What my grandparents were like

 One of the benefits of being in a military family growing up was the opportunity to travel all over the world. The drawback of getting the chance to live in lots of different places across the globe was the lack of contact with extended family.

Because we moved home to Anacortes while my Dad was overseas in Vietnam and Korea, I actually got to know my Mom’s side of the family fairly well. Unfortunately, not so much on my Dad’s side.

My Dad’s father, Gerhard Ambrotious Branby, passed away 28 March, 1955, exactly 5 years before I was born. Born on 12 April, 1900, he was just shy of 55 when he passed. His parents were Ole Olav Olavsson Brandby, and Helga K. Strand.

From what I know, he had lived with Type I Diabetes most of his adult life. It didn’t prevent him from having and raising six strong kids, but I don’t think he worked steady jobs. My dad wrote about his father thusly:

“Dad was a diabetic and a serious one. That was one stigma that hung over the entire family as we witnessed his twice daily insulin injections, and every once in a while he would lapse into a coma and scare us all half to death. But, somehow he seemed to survive and he would be right back at it again. He was a man of ‘True Grit.’ He could have given up anytime but he was too stubborn… My Dad went to work for the WPA (Works Progress Administration - a government sponsored program that put in all the sewer systems in the town of Glenwood). I believe he made somewhere in the neighborhood of $45 a month.”

About his mother, Esther Lovina Helland (4 January, 1900 - 31 Jan 1990), he wrote:

“Mother was a truly magnificent woman. She struggled through raising six kids on a meager budget. With help from the farm: butter, eggs, meat etc. and some monthly support from “Direct Relief,” a Depression program, we all ate and subsisted fairly well.

Mom made clothes, we always had a garden, baked all our own bread and all in all never really suffered.”

Living mostly overseas, or in Washington growing up, I don’t remember meeting her too many times, though there were a couple times she came to see us, or we went to Minnesota. My cousins remember her quite fondly, and I do regret that we didn’t get to know her better. Her parents were Mikkel Eriksen Helland and Ingaborg Knutsdatter Hoverud.

Being stationed on the west coast, or actually living up in Anacortes while my Dad was in Vietnam, or stationed in Korea, we spent a lot of time with my Mom’s parents. They also came and visited us once or twice, the last being when we lived in Las Vegas; so it felt like we were regular members of the same family.

My Grandmother, Cora Jo Robeson, was born in Bogota, Tennessee, on 27 January, 1911. Her parents were Hawkins Eugene Robeson and Roberta ‘Bertie’ Lane Strachn.

By the time I remember her, after we came back from England and while my Dad was deployed in 1965-1966, she would have been about 54 or so. Looking back she seemed old, with grey hair already, and a very soft Texas drawl. They lived in Burlington in a little yellow house, and we would go visit them a lot. While she seemed very stern to me (and had no problem smacking my behind when I got out of hand), they also had this one magic drawer in the kitchen that had toys in it, just waiting for us to come visit.

She came to my college graduation, and one of my favorite pictures is the two of us after the Graduation parade.

My grandfather, Frank Henry Elder, was born on 2 May, 1906, in Cottle County, Texas. His parents were Francis Marion Elder, and Bethenia ‘Bettie’ Nance.

Not sure how or when they met, but this picture must have been taken at their 50th Anniversary.

My Aunt Jocie put together some memories of her Dad, and include the following:

“My knowledge of daddy’s (Frank Henry Elder) story began with his mother (Bettie Nance Elder) passed away. He was only five years old but he treasured the love she gave him and mentioned her frequently throughout his life. When she died, he and dad’s younger sister (Lilli Mae Elder-Ledbetter) were sent away to live with relatives until his father (Francis Marion Elder) remarried. His new wife (Rhoda Gray Bledsoe), had a son (John William Bledsoe) who was near daddy’s age. In the course of time, they had a daughter (Dorothy Rosie Lee Elder) together so dad eventually had two sisters.

Apparently, there was a lot of competition between the two boys. For whatever reason dad felt very much the step child. I only saw his step mother one time when I was about 10 years old. She seemed old, sullen and reeked with the smell of chewing tobacco.

Apparently beatings were common place because when he was a young man, his step mother went into another rage and started beating him again. Dad said that he took the stick away from her, broke it in half and ran away from home, hiding in the mountains (I don’t know what mountains, because they lived in Texas) but dad was totally alone

Time marched on and somehow dad found a way to pay for college, earning his teaching certificate as a science and math teacher (eventually earning a Masters’ Degree in Science). Dad’s first teaching positon was in Pooleville, Texas, where he met and fell in love with my mother, Cora Jo Robeson.

Dad’s ultimate educational goal was to earn his doctoral degree but while he was working to complete it, life intervened and momma had given birth to their 6th daughter. She was so terrible anemic and physically run down that he was needed at home to care and supervise the family.

Dad was a valiant man, who was dedicated to his wife and family so he gave up his career dream to take care of momma and my two little sisters and I.”

In the midst of that education, he served in WWII, station in the Aleutian Islands with the Navy. When he came home, he went to school (possible with the GI Bill?), earned another degree, then moved his family back to Texas to work as a Principal in Brock, Texas.

“Cora Jo Robeson was always Dad’s sweetheart. Every single Mother’s Day he gave her a corsage with 6 red roses in it. He said there was one red rose for each daughter she gave him.”

My biggest memories of Grampa was that he was a  quiet, gentle soul. He rarely talked much (maybe Grandma did all the talking?), but took everything in. He would sit with a milk carton full of paper towels and spit tobacco juice in it whenever we visited or he came to visit. He also smoked a pipe. You couldn’t sit on his lap because he had somehow hurt it. Maybe as the result of a stroke.

He died the summer before my Senior year in College. He was the only person I ever remember breaking down and crying over. I had just written him a letter two or three days before he died, and I was devastated he wouldn’t get it.

Family ties

 Of all the families that have ever been, I have the very best brother and sisters that could ever be.

As long as I can remember, Dave has been there. Growing up in an Air Force family, and moving so frequently, we really were each other’s best friend. Always there, the sidekick/gang that made it possible to immediately fit into society, no matter where life dropped you.

Dave was born in England in late 1962, so we’re a little more than 2-1/2 years apart. But like most #2 kids, they think they are the same as you, so, expecting to be included in everything you do, he picked up everything fast and always was. Once we got back to the States, we sstil basically did everything together, We hung out on the beach together, built forts, climbed logs, explored the woods, went to Mike and Lane’s house, or went to Aunt Carolyn’s to see what the big kids were up to.

I think when Susan and Sandy showed up, he might have gotten upset that he wasn’t the center of attention as the youngest anymore, but by then we were at George AFB, and we had the base to explore. Baseball fields, riding bikes, new playgrounds, etc. We got a black dog named Trixie, and as I remember, he really loved her.

Having twins thrust into our lives was very disruptive, to say the least. It DID feel like we got the short shrift of a lot of things, but to me it was all part of the package. I actually liked being considered older and able to “take care of myself.” The fact that we had to, and were successful, was proof I was growing up. Maybe that’s just being the older child and having to break in the parents on everything, I don’t know.

In Libya and Italy, Dave and I were still the new guys and hooked up at the hip. In Libya there were lots of base kids to hang out with and do stuff with, but it was usually a package deal. We roamed our neighborhood in a pack, usually one or two siblings from various families. In Italy we lived off base and didn’t have any english-speaking kids nearby. So we made friends with some of the local Italian kids,  One girl, Valaria, was the daughter of our housekeeper. Her father had a farm he worked and we would go to their house and climb around the barn, or walk to the ice cream shop, or down into the little town a half mile or so up the road.

I don’t remember much about the girls back then. Obviously they were around, but to us, they were distractions for the adults, and took the majority of their attention. They progressed from laying in their cribs, to standing and rocking back and forth yelling to be let out. Then following us around the house and yard. In Italy, they were three and four, starting to be their own personalities and went to an Italian nursery school. They were excellent Italian speakers, and could converse with each other in a language we barely understood. But they knew.

Back in the States, I was in Junior High and High School, already looking to the future. A lot of activities took me out of the house and away from our core group. When we moved to Vegas, I went to 8th grade at Jim Bridger Jr. High, downtown North Las Vegas, while Dave and the girls went to J.E. Manch Elementary right outside the housing area. Summers were all spent together though, either roaming base housing, playing with our neighbors (so many kids!) or on trips with our parents.

We did fight a bunch, as kids do. I think I was the tallest all the way until I left for college. Then I came home for Thanksgiving or Christmas, after having been away for months; Dave had hit a growth spurt and was suddenly taller by about two inches. That was a bit of a shock, lol! By this time he was in his Sophomore year I think, and finding his own passions. He is a very creative guy and was finding his writing starting to be his pathway forward. The girls are 7 years behind me, so were at the end of elementary school, but finding their skills on the athletic fields growing, as well as their academic prowess. Mom and Dad were pretty consistent on stressing the expectation of good grades, and the assumption was we were all going to college.

Dave went on to attend Cornell for a bit, then graduated from the University of Washington. Eventually he earned a Masters from the University of Nevada Reno (UNR). He  married Debbie and migrated towards advertising, even running his own business for awhile. He now works in the Marketing Department at UNR, and is involved in all levels of multi-media efforts.

Sandy turned out to be the family stud, taking after the elder Branbys. As I understand, both she and Susan swam and played various sports in High School. Sandy kept up with the swimming and working out and turned into a tri-athlete, competing internationally. I am pretty sure both girls started college up in Bellingham, and ended up graduating from UNR after Dad and Mom moved down to Fallon, NV for a few years. Somewhere in all her athletic endeavors, Sandy met Ryan Green, another workout fiend, and the two got married. They now live in Park City, Utah, and enjoy the great outdoors all four seasons.

Both girls worked in Reno casinos while they were in college. Sandy was a valet parking attendant, while Susan worked as a dealer out on the floor. At some Susan met and married a casino executive named George Georgelas. They moved to St. Maartin, then Greece for a while, opening casino operations, eventually ending up in Minnesota to open a casino on some Indian reservation. At some point they got divorced, and Susan went home to Fallon and finished her degree. She met Bob Burkhardt, got married and settled in Lodi, CA. where he worked for Woodbridge Wines.

They have twin daughters, Kate and Ally who are now Freshmen at UC Santa Cruz. Susan ended up getting her Masters at the University of the Pacific, where she works in the administration of the School of Pharmacy.

I know Mom and Dad are proud of all of us!

(These stories are in no way guaranteed to be true, but they sound good.)

Why yes, I DID go to my Senior Prom

 My date for Senior Prom was Carrie Milspaugh. We were not dating, just good friends, who had a lot of classes together.  We were both part of the same strata of kids in school; advanced classes, active in sports and student activities, etc.

The Prom was something like the 29th of April. I had actually started going out with someone else at the end of March. I met Susan Wiant at a party some friends of mine had out at the canals that criss-crossed the farmlands around Avondale, AZ. We’d hang out with a bunch of kids who would park their cars in a circle, turn on the headlights and have music playing, and just sit around and talk in the warm summer evenings, there may have been some Boone’s Farm and Anny Green Springs… pretty much a house party without the house.

Anyway, Polly Purcell, Mike Blake’s girlfriend, brought Susan along with Don Snyder’s girlfriend, Mary Lukasik. Susan and I got to talking and hit it off. The whole next week was trying to decide if we had a thing going or not; and once deciding we did, the concept of Prom suddenly arose. Turned out, she had already been asked by another Senior weeks before, and didn’t feel right about canceling. That left me in the awkward position of not having a date to my Senior Prom, plus being behind in the  ‘finding a date’ process.

I had already thought about asking Carrie, because we got along so well, but then got side-tracked by the whole Susan thing. Naturally, Susan and I had several awkward conversations about her prom date situation vs. our dating status, etc. etc…. and what was I supposed to do, blah, blah, blah… In the end, we agreed I should go, and Carrie was… “acceptable.”

So I asked Carrie (I don’t remember how), and luckily she accepted. We coordinated on attire colors (brown was in, I guess), flowers and boutonnieres. I picked her up in my little yellow VW (while the other group went in a limo!), and off we went to dinner and dancing.

I can’t remember where we went to dinner, but the Prom itself was in downtown Phoenix at the top of the Valley National Bank Building, the tallest building in Phoenix. I think we got to the top floor right about sunset, so the view was spectacular.

Carrie and I had a great time. We weren’t with any other couples, not tied to conversations and plans, so we spent the entire evening dancing and having fun.  That’s where we found out that our class song was, “Dust in the Wind,” by Kansas. Kind of depressing for kids who were just about to head out into the big wide world.

When we were done, we took the scenic route back to Litchfield Park, which wound along the outskirts of town and had some nice elevation to it, so you could look down on the entire city laid out in a spectacular grid. It was really something to see.

All in all it was a really fun night, and Carrie was a great date.

My car in high school

 I drove two cars while I was in High School. The first one was a blue VW station wagon. Fun little car. I learned to drive a stick shift in it. My Mom was my primary driving instructor, only because she had more patience than my Dad. I remember one time we (my Dad and I) were out for a drive. We came up to a stop sign, and I’m trying to figure out how to stop and and not stall the engine. Dad reaches over, pulls the emergency brake, and says, “You start from here. Don’t stall.” I’m pretty sure I did. Or if not, it was a really ugly jerky start.

We got that car I think before we went to Libya, because I remember the girls in these mini cribs that filled the rear of the hatch back. No seatbelts, they just rode around in an open box. We took it to Libya, then Italy, Washington, and to Nellis. Then it met me. That car lasted most of the summer, and one night I was driving home from a National Honor Society meeting, Greg Madonna and I were driving in separate cars. We came to a 90 degree curve and I stepped on the gas, went inside him and passed in front. The next thing I knew there was a lamp post in my windshield, and it embedded itself or I embedded myself into it. Luckily I had no passenger. Pretty sure they would have died, or had their legs crushed. No airbags back then.

I ate the steering wheel with my chest, cut my fingers in the windshield, but other than that, I got out and was fine except for shock and the certain knowledge that I had just made a horrible mistake. Dad was going to kill me. He didn’t. My parents were very good about everything immediately after the crash. I was home for about a week, then back to school. Nice black eye, so that was good for the sympathy vote. The “Piper” I had to pay was my Dad for weeks afterwards bringing it up over and over again, Yes, I messed up. Yes, I was goofing around. and yes, I was very VERY lucky.

Eventually I got another car to drive. I was too active to not have transportation. Dad came home with a yellow VW bug.

Loud peppy engine, Modified steering wheel, another stick shift, which by then I was very comfortable with. Fun little  car; I added an 8-track stereo system and a CB radio. I drove that until I went to college. Even drove it to Prom. By then some people were starting to get Limousines, but that wasn’t something in my price range. Though, if there was anyone to double date with I probably would have chipped in. Unfortunately, none of my buddies were interested in going that year. Their loss - It was a fun time, and my date for that one night thought it was a cute car.