A Christmas Eve story...sort of

 I am feeling nostalgic because Christmas makes feel that way. The season probably wasn't as positive as I remember, but I still feel it. My Mom would tell stories of seeing red lights over the snow on Christmas Eve and her belief in Santa Claus. She wanted us to believe in the season of wonder and gift giving.  She also had strict requirements to attend  Christmas Day mass or midnight mass.

 I wasn't aware of how my parents had to struggle financially for seven children, because every Christmas was filled with many gifts. The trees were little more than bushes cropped from a neighbor's pine , but lights and tinsel could really dress them up.  Later I realized my Dad trapped for pelts to buy Christmas gifts. It was the only way he and Mom could provide the extras for us. 

I suppose there were disappointing moments, but I only recall joy...except that one Christmas morning when I flew down the steps to see, under the tree, an airplane with a red remote box attached.( Back then remote control was a cord attached to a control box.) I recall  pressing the fire button and sending a rubber missile into oblivion as I heard it pop against the wall. We never found it but my obsession for airplanes grew from there. (You can see the plane on the floor between Ron and our dog, Penney) 

In spite of the tradition of opening Christmas presents on Christmas Day, we did one time, violate the tradition. For some reason, probably something I can't recall regarding church or a McKenna reunion, my parents decided we would open presents on Christmas Eve. We  were all still true believers that Santa brought the presents while we were asleep. My Dad had to stage a Santa arrival while we were all still awake.

He couldn't create reindeer sounds or hooves on the roof so he and Mom  concocted a Santa arrival by the side porch story.  They said Santa would only come if we stayed upstairs while he brought in the presents.  I recall some arrival by helicopter story, but that may have been another time when we lacked Christmas snow. The details are lost for me, but the sounds and the visuals are very vivid. 

Dad had grown up farming with horses. The dried and stiff heavy leather harness from his youth hung on the machine shed wall. Attached to that harness was a string of jingle bells. Up to that time I don't recall  seeing the jingle bells in action. That night, as we huddled upstairs ,those jingle bells created the magical sound I still associate with the season. We knew Santa had arrived, but we still had to stay upstairs!

The jingle bells rang one more time and we knew Santa had left. Mom called upstairs for us to come down. To further impress on us the truth of his arrival at our home, Dad left one visual I can still see in my memory. In the middle of the living room carpet near the Christmas tree was a large black boot print.

 Santa had really been there!

Almost 30 years later Santa found us at our house in Saybrook, where I was working as principal. From the first fireplace we would own, he stepped out onto the carpet by the Christmas tree and left a big boot print for 6 year Sarah and 9 year old Scott to see, letting them know he was real!

It is time to say more and keep saying it

 Saying "Thanks for your service" isn't enough. It's something like saying "Have a nice day" to the check out person without even thinking about it. It is a throw away line that you say and often do not even look at the person. We all do it.

I think a much better thing to say to a veteran is "Thank you and your family for the sacrifice you made and continue to make" and actually look at the person.

The reasons I believe this is a better comment are many. The people who engaged in military service sacrificed a part of their life and were willing to put themselves in harms way. That is, to risk being killed and to learn how to kill others. This service left scars which are life long. Sometimes these scars are visible as in the burns left on the face of a veteran I saw recently. They were the visible limp my friend Kenny Dolan had from his war wounds or the shrapnel wound from my Uncle Don McKenna.

As terrible as these wounds were, the deeper longer lasting wounds most veterans carry reach even further. They can span another generation. These are the night terrors from the dreams of the screams, the explosions, and the fear of silence in the dark. These wounds are passed on to the spouses and children of those who served in combat. These wounds tear apart families and drive people to drink and drugs and despair.

The families carry the sacrifice. They try to console and understand that which cannot be turned into words. The families try to persevere, to maintain a normalcy which no longer exists for them. Spouses who worried, and cried, and took over all the family responsibilities while the veteran was deployed are wounded by the sacrifice. They don't get medals or parades or even a flag upon their death, but there is no doubt of their sacrifice.

We watch the news and read about the war in Ukraine and the missiles from North Korea and the threats to Taiwan. When we read do we think that we have soldiers and sailors on the doorstep of those countries? There are troops deployed to Poland on the border with Russia. Troops and their families are in South Korea and Japan. US Navy ships are deployed guarding the shipping lanes. All of these are combat trained military who have loved ones who live in a fear that battles will break out at anytime.

Wouldn't it be amazing if we gave the veterans and their family s a whole month of recognition? Not the two, three or four months we give to Christmas or Halloween, that wouldn't be any fun. Wouldn't it be great if we had a decoration to put on our houses that says "Thanks for to your sacrifice"? Some might say flying the American flag does this, but I think it has often become a decoration like a Cubs or Cardinal flag. It shows our loyalty but fails to recognize the individuals and families who sacrificed and continue to sacrifice for our ideals.

So I say don't make "Thanks for your service" a throw away line you use one day in November. Thank someone and his or her family for their sacrifice. They are worth a sincere moment of your time.

A 50 year old Story

  This is how I remember it.  I was teaching in Albany in my second year. I had recently received my  "Greetings" letter that said I was drafted into service. The letter arrived in February, but contained a note that my induction was delayed until after the current school year was over.

The letter followed a year long effort by myself, my superintendent, assistant superintendent, principal, parents, banker, a pastor from a church I didn't attend, and others to try and keep me teaching in Albany. All that had failed. The prior summer the  chair of the draft board told the superintendent, "He's had his deferment"

In spite of this we were still trying to get pregnant. We were uncertain about the future, but we had wanted a baby since we were first married. In April, Connie had a doctor's appointment. I clearly remember her coming into our house with a big smile on her face. We were going to  have a baby.

Then I began to worry about medical bills. We had insurance as part of my teaching job, but it would end in August. The baby wasn't due until January. I was going to have to pay the full  insurance premium. Back then, if you didn't have insurance when you got pregnant, new medical insurance considered pregnancy a "pre-existing condition" and wouldn't cover any of the expense. I was too stupid to ask if the military covered  the pregnancy.

Connie wasn't showing when I left for the army in June. We decided she should go live with her parents while I was gone. Although this wasn't what she wanted it helped me to know she would not be alone. I took basic in Fort Lewis Washington. Her daily letters and my Sunday phone calls let me know she was handling the pregnancy well. Still I missed all the early part of pregnancy.

Our biggest worry was Vietnam. It was still waging, but we all knew it was a lost cause. I didn't want to go. I thought it was pointless to give your life for something so worthless. I even considered Canada, and we talked about it on more than one occasion. Connie was willing to go as well. I decided to wait. The infantry, who did the fighting,  trained across the parade field, and Fort Lewis was a major departure center for Vietnam.

In the final weeks of basic training was rifle qualification. I had struggled to shoot accurately because of my inability to sight with my right eye. I was unable to close my left eye to sight the rifle. My only solution was an eye patch or to tilt my helmet over my left eye.

With rifle qualification came a week-end pass. Connie planned to fly out to spend the week-end with me. Unfortunately, I failed by one target. No pass. Connie had to cancel her flight.

A clerk came to speak with those of us that had been drafted. The army would decide what our military job would be. Supposedly this was based on the tests we took at the beginning of basic, but it was mainly based on need. The army needed infantry soldiers in Vietnam. The clerk's role was to give us some options. One was to enlist for an additional year to get a job that wasn't the infantry. I considered enlisting to becoming a missile specialist. The missiles were in Europe, but it was an additional year. The clerk said we might be assigned to truck driver training. I decided to wait and see what happened.

Two weeks later, rifle qualification was scheduled for those that failed earlier. It was a Saturday morning and I qualified. I would receive a pass for the remainder of the week-end. I decided to fly standby and try to get to Chicago. I called Connie to meet me there.

I arrived in O'Hare in the late afternoon. I had called her Dad with my flight number, but Connie was already on the way. Her Dad had her paged at the airport to let her know. I walked off the jetway towards the terminal, not knowing where we would meet. As I walked up the terminal, I walked right past Connie and didn't even recognize her.

In my defense, she had cut her hair, was wearing glasses, a new dress, and was showing. I had never seen her with glasses or short hair, or pregnant. I was dressed like every other soldier on the flight, had lost about 35 pounds, and had short hair. Still, she recognized me first. We hugged cried and headed for a motel. I had to leave early in the morning to get back before my pass expired.

On the flight back, I sat next to an officer who asked me where I was headed. When I told him I was on a weekend pass, he told me that passes were for a 45  mile radius from the base. Oops, the 1700 miles I traveled was against regulations. Fortunately he didn't turn me in.

I finished basic and was assigned to Military Police training along with a number of draftees who had also been teachers. We were flown all the way across the country late at night and arrived in Georgia in the morning where the workday was beginning. 

Vietnam was still looming. We were all trying to figure if we had to go. MP's were in Vietnam trying to manage the prisons and the draw down. Each week a new cycle of trainees graduated and we listened carefully where they were being assigned. The week we arrived, the entire class went to Vietnam. The following 7 weeks, no classes were sent to Vietnam. Most were optimistic .  I thought the cycle would hit us and we were going to Vietnam. Connie was ready to head to Canada. We decided to wait and see.

After graduation, the entire 250 man company waited for assignments. If your name was called you were to get a urine test. It meant you were going overseas. Names were called out alphabetically to get the test. The First Sergeant called out the names, "Kramer, Krapkowitz, Lindberg, Murphy...." I was skipped.! There I was standing with only 15 other soldiers. Everyone else was going to Korea or Vietnam. Unfortunately most were Vietnam.

I called Connie as soon as I could get to a phone booth. I was to stay in Fort Gordon,  Georgia and she could be with me. Later I flew home for a 2 week leave. 

In September, we packed our Fiat station wagon with almost everything we owned and headed to Fort Gordon. Now very pregnant Connie had to endure the long drive in a very small car. As we were driving, the radio news said there was a riot at the stockade in Fort Gordon, Georgia and that part of the prison had burned. I didn't know that would effect us later that fall. 

 We were not sure of the best route and ended up driving down the mountains in the dark. It was very frightening. We wound down the eastern continental divide with no place to stay in sight. Finally after midnight we entered South Carolina and found a small motel, the Magnolia Inn. The clerk was from the Midwest and took pity on the exhausted couple. The room had a coin operated radio and vibrating bed. The towels were full of hair, but it was a place to sleep.

We arrived at our rented trailer the next day. The following morning I reported to my company and Connie was left alone to settle in to our new home. The baby was due in about 3 months.

After 6 weeks as a patrol MP, I was told to report to the stockade. The inquiry into the riot had determined that too few MP's were assigned to the stockade. As I sat with a group of other low ranking MPs, we were asked by the sergeant if any of us could type. At first I didn't volunteer. Then he repeated that he needed two people who could type. I raised my hand.

I was assigned to the front office of the stockade. There I would stay for the duration of my service, Vietnam still loomed everyday, but I had options.

On a Saturday in January I had to report to the office. We had an upcoming inspection, so the entire staff was to report to make sure we were ready. Before I left, Connie's water broke. We rushed to the hospital and she was admitted. The doctor said she wouldn't deliver for several hours and that I should go home. I decided to go into the stockade office as it was closer to the hospital.

I got the call in the early afternoon. Connie was going in to the delivery room. I arrived but couldn't see her. At 3:15, military time 15:15 on January 15 our baby was born. We had expected a girl, and had a girl's name all picked out. Our baby boy was a surprise. We had discussed Spencer, but decided on Scott.

He was all red from a rash. The doctor was using him as a case study. The military treated the new mothers like soldiers. They were in a ward with little privacy. "Mothers get up and go get your babies" was the call in the morning. We also found out the military would pay for every thing except Connie's meals, about $5.00 a day. Our bill for his entire delivery and care was less than $20.00.

50 years have passed. I assume some of my memories are not accurate as that happens more and more. The feelings are accurate. I still can feel the fear we had, the joy and relief and the love.

Thank you Connie for putting up with all of this and more and making our lives better. Thank you , Scott for being. Happy 50th!

A Small Mistake Changes My Life

The recent death of Tom Railsback, former Republican Congressman from Illinois, reminded me of the time I met him. He was an attorney for an insurance company that was suing my father and me (actually our insurance company) because of an accident I had in June 1964, when I was 16 years old.  Tom went on to run for the House of Representatives, and was one the senior members of the House Judiciary Committee during the impeachment inquiry against President Nixon. The strain of that inquiry forever changed his voice as he was barely able to speak when he voted for impeachment, which he courageously did against many in his party.

So what was my small mistake that changed my life? Driving with one hand while I kept the other around a girl.

I was interested in a sophomore girl, K., and had spent a late night with her after the prom that spring. That late night listening to records, violated curfew. My Dad’s only words were “Leave your driver’s license on the kitchen table”. It cost me my driver’s license and grounding for two weeks. 

The last few weeks of the school year, I rode home with my older brother who had a car. We often stopped for a soda at the local drug store, where lots of town girls hung out after school. One of them was a girl, D, I thought was sexy. She started to tell her friends she was interested in me. Not wishing to have a conflict, K., said I should ask D. out. After some trepidation, I asked D. out. I don’t know why, but heck I was 16, and horny.

It was a Friday after school was out, and my Dad decided I had earned back my privileges, so he gave our family car for my date. After driving around through town most of the night and stopping by for a malt, I started driving towards D.’s home. I was hoping she would agree to go “parking” in the country. This was a euphemism for making out.

As I reached her street, I decided to drive past trying to figure out how to pop the question. I knew I had the option of taking another street to take her home if I chickened out. I was driving with one hand and had my arm around her as she sat close to me. As I prepared to turn right on to the highway, I couldn’t turn very well because my arm was around her. I slowly turned the wheel with one hand and very slowly pulled out on to the highway. I was traveling very slowly when suddenly I was hit in the rear by a car which was traveling fast. We were pushed into the ditch but I was not hurt and thought was D not either. Later she said she had whiplash and wore a brace for a week.

The police arrived, but decided not to issue tickets. I think they thought we both had some responsibility for the accident.  My car was badly damaged and had to be  towed in. The police brought me home. It was the first of three times that the police brought me home, but those are other stories.

The person who hit me was a traveling salesman who drove a very expensive new station wagon with air conditioning. His insurance company later sued for the cost of the repairs. My Dad’s insurance company counter-sued. It took a year and a half, but I ended up in court for the civil suit before a jury. The other insurance company wanted a jury trial. I figured they thought an accident involving a 16 year old would be an easy win.  

The trial was on December 9, 1965 which was my 18^th birthday. I had to return from college to be in court.  I had to explain why I hadn’t turned down her street. I said I was taking another way to her house. I didn’t mention the hopeful “parking”.The attorney asking questions for his insurance company was Tom Railsback, who would later run for the US Congress. 

Fortunately the judge’s instructions to the jury helped them understand that a “Not Guilty” verdict for both parties would result in each insurance company fixing their clients’ car, which was what should have happened without a trial. Tom told my father and I that he agreed that was the right decision.

Back to June 1964 and how the small mistake changed my life.

School was out. Our car was totaled and our insurance company didn't offer enough to replace it.  Without a family car, my brother, Ron, became my only way to town. When he wasn’t working, one of the things he did with his friend, Bob, was drive by the swimming pool and give rides to the girls walking home. Bob had left for the Coast Guard Academy, so Ron took me on one of his swimming pool drive-bys.

We stopped and picked up three girls who were walking home. One of the three was Connie. This past August we celebrated our 50^th wedding anniversary. One small mistake can change your life for the better.

A good Laugh at an October wedding

This story is not about being a teacher or principal. I am reminded of it as we begin October.

It was a nice October afternoon. Connie’s cousin’s (Denny) daughter was getting married and they decided to have the wedding outside at White Pines State Park near Oregon IL. Although I thought an outdoor wedding was pretty risky for rain, we dressed in our “good " clothes for the ceremony. So did everyone else. I had on my principal’s uniform, black blazer and dress pants. There were nice elegant outfits on everyone. One lady even sported a fluffy black dress with a large black hat. We all looked nice.

White Pines has beautiful grotto along a stream with a limestone cliff in the background.  There was a podium up front and two stands upfront that looked like lanterns, but they were covered in some type of cloth. It was cool evening and the folding chairs were arranged in two sections. We were on the “brides” side. I was sitting between Connie and her brother, Bruce. Bruce and I were both worried about rain, but decided we were close enough to our cars to get there quickly.

The ceremony began with music and we all turned to the back. There were the groomsmen and the groom. The groom was holding the leash of a black Labrador retriever The dog was wearing a small bow tie. I guess he was in his formal attire. The dog was excited and straining the lease. The groom handed the leash to the best man. Connie remarked that they must have wanted the dog there because he was “part of the family”. I elbowed Bruce and said “This is going to get good”.

The bridesmaids and the groomsman paraded to the front and the best man continued to hold on to the excited dog. They stepped to the side as a man came down the aisle and stepped to each “lantern” He raised the cover and inside each was a white pigeon (dove). The dove handler disappeared.

The dog went absolutely nuts when he saw the birds. The dog was straining so hard, the best man couldn’t hold him and remain up front. Struggling he took the dog to the front row and handed the leash to the groom’s father. Bruce and I were laughing so hard we had to cover our faces to keep from distracting the wedding.

The dog continued to try and get to the birds. He tried to leap towards them. The birds became excited as well and began the flap around inside their cages. The bride appeared and Denny walked his daughter down the aisle. The ceremony preceded as all do, but the animal show up front continued and Bruce and I continued to laugh.

Finally the vows ended and the happy couple were preparing to leave as the music played. The bird handler appeared on the groom’s family side of the chairs. He bent down and uncovered a cage of doves. As the couple turned  the handler opened the cage door and the flock of white doves flew up and over the groom’s side spectators. If you have ever scared up a flock of pigeons, you know they all do the same thing when taking flight. They lighten their load. The doves did that right over the well-dressed lady in the black hat.  Now she was dressed in black and white!The dog went totally berserk. Fortunately the birds rose quickly and he wasn’t in their path.

Bruce and I were laughing so hard with put our heads down so we couldn’t be seen. I don’t know that I have ever laughed so hard.

We were afraid that everyone in the wedding party and especially Denny would be upset about what happened. When we reached Denny in the reception line, Bruce and Connie tried to be understanding and sympathetic, while Bruce and I continued to snicker.  Fortunately Denny also thought it was very funny. We had a good laugh together.

A few years later Denny passed away. This past July, we lost Bruce. Both died too young and that is very sad.  But with the return of October, I can’t help but laugh as I remember the animal entertained wedding we all experienced in the outdoors at White Pines.

The Past Catches Up to Me

Over the past year I had the experience of reuniting with former students and colleagues from teaching. I also got to participate in a reunion of former Irving staff and students. All of the experiences had a profound affect.

We enter education as a career for a lot of reasons. We like kids, we have something we like to teach, but we all want to make a difference in the world. These reunions are a gift to former educators as we see the long term results of our labors. This is the pay-off.

Albany-Garden Plain Reunion

Early last summer, a former student, Curt, stopped by my home. He had gotten my address from my friend Gerry. Curt was making a delivery in Bloomington, and just stopped by. It was a complete and wonderful surprise. We talked about his days in Albany and what he was doing currently. I told him about the Facebook group I started, but he wasn’t on Facebook. Before he left he gave his business card with his email. I walked him out to his truck, and turned and said “Thank you”. He wanted me to know I had had an impact on his life. It is the greatest gift he could have given me.

There were two Albany reunions. The first planned last October by former colleague Austin Wallestad (PE), and with support from Gerry Kreuder (he literally taught everything except science), was to bring together former staff members. We had a decent turnout although I was the only one from outside of the area.

We talked, and ate , and shared some fond, and some not so fond, memories of teaching in the two schools. I really enjoyed seeing so many people who shared so much from my early years in education.

Although the lunch was nice, the best part was a visit to the Albany building. The school had been closed for a number of years due to lack of enrollment. This was quite sad as it had such an effect on the town. It had been sold and turned into a church.

Waiting in the school were a number of former students. This was impromptu as I had made the request for the teachers to visit the school through our Facebook group. The former students responded by showing up too. I had also emailed Curt to let him know about the staff visit. Now adults in their 50’s, they shared some memories. It wasn’t just seeing them, it was what their presence said to all of us. We impacted their lives. We taught, and disciplined, in the best way we could. They told us it benefited them. I heard “thank you” said to many of the teachers present. I still tear up when I think about it. Curt was one of the people there.

We wandered around the building. Much of it had been remodeled to suit the church. However, my old science room was nearly intact, as was the gym, where we had such wonderful basketball memories.

The result of the first impromptu reunion, was a planned reunion for this past August. This reunion was part of an Albany Fest and it was organized by former students Jim Holcomb and Jeff Holesinger who still live in the area.

Gerry and Linda Kreuder and  I attended and brought photos and other memorabilia for our years in Albany. Gerry even brought some paddles. Yes, we used a paddle for disciplinary action. Although I am not proud that I used physical punishment in my early career, I have to acknowledge, in that time and place it was effective. I know this because former students have told me so. Instead of resentment of the actions we took, these adults thanked us for dealing with problems swiftly and fairly. I don’t recall anyone being suspended from school in those days in the early 70’s. By the way, I never saw Gerry use any of his famous paddles. He sometimes threatened, but I don’t think he had the heart to use them.

The summer event was not well attended, but those who came shared stories and positive memories. We looked at photos together, and made new photos. Some of the former students brought their grandchildren with them. None of us look the same, and I had to ask names. It was a nice three hours along the banks of the Mississippi. Curt was one of the attendees along with another Kurt. Both had been students and basketball players on my teams. 

Unfortunately the small numbers for Albany fest were a reminder that closing the school was a very negative impact on the town.

Irving School Reunion

Before I started a Facebook page for Albany and Garden Plain , I joined a group for Irving School. This was the inspiration for the Albany-GP group. The Irving group was started by Mel “Duke” Babb to reconnect to students who had attended Irving School . His focus was on the building that existed when he lived in Bloomington. This group was highly successful and led to the sharing of many photos and memories. It also led to a reunion of students on Septmeber 7.This reunion was planned by Dave Sage. Dave, a former Irving student, is also a former city council member. He knows how to organize.

I came to the reunion at Dave’s request. He knew I had studied the history of the school. Dave wanted to reunite students who had attended the “old” Irving building. This building was one of three constructed on the same site. It was built in 1905 and demolished in 1975. It was a beautifully designed school by architect Arthur Pillsbury.

In 1945, Irving added a junior high program. It was one of three is Bloomington District 87. In 1949, a “junior high” addition was placed on the north end of the building. This part of the old building was remodeled, but remained when the “new” building was opened in 1975. It was the part of the school Duke Babb wanted to see when he and I visited the school.

The remodeled junior high wing is what those attending the reunion wanted to see. There were memories that reappeared as they walked into the learning center. They shared stories from the cafeteria and the gym. Although much changed by the remodeling in 1975, they could recall the configuration of the gym locker rooms and classrooms now gone or re-purposed. They would explain how they were terrified children walking down the hallway to visit the upstairs principal’s office.

To me the most lasting impact was encounter I saw in the learning center entrance. One former student, now herself a teacher, was moved to tears to see her former second grade teacher, Peggy Costigan (then Johnston). Like the both of them, I had tears in my eyes, as they hugged and shared memories.

Special thanks are due to the organizers of these events. Without Austin and Jim Albany would not have happened. Without Duke and Dave, Irving would not have happened. Their spouses also deserve a lot of thanks for all the contacts and refreshments and support they provided.  It takes a lot of time to organize these events when all the rest of us do is show up.

The shared memories are wonderful. The descriptions of a school through the eyes of children who are now adults, is fun to hear. Still, it is the emotion which I will carry from these events. Adults sharing that they knew we cared for them when they were children. Former teachers sharing how they felt they were as much a family as a faculty. People reliving those moments when they were bought together through the necessity of education and the benefit of a bond of caring. What a nice way to spend a couple of afternoons.

The Eye Behind the Camera

I have so many photos, I don’t want to count them. Suffice it to say they number in thousands. There are photos on my computer, on my zip drives, and in the cloud. These are often scans of basketball and science fair photos in bins in the basement. There are also many more is photos boxes stored in the basement.

The photos are of cherished memories. They are from Albany Grade School, Saybrook-Arrowsmith, and Irving Elementary School. In addition are photos from high school and college, from family vacations, and family get togethers in Collinsville, Bloomington and Geneseo. There are photos from weddings in many other locations. There are photos from Chicago, Santa Fe, New York and San Antonio.

Almost all of these photos have one thing in common. The person taking the photos is missing. The eye behind the camera, who carefully frames everyone else, is not herself in the frame. So today, I am showing the few in which we managed to get her on camera.

For the almost 55 years, since 1964, I have had her in my life. Connie has recorded memories for all of us. Today, is more than Mother's Day. Today as she reaches her 70^th birthday, I want to honor her. She has given nothing but love and care for all of us. She has made our lives better. She is Mom and Nana, and spouse. 

She is also one hell of a photographer. It was her photo skills that landed her first job as editor of the Erie Review. Today I want to thank her for all she has done for all of us and show just a few photos were she was in the frame. These are the very few shots of her individually. They begin in 1964 at age 15,  and are from her bookstore (first and last day), and the day she climbed alone to the top of Enchanted Rock in Texas (and she even took that one!). 

Thanks to you, Connie Lee Carter Laleman, for being part of our lives and for creating a record of the good times.