Dad’s 1942 Pontiac

I almost let Dad’s April 17 birthday slip by. While poking around, I found where he had bought a 1942 Pontiac for $1,328.86.

What was particularly interesting to me was that he had to get permission from the rationing board to buy the vehicle. (World War II, remember?)

Because of his job, he had better access to gas, tires, etc., than most folks at the time. Mother’s parents ran a restaurant in Advance, so they, likewise, had access to sugar, meat and other rationed items that were sometimes in short supply. 

$258.55 for parts and labor

This was filed with the original purchase. I don’t know if this work was done as a condition of sale or if it was done later.

Dad was exempt from the draft

LV Steinhoff Vichy project 1942

He spent the war years working for Markham & Brown building airfields and other war-related construction projects.

Mother went with him, which caused one memorable event.

A truck driver thought it would be funny to scare this strange woman by driving head-long toward her, not realizing that the woman was the boss’s wife.

Mother was not amused, nor was Dad. His “fun” cost him his job – and maybe his draft deferment.

When she was in the Lutheran Home, she regaled her grandkids with stories of all kinds of shenanigans, including the time when she swiped a dump truck because she wanted to go into town.

Hills Plant – Vichy

LV Steinhoff Vichy project 1942

It took lots of materials to build airfields and the like. One of Dad’s jobs was to keep the rock flowing from quarries like this one in Vichy, Mo.

I may have to drive around to see if any of his construction projects are still around.

 

Birthday Season #103

Mother was born Oct. 17, 1921, which means she would be 103 had she not died in 2015. While rooting around in some old boxes, I discovered some photos of her that I had never seen before.

I love this shot of her wearing a jaunty hat and a saucy smile. It was a tiny print that still had tape around the edges, so it must have been pasted in something.

8 or 9 at house that burned

A note on the back said she was 8 or 9 in this picture in front of her family’s house in Advance that burned. I don’t know any details.

1938 graduation pictures

This sequence was slugged “1938,” so I have to assume this was when she graduated from high school.

A pack of den mothers

Mother was a Pack 8 den mother. She’s in the back row, second from the right.

She the only one with a medal pinned on her. It might have been a Purple Heart for injuries sustained while herding a bunch of Cub Scouts around.

Christmas in the dining room

Mary Steinhoff Xmas

We called this side of the living room the dining room, even though I pretty much sure we never dined there. In fact, we hardly ever lived in the living room except for special occasions.

We were kitchen, basement and porch folks.

A pensive moment

She’s all dressed up, but I don’t know where she was going.

Slipping in a Dad and Mark moment

LV and Mark Steinhoff at Easter

I don’t want to steal Mother’s thunder, but this never-before-remembered shot of Dad and Mark at Easter is going to become one of my favorites.

Lots of Mother links

Mother was the subject of many blog posts.

Here are some links I pulled together for her obituary.

Mary Welch Steinhoff 1921 – 2015

Here is the day of her funeral

I Guess It’s Time

Poinsettias on the Graves

When Wife Lila came to Cape recently, she tried to convince me to replace the refrigerator when I remodel my kitchen. She’s a big fan of bottom freezers, and I prefer mine to be at eye level. (Her eyes aren’t that far off the ground, so that’s why she likes the bottom freezer.)

When we went to Lowes to look at ice boxes (using that phrase is a good sign that I’m old), we passed an aisle loaded down with Christmas flowers and cacti. The poinsettias were two for three bucks, so we picked up a couple of them and some cacti for friends and relatives.

Mother had always asked, “Who will decorate the graves after I’m gone?” That sent me back to Lowes to pick up some more flowers.

Sunset more colorful than flowers

After dropping off a pot at my Mother and Dad’s stone, I stopped by Lila’s mother, Lucille Perry. The flowers were colorful, but they couldn’t compare with the sunset in the distance. I wish the camera had captured all the colors my eyes saw.

Roy and Elsie in Advance

Mother’s dad and mother had health problems and lived with us from my early grade school days until after I had left for Ohio University. My life was much enriched by getting to know them.

Here’s a little more about Elsie Welch, as described by her friends.

My great-grandparents

Mother’s grandparents, W.M. Adkins and Mary Adkins died long before I was born, but I still have no trouble spotting their grave in the beautiful Pleasant Hill Cemetery in Tillman, near Advance.

A lot of my grandmother’s friends and relatives are scattered in that cemetery.

I wondered if they got stolen

After I had placed the flowers, I wondered if anyone would spot them and carry them off since they were so portable.

As soon as the thought crossed my mind, I said to myself, “I don’t care if someone does. I fulfilled my obligation to Mother, and if her flowers brighten another grave, that’s a good thing.”

 

 

A Letter to Mother

Birthday Season Exemption

I’m getting a fileserver upgrade, so my computer will be dark for a few days, which would be a problem because Mother’s birthday will fall within that period. Fortunately, I can post this under the Birthday Season Exemption.

My family, for better or worse, is made up of packrats who saved stuff that would be considered inconsequential to most folks. While going through an envelope of greeting, birthday, sympathy and get-well cards, I ran across this snippet of a letter I had written to Mother from Ohio University, probably in 1967.

I’m glad she saved it (and that I found it)

I don’t know what triggered me to write it, but I’m glad I did. I didn’t do that enough to people who are important to me.

Maybe I was trying to recover for letting Mother’s Day slip past me the first year at OU. Trust me, that never happened again.