I REMEMBER MY DAD

By Betty Anne Belt Sadler

[Some things I remember and some things I probably remember being told.]

I was not quite two and a half years old when my mother had twins, the fifth and sixth children in our family. I must have been pretty unhappy about losing my place as the baby. My dad tried to help. He would take me on his lap and sing to me and I would say, "O, sing it again, Daddy." He could not carry a tune very well, but I didn't care; it was loving-attention when I needed it. He was pleased that I would insist he sing some more.

A story I heard that happened long before I was born: My mother was expecting their first child. Dad was working. There came a terrible rainstorm. Water covered highways and rail bridges between my dad and home. He waded across a trestle over a swollen creek to get home to her.

Railroading must have been a hazardous job. Before I was born, the train my dad was working on turned over and he was severely burned by water from the boiler of the steam engine. Later, when I was in the first grade, he was involved in another serious train accident. He seemed only slightly hurt-just a scratch he said-so he helped rescue others, making sure that they were treated. From his wound, he developed what was called "blood poisoning" which led to a year in the company hospital in Temple, Texas. Although several doctors thought the only cure would be to sever the infected leg, one doctor was very determined to "save the man's leg," because he argued, my dad was the sole breadwinner of a big family. The doctor's effort included a dozen or so operations and countless blood transfusions. After a year my dad was back at work although he still had an ulcer about the size of a quarter on his ankle. It would not heal and required constant, careful attention. At first, he needed help to get into the cabin of the engine, but once there, was quite capable to do his job. Perhaps a dozen years later, when I was in college, doctors tried anew to heal the open wound. Their drastic treatment was to graft a piece of the calf of his good leg to the ankle of the old wound and put him in a cast from the waist down, immobilizing his legs to give the graft a chance to "take." A second operation cut the flap from the calf and closed the wound. When both legs healed, they had finally succeeded in "curing" the "scratch."

One Christmas before I started school, the local weekly newspaper, The Silsbee Bee, ran a continued children's story about a family of moles celebrating the Christmas season, decorating their home, cooking goodies, and buying and wrapping presents. I listened when he read to us the story as it came out in weekly installments. I was very puzzled by the story. The only "mole" I knew was a little one on my mother's chin that Daddy called her beauty mark. Even today, I remember vividly how confused I was, trying to make sense of that story.

I remember several other episodes that include my dad. One April Fools Day when I was still a preschooler, he played a trick on me. He said there was an unclaimed dime on his dresser; I raced to get it, but couldn't find it. Then he had to explain what April Fools Day was all about and gave me a dime for being a good sport. Another time I went with my father to vote in the County Elections. I could not have been more than six or seven years old. My father knew personally most of the candidates in the small community. "Morris," called a man who approached us, "I hope you'll vote for me." My father said, "No, I am going to vote for (he named the man opponent) for County Commissioner." "Morris, don't you know that man's a freeloader; look at that county road he had built in front of his place." "Yes, I know, but I'm voting for him because he already has his road." I remember the laughter but it was only years later that I understood the joke.

[Today, 11-14-2004. I am no longer sure I remember this incident. I find no family confirmation, but it is a good story.]

We always thought Lucie was Daddy's favorite. Looking back, I think I understand why she was if she was. Lucie was a sweetheart and a beauty. She had long, golden curls and a loving personality. When she was about 6 or 7 years old, the task of combing and arranging her hair became too time consuming for mother with four other girls who needed care and attention; Lucie got her first haircut. The family story is that my mother, the barber, and half the town cried as the golden curls fell under the scissors.

Dad often told us things that happened on his job as a Santa Fe Railroad engineer. Two of the hazards of his job were farm animals that somehow got loose and wandered onto the tracks and drivers who tried to beat the train to a crossing. I learned very young that stopping a train, even at very low speeds, took time. Dad was a hero when his train rounded a
curve and found a school bus stalled on the tracks in front of his engine. Risking harm to his crew and some damage to the train, he stopped his engine as quickly as he could, but not quickly enough to avoid pushing the bus sidewise a foot or two. Fortunately, no children or railroad employees were hurt.

We lived in a small town so that when my dad wanted us to have music lessons, he persuaded an instructor from a larger town to offer lessons several days a week. Cars were not very common in that town during the thirties and besides we were a railroad family so Mr. Volpe may have ridden the train the twenty miles to Silsbee to give us lessons. My brother Morris and my oldest sister Nancy took violin. Lucie took cello lessons. I didn't start music lessons while we still lived in Silsbee; I was too young, but I took "Expression," a popular skill for preschool children in those days. I even remember standing on the stage of the high school auditorium and performing at town events. I even remember my first "piece."

"Snake bit my tough old hide;
Then crawled way off and died.
Burrrrrr, I'm tough."

Another "recitation" and part of a third, I found among mother's papers when my sisters and I were sorting through her belongings after her death. It was written in her own neat handwriting, making it even more precious to me. I read it and remembered vaguely the Christmas program in which I recited it:

"I cannot make a speech
Cause I'm too little yet,
But I is mama's darling
And papa's little pet.
I hopes you'll each one have
A Merry Christmas day; Here's a present for you-
(Bow and throw a rose)
Now I must run away"
And
RING , CHRISTMAS BELLS
"Ring, Christmas bells, ring as our carols we sing
For Saint Nicholas is coming to town;
A tea-set and ring to me he will bring,
And a doll in a beautiful new gown. . . ."

I enjoyed memorizing and performing. When I was in high school and college I entered speech contests and found memorizing easy even though the speeches were more challenging. Both Mother and Dad encouraged me. In high school I won the American Legion district contest with a speech I wrote, "The Constitution, Temple of Liberty."

Dad also paid for other lessons. Nancy, who longed to be a dancer, had skin allergies that nothing seemed to control. In desperation, our dad promised her dancing lessons if she could get the allergy under control. Magic! Or nature! The problem was cured. My dad then went to the city (Beaumont) and persuaded a dance instructor to come to our town to give lessons. He even promised her a pianist, my mother. She came and all five sister and quite a few other little girls in the town took lessons.

I know from his pictures that he was a young handsome man. I know from memory that he smelled so good when he left for work. My mother took pride in ironing his starched overalls and it must have been the starch she used that I remember smelling or his aftershave. He hugged us each time he left for work. A family story relates how on one wash day when mother's helper, a black woman and her young children who came with her, arrived before my dad left for work. One of us urged daddy to "hug Lucy John, too." (Lucy John was the little girl.)

I remember his laughter AND his discipline, when it was necessary. It is only as an adult that I realize how much mother and dad sacrificed to give us "extras" that families better off financially did not give their children When my brother, Morris, graduated from high school at sixteen, Dad moved us to Beaumont so my brother could go to Lamar College and live at home. Only much later did I learn that he took a lesser paying job in order to make the move. Both mother and dad had a firm belief in education.

One family story I love to think about concerns a night when we still lived in Silsbee; my father was babysitting-though I am not sure that is what they called the job of looking after your own children in those days. Mother had gone to a meeting of the American Legion Auxiliary. Auxiliary and church were mother's two regular outlets in this small town. She drove from our house on the outskirts of town to the meeting.

Without today's modern weather forecasts, no one was forewarned of the approach of a hurricane. As the evening wore on, the overcast became rain and then the wind became stronger and everyone was fully aware that a "storm" was blowing. Dad paced the floor and went to the door every few minutes to listen. He worried. The noise of the storm increased and so did his pacing. Finally, he heard the car pull into the driveway. The car horn sounded and Dad went to the porch. Over the noise of the wind and rain, Mother called, "Where shall I put the car?" My Dad was greatly relieved that she was back but with still a lot of built up anxiety he replied, "In the damn garage." Only then did he learn that our garage had been turned on its side by the strong winds.

In Beaumont, we had a cat we called "Pal." I guess he was Dad's cat as much as anyone's because Pal met my father at the bus stop when he came home from work, rolling over on his back for dad to "scratch his stomach." The cat had keen ears and no matter how far away he was when mother began tenderizing a round steak by pounding it with the side of a saucer, Pal would come racing to be fed the trim.

Dad was sixteen years older than Mother, so his grandchildren remember him only as "old and failing in health" that is one of the reasons I wanted to tell you some of the anecdotes my family tell about him.