Snapshots of Wes and Vennie (Watson) Wicker

Grandma and Grandpa Wicker lived next door

“Grandma, what are you having for supper. . .Fried Chicken?”

“Mom what’s for supper?. . . . um, I think I’ll eat at Grandma’s”

Sitting in their tiny kitchen at enameled table

Grandpa in his undershirt—

Round and jolly, there’s a lot of him to love. 

If he grew a beard, he could be Santa.

Standing at the sink watching Grandpa shave

“Wishy- Washy Grandpa”

The shaving brush swirls the soap into a foam

Shared with my 3 year-old face

Giving me a Santa-foam beard.

Dad worked nights, slept days.

I can’t be quiet, so I went next-door:

Sorted buttons while Grandma sewed.

By shape, by color, by size

Watched daytime TV; Arthur Godfrey, Art Linkletter

Playing solitaire while Dad slept and Grandma sewed.

Next door had four apartments filled with “old people”,

Frieda, the land-lady and grandparents on first floor.

Frieda Backoff: personified Scrubby Dutch.

Cleaning. . .always cleaning on her hands and knees with thick brown cotton stockings rolled below her knees

Bucket on wheels, scrub brush and cleanser, mop waiting for active duty.

Hair in a hairnet or a scarf, bossy but smiling with no teeth.

Speaking English with an accent and calling me “Strublekopf”

Siidewalks, porch are a blinding white from being scrubbed and so much sun!

Trees made a mess?---She cut them down.

Only place south of Tower Grove Park with sunshine all day.

Grass is thick—perfect for cartwheels and picnics on a sheet

No ants, no flies! 'Verboten"

Freshly painted garage with Grandpa’s garden at the side.

But, I felt unprotected with no trees to hide in, play around, 

Shielding me from the sun, the wind, the rain—and prying eyes

In a neighborhood of apartments and flats.

Sitting outside in their city back yard

Barbecuing pork chops, pork steaks

Smelling the vinegar marinade called

“Wicker’s Barbecue sauce” made by Grandpa’s cousin.

Laughing, telling stores while we enjoyed a breeze on a 

Summer’s day.  Listening to a Cards game or the traffic on Arsenal

Squeal of brakes, rumble of street cars,

"It might be, it could be, it is a HOMERUN!"

Watching Grandpa drink his Schlitz, loving his full-body laugh

Sometimes fishing with Grandpa. . . .

“Come on, Jack, let’s go fishing’”

“Grandpa, when are we going to catch a fish”

“Stop talking, you’ll scare them away”

Friday night dinners at Grandma’s 

Eating Grandpa’s fish—fried so crispy with cornmeal, but. . .

“Watch out for the bones”

Fried potatoes and fresh tomatoes and onions sliced on the side.

Iced tea—too sweet—poured from a icy glass pitcher

Into brightly colored aluminum tumblers, sweating from the cold.

Sometimes a lemon meringue pie or a Lady Baltimore cake---yum!

Helping with laundry in a bright, glossy, Frieda-painted basement

Swish of the machine and then the WRINGER!

“Please can I put them through the wringer”

“Watch your fingers!”

Rollers smashing the clothes with water tumbling out

Clothes flattened but then shook out, brought to life before hanging out back

On a clothes line dancing in a breeze,

Shirts with arms pinned up singing hallelujah,

Curtains and pants on stretchers, drying wrinkle-free: stiff at attention.

I run weaving in and out of the sheets playfully flapping in my face.

Shopping for school clothes we never bought. . .

Looking at the styles, feeling the fabric, the smell of something new.

Quick, to the fabric department while we can recall the look, the feel.

Waiting for the bus to take us home to await the new clothes,

The whirr of Grandma’s sewing machine:

A new, but not store-bought dress

Doesn’t smell the same, everyone will know Grandma made it.

“Made better than store bought and  

made with love,” said Mom.

Teddy Bears' Picnic

 The Presbyterian Women’s Teddy Bear Picnic brought back several memories of stories from my childhood.

I was the only granddaughter for 3 years on both sides of my family.  I was showered with dolls and dresses and all things pink from not just my grandparents but my great aunts and uncles.  One of the great aunts bought me a giant black and white panda which I slept with. I loved the texture of its fur— so soft and, well, furry.  I didn’t have much use for dolls, and couldn’t understand why other little girls liked dolls that were hard, plastic and so needy, wanting clothes and shoes to be changed, wanting a bottle, needing diaper changes.  My mother later confessed she was concerned that I wasn’t very “motherly”.. .

So, when I was in Kindergarten and chosen to be in the musical performance of “Teddy Bears Picnic” I was super excited—it’s all I could talk about.  I can still hum the tune.  My mother and grandmother hopped on board, made me a new dress and the day of the performance my mother spent a lot of time getting my hair in banana curls:  after sleeping in rag curls Mom had to  section my hair,  wrapping each section around a finger, brushing each hair to smooth the curl, then slowly removed her finger.  After she applied my rouge and lip stick, I was ready to go.

The time for my performance arrived.  Grandma and Mom were in the audience—they couldn’t wait to see the star with the banana curls and new dress.  When they saw me, they were so disappointed: I heard this story repeatedly from them.  I had been crammed into a teddy bear costume with only my eyes showing—no makeup, no curls, no new dress.  But I was so happy to become a teddy bear for a few minutes!

When I had children of my own, my mother even bought me the book Teddy Bears Picnic with a record of Bing Crosby singing the tune! I still wonder why some prefer dolls to the warm fuzziness of a teddy bear.

Researching Childhood Friends

My daughter, Rebecca, is putting together a book for my birthday with photos from my life.  She sent me this photo asking , "who are these children with you (back row left) and Jane (front row right)?"  And thus began several days of Jane and I reminiscing about childhood friends when we lived in Tower Grove South neighborhood.  And that led us to "whatever became of them"?  Jane and I both have great researching skills so we went to work.

First, was Barbara E. whose family had pretty much adopted my grandmother, mother and us as one of their own.  I knew all of Barbara's aunts and grandparents had died, but what happened to Barbara.  I researched her name on ancestry, but nothing but her high school year book photo and a marriage certificate came up (was she REALLY married at 18?).  So, I googled her husband who had a Facebook Account.  I messaged him and he wrote me right back that he and Barbara were divorced, she had re-married and was living in Pacific Northwest, but he had lost touch with her.

Next were this family who shared a "flat" with us.  We lived upstairs and they lived downstairs.  The girl in the middle "D" was older and was always a bit aloof.  Researching her, I found she had been living in Belleville IL but has died.  Jane and I had known that "W", the beautiful red-headed boy had died young.  He had become a hair dresser and was gay.  Jane thought suicide but I thought AIDs.  Neither of us was right---an automobile accident in Illinois that also killed the man who was with him.  Next was "La Wanda", his twin sister who is sitting in front of me and beside Jane.

She and her brother were in the same grade as I was but went to the Catholic school.  She was quiet but friendly and smiled more than this photo shows.  They had a difficult home life as many children did in that neighborhood with parents who drank too much being the common thread.  Although we enjoyed playing with the twins, I don't recall ever playing in each other's flat---just in the yard or on the sidewalk.  Thanks to their father's obituary, I was able to find "LaWanda's" married name.  With that, Jane was able to locate an address in Missouri.  I have tried to contact her on Facebook, but she hasn't responded.  Maybe she doesn't remember us, maybe she does and doesn't want to be re-acquainted, maybe she hasn't received the message.

I have her address and could write her a note, but I don't know if I want to.  There's something so "safe" about Facebook.  It's a great place to catch up on old friendships---no one really knows your e-mail, phone or address.  If you decide this is not a friendship worth having, you can unfriend, unfollow or "snooze".  It's as if you never reached out.  You can't do that with the other means of communication.  (Although I have delegated one friend as "junk mail" after unfriending him on Facebook)

I am grateful that I have my sister Jane to share memories with.  We both have amazing research skills (mine through my genealogy and hers through her job in the insurance business).  This exploration of these two families, brought us together on-line working toward a common goal despite not having seen each other since early March.  There are still a few families we haven't tracked down yet---hey, Jane how about the Ernsts and the Shorts?

 

My Evolving Views on Race, Part 2

In the mid-1950s, we moved from our South St. Louis City flat  to a new North County house in a subdivision where all of the houses looked alike.  It was a great place to grow up because I had 4 sets of aunts and uncles that lived in the same subdivision.  My school was very new with a real cafeteria which served hot lunches and everything was very clean and white:  the houses, the class rooms, the people.  I no longer "rubbed shoulders" with people of color, but that didn't mean I wasn't influenced by the Black culture.

When I was in junior high school, I began to discover Black entertainers.  Harry Belafonte, Nat King Cole and Johnny Mathis were favorite singers of mine.  They opened the door for me to spend many hours listening to The Temptations, The Supremes and other Black singing, syncopated groups. I spent hours singing and imitating that dancing style in front o the television.   I also loved musicals with two of my favorite songs from Showboat:  "Old Man River" and "Fish Got to Swim and Birds Got to Fly". I even translated Porgy and Bess's  "Summertime" into German for fun. The depths of sadness in those songs reached out to my teenage angst.

Television and Films were also beginning to feature Black performers--- Bill Cosby in "I Spy" and Sidney Poitier in "Lillies of the Fields" a role which earned him an Academy Award.  Locally, we had several wonderful Black broadcasters:  Julius Hunter and Fred Porterfield.  But we were especially proud of Dianne White who was the first Black female weather broadcaster in the country.

Riverview High School in the 1960's was mostly white, but we did have several Black students---2 were siblings Lois and Morris.  Morris played football and was often seen laughing and socializing with the other football players.  His yearbook photo shows a confident and happy young man.  His sister Lois had a more difficult time without the athletic connections opening the social doors.  Her yearbook photo shows an anxiety I don't recall her having or maybe I am better at interpreting facial expressions, now.  I would have said, she was stand offish, but now I see what a difficult role she had as a Black female teen in an almost all white school.

We also had a Black teacher---Mrs. Neal.  Technically she didn't teach any of us and the yearbook calls her a "visiting teacher" which was usually more like a substitute.  She had a degree from Sam Houston College but worked more as a truant officer.  She worked all day in a small windowless room on the phone, calling to see why each student was absent.  I volunteered in the office as a runner who collected the attendance and she was on my regular run.  She was always friendly, cordial and took lots of notes with each phone call.  I didn't think it was odd that we had a Black woman on the staff, nor did I think it odd that she was hidden away in a windowless room.

I could now see that some Blacks could be successful through entertainment or athletics.  The most successful were often those of lighter skin, had special talents or those who were well educated.  But, the vast majority of the Black population still weren't accepted by  everyone or were hidden away in windowless rooms working at jobs below their level of education like Lois or Mrs. Neal.  Athletes like Morris had some social doors opened for them.  He was friends with those on the football team but wasn't selected as an escort for the Homecoming Court, an honor for the Senior football players.  With an all white court, a black male escort was still unthinkable.  But there was a crack in the door.

My Evolving Views on Race, Part 1

My first memory of people being different from me and all of my friends and family, was going shopping with my mother and grandmother.  I would see Black people in the store and was very curious about them.  On several occasions I would leave my mother's side to get closer to them.  What I really wanted to do was touch them to see if the color would come off.

I was a very curious child asking lots of questions and I'm sure my parents and grandparents tired of my questions and just gave me random answers.  Once, on a car trip to DeSoto, I saw a man with a fishing pole near a pile of rocks, "What's he doing?"  "Catching rock fish".  Another time on a city bus, I asked, "Who makes curbs?"  "Negroes".  I can remember I was constantly on the look out for black people making curbs---until a few years ago, I had never seen anyone make curb.  I can now report I saw them being made on Henry Rd. by white men.

When I was a little older, my mother got black women to come to our house to iron.  I remember one I liked really well---Beulah, a large woman who laughed a lot, but then there was one I was not so fond of, Lizzie, who was very tiny.  We had a lot of friends in St. Louis and De Soto who worked for the shoe factories.  The sample size shoes were very small and I had them in my "dress-up" clothes, clothes for me to play with. Lizzie spotted those brand new shoes and suddenly I didn't have any of them in my dress up clothes.  I don't know if she asked Mother if she could have them, but I was indignant that she had "stolen" my shoes.  That resulted in my mother explaining that Lizzy was poor and didn't have nice things and wasn't it better that the shoes were being used and not just sitting in my play clothes?  NO, I wanted my shoes back!

Another event I recall was going with my dad to the Mill Creek Valley in St. Louis (click here for

For more maps of the area, click here.

more on this area---home to 20,000 Black people).  I don't know if this was after my discussion with mother about Lizzy and my shoes or if it just happened.  It seems to me Dad was going there to pay the rent on our South St. Louis flat.  I had never seen such poverty before or so many black people in one place. It was dark everywhere:  the buildings, the people, the streets, the yards.  I was afraid and I couldn't put my finger on what made me so afraid---just the darkness of it all.

One year, I went to Memphis with my grandparents to visit my great aunt Ruth.  While driving around, I saw the zoo and asked if we could go there. Uncle Everett said, "We can't go today, it's Negro Day at the zoo.  You have to be a Negro to go to the zoo on Fridays.  Whites can go all of the other days."

So, by the time I was 8, I had a pretty good idea of what black people were:  poor, worked for white people, were to be feared, lived in horrible places called slums, are to be segregated  and they steal. It was better to be white with green grass, shoes, having black people work for you and getting to go to the zoo 6 days a week.  Sadly, this is where many white people stop.  But I continued to evolve..  . ..

I believe. .. .

Galatians 5:1 It is for freedom that Christ has set us free. Stand firm, then, and do not let yourselves be burdened again by a yoke of slavery.

Our pastor challenged us to write an "I believe" statement.  I had a hard time because the Frankie Laine song kept going through my head.  Click here  So, I had to think of way to get there through a "back door".  I recalled the Schwends always quoting Bitsy, "Everything's going to be all right" and I thought, "What phrases do I use all of the time?"  That might help me find my core beliefs.

There are two phrases I find myself repeating. One is, “Go while the gettin’ is good.” Thank goodness, Dave and I have always made quality travel experiences a priority since at this time, our health prevents us from traveling much.  Someone was surprised that I had already achieved 100 things on my “bucket list” but we travelled, skied, hiked, biked when we were young and healthy.  We might not have always lived in the largest house or driven the fanciest cars, but we chose to experience life to its fullest while we could. We loved to travel and hope to again some day.

My other frequently used phrase  is “ Life is too short for uncomfortable shoes.”  This probably began when I was in 8th grade.  I was always short, but suddenly I felt . . . .well, immature compared to my classmates.  So I went out and bought a pair of high heel shoes.  Yes, they were uncomfortable, but they made me look more mature.. . . or so I thought until I saw a reflection in a store window of myself walking.  I looked like a little girl clomping around in her mother’s high heels.  Then, I did the math.  I was 5’ tall and 3” heels made me 5’3” which was not exactly statuesque.  That was the last time I ever wore high heels.

I wore hush puppies, Dr. Scholl’s, Birkenstocks, Clarks and Merrills——insisting that there was more to life than fashionable and uncomfortable shoes.  I also took that credo to other aspects of my life.  I drive a VW Beetle which makes me smile and fits me just right. My kitchen island is shorter than counter tops so I can work comfortably. I seldom wear skirts or dresses which bind me at the waist.  I don’t watch television which makes me squirm with its language or violence.  I shut off all political diatribes on facebook by “hiding” them or blocking the original poster.  

But, lately I’ve noticed that I’ve started avoiding people and groups which make me uncomfortable, also. It probably began when I had to limit my social contact due to being immune suppressed. Also, I’ve had blood pressure issues for years.   I see a doctor regularly, but. . . .when I’m with pessimistic people, toxic people, or angry people, my blood pressure rises. Whether it’s their politics, their slant on Christianity,  or their values, I just haven’t be able to make room in my life for people who are binding and make me squirm.  If I have to limit my social contact, then I want it to be with healthy people in every aspect. So, I’ve expanded my “Life is too short for uncomfortable shoes” to “Life is too short to surround myself with people who make me uncomfortable.”  

Which bring me to my “I believe “statement. . . . I believe in freedom from things, people, places that bind me.  I believe in freedom to choose where I live, how I live, with whom I live. My DNA says that I descend from a slave in America, and now I wonder if my need for freedom and travel comes from something imbedded in my DNA. But, maybe by “choosing my social contacts” I am in truth restricting myself to just people who are like myself.  Maybe I need to break out of my “comfort zone” in order to be truly free of chains. Maybe, as my daughter suggested, those whom I see as negative or shallow, need encouragement to break their chains also.

Psalm 107:13-16 - Then they cried to the Lord in their trouble, and he saved them from their distress. He brought them out of darkness, the utter darkness, and broke away their chains. Let them give thanks to the Lord for his unfailing love and his wonderful deeds for mankind, for he breaks down gates of bronze and cuts through bars of iron.

Girl Scout Reunion

Ruth, Joan, Charlotte, Betty, Kathy
Jaclyn, Carol, Pat, Jane, Carol, Jeanne, Kathy, Margie

Sunday after our high school reunion, our Girl Scout Troop 1390 met with our Girl Scout leader, Betty W. and one of our mothers.  Although our troop didn't start until we were in 6th grade, most of us stayed active until we graduated from high school.  

 We shared stories, caught up and shared old photos.  Although we live in Oklahoma, Kansas, Texas, Massachusetts, Missouri with many of us grandmothers of 6th graders now, we were transported back to the many adventures we had through Girl Scouts. 

 Betty was our leader who protected us and healed us on camping trips but she helped make us the women we are today.  Our mothers, reperesented by Joan's mother, helped Betty by driving, assisting with our badges, cookie sales.

Ruth, Eileen, Betty

Charlotte, Jeanne, Carol, Kathy, Betty

One of our troop members wrote this tribute to Betty and Troup 1390

Jackie,

I cherish the time we had together and that Mrs. White made possible. My memories include Mrs. White putting spit and cigarette tobacco on bumble bee stings on my scalp when I interrupted a bumble nest in some long grass where we were pitching tents as I recall. Having lived in North Carolina, she must have applied her knowledge of tobacco!! 

I remember making stoves of large tin cans and tuna cans for the burners. I still think great idea:  parafin over rolled up corrugated cardboard in the tuna can that can be lit with a flick of a dry match, and the large can over it for a burner with some vents punched. 

Mr. and Mrs. Murphy teaching us folk dancing a real highlight and going to Kiel Auditorium with so many other Girl Scouts showed us early on what strength in gals there is. (Click here for more on this)

I just liked being able to get together with girls of all abilities and having fun together. I loved the pagentry of Awards Ceremonies and honoring our U.S. flag. It was not about who is cutest, has the best clothes, who is smartest, etc. Very liberating.

Thank you Mrs. White for making our Girl Scouting experience meaningful and fun.  Love, Joan

Historic St. Louis Hotels

While on a tour of historic hotels in St. Louis, our first stop was the Seven Gables in Clayton, Mo. The photo above is in the courtyard and was actually a street/alley at one time.
Several of the rooms have doors to the courtyard with "house numbers" which helped give the hotel historic status.
Inside is also a Molly Darcy's Irish Pub where we enjoyed delicious cookies, tea and lemonade.
The photo below is of the "breakfast room". I really felt like I was in Europe rather than in St. Louis County.
We also learned a lot about hotels that are long gone (to read about the fire at one of the hotels click here): Southern Hotel, Planter's Hotel (home of two famous drinks Planter's Punch, Tom Collins ) and the Lindell Hotel which was the largest and grandest hotel west of the Mississippi.

Big River Part II

Jane Long, Ron Long, Jaclyn Long

My cousin, Barbara's memories of the Big River Clubhouse:
I have very fond memories of the club house (better than a tent!). I loved sleeping in the upstairs in the club house where grandma and grandpa stayed and waking up in the morning smelling breakfast cooking on the stove (I think it was a wood burning stove). I know the club house was heated by a wood stove. I remember having to walk up the hill to well and pumping it until the water cleared for consumption. I had no problems with the outhouse since I was a girl scout and we camped all the time!!

Bill Wassmund

I remember my dad, grandpa and any other male around putting trout lines out to catch cat fish. If we (girls) were lucky we could go out in the john boat with the man folk to check the lines. When I went it was always grandpa who pulled up the lines; unfortunately if a snapping turtle got on the line grandpa would take his knife out and decapitate the turtle. Sometimes he would keep the turtle but most the time the body of the turtle just fell into the river because they didn't have time to make turtle soup.

Me and Jane

As a small child I thought the Big River was huge until we returned to the club houses many years later and it wasn't more than a small creek that you could walk from one side to the other and the water really didn't go past your waist if you were lucky. We (Wassmund's) continued to go down the club house long after everyone else quit going. It was so sad to see the property in such disarray and the quite empty club houses. The river was so quiet since it was only the five of us on the river.

Big River Part I

Alice Quiel, Norma Adams, Lena Long with Steve Adams and a dog, early 1950's

Big River should NEVER be confused with a big river or the Musical Big River. It's a tributary of the Meramec River which is a tributary of the Mississippi (THE Big River). My family has lived along the Big River since the early 1800's---years before Missouri was even a state.

(Mary Long and Alice Quiel, Lena's daughter)

To most of us Long cousins, Big River means "Uncle Lawrence's Club House". Talking with my cousins this summer, I was surprised they had such warm memories. My memories are of outhouses, muddy river banks, poker games at night, mosquitoes, having to swim in tennis shoes because of the rocks and mud, and Grandpa telling me, "Frog legs taste just like chicken."

L-R: Louise Long, Jane, Michael, Me, Bob, Steve, Norma (standing) and Grandma Lena

I do remember floating in inner tubes with my cousins and our step-grandmother Lena! Lena was a large woman, but she loved to swim---she was never self conscious about how she looked in a swim suit!

Missouri State Penitentiary Part Two

This was such an interesting tour! The chipped and flaking paint, makes it even more interesting. Although these cell blocks seem very small, the segregated Black cells(prior to 1970's) slept 6!

And some didn't even have windows although they could look out the front of the cell to a large window. This cell block is in the building that looks like a castle---the first photo here.

Happy Mother's Day

Leah, Louise, Rebecca: Columbia, Mo 2004

Libby, Brett, Rachel, Roman, Davis Kansas City 2009

Long before we had the tradition of celebrating Mother's Day at a restaurant, I remember Mother-Daughter banquets at church with the singing of songs like:

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M Is for the Many things she gave me,
O Means only that she's growing Old.
T Is for the Tears she shed to save me,
H Is for her Heart of purest gold.
E Is for her Eyes with love light shining,
R Means Right and Right she'll always be.

Put them all together, They spell MOTHER.
A word that means the world to me.

I recall going with my mother and grandmother to banquets at Lafayette Park Methodist Church---in the basement with paper covered tables, flowers on the table and programs tied together with cords. We would get dressed up and the women would wear corsages---red or pink carnations if their mothers were living white if they weren't.
Our church continues with the tradition, but it's more inclusive---it's for all women whether or not they have daughters or mothers living.

We were asked to wear pearls and bring our favorite tea cup (mine is from my ESL students Iris Tsui and Cindy Lai). We had three kinds of scones, three kinds of sandwiches and three kinds of desserts.
All were served on pedestal plates by each table's designated hostess.
The theme was based on Proverbs 31:10-31 which begins with "Who can find a virtuous woman? for her price is far above pearls."
Leah and Anna accompanied me this year continuing the tradition begun with my sister and me, my mother, Louise Long and my grandmother, Vennie Wicker. Like pearls, we are linked together with our mothers and grandmothers and great-grandmothers---linked with tradition and love. Happy Mother's Day Rebecca, Rachel and Leah!

Easter 1958?

I love this photo---I think I still have that book even. I saw some dresses in the store last week that reminded me so much of that dress I was wearing. I'm thinking Jane and I got those crosses for Easter.

I'm not sure why we had these photos made, but I do remember that they were made by Uncle Bill Wassmund in our basement with a bedspread hung behind us. Above is Grandma Wicker (Vennie), Dad (LeRoy), Grandpa (Wes) and Mom (Louise)

My sister Jane (above) with a flair for the dramatic went on to become a teen model for Boyd's clothing stores---can't you see it!Although, I definitely have the better dress (Jane probably wore it a few years later), the only thing in my future was braces on my teeth!
Here's another photo of Grandma and Grandpa---this might be one of the last photos of the two of them together since she died in 1962 and he died in 1965. Knowing Mom, she wanted one last photo of them before they died. What amazes me is she is only 55 years old and he is 60 in this photo---they had some hard living!

Although Easter was usually a Long event with eggs, lots of cousins and wild Easter egg hunts, it was also sitting quietly with my Grandparents Wicker in church. The best of all Easters---quietly worshipping and craziness with cousins.