas—I used to feel sorry about that. But, really, I believe he never minded, because there were always others to help him celebrate. One time I had a "birthday-and-a-half" party for him in June to show him that I cared if he minded having a birthday so near Christmas.

Since we were living in Florence when Jeannine was born, there were two sets of grandparents who doted on her and vied for the privilege of taking care of her when I would go with Jim to Wichita on Saturday afternoons. The biggest reason for going was to pick up Jim's weekly paycheck but I'm sure I enjoyed doing a little shopping. Downtown Wichita was a wonderful place to shop then. There was Innis, Buck's, Hinkles, and Walker Bros. to name some of the great department stores. There were also Kress and Woolworth dime stores. All these stores did a great business so it's sad now to see that they are no more.


I'll say just this much more about our children. Jeannine was a Shirley Temple type and could express herself so well and was so cute. I was told by one person, "You should take her to Hollywood and cash in on her." When Larry was born, I thought, "Oh, I've got him to myself—I don't have to share him." He was precious and I really enjoyed him. We were thankful we had two healthy, beautiful children, and still are thankful.

To end this chapter concerning the interview with Rita Pearce, I want to reiterate how very helpful the Resource personnel have been. Terry Asla is in charge—his assistants, Rita Pearce and Barbara Robinson. From time to time young students drop in and, also are available to help residents with any problems they may have with computers or webtv (which I have). Daily, we see residents in the room using the many computers and many of the things submitted have been added to Larksfield's I, Witness to History web site on the Internet.

9 Nelda Kell

Family Portraits MY MOTHER

Mabel Martin Brown was born in Champaign, Illinois in 1877. Unlike many people, she never objected to her name—in fact, she liked it and she loved her birthday. Christmas day is not the first

choice of most people for a birthday, but not so my mother. I think she felt that having the same with our Lord, Jesus, was a great honor and blessing.

Mabel was the third living child of William Allison and Anna Eliza Ambrose Brown and, being the first girl, she was put into service at an early age, as there were six more who followed her. She told of keeping house for the existing family when her mother went to visit in Illinois and Mother was only 12. She baked the bread, did the washing and ironing and cooking, and, I'm sure, did a creditable job of it. Besides Junction City, she told of living in Kearny, Nebraska and Eureka, Kansas. It was in Eureka where she formed lasting friendships

with three of her classmates and they conducted a "Round Robin" correspondence the rest of their lives. I think that quite remarkable—that from 6th grade on, four girls could keep up a friendship even though they almost never saw each other through the years.

Mother was quite young when she was running with a stick in her hand and fell on it, ramming it down her windpipe. The only aftermath I know of is that she had a very peculiar snore and never slept without snoring. She also had a hearing impairment, which was inherited, and she lived with it until she was in her 60's. Someone persuaded her to get a hearing aid and it opened up a brand new world for her. She and "Zenie," as she would call it, were always together from then on.

It was not unusual in those days for a girl to have to drop out of school to help out at home and, since Mother was one of the older ones, that was her lot. She didn't get beyond the 8th grade but she

Mabel Martin Brown, age two, 1879.


had a bright and witty mind that kept active. She must have listened when the others were studying because she knew quite a bit about Latin, and Dickens was her favorite author, as she would quote from one of his characters whenever the occasion warranted. In later years she kept her mind exercised by working crossword puzzles. I can still see the pride in those snappy brown eyes when she knew the answer to the question at hand.

I can't remember her as having anything but gray hair but, since it had been black, it grayed beautifully and was naturally curly and quite thick. She always had beautiful hair and eyes.

Her friends in Junction City consisted mainly of her cousins and a very dear friend, Nelle Baker, for whom I was named. I used to laugh at her because she would sometimes go through quite a series of names before she would get to mine. Something like "Florence," "Gladys," "Effie"—her cousins. It's a common trait, I know now.

She took great pride in the fact that she worked at the "Racket" store. This was a variety store and even sold some furniture. Mainly, though, it was material and laces which Mother loved working with. At the time of her marriage she had saved the handsome sum of $50 and she never let Dad forget that. So often, when he would say they couldn't afford something, she'd say, "Remember, I had $50 when we were married." I don't know how many times she spent that $50.

She worked some for a milliner and learned to "trim" hats, which was something she took pride in and continued all her life. She is pictured with her cousins and friends, and Mother's hat looks like a birthday cake. This was much, much later, but I remember only

Portrait of my mother as a young lady, probably taken about 1904 when she went to the World’s Fair in St. Louis, Missouri.

11 Nelda Kell

one dress that Mother had that could be classed as "elegant" and that was navy blue satin with navy blue lace trim. She looked like a queen in it.

One of the great experiences in Mother's life was attending the Exposition in St Louis in 1904. Memories of that was surely one reason that she was amenable to my going to St Louis right out of high school. Another thing, perhaps, was her faith in me. I taught myself to drive our car and, when I was only 15 or 16, she had enough confidence in me to go with me to drive my friend home to Emporia. From there we went to Alta Vista where Dad was working and he drove home.

Mother was married rather late in life, according to some standards, as she was 30. Having children was their greatest desire, and, it was only after reading an article in the July 1984 Smithsonian magazine that I knew I must write this paragraph.

Mother, upper center with friends proudly wearing the hats they made, circa about 1903.


They were married three years before my brother came to bless their lives and three more years before I made my appearance. I had shrugged it off, more because I didn't know what she was talking about than for any other reason, so what she told me when I was old enough to hear, suddenly came back to me. She credited Lydia Pinkham's Compound with the fact that she was able to become pregnant and she swore by the authenticity of Lydia's claims. Thank you, Lydia Pinkham!

Of course, Dad had a great deal to do with it but from what Mother told me of the way he acted, one would not think so. This bespeaks the times and not my image of my father, but Mother said he actually acted ashamed of her during her pregnancies. That is so different from now that it seems hard to believe. She said he would always strike out ahead of her as though she didn't even belong to him and that must have hurt her deeply. However, those were times when anything to do with "sex" was whispered or left unspoken altogether and "in sin did my mother conceive me" was taken quite literally.

This paragraph could be titled "Mother and her Church." She never missed a service if it were at all possible to be there. This meant Sunday school, church, evening service, prayer meeting on Wednesday night, and Women's meetings three or four times a month. She belonged to the Women's Foreign Missionary Society, Ladies Aid, and Women's Christian Temperance Union. Her greatest love was quilting and whenever the Ladies Aid had a quilt to do, Mother was there and very often brought it home to work on. She loved the music of the church and her fine

Nell Baker, Mother’s best friend for whom I was named.

13 Nelda Kell

alto voice joined in every song. She heard very little of the rest of the service but singing with the others seemed enough to keep her there each Sunday. This made it the hardest for me after her death when we would go to church, I could see her singing and I could not keep the tears back.

She seldom used a recipe book but her cakes were famous and she was always baking something up to take to church. I remember how Marcus, my brother, would say to her, "Ruin it, Mom," as he knew we'd get to keep it at home if it wasn't fit to take to the Church.

Not too long after we moved to Florence in 1920, Mother took the plunge and went for a goiter operation at Axtell Hospital in Newton. She was so excited about the results of that operation that she persuaded her sister to have the same operation. This tendency for goiter they had inherited from their mother. The sister, Ethel, was operated on in Junction City and at the time of the operation a terrible storm came in. Another aunt, Aunt Nettie, and some cousins, and I were sitting on Grandma's front porch and lightning struck a tree in the front yard and ripped it down the center. This storm was given as the reason that Aunt Ethel did not survive the operation.

While Mother was in the hospital, Aunt Belle, another sister, and her children came to take care of us. I have regrets to this day about things I did because I had to have been responsible. Mother's wedding ring got lost as well as a ring with two rubies. I am still trying to find a ring like that one with two rubies, Why, I don't know, because it's too late to make restitution. My actions, at that tender age, are typical of a kid trying to "show off" and get into things while Mother is away.

Speaking of the "plunges" Mother took reminds me of a very daring thing she did. She got her hair "bobbed!" Now, that doesn't sound a bit daring to us but, in her day, women just didn't do something like that. Her sister's husband was a barber and when we were visiting there one time, she asked him to cut it and she never regretted doing it.

Relative to Mother's snoring, an amusing incident happened


when I was 13 or so. I had my friend, Dorothy, spending the night and, of course, we had talked well into the wee hours and, finally, she said, "I think I could get to sleep now if that cow would only quit mooing." And, relative to Mother's hearing, another funny thing happened. It was Christmas and I had had a record made of Jeannine's voice as a surprise for her Dad. Jeannine was taking lessons and the recording was good, but Mother had missed the explanation about it so it made for a memorable Christmas when Mother turned to Jeannine and said, "Jeannine, that girl doesn't sing a bit better than you."

The fact that Mother was hard of hearing did not keep her from being very good company. She had such a way of making people feel at ease in her presence, and coming from a family of musicians and actors, she had her own way to entertain and amuse. As a result, many would come to visit her—relatives, friends, neighbor—and she would do most of the talking but invariably, they would return.

A sample of her humor: There was a tenant in the upstairs apartment that had a very fat little daughter. One day, Sybil was out on the front walk without any panties on and playing jacks or something where she had her rear pretty-well exposed. Mother pointed to her and said, "now there—there's a picture of life's other side."

July of '51 is a year we can never forget. There had been

Mother’s Sunday School Class, circa 1945. The lady on the front right is my “second mother” and music teacher, Amelia Ullman. Mother is behind and to Mrs. Ullman’s left.

15 Nelda Kell

continual rain so that Florence was flooded. The folks, for the first time, had water about an inch deep in their apartment. We had gone up on Sunday to help them clean up, and Mother was suddenly missing. We didn't know where she had gone until the editor of the Florence Bulletin came bringing her back. She had gone to church and had slipped and fallen in the mud close to the church. She had broken her arm. Dr. Slifer set it, and we brought her to Wichita to take care of her. He recommended a doctor here who was only about a block from us. Dad stayed at the apartment to keep on with the clean up work. Then, the evening of the 11th, a schoolmate of mine, Earl Ambler, called and said, "You won't believe this, but I have just come from Florence and water is six feet deep on Main Street. A car at the foot of the hill on Fifth is just barely showing above the water." Well, we did find it hard to believe, but weren't too surprised to hear Dad's voice later in the evening. The Red Cross had come to town and rescued everyone and established communication. We said, "What can we do for you, Dad?" and he said, "Come get me."

The sight and sound of that water is a never to be forgotten experience as it roared through the town. Dad had been rescued from his porch roof. He did not want to leave his home as he maintained he would be all right in the upstairs apartment. But, no one was excused from being evacuated. Fortunately, the school where everyone was taken was on the West Side of town so we didn't have any trouble getting Dad and bringing him here. We also brought Jim's parents who lived at the foot of the hill below the school. There was 18 inches of water in their home.

We cautioned Dad that he should not tell Mother that there was four feet of water in their home, but the first thing he did was march in and stand before her and say, "The water is up to here in our house"—measuring against himself. This was an indication of the fact that Mother was slipping. She paid no attention to what he had said; rather, she inferred that, because she couldn't go to Dad, he had come to her, as she said, "If Mohammed can't go to the mountain, then the mountain must go to Mohammed." We should have noticed this change in Mother. She never complained and when she did try to tell me about herself, I was too dumb to


understand. She was seeing a doctor in Newton but seemed dissatisfied, so, by the time her arm (at the shoulder) had healed and she was to go home, she asked me to make an appointment for her with our dear doctor. I did this and had an appointment with Dr. Meeker on September 22. She called sometime in late August and said this wouldn't be soon enough so I got an appointment with his assistant, Dr. Wood. He was new at the job and everything worked against us, as he gave us no cause for alarm whatever. He did look at me strangely when I asked if the doctor across the street from them could give her the vitamin shots he recommended.

With all the clues we had, we still were amazed when Dad called one Saturday evening to say that Mother needed oxygen and Dr. Slifer was recommending she be brought to Wichita. Right here is where I should have said, "Have Dr. Slifer arrange to have her brought over here right away." All the folks depended on us to do things like come and get them, so that is what he was expecting. He seemed to think there was no need to dash over there right now. I spent the night fixing things to leave for Dad (we still thought he was the sick one. as he had suffered a heart problem during the clean up of the bad flood). We left early Sunday morning, planning to do some more helping with the clean up of both my parents' and Jim's parents' places. Mother became incoherent when I was bathing her to bring her to Wichita but we couldn't get away right away. It was mid-afternoon when we left and I called Dr. Wood as soon as we got to town. He said he would meet us at the hospital at seven o'clock. I fed Mother and we took her over. I will never forget the look on the nurse's face when she saw Mother. We had admitted her in emergency and that nurse's expression said, "This woman is seriously ill." When the doctor finally got there, he said she was a very seriously ill person, but that there was no reason to stay with her, as they would have everything under control there in the hospital. It was another mistake on our part as we got a call the next morning about eight a.m. that she had expired.

How blind we were; Mother's father had died at an early age with a heart ailment, and her oldest brother (the Hollywood actor, Ray) had succumbed to angina pectoris early in life. We should have been alerted to watch for the signs.

17 Nelda Kell

This was September 10, just a little less than two weeks before that appointment I had made and cancelled for her with Dr. Meeker. I have to admit that I never knew how much Dad loved her until she was gone—another indication of our blindness. He did manage quite well, which was a surprise, but he never got over missing her.

I had made Mother a lifetime member of the Women's Society of Christian Service (created from a combination of the Foreign and Home Missionary Societies and the Ladies Aid) and we buried her with her pin and a beautiful orchid on her lavender suit. This suit we had purchased the day she came over to the doctor, as she wanted to wear lavender that fall. The orchid said, "Orchids to you, Mom," which I never did or said while she was living and which I regret. We also buried her with her expansion bracelet (with a place for pictures) as she was never without it, and this was Emily's idea.

To Mother

You taught me laughter: merry and bright,

You taught me music: lilting and light.

You taught me that work should be done with goodwill,

And tho' your voice is silent now, know, dear one

Your life teaches me still.


19 Nelda Kell

Mother’s Family


Mother And Her brothers and sisters

• Jessie, b. March 15, 1873, d. November 5, 1875.

• Raymond Ambrose, b. August 16, 1874, d. June 20, 1939.

• Lemuel Clifford Walker, b. May 1, 1876, d. July 20, 1960.

• Mabel Martin, b. December 25, 1877, d. September 10, 1951.

• Mary Ethel, b. August 10, 1880, d. August 15, 1921.

• Anna Nettie, b. November 10, 1883, d. September 26, 1955.

• William John Robert, b. March 19, 1886, d. January 30, 1960.

• Isabel Adelaide, b. March 18, 1888, d. January 4, 1969.

• George Percy, b. October 13, 1889, d. January 10, 1972.

• Harold Francis, b. February 18, 1897, d. June 12, 1897.

Jessie, Ray, Lemuel, Mabel, and Mary were all born in Champaign County, Illinois. Anna was born in Council Grove, Kansas. William, Isabel, and George were all born in Eureka, Kansas and Harold was born in Junction City, Kansas.

Ray was a Hollywood movie actor, had a speaking part in the movie, The Life of Louis Pasteur and several other films.

Lem played in the orchestra for silent films and had the only Brown namesake, Bev Brown.

Bill played musical instruments and never married.

Bell was a pianist extraordinaire and was the only one to attend any college—briefly at KU.

Percy played clarinet in an orchestra all of his life.

All of the family were very musical.

21 Nelda Kell

Others IN mother’s family

Lem Brown and my dad.

Nettie Brown Loveless.

Percy, Bell Brown Payne, and Bill Brown.

Ray Brown.


My Birth Family, Carl and Mabel Johnson with children Marcus and Nelda, circa 1917.

23 Nelda Kell

MY DAD Carl Frederick Johnson was born in Florence, Kansas on February

21, 1877. He was the oldest son of Carl Oscar and Hannah Elizabeth Moody Johnson who had each emigrated from Sweden and met and married here in the United States. Evidently Carl Oscar Johnson had already established himself in the contracting and building business before Dad was born. Florence was a very new community because Dad always said he was one of the first white children to be born there. They would also speak of Indians coming and looking in the windows so there were Indians in the area.

Grandpa Johnson was an expert stonemason, and he taught his trade to Dad, and, with Dad, it was an art. All his life, he was never to see stonework without studying it to determine how well it was done. How careful he was with his own work, which always followed a pattern that he had predetermined with careful thought. He loved his work and it was hard work. Although he was away from home quite a bit, there were also periods when he was home, because there was no work for him.

Dad dearly loved children and I remember him sitting out in the yard reading his Saturday Evening Post or the newspaper and watching us play. There might be six or eight of us neighborhood children playing like that and he would often say to Mother, "Don't you wish we had six?"

There were two things I remember that were a special attraction for kids to play at our house. One was a roller with a handle on each side that followed a wire from a big tree to the garage. We could climb up and ride that down and then roll it back with a cord so the next one could ride. This, of course' was one of Dad's inventions for our play. The second thing was a well-built and well-kept croquet course. This attracted many of the adults of the neighborhood but the children got their chance during the day.

Dad should have stayed in high school so he could have graduated with one of the first classes of Florence High School. He dropped out shortly before graduation, but not before he could play with his team in football. This was an interest that he maintained until his death. The Florence football team was like his own family


and he was never so proud as when he could ride in a parade as one of the early football players.

I said the football team was like his family, when what I should say is that Florence was like his family. He was keenly interested in anything that had to do with Florence. The outstanding example of this was when he finally had to give up and come live with Jim and me in his later life. He was with Marcus and family in Dallas during the winter months and with us when it got warmer. Jim's mother would come over from time to time for a visit and he would sit right down with her to hear everything that was happening in Florence. He would ask her all sorts of questions and drink in everything she had to say but, as soon as she ran out of information about Florence, he didn't have another thing to do with her.

Because my Dad never showed me anything but love and tenderness, I've always felt that I had a very good idea what God was like. The folks both made sacrifices so that I could have a music education, and their pride in me knew no bounds; even though I felt very unworthy.

Dad's father was a musician as well as a stonemason and he played the piano and organ. I inherited his piano for which I was grateful. I'm sorry I ever sold it because it was a good one and held lots of memories.

Grandpa once told Dad that Dad couldn't sing, so he never sang in church or with singing groups. He was on a job in Texas when I was in my early teens. He came back singing, "My horses ain't hungry, they won't eat your hay, so fare thee well Polly, I'm

My parent’s wedding picture, circa June 2, 1907, Junction City, Kansas.

25 Nelda Kell

going away." This was from a phonograph record at the place where he was rooming while he was gone. We were surprised to learn that he really could sing. That was the only thing he ever sang, so that was "his song."

Another time some child told him, "You can't laugh," but he could. He had such a droll sense of humor that he often made others laugh as well. Since it was a child who told him this, he always repeated it as though it, in itself, was very funny.

I remember Dad used to take some of us to a spot on the river east of Red Bridge where he taught us to swim. This was a spot where the bottom was a solid rock and the depth was about three feet. I thought I could swim well enough so that a friend and I swam alone for quite a distance farther up the river. I lost that confidence later, much to my distress. Red Bridge is no more but I think the new bridge is in the same location north of town.

Dad always hated pennies, so, much to my delight, he would empty his pockets of pennies for us children. In those days, pennies could buy: a stick of gum or piece of candy, an all day sucker, and a balloon with a whistle on it. And, oh! I mustn't forget to mention that those were the days that the grocer gave a bag of candy when the bill was paid. What wonderful treats we had! These were very simple things, indeed, but they were enjoyed to the fullest.

Although this should be written in connection with any biography of both of my parents, I include it in Dad's. I'm sure Mother was as much an instigator, if not more so, than Dad. They had pet names for me and I'd almost forgotten it until I read "Little Mary Sunshine" by Bob Greene. That was one of my names and, then, as I grew older, it was "Nellie Bly." Miss Bly was becoming world famous about that time as a newspaper writer.

While we lived in Junction City, Dad worked at Fort Riley as one of his jobs. Many of the buildings of the Fort are stone structures. There also is a memorial edifice on the grounds that Dad built.

My Grandfather had a Grit car—a two-seated open touring car. I don't know what our first car was, but I know we had a car when we moved to Florence as we made frequent trips back to Junction City. This was also a touring car and Dad was never a very good driver.


There was very little traffic and the roads were much different in those days, of course. Mother always dressed me well, and I usually had a hat. One time my large-brimmed straw hat blew off as we were driving along. Mother and I were sitting in the back seat and she began pounding Dad on the back trying to tell him about my hat. There was one other car on the road and Dad thought she was saying, "Beat 'em, Daddy," so he went even faster. In fact, he went so fast that we went off the road and into a field. As usual, Dad was undaunted by this detour, but my hat was gone never to be seen again, and I'd say we were all fortunate to be able to get back on the road and on our way home without injury to us or damage to the car.

While Mother's "bag" was crossword puzzles, Dad's was checkers and he treated the game as a science. He was very good at it until his later years when he seemed to have lost something, although he still liked the game. He was very good at croquet, when they had the croquet ground. But the game he played the most was dominoes. He and Mother played almost every evening. Mother was so proud when she could beat him, which was seldom.

Another deep interest Dad had was astronomy, which he studied, reading everything he could on the subject. He made his own telescope and would invite all the neighbor kids to come to see the glory in the skies that was so much more emphasized with the telescope.

The last three years of his life were so different as he gradually lost interest in things and sat sort of sleeping most of the time. We used to laugh because he could seem to be asleep, so we would turn the TV off only to find that he expected it to keep playing. He also moved so much more slowly. Jean remarked that she couldn't very well walk with Grandpa any more in her high heels, as she would stand there teetering until she was afraid she would fall. There was one thing though that would speed him up—if a certain person came on TV that he didn't like, he could almost race to that TV to turn him off.

It was rather surprising how Dad loved music. It was really good music that he liked. Marian Talley was probably his favorite singer and Fritz Krisler his favorite musician. I think I have written this elsewhere but it bears repeating. One Christmas Eve he said to my brother, "Come on, let's go to town." Much time passed and I was

27 Nelda Kell

terribly worried—where were they? What in the world were they doing? Why weren't they home on Christmas Eve? It probably wasn't nearly as long as it seemed to me, a girl of 12 or so. What were they doing? They were selecting records for our Christmas—good music such as William Tell Overture, Souvenir, etc.

I never remember Dad punishing me, not that he shouldn't have, but he never spanked me, I'm sure. The only time that he was really mad was when I was in my early teens. All my girl friends had boy friends, and I thought I had to have one also. The boy that paid some attention to me, therefore, was my boy friend. Our "dates" consisted of being paired off at parties, lagging behind the crowd walking home after a picnic and an occasional ride when someone could get a car. Dad heard of this boy's reputation from the men around town (yes, men gossip, too) and he forbade me to ever see him again. He threatened me with a fate worse than death. Perhaps this was effective. I don't know, because I really loved and respected my Dad, but I think that what really tipped the scale was the kid himself.

My best girl friend and her boy friend were graduating from the ninth grade and the boy was to get his family car. We would all go around and get my boy friend. This was an afternoon graduation and everything was going as planned until we got to the boy's house where we waited and waited for him. Finally, he came out in the dirtiest old clothes I had ever seen and ordered the driver to take him to a certain address. Well, it turned out he had gotten a job at a coal yard and I was supposed to be proud of him. Instead, I was gravely humiliated and felt that his arrogance was beyond belief. We may have been put together after, but never at my choosing and I never had any reason to change my mind. The day of that episode, I was soon taken home where I sought my room and the tears flowed without restraint. My friend, Dorothy, realizing how I would feel, came over to console me. She said this to me, "Nelda, in a hundred years you can look back on this and laugh." Well, I've never laughed about it yet but then, the hundred years aren't up either. However, I can look back on it and be thankful.

Dad was working on a project near Ponca City, Oklahoma, called Marland Scout Camp and Swimming Pool when the great crash came. This job (he was building stone cabins) ceased immediately,


and Dad had virtually no work then, until the Second World War. There were odd jobs but, mainly, the folks managed because the tradesmen believed in Dad's honesty. They knew that he would pay when he could. Here I am reminded of Providence 22:1, "A good name is more to be desired than great riches," and a good name was something Dad had above everything else then. They also had one faithful tenant in the downstairs south apartment. My brother, Marcus, putting himself through college, sent money home many times, which was very wonderful of him.

When I was a junior in high school, we moved into the north downstairs apartment and rented out the house on Seventh Street. This rental was not too successful as Dad had too tender a heart where children were concerned—this family had two girls. Mother helped when the churchwomen served hamburgers at a farm sale and she said these tenants had money to buy all kinds of things at the sale but couldn't pay their rent. Fortunately, they were later able to sell that West Seventh Street house. I should mention that my Grandfather built two houses on Seventh Street, and he lived in the East one. After we moved to Florence and into the West one, there was a house built between those two houses.

The apartment house on Main Street at Sixth was formerly a Presbyterian Church that Grandpa bought and converted into an apartment house. At first, there were three apartments—the whole downstairs was one apartment. It was later subdivided into a four-apartment house.

During the war, Dad came to Wichita and got a job at Boeing. I'm sure the main reason he didn't stay with it was that he really didn't feel useful. After all, that was way out of his field. I don't have the dates down, but he got a job with a contractor-builder and worked happily in his trade until his retirement. He stayed with us, and he and my son, Larry, were roommates. Dad even built a special room for them by excavating the southeast portion of our basement. We had a nice room and shower down there for them thanks largely to Dad's labors.

There are two things I must write about these years. First, Dad never missed a weekend of going home to Mother. He earned good money and they were able to pay all their debts and really feel good

29 Nelda Kell

about life in general. The other thing is that he formed a good rapport with the man he worked for as Mr. Quiring really appreciated Dad's work. Of the jobs that Dad did, the first was a house on Back Bay just two doors from where we later lived for 25 years. Another was a house on Hydraulic, which, at that time, was the parsonage of the Asbury Methodist Church.

Dad was so very proud of his Swedish heritage and used to call our children "little quarter-bloods." For his sake, I've always wished that I could go some day to Vimmerby (Grandma) and Falkenberg (Grandpa) in Sweden.

There were some things about Dad that irritated Mother. First, his chewing habit annoyed her and that was something I joined her in. Only my irritation was why couldn't he quit when he could see what it would mean to her? Ironically, he did quit shortly after her death and his reason was that he was slobbering too much and that would be a nasty slobber. The second annoying habit was that he never sneezed without a shout and this usually happened in church—not too often, and there was never more that one sneeze, but it was an annoyance to her nonetheless.

Some months before the great flood, the Methodist Church burned and Dad was on the committee for rebuilding. This was perhaps unfortunate because what happened may have contributed to Mother's death. She was so distressed over the disagreement it caused. Dad stood alone in his assertion that the new church could not be built on the old foundation without special reinforcement. I wish Mother and Dad could have heard the confessions of members who, much later, said that they should have listened to Dad because the Church was developing huge cracks.

Dad lived 10 years after Mother's death. He would go to Dallas during the winters, but the rest of the year he was content to live in his south downstairs apartment. The boy across the street would come each evening and do his dishes and play dominoes with him. I don't know what Dad paid him, but it proved to be mutually beneficial.

For several years, he rented his apartment to a farm couple that wanted to be in town during the winter. Mrs. Williams had been a


schoolmate of his so he felt good about the arrangement. Then, one winter Mr. Williams died and she didn't want to go back to the farm to live ever again. Poor, tenderhearted Dad couldn't put her out. He tried living upstairs, but when he took sick, she had him put in the hospital. He mentioned that she would have to look after the place and she took it that she really was in charge, so she never paid any more rent until we took over almost three years later. He came to live with us the months that he wasn't in Dallas. This was just after we had had a fire in our beautiful country home that Dad had cut all the stone for and Jim had laid it. We were living in a mobile home on the property while we rebuilt. I think he enjoyed watching the work and we were quite comfortable as we had three bedrooms.

Shortly after Dad's 84th birthday, we got a call from my brother, Mark, saying that Dad had suffered a stroke and I should come to Dallas, so I was to leave the following morning. Emily, my sister-in-law was a nurse, so we decided against taking him to a hospital. We ordered out a hospital bed to make it easier to care for him. The fellows who delivered the bed couldn't move Dad so it was up to Emily and me to do it. As we were lifting him over to the new bed, Emily said, "It's about like moving a horse." We knew Dad was conscious because the bed shook with his laughter. He could not speak and we fed him liquids, as he had no use of his hands. Once, he was evidently trying to tell me something, but I didn't know what. Emily had had to go to a meeting, and the kids were in their rooms studying. I briefly went to the piano and played a few things. When I got back to Dad, he seemed much quieter so, perhaps, he was trying to ask me to play. I hope that was it.

Mark had to be gone most of the week but Dad seemed to wait until he got home because he lived about a week after his stroke. He died March 8th, 1961 and was buried on his great granddaughter's first birthday. I'm glad he got to see some of his great grandchildren as he really delighted in them.

Making arrangements from a distance and so shortly after winter when the ground was still frozen resulted in our having to bury Dad on the other side of his parents from Mother. I will always regret this although I know that it really doesn't matter now.

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Writing about my Dad would not be complete without saying that he and my husband, Jim, always had a high regard for each other. I always felt that he treated Jim more as a son than a son-in-law and I have always been thankful for that.

Originally a Presbyterian Church, my grandfather, Carl Oscar Johnson, purchased this building and turned it into an apartment house with the help of my father, Carl Frederick. The house is located at the corner of Sixth and Main in Florence, KS. The north apartment upstairs was Jim and my first home after we were married. This is an early picture because my father took out the big cottonwood tree on the right in the 1930s because it shed all over town.


EMILY, MY SISTER It's odd how much alike we were. It wasn't until after her death

though that the full import of that fact made itself known to me. The first I heard of Emily was when by brother (who wrote every week to our parents) wrote that he and Emily Gilsinger were to be married in Champaign, Illinois on February 14, 1944. This date was chosen (as Mark jokingly said) so he wouldn't likely ever forget their anniversary. The place is significant also because it happens to be the place that our grandparents (Brown) were married on March 20, 1872. Mark was in the service and this was the World War II era, so that was where it was most convenient to have their wedding.

Mark had been drafted into the service May 4, 1942 and went to Aberdeen Proving Ground for basic training. He taught Remote Control of light anti-aircraft and went from Private to Corporal to Sergeant to Staff Sergeant. For part of his future training, he was sent to New York University for a Safety Engineering course and to Massachusetts Institute of Technology in Boston for a Fire Protection Engineering course. It was during his time in New York that he met and began dating Emily.

In January, 1944, he was sent to the University of Illinois and Emily was on a trip to Chicago to attend a nurses' meeting when they were married. There followed other transfers—Fort Custer for Officer's Training School, Fort Hayes in Columbus, Ohio where he was Fifth Service Command Safety Officer (Second Lieutenant).

In September, 1945, Emily resigned her job and they got an apartment in Columbus where Mark was eventually separated from the service on December 20, 1945. They came to Florence and Wichita for Christmas and our first introduction to Emily.

I think, at the time, I looked on our meeting with a few misgivings on my part. After all, Emily was born and reared in New York City, was a graduate nurse and worked for Employers Mutual, the company Mark was on leave from in order to serve his country. I was still a small town girl even though we had moved to the big city of Wichita. How could we ever manage any real rapport, I wondered, between a really "big city" girl and a small town one.

33 Nelda Kell

I don't know where I put everyone, but I know we gave the newlyweds our room. Dad and Mother were there I'm sure, and one thing that helped was a couch in the dining room that made into a bed. We managed though and it was a wonderful, warm, and memorable experience for us all.

The company sent Mark to Philadelphia, so they lived in New York where their son, Paul, was born May 29, 1946. Mark was transferred back to Dallas in September but Emily and Paul didn't join him there until he found a place to live by December.

Emily's mother was concerned that Emily would be going "to the ends of the earth" in leaving New York for Dallas. She surely must have changed her mind about that after several visits there. Although, of course, it was nothing like Dallas is today. Their first home was on Newmore where they were living when Karen was born.

I'm sure they were thankful that Grandma Gilsinger, Aunt Fifi, Grandma Johnson, and Grandpa Johnson all got to meet and spend some time with the children. Grandparents and Aunties have certain input into the life of a child that hardly anything else can equal.

We soon formed a custom of spending Thanksgiving or Christmas together. The visit to Wichita when Paul was probably about a-year-and-a-half old was almost a disaster for Emily. She said she had spent the time on the trip up lifting him back and forth from the

front to the back of the car, and being pregnant at the time, it proved too much for her. They stayed only a few days but Emily miscarried just before they were to leave for home. She did an unwise thing in starting out on that trip back home. They got to a point just over the state line into Oklahoma when Mark called me and asked me to have a doctor ready as he was bringing Emily back to the hospital. It was young Dr. McCoy that attended her and she liked him very much for which I am thankful. He was just starting out in practice then and,

Mark and Emily on their first trip home after their marriage, taken in Florence, Kansas.


as far as I know, he is still delivering babies.

Emily always entertained so beautifully. She had good taste in table appointments and well planned meals. She was a good cook so everything was appealing both to the taste and to the sight. One Thanksgiving she was almost in tears and rightfully so. Her table was beautiful—lovely china and silver, snow-white linens, and the food was sumptuous looking and plentiful, but the time set for the meal coincided with a football game on TV. My daughter, Jean, and her new husband were guests, and to Ed, who was new in the family, Thanksgiving can't possibly be Thanksgiving without a football game. So he filled his plate and went right to the TV. Mark, trying to be a good host, felt he should do the same. Jim followed also and that left Dad, Emily, Jean, Karen, and me. Paul had joined the fellows also. Emily felt as though all that work and planning was like a shambles. I felt so sorry about it but a Texas A & M grad and Thanksgiving football are apparently as one, and that was a fact we all came face-to-face with that day.

One Christmas time we arrived in Dallas and Emily met us with tears in her eyes. She said something I thought odd at the time, "There's something so sad about Christmas." They had been watching a TV dramatization about a large family of children that had been orphaned at Christmas time. I often think of that statement and realize what she meant. Certainly there are many lonely, sad people out there to whom Christmastime must seem the loneliest and saddest time of all.

I don't know whether it was this Christmas or not, but it was on a Christmas trip to Dallas that she said, "My friends get lovely mink stoles from their husbands and what do I get? A set of nesting tables!" It was her way of joking because she was very proud of Mark's abilities in the manual arts and he had made her the tables. She was also very proud of the fact that she didn't have to go to a beauty parlor to get her permanents—Mark gave them.

Another time we went down for Christmas and Roger was a baby. We got to Dallas and all Roger's baby needs had been left at our house. Emily could come up with a few of the necessities, but the first thing we had to do was go shopping for diapers, bottles, clothes—you name it. Emily was always gracious and accepted these things as parts of life. She seemed to love having a baby around.

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We only visited the Newmore house once, but we were visitors many times at the other address. I admired that house and I'm sure Emily had much to do with the planning of it. She had good ideas of the arrangement of things for convenience and beauty. They built this home so they, together, could use many of the innovative ideas they had and the result was a beautiful, very livable residence. Mark used to call Emily "the gadget girl," because she usually had the newest gadgets that would appear on the market.

Emily, being a nurse, found occasion to help neighbors on Newmore and the new address by giving a shot or carrying in a hot dish when a neighbor was ill. Karen, of course, would go with her; so once, when Emily was ill and lying down, Karen found a long needle and stuck it in Emily's buttock saying, "here's your "pelican" shot, Mommy." Emily nearly jumped out of bed but, luckily, it didn't do any further damage, and Emily could laugh about it later.

Some of our times together were spent on Grand Lake in Oklahoma. Our 17-foot Cruise Along and later the 23-foot higher speed craft helped furnish many happy times there. Paul used to think of our boat as a yacht but I'm sure he soon forgot that after comparing its size with some of those floating palaces we saw at the various marinas. Jim was always giving Paul something that was offered as a prize for selling newspaper subscriptions, and one time he gave Paul a small yacht that would really run on water. Paul's comment was, "Uncle Jim, how come you are always giving me prizes and I never get any subscriptions for you?"

Such happy times we had at Mark, Emily, and children Paul and Karen, circa July, 1955.


Shangri La before it became a millionaire's paradise! The early plan was that if you stayed a week, you would get an extra day free and that was a real bonus to us. One day at the pool, we got to talking about hair and Emily inferred that she used color on hers, so I asked her what she used and it was exactly the same thing I used and still do—Nice and Easy® light ash blond.

Other places we stayed on Grand Lake were Pritchett's East Bay and Airport. All these resorts were on Monkey Island but with the boat, we had access to many areas where we swam, picnicked, or just simply enjoyed the beautiful shoreline as we rode along. I think the most we ever had on the last boat, called ROTA-TA-DODAST after our six grandchildren, was 13. Imagine all of us eating a meal on that one boat, as it was raining and there was no other way. The 13 consisted of four Johnsons, three Garnetts, Dad, three Kells and Jim and I. Larry had his own small boat, so we didn't all have to travel in ours.

In 1968, we took our boat to Keystone Lake in Oklahoma for the first and only time. Emily, Mark, and Karen came for their vacation but an unfortunate thing happened just before they arrived. Jim made some kind of a twist in putting something in the trunk of his car, and it caused such a pain in his back that he knew he was finished with boating for that summer. Our trip to Keystone, then, turned into a trip to bring the boat back. I was glad we had a little time in the water because Emily had made herself a beautiful swimming suit. As I remember, it was orange and she looked so pretty in it. I could never have been clever enough to make myself a swimming suit. Jim's back didn't keep us from playing bridge so their trip wasn't a total loss. Later, that fall or early the next year, Jim had a spinal fusion operation and that ended, for all time, that problem with his back.

When we built in the country in 1955, the Johnsons came to help us. There was such a rainstorm the night they were to arrive that we had gone to bed feeling certain that they could not get through because of high water. We will never know how they got there but they had to awaken us, which made us feel pretty silly. This was the first time they had ever come to that area. There was a turn in the road right where the water was over the road and deep water on

37 Nelda Kell

either side of that culvert where the turn was. Mark, Dad, and Jim cut and laid the stone while Emily and I cooked, painted, and worked inside, I'm sure there were things for Paul and Karen to do, too. They stayed a week and it was a great time. We got a lot done.

We sold that house and bought in town in 1961 and that next winter, after the first of the year, the Johnsons came through on their way to start a new life in Wausau, Wisconsin, the home office of Mark's company. I don't think they stayed more than over night but it might have been longer. I remember Roger was here for the night and Emily was concerned about Karen because she walked in her sleep, as we had that stairway. We adults left our bridge game often to look in on the younger generations—but all was well.

In watching a TV game show the other evening, the question was asked, "What is Nancy Reagan's favorite color?" I guessed the answer red because she wears red so often. That incident prompted me to write that Emily's favorite color was red. When we get flowers to take at decoration time, I always choose some red ones for Emily's grave. By contrast, Jim's father's favorite was white, so we select white flowers for his grave and lavender or purple for Mother's.

On Mark and Emily's last visit to us (I don't think either of the children came) it was in the spring before Emily was to go in for surgery in the fall. She expressed to me some apprehension because there was a great risk since she had a congestive heart. In fact, she indicated she didn't feel she would make it. I hope I helped her by just listening and urging her to be more positive but she knew more about it than I did. The day they were to leave to go back was Sunday and I was wearing a hat that Emily said was exactly like one she had. We went to church, then out to eat and I think they left from there, which would be the last time I was ever to see her alive.

Our world went topsy-turvy that summer as Larry and Sue divorced. Larry and the three children were living with us when Emily had her operation. How I longed to be with her—just to be there for her to talk to or hold hands or cry together. But there was no way with that sudden increase in our family from two to six and all that goes with that, such as washing, feeding, getting off to school and work—I hope she knew how I longed to be there with her. 1970 was a year I will never forget and many of the memories are stark and unpleasant.


The news wasn't good that we got from Mark, although she had come through the operation and was home. It was rather expected then, when the news came December ninth that Emily had died. The plans were to bring her to Florence for burial. I made the arrangements asking our dear friend, Benard Stromberg, to sing. The undertaker was under a family strain at the time (1970 was a difficult year for some others, too) so, in many ways he didn't carry through as we had requested. I felt very bad about that but we can only hope that it wasn't too noticeable to the family, because they were the important ones then. As she lay in the slumber room, Karen slipped a note into her hand and I felt that was a dear gesture. The way we have to feel about those things is that she now knows how much we really loved her, and she is with her mother, her father, her sister and her brother. More than that, she is still with God, as we can never drift beyond His love and care.

We made a trip to Wisconsin in May, and Mark wanted me to have Emily's clothes. She had taken a tailoring course so she was an excellent seamstress and had made many of her own clothes. Among her things was a winter coat exactly like one I have. It was gray with a silver fox collar. I have enjoyed wearing many of her things although we weren't quite the same measurements and some things were a little shorter than I would choose. I never wear anything that was hers without thinking of her and saying "Emily, I wish this could be you wearing this."

Hair color, hat, coat—exactly the same and we lived miles apart always. Another thing was that she served as president of the Woman's Society of Christian Service in their church in Wausau and I had served in that same capacity in mine from 1950 to 1952. It is now called United Methodist Women. These are some of the reasons I say how much alike we were—at least, in some things. I miss you, Emily, my sister.

39 Nelda Kell

OUR GRANDMA The world would never have

called her pretty, but to me she was beautiful! I think I realized early in life that I had a special privilege in having a "live-in" grandmother. I remember feeling that I was not her favorite but that didn't bother me at all, because no one else could lie and talk with her at night until we both went off to sleep. So many other things I shared with her, too, that I hope I can paint you a word picture of how I saw our wonderful grandma.

Two incidents in Grandma's life caused her to decide to break up her home and move to Florence with her two teenage charges. One was Uncle Lem's marriage and the other, Aunt Ethel's death. The first left them without the male help needed to run the small farm and the second left Grandma in charge of two boys.

This made some changes in our home, to be sure, but I don't remember any unpleasantness in connection with the almost doubling of our family. The only thing that I could say was any indication at all of what might have been construed, as unpleasantness was the fact that Dad never let Mother forget that he was distressed with her for selling the milk. Dad had purchased a cow envisioning all that good milk, butter and cream for our table. He thought Mother sold the milk and bought at the store what we used on the table. Maybe this cow didn't produce, I don't know, but it was a little like the chickens he bought to help out and they were

Wedding picture of William and Anna (Ambrose) Brown. William was born January 3, 1849 in Richmond, Ohio. Anna was born January 9, 1845 in Pennsylvania.


never expected to be anything but a show piece—how proud he was of those Rhode Island Reds.

The increase in family meant some readjustments in the household but, about that time, Marcus had been diagnosed as having pulmonary infection and the advice was all the fresh air he could get. Dad built a sleeping porch of about half of our front porch and that was Mark's room—summer and winter. It, then, was Dwight's and Clifford's room too.

Grandma's bedroom suite went in my room upstairs. It had been a gift of Uncle Ray and consisted of a dresser and commode, which I still have, a velvet base rocker that Mark has, and a high wooden bed and marble top table that Mother gave to Clifford when he married (which occurred sometime after Grandma's death).

Grandma was a traveler and I was privileged to accompany her on some of those trips. One was to the big city of Wichita where we took a streetcar to visit some relatives named Noble who lived on North Waco. I've tried to reconstruct that to come up with just where on Waco. I've looked up the city directory about that time and there were two families named Noble, so, I'm unsure which of those it was.

Another time, I went with her to Topeka to visit Uncle Lem and Aunt Jessie. That was a great trip for me because I went with Uncle Lem to the matinee where he was playing in the orchestra. The movie was the story of a blind girl and that furnished me with something to entertain myself for the rest of our stay there. I was the blind girl making my way along their walks and across the bridge at the side of their home.

One trip I made with her was a visit to the Paynes at Enterprise. That trip greatly increased my admiration of Grandma as, one day we were attracted to the front door by something that happened outside. Several of us were standing in the doorway and Grandma, spreading out her arms to encircle us, said, "I'd call this 'one-door-full" (wonderful), and I remember thinking how sharp and clever our Grandma is!

I know she made a trip to see Uncle Perce and his new wife and I believe she stayed several weeks, which would be normal after

41 Nelda Kell

traveling such a distance—Michigan, I think. However, it may just have seemed to me to be a long time and a long way away.

A friend of mine knew Grandma and said that they went to a camp meeting in Wichita together. My friend said that she greatly enjoyed Grandma's company.

I have told my cousins how I watch Jim when he follows me upstairs, as that is a throwback to the times Grandma and I would mount the stairs to go to bed. It was a great game for me and I'm sure no one could get me to go to bed until Grandma was ready. She would only act as though she was going to grab my heels, but it would give me a chance to squeal with delight and race ahead of her.

It had another name then, but baby-sitting was what she was called to do for the preacher's children, when he and his wife would

go to conference. I went and stayed with her at those times as I was supposed to help. The Heitmeyers had two young boys and then, next came the Hendersons, who also had two young boys. We would stay two or three days and nights. Grandma had had lots of experience, having born 10 children, having charge of two grandsons and Mother often told me how she had done practical nursing most of her life.

I know I should remember more of those hours we visited on hot summer nights when she would lie there fanning herself, and winter nights when she would urge me to get to sleep because the next day was a school day. What I do remember, though, I treasure greatly.

I have never had an appreciation of those mother-in-law jokes, because of the high regard my Dad had for his Mother-in-law. Mother indicated in all she ever told me of their life together, that

Our grandma with one of her grandsons, Wayne David Loveless, on Grandma’s front porch in Junction City, Kansas.


Grandma and Grandpa had a deep and tender love for each other.

There may be many more things I could say; however, I will end this with a story that I think sums up how I felt about Grandma. When I married, my Mother was greatly disappointed. She seemed to feel that Jim came along and shattered all her dreams for me. This lasted even after our little daughter arrived, whom she adored. Somewhat later, possibly as much as 10 years after my marriage, she was visiting us. At the table one day, she was laughing at something Jim said or did, and she said this to him, "Jim, I wish my Mother could have known you." She couldn't have paid him a higher compliment nor have said anything that would so completely bring to me assurance that she felt our marriage was right after all.

(Note: This chapter was written December 7, 1982, as a Christmas gift to cousins: Dwight, Clifford's widow, Rose, Arnold, Velna, Betty, Bob, Wayne David, Beverly and brother, Mark, as well as Jeannine and Larry. This represents a time in my life, which was roughly from when I was about nine until Grandma Brown died when I was 12.

43 Nelda Kell

KANSAS PIONEER Long, long overdue is the writing down

of appreciation for Mother Kell. The first time I ever heard of her was a time when I suppose I was 14 or 15. Her sister, Elsie Kent, was in town and had come by to see my mother. She said Blanche would be just waiting for her in the car. I suppose she didn't want to interfere with Elsie's visit since she didn't know my mother.

About two years after I met her son, she was working as a cook in a cafe downtown and my friend, Dorothy Hedrick, was a waitress there. Dorothy told me of the things they could laugh at and enjoy because of Blanche's sense of humor.

Aurora Blanche Hunter was born June 5, 1885, in Florence, Kansas, oldest of the five daughters of Will and Mary. We aren't sure where she was born but she was at her parents' home in East Florence when the first three of her six children were born.

Is this coincidence or prompting from a higher power? Somehow, I felt led to write this on this very day and I discovered that today, July 3, 1986, would be the 83rd anniversary of her marriage to Thomas Tanner Kell, which also occurred in Florence.

When I read a book about Kansas pioneer women, I almost felt I was reading about Mother Kell, for she surely experienced the hardships, disappointments, and endless hours of work that many of our pioneer women lived through.

When my Jim was two-years-old, the family moved to Western Kansas to a farm outside of Coolidge. Left alone with two little children and soon another one on the way, she battled the elements, which included hauling her own water. Dad Kell was a carpenter and his work took him to many places away from home.

Blanche (Hunter) Kell with husband, Thomas Tanner Kell, circa 1940. She always called him “Tommy.”


At home on horseback or in the adobe house on the farm, she was called upon to withstand the bitter cold of winter and the hot sun and wind of summer. The nearest neighbor was miles away. She may just have set a record for the number of rattles collected from the rattlesnakes she killed.

Work and hardship were only a small part of the picture. One can be lonely away off like that—her children and a blind mother-in-law not withstanding—lonely and disillusioned.

Sorrow was so often a part of her life also. Before they left Florence, they had lost their second child, Paul, to appendicitis. He was only three. Their fifth child, a baby girl, died in her arms when the baby was only about a week old. I'm not too sure they had even named her. This was when they lived in Coolidge and Jim was a young boy then. When mother called out, "Go get the neighbor," Jim ran in his bare feet through the snow across some vacant lots to bring the neighbor to help, but it was too late, the baby was gone.

Death was very present in most homes those months when the snow was so deep that people couldn't even get out to take care of their livestock. This was the winter her mother-in-law died and the winter their oldest child, Eilleen, lay for days so near death that it could have been her death, save for the fact that Tom, especially, would not give up. He kept an onion pack on her chest, which he would iron with a hot iron that they called a flatiron.

There were some joys because each child was welcome even though the prosperity they had planned on eluded them. A new child was welcome because, above all else, she dearly adored children. Eilleen, Paul, and Jim were born in Florence. Alice and another baby who died, and later Boyd, their youngest who was "the last on the family page" were born in Western Kansas.

She was not finished with sorrow even after her children were grown. Alice died in childbirth only about a year after her marriage. This was a tragedy they never really ever recovered from.

Finally having to come to the realization that they could no longer make it on the farm, the family moved to town—first to Coolidge and then to Syracuse. There, in Syracuse, she did something quite unusual for a housewife of her day; she went to work at the Harvey

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House and was known as a "Harvey Girl." By this time, Eilleen was old enough to go to work and she, too, was a Harvey Girl.

Valiantly she bore the many vicissitudes that life handed her. Tom' s blindness in his later years was one more difficulty this couple faced. Also devastating to them, Mother Kell had eye problems and had one operation that was not successful. Another surgery provided her until the last with very good vision in that one eye. A demonstration of her valiant spirit was that she taught herself to use a typewriter and to drive a car, when she was well into her fifties.

Very recently, I was visiting by phone with a young man who grew up in Florence. When he determined who my mother-in-law was and where she lived, he said, "Why, I was born in that house!" I might have forgotten to mention this part of her life, so I'm thankful for that visit. Blanche assisted the only doctor in town, Dr. Slifer, an Osteopath, with many of the local births. He preferred that she have the patients in her own home from before delivery to the few days afterward. She would be so proud of this because one of the births, Lynn Cress, is affiliated with our television station, Channel 12, in the news department and his name often appears on screen.

Tom and Blanche were able to celebrate their Golden Wedding anniversary and those who came were: Nell, from Denver, her oldest sister; their daughter and grandson; the granddaughter whose mother died when she was born; their son, wife and three children, all from California; and our family from rural Wichita.

Blanch Kell with son, Jim. Circa 1919. Western Kansas.


When her "Tommy" died in 1957, she was sure she would follow him shortly. Actually, she lived some 11 years in which she could enjoy "get togethers" with her sisters: in Denver, at Nell's; in Billings, with Alice; in Seattle, with Elsie; in Eugene, with Ruby; as well as in Kansas in her own home.

Her last years were spent at her daughter's in California. We often remark about how she went through a long and difficult operation for an aneurysm in February, then made a trip to Kansas to celebrate her birthday, which turned out to be her last one. She died in early January, 1969.

This could not be complete without mention of her unique ability to tell about incidents in her life. Someone should have taken it all down but instead we waited for the parts that would bring tears to her eyes as invariably that would happen. In one poem that she would recite, she simply could not finish, as the tears would interfere. This, of course, was the evidence of her tender heart.

If I could speak to her today, I would say, "Dear Mother of my beloved, thank you for the wonderful job you did rearing your son whom I took away from you. Maybe your very suffering has made Jim more aware that he wanted to save me from that. You gave me the most precious gift in the world. I wish that I could really thank you and that you could have had some of the good experiences I have had."

We hope our family, Jim and I, and our children, grandchildren, and, now, great grandchildren reflect something of the foundation that she laid.

47 Nelda Kell

A TIME OF GENTLENESS My father's parents each emigrated from Sweden as young

people, met and married after arriving here where they were each attracted to Florence, Kansas. Possibly the attraction was that it was a trading post and an important junction of the Atchison, Topeka, and the Santa Fe railroad. Florence had the very first Harvey House and part of the original building is now a Museum in Florence.

My grandfather had a business going in 1876 in construction and was responsible for many of the stone business buildings and bridges in the area because he was a stonemason. Much stone has been quarried around Florence and Grandpa Johnson was foreman of the first quarry.

Grandpa and Grandma Johnson’s family, circa 1910. Back row: George Washington Johnson, Pete A. Johnson, Selma P. Johnson Kent, Dan Kent. Front row: Mona Kent, Hannah Moody Johnson, Virgil Kent, Carl Oscar Johnson, Mabel Brown Johnson, Carl F. Johnson, David Marcus Johnson on mother Mabel’s lap.


Perhaps the thing that people remember most about Florence, as they pass by on either highway 50 or highway 77, is the water tower on the hill and the 99.96% pure water. The water comes from a gushing spring north of town and it furnishes all the water needed for the town. It used to be such fun when various classes would hike to the "City Springs" as it was called.

Grandpa built the first water tower when the town was using other water, but it was my father who built the water tower I mentioned above and I'm sure it could be called a landmark.

Grandpa died in 1920 and it was Dad's place to take over the business, so we moved to Florence from Junction City where my brother and I had each been born. Dad had learned the stone business from his father and, although I don't remember my grandfather very well, I have to say that Dad was a stonework "artist."

I'm sure we had electricity in both the houses we lived in when I was a child, but I have clung to the old coal

oil lamp which used to sit on the dining room table—I remember studying and reading by it. This was used, no doubt, when the electricity failed, which was sometimes often.

According to my Dad, the first necessity of every home was a bathroom. Therefore, we had a bathroom in each of the houses we called home. I'm very thankful for that, because outhouses are one of the more unpleasant memories of that period.

We also had a telephone and I still remember our number: 213. The telephone was important even though it was a small town.

When we moved to Florence, the town was experiencing a real boom. This was due to the discovery of oil and there were some who became rich from it. The town swelled to over 3,000 and that meant building more schools. Those schools are now "white elephants" as

Florence Water Tower.

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most of the school children are bussed to Marion, the County Seat.

I don't remember the year, but when one of my friends told me that they received the radio they had ordered from Montgomery Ward, I was full of stupid questions. "Can you play it loud and soft?" "Can you make it go fast and slow?" "Do you wind it up like a phonograph?" She didn't appear to think these questions stupid, so she may have had some of those same questions before they got that strange instrument, the radio.

Our washing machine was one that you pumped back and forth by hand. Mother used to joke about the neighbor who could pump the washing machine, read his newspaper, smoke his pipe, and rock the baby, all in one operation!

Of course, those were days before air conditioning and although I don't remember ever being either hot or cold, I do remember my Grandmother Brown fanning herself at night when we would go to bed. She had come to live with us for perhaps three years prior to her death, and we were roommates. That was an experience I will always cherish. She had her own big, ornate fan; however, cardboard fans with advertisements on them were passed out with the hymnal at church. The open window and the fan served as our air-conditioning.

I was perhaps 13 or 14 when the theater management offered free Saturday afternoon movies. This was an excellent opportunity for a boy to ask a girl to sit with him. I honestly don't remember whether popcorn was a part of this experience or not, but I believe that if there was any expense connected with this date, it was a trip to the drug store after the show for a "Green River" at five cents apiece. Much later, any dates I had with the dear person I later married were spent lingering, and lingering, and lingering over our five-cent cup of coffee. The proprietor never seemed to notice how much time we were spending in his establishment, but I'm sure our

A type of washing machine.


minds were not on the proprietor.

Our swimming hole was a spot in the Cottonwood River where the bottom was solid rock and the depth about four feet. My Dad taught me to swim there and that is where my friends and I would go. One time a friend and I swam up river to her farm home and I now find that hard to believe.

A wonderful part of my growing up years was the organization of YWCA groups in the schools called Girls Reserve. The YMCA had boys groups called Hi Y. One of my teachers wished to start a Girls Reserve in junior high and I was selected to be president. She wanted me to go to camp to get training for my new job, but the camp was really for high school girls. I could have passed for a high schooler but I was very apprehensive that I would be challenged, so my friend had a suggestion for me. She said that if anyone asked how I was classified, I could say, "Junior," and then, as though I were greeting someone in the distance, wave and say, "Hi, Two!"

The two things I remember about Lutheran Camp near Junction City were that it rained every day and that we sang the same song every day at every meal— "When it rains at Lutheran Camp, where does the sunshine go? That's the vital question we all would like to know. So, now

I'm telling you and it's very, very true, it's in our hearts when we're at Lutheran Camp."

When I was in the High School Girls Reserve, I attended Camp Wood near Elmdale. I'm sorry girls in these times miss those great experiences as I count it a great blessing and I'll always be thankful for those teachers willing to organize the groups, and especially to such leaders as Florence Stone and Miss Maupin.

This tiny, 25-cent photograph of me was the one that Jim liked so well. He had a dozen made, which were enlarged and put into folders. I was probably 16, the age I was when we met.

51 Nelda Kell

Ah, yes! I must mention the Model T Ford. I was privileged to drive our car as Dad was away from home a lot and Mother didn't drive. There was no age limit, so I expect I started driving at 14. That was a supreme example of my Mother's trust in me, which I feel had value in many other ways. And I had trust in that car. Once I fixed something with a hairpin and another time with a handkerchief.

The high-class entertainment that came to town was called "Chautauqua" and there were memorable performances. Another entertainment was an occasional visit by a traveling stock company who would rent the theater for a night or two. Our junior class play was called Skidding and the traveling company was in town when we were rehearsing for it. One or two of their cast members came to give us pointers because this play was one of the plays in their repertoire. It later became the first of the "Andy Hardy" series when the movies used the story line of that play.

Speaking of movies, I did my share of clipping movie stars pictures from the Sunday rotogravure section to pin on my bedroom walls. I know I did not idolize them because I can't now remember their names.

If my husband, Jim, could have written about his early life, he could have come up with many real pioneer experiences in Western Kansas. For one thing, his mother had jars of rattles from the snakes she had killed.

I will pass on one story that he used to tell though, because I don't believe school children are memorizing poetry anymore and that was such an important part of the growing up years for all of us. I don't know what grade he was in but it was a country school so probably all grades were together. Jim memorized poetry so readily that when the teacher said that anyone who could recite the assigned poem could be excused for the rest of the afternoon, it didn't take long for Jim to appear at her desk to recite it. But, after the recitation, the teacher said to him. "This doesn't apply to you, Jim, because you need to work on your arithmetic."

I feel I grew up in what I like to call a "gentle time." If you can picture a place where you never had to lock your doors even if you


were going to be gone for several days; could safely play in the street in front of your home—day or moonlit night—could walk to school and back home for lunch. The biggest source of things to do was church-related, where chapel service was a part of each week at school, and, in turn, each class would be responsible for the service or the program. One time, our fifth grade class gave an operetta. Then you can picture the small town in Central Kansas that was home to me, and I am very, very grateful for it.

This cropped version is one of the rare pictures that I have of the boat, RODA-TA-DOOAST. This picture was probably taken in 1980 at Grand Lake, Oklahoma.

A Christmas mantle piece that shows all of the grand children riding on the train. I think it was taken Christmas, 1970.

53 Nelda Kell

RODA-TA-DODAST GEMS RODA-TA-DODAST, the name we gave our boat, represents the

first two letters of our grandchildren's names in the order that they appeared on this earth. The "TA" is separate from the others because she is the only girl. The grandchildren's names are Roger Kell, David Garnett, Tarri Kell, Donald Kell, Dan Garnett, and Steve Garnett.

Tarri, age 6, on the first Sunday after school had started for her first grade, when asked how she liked school replied, "It's stupid but I'll get used to it." Later in the day she said "Grandma, we haven't learned how to read yet." Then, after the second week of school she volunteered, "Grandma, school is lots more funner now."

Steve reached the point early in life when he wasn't the baby of family anymore—he was the Stevie of the family.

Roger, age nine, said, "Grandma, you know they talk about 'stupid women drivers'—well, I don't know any. You're a good driver and Grandma Frieda is a good driver. If Grandma Kell (age 81) could drive she'd be a good driver even if she ran into something—I'd still say she was a good driver."

Dan got a unicycle one Christmas and Jean wrote later that he was getting so good on it that he says he can ride and eat a banana at the same time.

In 1970, Jean wrote, "One night when I laid down with Dave before he went to sleep, we discussed drugs. I told him about Diane Linkletter who hadn't had LSD for six months but it was apparently still in her body. It reared up again to drive her mad so that she jumped out of the window and killed herself. David said, "Why didn't she take a laxative?"

Early in Dave's second grade, Jean asked him what his teacher's name was and if the teacher was older or younger than she was. He couldn't answer the latter, but she said she could have kissed him, because when she met his teacher, she looked to be about 18.

David Garnett, aged 8 years.


One night when Roger was four-years-old, he stayed at our house. When I put him to bed he said, "Grandma, I love you—you're so soft—feel you."

Jean wrote that Steve had finally lost his first tooth. Everyone else that Steve knew had lost teeth a long time ago. He used to bring me little tiny rocks and tell me it was a tooth he had lost. The first tooth came out at school and he was so proud. He showed it all around. He put it on his plate at lunch and forgot about it. It went into the garbage. He went to the ladies in the cafeteria to ask about it and he said they just laughed. He was so sad when he got home that day but he had already 'figgered' a way out. He knew that an extra tooth that the dentist had pulled was put in his baby book, so he put that one under his pillow.

The three Garnett boys were eight months, two, and five years-old when they came for us to take care of because Jean was to be going to the hospital. It happened to be at the same time Grandma Kell's sisters were coming to Kansas for a reunion. I decided we could go on the road with Jim and be together that way. So, I loaned my car to "the girls" as Grandma called them. When Ruby, who was to be the driver, came here with her sister, Alice, and Grandma was here also (the other two were to come directly to Florence by bus) they planned to drive my car over to Florence, of course. It happened that we left the same time so we followed them as far as Newton so we were terribly dismayed when they didn't turn off where they were supposed to. We had to really drive to catch them but escorted them on back to where they should have turned off. They were talking away and when some one noticed the sign to Emporia, Grandma said, "Who's going to Emporia?" but that is where they should have turned. Much later in the day, and away west of Salina, there was a light-colored car ahead of us with three women in it and Dave hit his head with the heel of his hand and exclaimed, "Oh, no! Not the girls again!"

Roger was very young when his mother noticed that some older kid was beating up on him out in the back yard so she called out to him, "Hit him back! Hit him back!" She was near enough to them to hear Roger say, almost in tears, as he turned his back on the other boy, "Here back."

55 Nelda Kell

Another time about that same period, we had visitors when we lived in the country and Kirk was just a few months younger than Roger, so Roger was out to help us entertain them. That evening, we happened to be outside when Kirk noticed the beautiful moon and pointed to it saying, "See moon. See moon." Roger pushed his hand away and said, "My moon!"

When Donnie was twelve and-a-half, he spent some of his savings on a bicycle. Jim made a ramp so he could ride up and jump off of it into the air. He had us watch, of course, and he asked Jim if he

were an "Evil Kneivil" and Jim said he'd call him "Evil Don."

When he asked me if I saw it, I said, "Well, you're not an Evel Kneivel and maybe Jim calls you 'Evil Don' but I call you 'Little Joy.'"

Don gave his big grin and said, "And I call you a 'Big Joy.'"

A neighbor of the Garnetts' found a guinea pig in her yard so she and her husband caught it and asked if the boys would like to have it. The boys were delighted and it was so sweet and gentle, lying quietly in their arms. It was really cute but Dan summed it up by saying, "All it needs is love!"

Steve came out in tears from his haircut as he thought it too short. In fact, he was so upset about his hair that he wore a red wool hat and hooded coat to school and sat there with them on. When the teacher, Mrs. Collins, asked him to remove his hat, he said, "No." She gave him the choice of removing it or going to the office and removing it there. He thought about it, and decided to take it off, but pulled the hood up over his head. She told him to take that off, too. Jean had told him when he left for school that if he acted as though nothing was any different; probably few would notice he had gotten a haircut. He had to do it his way and really made a spectacle of himself. Steve finally saw the humor in it when Jean and Ed

Roger Kell, age nine, circa 1966.


laughed about it with him that night.

Steve was five when Jean wrote that he was sounding out words—everything got a careful study. One day, he and Dan were wrestling and he said, "Mom, Dan wiped snot on me." Immediately he sounded out, "S-s-s-s-s-s n-n-n-n-n... MOM, I can spell SNOT." The insult was forgotten.

Little Tarri, age three, was to spend her first night away from home with us. As night began to fall, she said, "It's getting putty da'k." So I asked, "Would you like to call your Mommy?" In so doing, she decided she wanted to go home, but her request was "Take me by my chu'ch."

Jean, in writing after a visit here for Christmas (1972), said, "The boys talk of a number of things they enjoyed while we were up there, one of which was Christmas Eve Communion. The way they had 'carried on' beforehand, I wouldn't have thought that that would be the beautiful memory. It shows again that we must not take too seriously what they say that they don't want to do."

In 1976 Jean wrote, "Dan got his Boa and he is so pleased. It was rather interesting how he chose it. There were two containers of Boas. One group of the boas were proven eaters and sold for $15. The other groups that he hadn't seen eat sold for $20. So Dan bought a mouse for one dollar and put it with the $20 ones—Dan bought the one that grabbed the mouse."

Here's Roger's story he wrote, which was complete with drawings when he was age 8. "There was a king. He lived on a mountain. The mountain was very big. So, the king went down the mountain and he saw a big black bear. When he saw the bear, he ran back up."

In 1971, we went to Houston for Christmas and Jim had found a small, injured snake that was still alive so he took it to Steve. They put it in the ground with Jim's instructions to leave it undisturbed.

Tarri Kell, aged seven, circa 1967.

57 Nelda Kell

He assured him that, come spring, the snake would be all right. Jean wrote that Steve was pretty upset when he found his snake dead. He sat right down and wrote a letter to tell Jim how "rong" he was to bury the snake. However, after chewing Jim out in the first half of the letter, he wrote, "But I still had a Merry Christmas." Steve had second thoughts and so after the letter had lain around for a few days, he tore it up. He didn't want to be so mad.

It was quite common for us to take the Kell children to Sunday school and then out to eat-usually to the Forum Cafeteria. Here are some stories about

those times. Once we went to the Forum and Roger filled his tray but when we went upstairs, he tripped on the last step and spilled everything. The help was quick to come to his rescue and replaced everything he had gotten He told us all not to tell anyone about the incident. However, we had scarcely finished eating when he hurried ahead of us to tell the cashier, "Did you know someone spilled their tray? That was me."

Another time at the Forum, I guess we had 'lectured' the Kell children about taking only what they could eat and eating everything they took too often. We were so surprised and shocked to find when we settled down to eat that all Tarri had was a blueberry muffin and a glass of ice water. She was really saving us money.

We tell many times about what happened at the Airport restaurant one Sunday as an illustration of how long we sometimes had to wait to be served. Tarri was probably 3 or 4 as we had her in a high chair with a bib on. There was crackers and water and butter or cheese on the table so she ate of that and it wasn't long before she was pulling off her bib and dusting off her hands saying, "I'm finished—let's go now" before we had even been served.

Then, there was the time we were eating at a Pancake House and Don ordered bacon and ice cream. Ugh!

Little Stevie, aged seven, circa 1969.


Don also was known to order a bacon and tomato sandwich and "leave off the tomato."

On some of those eating out experiences it was interesting to note how the children, especially Tarri, would get so tickled if the waitress made a remark, which would indicate that she thought we were the parents.

Little Stevie, in the spirit of Valentine's Day, was giving his mother valentines. One night when she got ready for bed she found taped to her dresser mirror a message of the words he had learned "Jean cake three cat. Love Stevie."

Don, on a school paper where he was to use words that the teacher had given the definition of, in a sentence: Vigil (keeping a close eye)— "He was vigil on the woman;" Hew (cut with an ax)— "He hew his cat;" Saturate (wet)—"He was saturate after the shower."

This was 1962 because we had lived here only a few months when we complained in Roger's presence that they had put a barricade up so we had to go way around when we wanted to go west and south. He hurried out and down to the bridge where we had said it was but came back so disappointed because he just didn't see any bear cave.

This recalls how Roger used to say, "The lion is busy" about the phone being busy—this was when he was very young.

Jean writes, "Last Sunday was a milestone. Steve received his Bible at the altar with all the Third Graders. We had Dan and Dave with us in church to see this occasion. Steve knew where we were sitting and looked at us several times and smiled so sweet."

Another time from Jean: "I wish I could show you Steve's 'direy.' It is so sweet and loving. One page says 'Here are some faces of peple I noe like Doug and Becky and lots more peple.' Then page after page of faces—all alike."

After watching Ben Hur on TV, the Garnett boys had all sorts of questions about leprosy. Dan and Steve discussing it with a friend were heard to tell how the only way to be cured of "Leopard Seed" was to be touched by Jesus.

59 Nelda Kell

Then, in 1968, after allowing the boys to stay up to watch Quo Vadis, Jean found them full of questions. On tucking Dave in for bed, he asked if there were any Christians left in the world and Jean told him, "We're Christians." Dave's reply was, "I thought we were Methodists."

In that same vein, Jean wrote, "Steve asked me for the umpteenth time if we were Jewish. And for the umpteenth time I told him we are Methodists. He said, 'But Methodist is too hard to say.'"

For some years we had rental properties and there were some renters who were hard to collect from. Little Donnie (who was about five years-old at the time) and I were with Jim one evening when he tried to collect from one of these characters and when he came back to the car muttering, "There's one thing for sure—it's either booze or hanky-panky." Donnie turned to me and said, "What's booze, Grandma? I know what hanky-panky is."

On our trip to Colorado the summer of '70, the children had very little spending money. One stop we made at a tiny mountain town, Tarri came out of the store bringing us some plastic glasses that we still use very, very much. She must have spent most of her money on us, bless her sweet heart.

So many wonderful, funny and memorable things happened on that trip. Roger, David, Don and Tarri were all with us, and David had arrived here with such a short haircut that it must have been shaved. We planned to take the narrow gauge railroad from Durango to Silverton and back and were staying at a hotel near the train station. The evening before the ride, some kid had made fun of Dave's haircut.

One of Roger's and Dave's purchases were trainmens' cap and they were wearing them the next morning when we prepared to board the train. Dave saw this kid and in a gruff voice and pointing a finger at him, he said, "Are you the one who was making fun of my

Don Kell aged 12, circa 1973.


hair?" Then, tipping his cap so the kid could see it, he said, "See, it's grown some since yesterday."

It was on this trip that I almost went into hysterics and fell out of the car. Our littlest member had ordered a foot-long hot dog and, when it came, it was almost as big as Donnie and it struck me so funny. As Roger used to say, "It was all very fun." Another expression that was Rog's own was once when we had plenty of time to get somewhere and he said, "Let's go the hard way." One day when Dan and Steve were both quite young, Jean overheard Steve say, "Am I stupid?" To which Dan replied, "Yes." Then Steve said, "Am I dog-do?" and again Dan said, "Yes." There were several more names and each time Dan would answer "Yes" to Steve's questions.Finally, Steve said, "Are you calling me names?"

One Saturday Jean caught up with the boys after hearing that they had been running through St. Cecelia's Church across the street. She questioned Dave about it and he said, "Dan was running and yelling." "AND," she asked, "What were you doing?" "I was praying." How can one be stern in the face of such a fast thinker, she wanted to know?

When Steve went to his first Scout meeting he was supposed to be attended by a parent. Both the other boys were Scouts, too. Ed went with him, so was able to report that everyone moaned and groaned, "Oh, no, not another Garnett." The Scouting program has been wonderful for all three boys. "Another Garnett" was just as much of an asset to the troop as the other two had been. We were very thankful that they had all been in the Scouting program.

Steve was possibly 11 or 12 when a card came in the mall about school time and room, etc. Jean was reading it to him: "Dear Student, I hope you had an enjoyable summer..." and Steve interrupted her with "...Because just wait 'til you see the teacher we got for you."

One October afternoon, Roger and Don and I decided we'd make a Jack-o-lantern. I purchased a pumpkin and I must have made a real fuss about how much it had cost because after Roger finished carving it with Don's help, and we stood back to admire the work of art, I said, "What will we call him?" Don put his face down next to

61 Nelda Kell

the pumpkin and looked him in the eye and said "Hi! Mr. Dollar and a Quarter!"

Roger was nine and was making a list for the drinks for dinner: Milk 6, water 1, and coffee 2 for the following guests: "Gratgrandma," Daddy, "Ant Eilleen," Sue, Jim, and Grandma.

Bouquets for Mother's Day May 11, 1975: Jim, Don, and I were in the car and I wanted to find a beauty shop where someone was working that I thought I knew. Don said, "I don't know why Gran would be looking for a beauty shop, would you, Jim?" That evening when we took Don to the parking garage where Roger was working, so Roger could take him home, Don said, "If they gave an award for the world's greatest grandmother, you'd get it, Gran." Who needs flowers with sweet things like that said to you?

It was Roger's second Christmas and we had given him a cash register. If you put the right shape block in it, it would let you know in some way. We overdid it in trying to show him how to put the triangles in the triangle slot—circles in the circle slot, etc. Those blocks disappeared and no adult knew anything about them. I found them much later where Roger had hidden them under a cushion on the divan. He showed early how he was going to want to make his own decisions.

Jean wrote in November, 1971, that they were so proud of Dan because he had played so well in football. Dan came home and told Jean first thing that three of the guys were injured and that he had caused two of them. They weren't hurt really, but Ed saw the game and said Dan was a real tiger. He got his man every time and was one of four boys to win stars for their performances.

I will never forget the Easter time we met the Garnetts in Monterrey, Mexico, and had such a wonderful time. Dave had a learner's permit for driving so we let him drive our car back into the States. The Garnetts sailed on through, but with us having a longhaired, teenaged driver, we were asked to pull over to the side as we left Mexico and entered the U.S. Our trunk was opened and they asked some questions but didn't delay us long. There was an ape in a cage close by to snuff out dope, I suppose. Later, because he had turned of age to get his driver's license, Jim went with him to


get it. When he finally got it, he told me, "They'll never see me again." It was hardly a day later that he said, "I just can't think of anyplace to go."

Don was about six years-old when we were taking him home one evening and we stopped some place

to eat. He said, "What are we stopping here for? I'm not hungry." So, we didn't order anything for him but by the time we got ours, he wanted to finish up everything we had. We began to wish we had ordered him something.

Once Steve came home and announced that he had told the bigger boys that always picked on him that if they wanted to fight, to let him know a week in advance so that he could put it on his calendar. "I'm a busy boy!" he said.

On a trip to the Doctor because of a disturbing cough, a

penicillin shot was recommended for David, age three. When the nurse came, she had the needle behind her back and David didn't suspect a thing. She jabbed him with it and he screamed but got up rubbing his fanny, and through his tears, called for someone to "Bring me a Band-Aid."

One Sunday Dan made some turtles (one of his favorite kinds of candy and he forgot one sheet of them so they were too dark and hard. "I don't think I should make them anymore, do you?" he said to his mother. She told him not to lose confidence as she had burned a few things in her time. Dan's face just lit up as he said, "You sure do know how to make a kid feel good."

Once Steve put his hand on a hot stove burner, which resulted in huge blisters on the palm. At supper he kept his hand in his lap and

This picture shows the boat in the background with Roger and Don around Roger’s sailboat.

63 Nelda Kell

Jean fed him. "Did you ever burn your hand on a hot stove?" "No, my Mother told me never to put my hand on the hot burners." His reply, "Why didn't you ever tell me that?" elicited a cry from the whole family in unison, "Aw, Steve, you know she did."

The Garnett family was eating out one evening and a quarrelsome couple near them could not be ignored. She finally jumped up and stomped out and the man picked up his food and followed her. Young Steve's observation was, "The ring is over."

So many sweet notes and pictures from each child are a real treasure and I can't give them all but will share a few. We were out one evening when the children were here. When we returned, on the floor every few feet were these notes: "Stop, note ahead," and "Read the note ahead," or "Watch for notes on Highway," etc. Finally, we came to the note pinned to the pillow on our bed, "Grandma, I hope you had a 'lovelee' evening. I have turned down your bed for you and Jim. I bought some things that I will show you in the 'morening.' I hope you sleep well. Good night. Love, Tarri. See you in the 'morening.'"

Here's a precious one: "Hi! It's birthday time. Dear Granma, This is a specially made hanging basket just for you. I made for you all by myself and got an A+ for a grade sign. Dan Garnett. P.S. I hope you like my plant hanging. P.S. It's the best I've ever done."

How about this one? "Dear Grandma and Grandpa. How was your Valentine's? Mine was fine. The day before Valentine's (Friday, the 13th), I got a big heart-shaped box filled with chocolates and six red carnations from one of my friends, Marilyn Havlik. She's the one I'm mating my rabbits with. By the way, thank you for the card and the dollar in it. Well, I'll be keeping an EYE on y'all. Bye-bye. Love, Steve Garnett."

Speaking of notes, here is an excerpt from a note I received from a friend, Shirlene Walton, dated Nov. 10, 1979. "It was good to see you at College Hill again. Far too often though, you Dan Garnett, age

7, circa 1969


are beyond speaking distance in the sanctuary. We share your joy in Roger joining the church. I wondered if he was the grandchild that colored the children "red and yellow, green and white." That was the way Roger used to sing the song, which goes on to say, "All are precious in His sight."

Here is a note, which I wrote and sent to some grandmothers as a Christmas greeting. I called it a "Grandma Story". Donnie, age seven, and his older brother rode their bikes over to our house one day during teachers' meeting vacation. I took them home in the station wagon. They loaded their bikes in and then we were on our way. Donnie looked back and noticed that I had brought his jacket that he had shed after arriving at our house. He thanked me for remembering to bring it and then he looked me in the eye while I was driving and said, "Grandma's are, first of all, for loving and then for remembering things." Hope your Christmas is Happy and full of love from your dear ones! Love, Nelda. Written in 1968.

The boat, RODA-TA-DODAST provided many wonderful memories we all have of our many summers at Grand Lake, Oklahoma. I wish I had kept a journal. It was there that reluctant Dan finally learned to love the water and to learn to swim. It was there that Tarri once announced, "I'll never go in here—it's too deep," but she was the first in and the last out. How she loved that water. We used to call her, "Water Baby."

We were once with some adult friends and Don was the only child there. He was swimming around by himself and suddenly came up on the boat to observe for all to hear, "I love it here—it's so 'peas' and quiet!"

Then, it was on the back deck of the boat one night while watching the clear sweep of the starry sky that this happened and Jim has used it many times as an illustration. He was telling the boys how far away some of the heavenly bodies were. So many light years for this one—so many light years away for that one. When he paused for breath, David asked, "How far is it to the dam?"

It was at Grand Lake when Don and I were walking up the hill to go to the grocery store one day. He said to me, "Grandma—go ahead. I'll catch up with you and don't look back." I was indeed surprised

65 Nelda Kell

when he did catch up with me. He handed me a lovely bouquet of wild flowers he had picked as I had walked on ahead of him. That's how I hope they felt about my efforts on this book—like a fresh bouquet picked especially for them.

A very young Roger kept patiently telling us, "My Daddy's going to get me a major" until finally we realized he meant a tapeline like Jim used so much.

The Kell children loved to have their Daddy tell ghost stories and the enthusiasm for telling them was passed to each child—even visiting Mary, a college student. The most memorable story came from Donnie, who was about six. We were over there one day and Donny wanted to tell us a ghost story. He said, "There were these two children, a boy and a girl. They walked down the street and they passed this house that everybody said was haunted. They went to the door and knocked and the door opened. There was the g-g-g-h-h-h-o-o-o-s-s-t," (said with a very scary voice). Then, with a side ways wave of his hand, Don said, "And the ghost said, 'Hi.'"

We thought a remarkable incident happened on our trip to Colorado. After our stay in Durango and the ride on the narrow gauge railroad, we visited Mesa Verde. We saw quite a bit of ruins but Grandma and Grandpa wore out so we found a shady place where we rested in the car. The boys spent some time exploring on their own but what absorbed most of their time and attention was depicting what they had seen that morning with stones, twigs and what ever was at hand. Each boy, Roger, David, and Don, constructed something unique, but each was entirely different. I've always wished I'd had had a good picture of each. What about Tarri? She spent the entire time playing with her dollies.

Another incidence of the children's ingenuity was one summer when the Garnett boys were here for a week or so. All five boys were here most of the time so they got the idea of having a circus. They worked hard on it—the swing out over the water from our big cottonwood tree played a large part in their performances. They charged a small fee, I suppose for each act because, as I recall, they made about $2.50. Jean came toward the end of the boys' visit and she noticed that there was to be an Indian pow-wow in town. One of


their activities was to attend an out door church service on Sunday so she suggested we all go to that. Jean and I and the five boys went that Sunday morning and we were the only ones who were not Indians of one tribe or another but it was quite an experience. The extraordinary thing was that the boys voted to give the money earned at the circus to this Indian congregation. A little note was written as to how the money was earned and it was given with joy.

PRECIOUS MOMENTS

It was Christmas 1979 and we had the pleasure of having all of our family together on Sunday, the 23rd. The five grandsons were here most of the time until the Garnetts went back to Houston after Christmas. One evening, I had gone up to get ready for bed but came back down stairs to bid everyone goodnight. ! I had cleaned my face with the usual DuBarry routine so when I sat down at the card table with Roger he said, "My, you smell good". Then, he went ahead to say, "One of these days when I get married, do you suppose my wife might smell like that and when I tell her she smells good, she will probably say, "Do you mean that I smell sexy?" I'll have to say, "No, you smell like my Grandma." Won't she love that? Well, thanks to DuBarry, two boys, in a sense, were able to express their love because a little later, Stevie said that I smelled good. Thank you Stevie and Roger.

Tarri and Keith Shoop presented us with our first Great Grandchild in April 1980. Certainly that is a precious time and little Kristina Marie Shoop is a real live dolly for Tarri and for us all.

Here is a poem Steve wrote me one time: "Roses are red, Violets are blue. When I think of you, I burst with happiness". There aren't many things more precious than that.

I had a short list to fill at the grocery so rode my bike. I went a block west so I could mail a letter. When I got to 13th on my way, I had a very near tragic accident because a woman slowed car down when I was expecting her to maintain her speed. I was so shaken up that I mailed my grocery list but was not hurt. Upon arriving at the grocery I almost called Jim to come and get me because I was so upset. I didn't though, but got what few things I could remember

67 Nelda Kell

and started back home. There coming toward me was Roger and David on their bikes. They couldn't have known my plight but I never was so glad to see anyone. They had missed me and had come out to search for me. Those two precious boys then escorted me home—and safely.

I remember when Jim, exasperated because the ski training session didn't seem to be getting anywhere, called back to two boys (I think it was Don and Dan), "All right, now, one more chance and I've had it—you can just walk back to the car." It broke everyone up because the car was at least 20 miles by water and 50 miles by land from where we were up the Cowskin. He didn't realize what he had said until we all started laughing.

GRANDMA SPEAKETH

And God saw that it was good

Gen.1: 25d

And God was lonely so he said,

Let us make man in our image, after our likeness.

Gen. 1:26b

And the Lord God formed man of the ground, and breathed into his nostrils the breath of life and man became a living soul,

Gen. 2:7.

And God saw that Man was lonely, so he said, "It is not good that Man should be alone, I will make him a help meet for him.

Gen. 2: 18b-c

And the Lord God caused a deep sleep to fall upon Adam and he slept, and he took one of his ribs and he closed up the flesh

instead thereof: and the rib, which the Lord God had taken from man made he a woman and brought her unto man. And Adam said,

"This is now bone of my bone and flesh of my flesh: She shall be called Woman because she was taken out of man. Therefore shall a man leave his father and his mother and shall cleave unto his wife

and they shall be one flesh.

Gen. 2: 21-24


And God saw everything that he had made, and, behold, it was very good.

Gen. 1:31

From the beginning God's desire for man is to place a ring of

protection and love around him.

Man has woman.

And woman and man together have child and the child begins at once to feel and depend on that ring of protection provided 'by God's

plan—the Family.

Then comes the time when God must demonstrate to man how important the Family unit is to man himself so he made certain laws to

insure that ring of protection.

Thou shalt not commit adultery.

Exodus 20:14

Thou shalt not covet thy neighbor's wife.

Exodus 20:17b

Then to the children he says: Honor thy father and thy mother.

Exodus 20:12

Oh man-Oh woman-

God has planned so carefully for your good, Oh Child.

Happy indeed is your lot when man and woman remember that all is for their good—and yours.

Somewhere between the creation of the first man and woman and the dawn of language and communication between them comes the

meaning and the essence of the word later known by the simple letters LOVE.

As God first loved us—so we are to love one another and try to keep his commandments for our own good.

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SO LONG AS THERE ARE HOMES

So long as there are homes to which men turn

At close of day,

So long as there are homes where children are—

Where women stay,

If love and loyalty and faith be found

Across those sills,

A stricken nation can recover from

Its gravest ills.

So long as there are homes where fires burn

And there is bread,

So long as there are homes where lamps are lit

And prayers are said;

Although people falter through the dark

And nations grope,

With God himself back of these little homes

We still can hope.

—Grace Noll Crow

COMMENT

Suppose you loved someone very, very much and, in seeking for a way to express that deep love, decided to make something that was particularly beautiful such as a piece of furniture if you were a carpenter, a painting if you were an artist, a poem if you were a poet or some piece of handiwork that could adequately express that love.

You search for the best materials, you study the best methods, and you work diligently—giving it your very best. It takes a long, long time and you keep it hidden and never mention it because it is to be a surprise.

The day comes to present it! What a wonderful day when you can say, "Here—here is a token of my love." Now, suppose he (or she) takes your offering and throws it down and tramples on it, tears it


up, ruins it completely.

God thought of a way to express His love for us by first giving us life and then by sending His Son to show us how to live and to show us what God is really like. How many times have we shown complete appreciation for God's precious gifts?

I think no happening in history can express how to really accept the gift as well as the true story of a great love—Elizabeth and Robert Browning—both well-known poets and the love they had for each other.

I quote from a condensed version of the book, The Immortal Lover, by Frances Winwar (pg. 293):

"One morning, shortly after breakfast . . . she stood behind him and slipped something into the pocket of his coat.

"'Do you know I once wrote some poems to you. Here they are if you care to see them.'

What Browning thought or felt after reading the 44 pages of his wife's manuscript remains in the silence of his private emotions. But when he could speak, he spoke out from the fullness of his heart and a sense of his unworthiness, for what mortal could be worthy of such tribute?

He urged her to publish them and, being a poet himself, could easily have been jealous or even have wanted to keep them all to himself. But, because he recognized their beauty and their value, they were published and later known as Sonnets from the Portuguese. The world is richer and sweeter for such words as "How do I love thee—let me count the ways." Or these words, "The face of all the world is changed, I think, since first I heard the footstep of thy soul.

LIFE IS A PRECIOUS GIFT—TREASURE IT!

71 Nelda Kell

AUTOBIOGRAPHY I mentioned to a friend that I was putting this book together and

she said, "Surely, you are going to write something of your history to pass on." I hadn't thought of that at all but, having learned from experience how hard it is to piece together the past since things were not written down and we had failed to ask the questions we should have asked our forebears, I believe a history of sorts is in order.

I was born June 1, 1913 in Junction City, Kansas at a rooming house, which belonged to my grandfather Brown's sisters. I believe my mother called them Aunt Em and Aunt Laura. The reason for this irregularity was that my parents and my brother had just moved to Tonganoxie, Kansas and were sharing a home and a dairy business with Dad's sister and her family (Selma

and Dan Kent and their children Mona, Virgil, and Oscar). Mother had gone back to Junction City so that her mother could take care of us through the big event. I remember Mother telling about when we got back to Tonganoxie and Dad saw me for the first time, he said "How did you get her so red? Is she sun-burned?"

Another thing I was told about those days at the dairy was that I was very ill with bronchial pneumonia. Uncle Dan wanted them to take me to the doctor in the rattling old farm wagon but my parents prevailed—someone went for the doctor and Mother always felt that that had saved my life.

Sometime then, before too long, we moved back to Junction City. My brother, Marcus, said we were in the dairy business in Tonganoxie because Dad had broken his leg and couldn't work at his stone masonry trade. At any rate, I gather it wasn't too successful an adventure. I remember little of those years in Junction City

Baby Picture , Nelda Johnson, circa 1914.


although I did go to kindergarten, which I found was rare for that period. We lived on West Second Street. During January or February of 1920, both my grandparents died about a month apart. They had lived at Florence. Dad had worked with his father on many of the stone buildings that he had built in Florence. Grandpa, Carl Oscar Johnson, was a contractor and builder. One of the jobs they worked on together was making an apartment house from what had been a Presbyterian Church. It is at the corner of Sixth and Main. Just before his death, Grandpa had built two houses on West Seventh. Upon the death of my grandparents, we moved to Florence so Dad could continue where Grandpa left off. We lived in one of those houses at 133 W. Seventh. The grandparents had lived in the other one and I vaguely remember visiting them.

I'm puzzled as to why I don't remember moving to Florence, and entering school late in the first grade. It was not until third grade that I can recall things that happened and my teachers and their names. I know I must have loved school though, because even the word primer can cause a welling up of such nostalgia in me that I wonder about it. A primer was our reading book in the early grades.

In the 6th grade, we were Pencil drawing by my son, Larry when he was a teenager about 1950.

Nelda, two, and Marcus Johnson, five, in a postcard picture taken on Grandpa Johnson’s front porch, circa 1915.

73 Nelda Kell

preparing to give a dramatization of George Washington. I was so sure I could bring tears at just the word goodbye that I persuaded the teacher I could be George's mother for the scene when he left home. Armed with onions and any other aids I could fall back on to bring tears, I was ready to do my part on the big day. But all those helps deserted me and I could not shed a tear.

I started piano lessons when I was probably ten. My piano was one that had been Grandpa Johnson's and they say he could play the piano and organ. My teacher was a dear person I have always felt as though she could be my second mother.

In 1931, when I graduated from Florence High School, I was made a member of the National Honor Society and also got a $50 scholarship from the Federated Women's Club in Florence. Those were the Depression years and my father had been out of work for over a year but I still hoped to be able to go to college. My choice was Bethany College at Lindsborg. The folks had invested in a plan for me (how they managed it, I don't know) but it was called Progressive Series Music Teachers Association and one could go to St. Louis for training with little cost except board and room. My music teacher, Amelia Ullman, was so eager for me to go that she said she would lend me $50. Shortly after graduation, I boarded the bus for St. Louis and the destination was the Washington University campus. What an adventure for a young girl that had hardly been out of the county before! It was a wonderful and enriching experience and the Washington University campus was beautiful. The name of the dorm where I stayed was McMillan Hall. Instead of being homesick, I was able to help girls who were and that surprised me. It

Nelda Johnson as a teenager during the late 1920’s in front of her home on West Seventh in Florence, Kansas.


seemed like about every time I wrote home, I was asking for money and I don't know how the folks were able to provide it.

It was very apparent when I got home that I could not enter college that fall, so we asked the Federated Women's Club if I could use the $50 scholarship on my music classes experience in St. Louis. They agreed, so we paid Mrs. Ullman back and I started giving music lessons. At that time we lived in the apartment house. My family moved there when I was a junior in high school.

I will interject here that I had been pianist at the Methodist Church since I was 15 or so. I think my pupils numbered 10 or 12. I might still be giving music lessons as Nelda Johnson if it hadn't been for a certain handsome young man that had entered my life when I was 16.

The first time I ever heard the name Kell, a friend told me there was a girl in study hall that had everyone laughing all the time with her jokes and stories. Her name was Alice Kell. The next summer, another friend told me there was a handsome fellow in town that she was dying to go with. It was Dorothy's aim to go with all the

boys in town and we all helped her with that goal. One evening four of us girls who lived as neighbors were out walking when Jim and another fellow drove up.

Dorothy could not be restrained when they asked if anyone wanted to go for a ride, but before she got away, we did tell her we would be waiting at my house to see how it came out. None of the other girls wanted to go for the ride because the kid with Jim in everyone's opinion was a jerk, so we went back to my house to wait. It wasn't long before she came in all aglow with her report of how wonderful it had been.

I don't know what gave me the idea I knew Jim because really I didn't, but the next Saturday night another Dorothy and

This is the way Jim looked in September of 1929. I was 16 and he was 21.

75 Nelda Kell

I were sitting in her car on Main Street watching the people go in and out of the stores, the theater, and such. Jim came walking by, so I honked at him. We were eating peanuts so we shared them with him and he asked me to go riding the next day if he could get his car fixed. I was sure he was joking so I said I'd ask my parents and tell him at Church whether I could go or not. Jim didn't appear at Church, so I didn't have to tell him that my folks had not said, "No." Two other friends and I were engaged in our Sunday afternoon past time of riding up and down Main Street in Grace's car. She could have the

car on Sunday afternoon and was never to go outside the city limits, so it was up and down—up and down Main Street. We saw Jim riding around in the car that he got fixed and we all waved nonchalantly.

I don't remember whether Jim ever came to church to get his answer or not, but eventually we went for that ride. He said he saw me in Epworth League, which was a young people's organization of the church. I was president, and he decided then that he was going to sweep me off my feet. Jim did almost that as he said on that first afternoon car ride that he wanted to marry me someday. We talked later of waiting seven years to marry so I could go to college and have three years to teach, which would help pay for that education.

Jim worked at jobs wherever he could find work. At the time we met, he was in Florence to help his father build a house. Most of his jobs took him to other parts. When I was a senior, he stayed with his Aunt Ruby and Uncle Preston and worked at Salt Lake City, Utah.

Wedding picture of James L. Kell and Nelda Elizabeth Johnson, in which we were being made Mr. And Mrs. Kell.


We wrote to each other daily and I'm sure I still have some of the letters. He used to write me poetry, too, which I will also pass on to you in some way.

Then, at my graduation time, Jim came home. He found work in Wichita so he could attend Dague Business College. The music teacher and the handsome young man spent all the time they could together but that was very little because he worked in a restaurant and a parking garage to pay for his meals, his room, and a car. When he finished school, he got a job with the Wichita Eagle as a traveling representative. It was then that we decided to get married—June 19, 1932, was the wedding date. The Reverend Hankins married us in the church. There were no flowers and no music. The dress I wore was one Mother had made me for graduation the year before. Jim had miraculously managed to save $100, so we were able to have a honeymoon.

Jim had traded some things to his roommate for an old Maxwell car. It got us to Wichita somehow, and we stayed at the Eaton Hotel. Toward the end of the week, Jim, with me as his new wife, rejoined the crew he was working with. From then on until December or January, I went with him. We'd often stay as long as two weeks in a town. Our first town was Anthony. When we went to rent an apartment, the woman we talked to had just seen our picture in the

Wedding photo that ran in the Wichita Eagle, June 24, 1932. My husband bought me the hat.

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paper so she knew we were newlyweds. How embarrassing!

Our first real home was an apartment in the folk's apartment house in Florence. There was wicker porch furniture that Mother let us have and I fixed cretonne cushions for it. We didn't even have a washing machine when Jeannine Alice was born on September 3, 1933, but one of the tenants generously offered to do the diapers. She had never had any children, so diaper washing lasted exactly one time but I was grateful and we used to laugh about it. Both sets of grandparents delighted in little Jeannine and vied for the privilege of looking after her on Saturdays when Jim and I would go into Wichita.

Those trips to Wichita on Saturdays and Mondays got to be too much, so we moved to Wichita in April 1936. We lived in a nice little brick house at 1848 N. Waco. That was the hottest summer on record up to that time, and we had to move our beds to the back yard so we could get some sleep—the house was unbearable. Remember, air conditioning had not even been heard of then, to my knowledge. A little of my discomfort that summer was, no doubt, due to the fact that I was pregnant. December 24, 1936 was the date we got our little boy to go with our little girl and we were a complete and happy family. James Leroy, Jr. later became lovingly known as "Larry" because of all the Jim's in the Kell family.

Shortly after his birth, we were asked to move because the house that we lived in was sold. We moved to 636 N Chautauqua. When Jim went to pay the second month's rent, the owner said that he would have to raise the rent. So we did one of the smartest things we ever did—we bought our own home at 1225 N. Hillside for the splendid sum of $1,750. We lived there for ten years or so. With the improvements we made and the better prices that houses were getting, we sold it for $6,850. Then we bought at 451 N. Vassar for $12, 500 for six years. We got the yen to build our own place, so we bought a beautiful piece of land with a spring and a little lake and built our dream home about three and one-half miles east of Andover and just south of Thirteenth Street. My Dad cut all the stone for it and Jim laid it all—it was beautiful indeed. We sold it after six years and got $50,000. We sold it because the township


The house at 719 W. Ninth. Roger, our oldest grandson, drew this. He was about 17. After painting our house, he would go home and draw it from memory. I used the drawing for our Christmas card greeting in 1974.

didn't make much of an effort to keep the roads passable year around.

In 1961 we moved to 719 W. Ninth. Jim said at the time that we would live there until the last grandchild was 21. Living on the Little Arkansas River was a real joy to us all.

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Jeannine Garnett, our daughter, recently drew this knight in shining armor from a statuette, which her 11 year-old son, Dan, had given to my husband, Jim. Circa 1971.

KNIGHT IN SHINING ARMOR

When I told my cousin's wife that my Jim was diagnosed with Alzheimer's, she asked, "Why does it so often happen to the most


intelligent, most articulate, most witty people?"

The day of the diagnosis was June 19, 1990, which was our 58th anniversary. I wrote the following and sent copies to my family as well as a copy of the book "The 36 Hour Day" which was recommend-ed by the Doctor.

The Way We Were

My brave, handsome, gallant knight has fallen on the battlefield and I run to his aid; cuddling his head in my lap and gently dabbing his wounds with the 'kerchief I gave him almost 60 years ago when he went forth into battle for me.

As I croon softly to him, I scan the horizon for help but there is no one. I dare not call out for help for I would not want him to feel that we are now helpless. My strong protector is down but he must not be reminded of it.

As I continue to croon, I hear a kind, loving voice in my ear saying, "Nelda, you are not alone, and never have been—I have always been with you."

"Yes, Dear Jesus, and I must never forget that."

The sun is now beginning to lower in the sky and something happens which I have been warned of when my Dear One looks up and says, "Who are you?" I try hard to remember that I should have to be prepared for this, so struggling to keep the tears from my voice, I say, "Someone who loves you very much and who will never leave you alone."

I begin to put the words to the tune I have been crooning and I sing to him "Memories, light the corners of my mind. Misty, water-colored memories of the way we were. Pictures, for the smiles we left behind. Smiles, we give to one another of the way we were. Can it be that it was all so simple then or has time rewritten every line? If we had the chance to do it all again—tell me, would we? Could we? Memories may be beautiful and yet—what's too painful to remember—we simply choose to forget. For it's the laughter, we will remember, whenever we remember—the way we were." (Words by Alan and Marilyn Bergmen.)

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Darkness may be a long time coming but it will come and if I survive, I must learn to deal with life without my life time companion, my wonderful friend and the dearest person on earth to me.

Of course, there were signs much before 1990 and probably our son-in-law Ed Garnett was the first to notice. As I look back on it now, it must have started much earlier—probably 1985. It was up and down, then, until his death April 16, 1996.

I think during those first few years, I must have thought I could change him and I'm sure I just didn't understand fully what was happening.

When I had hip surgery in November 1992, my children insisted that he must be cared for in a nursing home. This was not the place for him and I realize now that he was very unhappy there although he could not tell me. Thanks to our granddaughter and family, though, this only lasted 6 months. They had moved to Kingman, Arizona in March and when we talked in May, I told her about an awful event at the nursing hone and she said, "I want you to bring him here and I want you to bring him NOW."

The evidence of his unhappiness, which I didn't diagnose until later, was the fact he was hanging his head over on his chest. This was certainly not like Jim but, in spite of therapy, it persisted from just before Easter until two days after we arrived in Kingman about June 3, 1993. He never did it again—there were people there that he vaguely knew but couldn't give names to, and there was a cat and two or three dogs to liven things up—and children in and out.

I feel I was the most fortunate person in the world as Jim got good care and he was loved. I moved out there in October expecting to spend the rest of my life in Kingman, Arizona.

As I write about Jim, I think he would like for me to tell the funny things that happened—he loved to make people laugh. And, laughing was a very important tool for helping everyone get through this.

At the nursing home, my visits were much scarcer than I would have wanted because, during those first few weeks, there was snow


on the ground continuously and I was very fearful of falling. When I did get to go see him, I got a wheel chair in which I would wheel myself back to the Alzheimer's section.

On one such visit, I knew Jim would be in the lunchroom so I was planning to stop at his room and look at his clothes to see what he needed. I just got to the door of his room and this very tall, strong looking man said, "You can't go in there," and he proceeded to turn me around and push me to the lunch room. There, I caught Jim's eye and he came to me. I took his hand, and, wheeling myself with my feet and one hand and holding Jim's hand with the other, we went back to his room. Again, I was met at the door by this big fellow who, again, turned me around—wheelchair, Jim, and all—while he said, "I told you that you couldn't go in there." He wheeled me back to the lunchroom where he gave the chair a hefty shove saying, "Now, STAY there." This man had a brain tumor, which was causing him to act like he, too, had Alzheimer's and I'm sure he thought I was one of the residents because of the wheelchair.

There was a woman resident that Jim thought was me. Once, when I arrived, it turned out to be the moment he was pushing her into her room. He got her to her bed and was about to leave when he saw me and it was very plain to see by his facial expression that he was very confused as there couldn't be two of me. That, however, didn't change his thinking that this other woman was me.

Our friends were so good to call on Jim frequently, and I appreciate that greatly. One friend told of getting there and mentioning something about his socks (they didn't match) and Jim said, "Yeah, and I have another pair just like them." This was one occasion (of many) when I could say, "Our Jim is in there somewhere."

He thought he had a job at the nursing home and, therefore, he never begged to come home, which certainly was a blessing to me. However, I wondered sometimes, if he thought I had left him, like he was thinking, "I'm where I'm supposed to be—why aren't you here, too?" Then there were times when he thought I was his mother, and times when I couldn't get any answers from him because, as he said, he was afraid of "losing my job."

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After I had moved to Kingman where he was, I visited him frequently bringing whatever things were needed for his care. Once, probably during his second year there, I thought I'd see if he knew who I was so I asked him, "Who am I?" and he said "you're Mrs. m-m-m Taylor." In thinking that over, I came up with the idea of asking him who he was and if he could say his name, then I would say, "Well, I'm your wife so I'm Mrs. Kell." Instead, when I asked, "Who are you?" he turned to our granddaughter and said, "She doesn't know who I am." This, to me, was another indication that my Jim was in there somewhere.

Jim always had a great love of children and realizing that, they would respond to him. This was never more evident than during his Alzheimer's as children seemed to look upon him as another child. When we met our 3-year-old great granddaughter for the first time, she immediately climbed up into his lap. Then, the next older one did the same—she was probably five.

Even though Jim could not give me a name, I feel he somehow knew me and I had many precious times with him. Laying my head on his shoulder was such a comfort to me and his pats and his smiles indicated that he welcomed my presence. How I miss him!

Lest we think of my "Knight in Shining Armor" only in terms of the Alzheimer's years, I want to try to picture him as he really was.

He was such a handsome man that I have to say I was surprised he chose me, as I've always considered myself a "plain Jane." But even though many girls and women eyed him with admiration all his life, he didn't seem to notice. An example of this was a story his mother told me. This was, of course, many years after we were married. His mother's neighbor told her that she would certainly make a play for Jim if it were not for me as he was so "outstanding looking." When his mother told him that, this was his remark, "Oh, she just saw me out standing on your ladder painting your house."

He loved poetry and could recite long poems, which he would do when he was president of our Sunday school class. After one session when he did this, one member said to him, "Jim, how do you do that? I write poetry and I can't recite it that way." He and his aunt Elsie had such a great time one time when we took her back to


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The Kell Men

Top left: James Kell Born 1844 in Kentucky Married Mary Dill Lowe July 6, 1871 — Died April 23, 1891 Wichita, KS Top right: Thomas Tanner Kell Born January 22, 1874 Married Blanche Hunter July 3, 1903 Died August 20, 1957 Marion, KS Middle left: James Leroy Kell Born November 21, 1907 Florence, KS Married Nelda Johnson June 19, 1932 Died April 14, 1996 Kingman, AZ Middle right: James Leroy Kell, Jr. (Larry) Born December 24, 1936 Newton, KS Married Sue Hasz April 14, 1956 Married Sandy Bollman Veach May 27, 1971 Lower left: Roger Alan Kell Born May 20, 1957 Wichita, KS Married Teresa Lariet 1986 Married Patricia Lea Osborn April 26, 1997 Lower middle: Donald Joseph Kell Born December 2, 1961 Wichita, KS Married Janet Graves June 26, 1981 Married Agnes (Micki) Staltare May 31, 1991 Lower right: Benjamin James Kell Born August 17, 1984 Wichita, KS


Seattle. I drove quite a bit of the way, so she and Jim could recite poetry to each other. She later sent him a book of the poetry that she treasured, which her granddaughter put together for her.

His goal in life was to provide for his family and that meant sometimes, working at more than one job. One of our greatest blessings was the fact that he could handle most of the household problems—painting, electrical, plumbing, carpentry, and fixing the car. Although he liked to brag about his cooking, the only recipe he could offer, other than boiling water for coffee, was potatoes fried with eggs mixed up in them. He was so good at telling how well he could do this, that one woman, on a cruise we were on, would ask him, "Have you ever tried this?" and proceeded to give him a recipe. He never wavered in his desire to provide for his family and, I feel, even showed that through his Alzheimer's disease.

Everybody loved him. I used to say that if I had said something to someone that he had said, they would be offended. But, somehow, Jim could say it in such a way that the person might even feel complemented. I guess the saying, "He could turn a phrase," applied

When so many people told Roger, right, that he resembled his great, great grandfather in looks, he dressed himself to look even more like him and had a picture taken. He kept them side by side on his mantle when we visited him in 1999.

87 Nelda Kell

to him. His sense of humor was right on target, too, as he knew how people liked to laugh so he had his jokes ready for all occasions.

I'm sure I've mentioned that he liked to be where there was water, as he had missed that in his growing up years in Western Kansas. As a result, we had a cabin cruiser for many years and he was an excellent skipper as we went through storms, tight places, maneuvering shallow water and even an accident where a hole was knocked in the side of the boat. He took care of that himself by stuffing towels into the hole and keeping them in place by wires, which he nailed to the boat. He bailed out the boat and later even managed to get the garage to fix it. This is a story that should be written, as it was almost a comedy of errors but, the important thing was, he came through it triumphantly. Grand Lake in Oklahoma was our favorite place, although we went to Keystone one year and to Milford, in Kansas, one year.

The gallantry Jim displayed is, I fear, sadly missing in so many young men. This happened before I knew Jim, but I didn't learn of it until well after we were married, as he never bragged about these things. His sister was a nurse and her first job was for a doctor in a town about 30 miles away. She came home one day and said that the doctor had make sexual

Jim with ALL his great grandchilden: on the lower left is Sarah Kell; next to Sarah is Ben Kell; on the far lift is Nathan Shoop; Diana Garnett; Jim; Kristina Shoop; Lauren Garnett; Jenny Garnett; Sarah Garnett; and Nelda is in the background.


advances toward her, Jim had experience in boxing and thought of himself as a boxer. He went to the doctor's office and, noting that he wore glasses, and asked him to remove them. The doctor tried to dissuade him, as I'm sure he knew why Jim was there. Jim made his move and gave that doctor something he would never forget. This was not something he did because he was a boxer, as he would have done it without that ability because his admiration for his sister was genuine. He always

thought of her as someone who could do no wrong. When they were children, in speaking to her, he changed someone's name in such a way that it was very uncomplimentary and she remonstrated with him, "We just don't do that, Jim, since we have a last name someone could change." He teased her with, "How, what do you mean?" as he knew she just could not bring herself to say the word "hell." I told him of his sister's death in 1993 and I feel that he knew who I was talking about, as he said, "She was a very good person."

Yes, there were chinks in his armor, but in my 86 years on this earth, I have yet to find the perfect person. I think my years have taught me to look for and applaud the good in people—and there is much good here if we

Jim and Nelda Kell at the party honoring Jim’s 35 years of service to the Eagle.

Jim was honored for his 35 years of service to the Wichita Eagle. Here he is shown with Victor Murdock, one of the owners of the newspaper.

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just look for it.

Although Jim might not have had as much schooling as some, he showed intelligence and wisdom that I've seen lacking in some who possess many degrees. He was a good speaker and could express himself well in the things he believed. His dealing with money matters was so superior to mine that his hard work, saving, and investing enable me to now live in the place I feel sure he would want me to be.

Our fiftieth wedding anniversary June 19, 1982.

Our sixtieth wedding anniversary, June 19, 1992, with our daughter, Jeannine Garnett and son, Larry Kell.


Just Bragging

Nelda and Grandchildren left to right: Roger Kell, David Garnett, Dan Garnett, Nelda, Tarri Kell, Don Kell and Steven Garnett. Christmas, 1979 at 719 W. 9th, Wichita, KS.

Rosena Marshall and Nelda Kell win first place in Larksfield Place Bridge Tournment, 1997.

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After Word (My "Family Portraits" would not really be complete without

including Herby. The following was written in Creative Writers Class after the suggestion that we use the words "cold" and "whistle" in our next article.)

Retirement My name is Herby and I was sent to a retirement home (ours),

because I had arthritis in my back so bad that I was dragging my feet until they were bleeding. The doctor said I needed a costly operation, which no one could help me with, although one kid relative said he would pay the entire cost—but I couldn't let a KID do that.

The retirement home had a kind man (Jim) who thought that regular walks would help me as much as anything. He made special shoes for me and we went on those walks even in the cold, and I got so well that I could even run if I had to.

I look at my family sometimes and wish it could all be as it used to be, but, now, I have to be content, because all I have to do is wait for my kind friend to whistle and away we go. You see, I'm a dog.

Herby with a wee friend.


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SAY CHEESE, PLEASE - Larksfield Place · PDF fileWe encourage you to download this large print book from our website, ... thing I remember most about that teacher was that she slapped