MemoryBright Gift Book - 60th Anniversary by MemoryBright

NEWSOMS

The remarkable life story of Pat and Wayne 足Newsom in honor of their 60th anniversary

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CONTENTS

The Beginning

Our Love Story

Parenthood

Our Adventures

Once upon a time, there were two cute kids in the Texas panhandle ... Patty was waiting on the corner for a date. That’s when Wayne drove by—and a match was made. First came one adorable baby girl, then four in a family of daughters. Family vacations spark a love of the great outdoors and a move to the mountains of Colorado.

Next Generation

Globetrotting

Many weddings and grandchildren sprout a vibrant family tree. From Easter Island to Europe, Asia to Antarctica, travels abound.

The Jeep

The Celebration

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The origin story finally revealed, plus who will get to drive it next? Four generations, 35 strong. 60 years of marriage. One epic week.

What We’ve Learned

INTRODUCTION

60 Years and Well Beyond R E F L E C T I N G O N A S I X- D E C A D E J O U R N E Y F I L L E D W I T H L O V E , J OY A N D S H A R E D S T R E N G T H

Wayne and Pat share a kiss to mark their 60th wedding anniversary at the family reunion in Riviera Maya, Mexico, in December 2012.

There are the big moments: weddings, births, huge family reunions. But then there are the many smaller, but no less significant, memories in between: the picnics in the park, the tents pitched along a river, the laughs during 3 o’clock coffee. This book celebrates all of those moments and more: Culled from boxes of slides, shoeboxes of old photos, stacks of journals, interviews and even a long-forgotten cassette tape, these are the stories and photos that together form the tapestry of a more than six-decade marriage. Whether recalling in vivid detail their early Texas childhoods or basking in the familiarity of their hometown of Estes Park, Colorado, Pat and Wayne have joined together to share the treasured moments that have led them to where they are today. Beloved fixtures in Estes Park, “When Granny walks through the local Safeway, it’s like she’s the mayor,” says grandson Ryan. “Everyone knows her.” For his part, Granddad knows every house, every cabin, every lodge like no one else and still works every day at the Coldwell Banker real estate office. “Boy, retirement is not for me,” he’s fond of saying. “You have to keep your mind and your body sharp.” Call it the Wayne Way. From early on, he knew there was a better way to manage farming, so he went to college to get his business degree. He recognized that cute girl under a tree was someone special, so he asked out Patty. Then he knew there was more to see outside of the tiny town of Hereford, Texas, so he moved his family to better pastures. And he’d go on to explore the world with Pat, riding elephants in Thailand, visiting China, climbing Chichen Itza in Mexico, walking with penguins in Antarctica and exploring caves on Easter Island.

By his side for every new adventure: Pat, the family’s unflappable anchor, whether raising the couple’s four beautiful daughters or presiding over the sprawling brood of 35 diverse kids, grandkids, great-grandkids, nieces, nephews and in-laws that have made the branches of the Newsom family tree grow so lush. With each new branch and successive generation, the memories blossom in new ways. Every set of grandkids, from the Taubers to the Rapus to the Thompsons to the Kladars, have forged their own set of memories—many overlapping, some uniquely their own. All have been fishing with Granddad, up with the sun with Granny, sleeping out under the stars with Granddad’s prized binoculars. And of course everyone has ridden in the Jeep and honked the horn. Only a lucky few, though, have actually driven it. And fewer still know where it got that Ernst T. nickname, which probably popped up about the same time that the little Thompson girls renamed Granny “Peeps” after that iconic red ride. Paging through this book, you’ll feel like you’re back in Granny’s kitchen, next to the bay window, sun having long since disappeared behind the mountains, hot chocolate losing its steam; there’s Granny’s laugh, Granddad’s drawl. In their own words—including some memories recalled in detail for the very first time—Pat and Wayne, along with dozens of loved ones, share everything from the classic stories to the emotional touchstones to the unexpected surprises (who knew the family’s cats were so cursed?). Walk with Pat and Wayne on a life well lived and well loved—knowing that in many ways, the memories have only just begun, and they’ll continue to live on for generations.

Guy Wayne Newsom, at age 5

THE BEGINNING

Making the most of life on the Texas plains proved the key to little Wayne and Pattyâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s childhood

Patricia Wayne Frye, at age 10

WAYNE ’S PARENTS

Guy William Newsom

Ethel Emma Daniels

BORN: January 28, 1899 BACKGROUND: Banker

BORN: May 15, 1900 BACKGROUND: H omemaker CHILDHOOD MEMORY:

turned farmer

CHILDHOOD MEMORY:

“My dad and I seemed to have conflicts as I got older. I was headstrong and so was he, but he was the boss.”

“My mother had the biggest influence on me. She was understanding and would listen, very nice and loving.”

THE BEGINNING

A Boy with True Texan Grit L I T T L E W AY N E G R E W U P W I T H A H I N T O F H I J I N K S A N D A N I T C H T O E X P L O R E FA R T H E R F R O M H O M E

Guy Wayne Newsom BORN: June 20, 1929 PLACE: Amarillo, Texas SPECIAL FACT: “I was born

at St. Anthony’s Hospital just over in the bigger town of Amarillo on my brother Carroll’s 5th birthday.”

I wore bib overalls a lot growing up. My family lived on a farm in Hereford, Texas, though when I was born, my father worked at a bank. He had moved from Missouri to Texas, working as an accountant or bank cashier in the small panhandle towns of Borger, Stinnett and Pampa. His last bank job was at the First National Bank in Hereford. The population was somewhere between 2,000 and 4,000 people. When I was young, he bought a farm about five miles southeast of town and later quit the bank to start farming. I was named Guy after my father, though my middle name was Wayne so that I wouldn’t be a Junior. I was the second of four children: Carroll was born in 1924, John in 1931, Jane in 1939. I don’t recall fighting with Carroll or Jane but John and I used to fight. I really don’t seem to remember why unless it was because of the fact we were only two years apart in age. We stayed on good behavior generally, but there was an “incident” when I was about five years old. Family friends were visiting, including another five-year-old named Margie. Alongside our horse shed, we had a detached wooden garage. That’s where my dad kept his new 1933 Chevrolet. For whatever reason, Margie and I were playing in the corner of the garage and built a fire which in time, caught the garage on fire and burned it to the ground. My dad got the ’33 Chevy out, and Margie and I were unharmed. I think we were surprised we didn’t receive harsh punishment. The 1930s were the Dust Bowl years on the Plains. We could see the dark cloud of roiling dirt coming. During the day, we would have to turn on the lights in the house. The dust would get inside and settle so thick, it

obscured the pattern on the living room rug. On the windowsill, you could write your name with your finger. Sometimes my mother would put a wet cloth over her nose and mouth. The winter wasn’t so harsh. If and when it snowed, we kids would want to go sledding. My family even had a sled with those narrow runners. But there were no hills nearby. The panhandle is very, very flat. So we would attach a long rope to the sled, then tie it to a car, a pickup, a tractor. Sometimes we would even just pull it by hand. We were that desperate to sled. I used to hunt ducks in the winter too. I remember pulling off my shoes and socks, then breaking through thin ice wading out to get a teal duck. The farm did keep us busy. I really wanted to learn to milk the cow, so my dad taught me. Carroll and John didn’t, so I ended up getting stuck with the job. I also had chores in the house, like washing and drying the dishes before school in the morning. I helped mother wash clothes using a wringer washing machine and rinse tubs. I did always like to work in the yard and keep it looking nice and neat. Around adults, Father said, “Do not speak until spoken to.” For many years I think I was too much on the quiet side. My dad and I seemed to have conflicts often as I got older. I was headstrong and so was he, but he was the boss. Each year we went somewhere for vacation. Father liked to travel, which I inherited. My favorite radio program was Jack Armstrong, All-American Boy. Jack traveled the world with his globetrotting uncle in episodes like “The Lost Inca City” and “The Easter Island Adven-

ture.” Our adventures weren’t quite so far-flung. Both sets of my grandparents lived in Meadville, Missouri. We would go to visit them and other relatives. One year we went to the mountains in New Mexico. We went all the way to Eugene, Oregon, to see family friends. Dad’s sister Olive lived in Oxnard, California, near Los Angeles, so we made it there for Christmas one year. These trips were before cars had air-conditioners. I remember on a trip we would bring a pan with a block of ice in it covered with a dish towel, and we’d put it on the front floor board where the hand-operated vent would blow on it to help us keep “cool.” It might have been more psychological. I had a driver’s license at age 14. I learned to steer and use a clutch driving a neighbor’s tractor, hauling bundles of cow feed. I then drove a pickup on the roads on the

“ Kids called me

‘Nuisance’ as a play on our name, Newsom. I admit, I did some things.” —WAYNE

farm. I remember driving my dad to downtown Hereford. My mother had the biggest influence on me. She was always understanding and would listen, always very nice and loving. She even did simple things like making sure my clothes were clean and neat with no holes or frayed edges. My mother helped me through some tough times. On my very first day of school, I got “lost” — I couldn’t find my classroom and so went back home. In high school, algebra was especially difficult for me. My parents kept me back one year in high school because my grades were so poor. Through it all, my mother had faith in me. Kids called me “Nuisance” as a play on our name, Newsom. I was a good kid, but I admit, I did some things.

In the summer, I would sleep out in the yard. One of my friends, J.B. Sowell, worked at the local ice house making big blocks of ice. When my folks went to bed, we would go see J.B. and maybe stay up until 3 or 4 a.m. On Halloween, we would go to the Allens’ house on the corner of 7th and Lee in Hereford (which happened to be two blocks from the Frye family) and tip over their outhouse. Mr. Allen finally got cables one year and tied it down. Beverly Frazier and Mary Jane Robinson taught me to kiss when we were at Hereford High School. Our mascot was the Whiteface Cow. The school would not sponsor a dance because the superintendent was a Baptist opposed to dancing, so my first dance was at the Rock Clubhouse on the southeast of town. We would also hang out at The Candy Kitchen in town, where a hot dog with steamed bun cost 10 cents. I knew everyone in Hereford because my first job was delivering the Hereford Brand newspaper, so I went to every house in town. My proudest moments in school were when I was chosen to be student band director and when I earned first-chair tuba in the All-State Band in Galveston. I had starting playing tuba in fifth grade and continued playing through college. I marched in numerous parades and many times behind the horses, trying not to step on the “road apples.” When I graduated in 1947, I was ready to explore beyond Hereford. For college, I had looked at West Texas State Teachers College, but it was only 30 miles from home. Texas Tech was in Lubbock, 100 miles away. So that’s where I went, because it was farther. Lots of times, I hitchhiked to and from college. I had a big “TT” sticker on my suitcase for Texas Tech. I would get someone to take me out to the highway. With that TT showing, it wouldn’t be long before someone would pick me up. I did eventually get my own car. It was a 1950, new, dark green, four-door Plymouth bought from Neil, Irene and Dave Beavers Motor Company in Hereford. I recall it cost around $2,000 plus. I earned the money working on the farm. I think Dad might have given me some wheat to sell. While I was a student at Texas Tech, I decided to get a degree in business management. I thought more farmers were unsuccessful because they could not handle the business than not knowing how to grow crops. I graduated with my BBA degree in 1951. I wasn’t sure what was going to happen in my life next, but I was excited to find out. —WAYNE

MY GRANDPARENTS

I faintly remember him. I was very young when he died.

GRANDPA DANIELS:

GRANDMA EMMA DANIELS: She was a very nice lady who had straight hair that she tied in a bun on the back of her head. She had false teeth that she had out a lot, which made her lips wrinkle and sink in. She wore long flour-sack print dresses. She always seemed happy. I always felt the relatives on my mother’s side of the family were friendlier.

When he died, he was kept in the living room in an open casket. Someone sat with him day and night until the funeral. GRANDDAD NEWSOM:

From what I remember of her, she was short with kind of a hunchback and wore her hair in a bun. She also wore glasses with round gold frames. She also had hair on her upper lip like a moustache. She wore a hat when she dressed up. She was always a nice lady to me. GRANDMA EMMA NEWSOM:

The Newsom family (clockwise from top left): brothers Wayne, John and Carroll, father Guy, mother Ethel and sister Jane.

PATRICIA’S PARENTS

Carl William Frye

Sara Meda Woodburn

BORN: May 25, 1889 BACKGROUND: Farmer

BORN: March 23, 1892 BACKGROUND: Teacher

from Iowa

“People called him Mr. Frye except for close friends. He was a man of large stature and commanded the respect of ‘Mister.’” CHILDHOOD MEMORY:

from Texas

CHILDHOOD MEMORY:

“Friends called her Miss Meda. She went to college at La Plata and Trinity University then taught in school.”

THE BEGINNING

Welcome, Patty Pigtails A Q U I E T, C U R I O U S G I R L F O U N D A L O V E O F N AT U R E A N D FA M I LY I N H E R R U R A L C H I L D H O O D

Patricia Wayne Frye BORN: July 17, 1934 PLACE: Hereford, Texas SPECIAL FACT: “I was born

at 2:15 a.m. at the house of Mrs. Godwin, a m idwife. I was 12 pounds.”

My mother and father only knew each other about three months before they married in 1917. She was a school teacher before they met. They built a house on the farm and were pioneers of that area. My dad was a farmer and rancher. He first raised only wheat and whiteface Hereford cattle. He was very progressive; we were the only family in the area to have electricity and running water in the house. He was one of the of the first to develop irrigation. He loved the land. He was from Iowa and built a big barn on our farm that would have been perfect in his hometown of Davenport but was out of place in Texas. It became a stately landmark in the flat prairie lands of the panhandle. My mother had a huge garden every summer and would can vegetables. She did the milking and would take care of the pigs and chickens. She had to wash with a Maytag washer and hang clothes on the line to dry, and everything had to be ironed. She also sewed my clothes. She fixed huge meals in the summer and took them to the field for the harvest crews. It seemed we always had company, which she loved. My most significant lessons were exemplified by my mother. She had an incredible, courageous philosophy of life and death that has followed me through my life with an understanding of how fragile and precious life is. I remember one special summer evening when I was six years old, I went with my mother to do the final check on the barnyard animals. Her days were always full of taking care of others, and I am sure she would have liked to have had this time to herself. But she never said no when I asked to go with her. I treasured walking hand in hand with my mother. The barn was one of my favorite places—a place that was sacred to me

because it was sacred for my mother. This was where, I am sure, she communicated with God, and with her precious animals who, I think, thought she was their mother as well. The barn was her sanctuary. She taught me to love the smell of the freshly harvested wheat, the pungent odor of horses, potpourri of the alfalfa, to inhale the distinctive scent of leather and the musty smell of straw bedding for the pigs. She taught me to be, without fear, forever conscious of the sounds: the laboring windmill, the hoot owl nesting in the rafters, the pigeons cooing their goodnight, the moaning of the cows, the nightingale’s song. She taught me to appreciate and love seeing “forever” from the small upstairs window of the old barn and to experience the wonders of new life—to touch a newborn kitten; to watch the piglets eagerly search their mother for nourishment. All these things, but most of all Mother taught me to be thankful for our gifts. On this summer eve we walked in reverent silence. As the full moon lifted itself above the horizon, it gave a soft light to guide our steps. Shadows of tree limbs stood as haggard souls to scare the spirits away, keeping us from harm. As we neared the barn, she knew it was not a time to laugh, but a time for the serious dialogue of a six-year-old. “Mother, are you afraid of the dark?” I asked. “No,” she answered confidently. “Sometimes I am afraid of men and dogs.” “Are you afraid to die?” I pressed, prying a little deeper yet trying not to be too curious as I was not sure I really wanted to know about death. “No, Patty,” she replied. “Every living thing must die: the grass and the trees, cats and cows. All of this is in God’s plan for His world, and we must accept it as His will. It will be sad for me when friends or family or even ani-

mals die, but I will hold memories of them in my heart. ” “I will not be afraid to die either, but I will be sad, too,” I said, trying to a ssure myself as well as Mother. I was comforted by my Mother’s hand holding mine as we walked home, guided by the biggest moon I have ever seen. I would say we were really a pretty calm family, as my mother was not in good health when I was little and my dad’s word was law, though mother was the one who disciplined. My mother was 43 and my dad 46 when I was born, so they were rather “old” to be having a baby. I don’t know how my first name was chosen, but Daddy had told my siblings they could name me. They were having trouble finding a middle name. Finally, my sister Louise’s boyfriend at that time, Wayne Evans, said, “Why don’t you just name her after me?” So I was named Patricia Wayne Frye. Being the fourth girl of five kids, when I was a teenager I thought perhaps my parents had wanted another boy until I found out how I got my name. When I was little, it was only Carlie Rae and Charles and I at home. Lousie was 16 years older than I was; Caroline 13 years, Carlie 9 and Charles 5 years older. Louise was called “Weezie”; Caroline was nicknamed “Sykie,” but my dad was about the only one to call her that. Carlie Rae to this day is called Petey. She would play peekaboo when she was little and say “peep,” which developed into Pete. Charles was called Gus, after my mother’s brother Gus. People used to think I had 2 brothers: Charles and Gus. My dad had a machine shop at the back of our house. This is where he spent a lot of time repairing machinery and inventing things. I can remember spending time there with him. It was probably the only time I had a relationship with him. I really didn’t know my father very well. He had to work hard, long hours and was not around much except at night. He called all of us “Kid.” From about the age of four, I had pigtails and no one called me Patricia. They shortened it to Patty and called me “Patty Pigtails.” Since I was the youngest in the family, I played by myself and of course had many imaginary friends—they were always my guests and enjoyed my mud pies. One of my favorite places to play alone was in an old iron scrap pile near my dad’s shop. I moved the pieces around to outline rooms of a house. I would take my dolls and spend hours there. Mother liked this because she could see me from the porch, the garden, and the clothesline. Other times I would go to the barn alone. One day,

“

My dad’s word was law, though my mother was the one who disciplined.” —PAT

Meda and Carl

I decided it would be fun to jump from the high ledge around the bin into the wheat. About the third time, my foot went through the opening that dispensed the grain to the loading area below. I was stuck! Fortunately, the bin was not full so my head was out. After a while my mother got concerned about me and came to the barn and saw my leg dangling from the hole. I am sure she almost died right then because she was not very agile and she couldn’t climb up to get me. I stayed very calm until Gus came and helped me out. I was very lucky. I never jumped in the grain bins after that. There was a row of trees behind our house, and on

hot summer days, Charles and I would play farm. We would divert the water from the nearby hose, where my mother was watering her huge garden, and we would build dams. This was during World War II, so when Charles would get tired of “farming” and wanted to play something else and I didn’t, he would “bomb” me with bricks. I also pretended I was a nurse. Charles flew a light plane from the age of 16. We would take old Sears catalogs and while flying over pastures, would drop the catalogs trying to “bomb” cattle. On the flat plains of Texas in the winter, there were no hills to go sledding on. We would ride on sleds pulled by cars, which was very dangerous. (I know now!) There were 50 students in my class in 1952: 25 girls and 25 boys. Ours was the smallest class in several years because we were “Depression” babies. When I was in grade school, I lived in the country and it was not easy for my mother to drive back and forth. I rode the bus for about 20 miles one way. My mother could never participate in PTA or any school activities. I made a promise to myself that when I had children, I would go to PTA meetings, go on field trips, be a room mother. There were two girls in my class, Jenny Beth Hance and Mary Ann Davis, who were teacher’s pets, always got good grades, had nice clothes, but most of all, their mothers were always coming to school. That was the part I really envied. My mother belonged to a study club, which met once a month. Gus and I always liked the days Mother went to club because there would be a big pot of beans on the stove for us. We would get us a bowl full, pour syrup on them and sit in front of the radio and listen to our “shows.” That was some good eatin’! When we’d have big rains and have lots of little frogs, I would catch them and put them in coffee cans and take them to my friend Joe Max. In springtime I loved going with Mother up to the field when she would take lunch to my dad. He would be plowing and I loved the smell of the fresh-turned dirt. Mother would let me take my shoes off and walk in the newly plowed field. We had a Boston bulldog, Benford, that my dad had purchased from a lady named Mrs. Benford, who lived about 50 miles away. The rural mailman brought Benford to our house wrapped in funny papers! My mother died of a stroke on May 26, 1947,when I was 12. After that my sisters and brother took care of me. My dad remarried. Though my stepmother, Louise, was good to me, it wasn’t the same as my own mother. I didn’t

MY GRANDPARENTS

He was a farmer who had four brothers and three sisters. He himself had five sons. He told them whoever would go to Texas and live on the land, he would make them a very good deal. Four of the sons looked and didn’t like it. My dad went down and stayed and did well, which caused his brothers to be very envious. Grandpa Frye lived in Iowa, and we would see him once a year at most. He was reserved, very business-like and never paid much attention to the grandchildren. GRANDFATHER WILLIAM FRYE:

GRANDMOTHER CAROLINE MEYER:

She was short and frail-looking but mighty. She was deaf but kept you in line. In Iowa, we stayed at their house in town. GRANDFATHER ELONZO TUDOR WOODBURN: He was Irish and from

Patty, age 8

Tennessee. At age 16, he fought u nder the Confederate flag in the Civil War. He owned a drug and mercantile store in Hereford. He died before I was born. GRANDMOTHER SARAH ANN BLOCK:

have a lot of guidance and encouragement as a teenager. In high school I was no longer Patty Pigtails —instead, some boys called me “Fryday.” They would tease the boys who liked me by saying “Today is Fryday for Joe” or whomever. My first real boyfriend was Jesse Click. I was in the eighth grade and he was a sophomore. My first kiss was with him on our third date. I was very active in MYF, the Methodist Youth Fellowship. We would plan programs, songs and scriptures for our Sunday night meetings. For a while, this was not only my spiritual life but my main social life. Because of my family situation, I didn’t have goals

for the future and sort of went with the flow. I have regretted most throughout my life that I didn’t go to college. I had my acceptance at Texas Christian University at Fort Worth, and I really think because I had no encouragement from home—or anywhere—I didn’t know how to make transportation plans, or what to expect, and I sort of took the path of least resistance and got married. I was expected to leave home when I was 18, and I didn’t know what else to do. Probably one reason I didn’t go to college was I had no idea at the age of 17 what I wanted to study. Now I can think of a lot of things! —PAT

She was three-quarter Cherokee Indian born in Arkansas. Her mother was a small child on the Trail of Tears and had no last name. At 16, Sarah married Elonzo, who was 26. They were married on horseback. She died in 1910.

THE BEGINNING

The Brother at the Center IN H ER OW N WO R DS , PATRIC I A R EFL EC TS O N TH E B ROTH ER W H O WA S A H ERO, FRIEN D A N D FATH ER FIG U R E

The perpetual hot southwest breeze saps the energy from all life around. A thunder cloud in the distant west releases the smell of ozone mixed with dust, giving the false hope of rain. Relief comes at the end of this day with an indescribably beautiful West Texas sunset. As shadows appear, refreshing cool air creeps in like a cat stalking a cricket, and the wind calms under the blanket of the black, star-studded sky. By mid-morning the next day, the breeze is blowing and the slow, whirling yard sprinkler set in place paints a large, pale green circle in the sun-parched yard of native grass. Brown polka dots and not-so-straight lines, made by boy and dog playing tag in the lazy spray, go in and out of the circle like a game of marbles. This five-year-old, the youngest child, has heard someone special is coming to his home today and he’s becoming impatient of playing the “waiting game.” To get a better look at his world, the towhead imp climbs the front yard fence to check for new activity. He sees a cloud of dust, like a comet’s tail, and he knows it is the family car approaching. Holding tight to the hot iron pipe at the top of the fence, he climbs higher to make sure he will be seen. Anticipation turns to expectation; expectation turns to reality. “She’s here!” he calls to the wind. “She is finally here!” It is evident this meeting has been arranged by the parents. Charles is timid, and not knowing what to expect, resists the offer to hold the bundle handed to him. Eventually, he peeks at the baby and she smiles at him … their eyes meet … and he laughs. She seems to flirt and he teases; she cries and he’s sad; she moves and he’s at her side. This is the beginning of a love affair.

Five years plus pass. Holding tight, I hang onto the fence to get a better view as he gets off the bus and then climb higher to make sure he will see me. I wave and he ignores me. The dog and I run to meet him, and he pets the dog. I carry his books, and he throws clods at imaginary rabbits. We play shadow tag, and he lets me win. He tells me he got a spanking at school, and I confess I played with his airplane cards. He teaches me to ride the pre-war bike and then says I am “it” in the game of “can’t catch me!” Riding past me, he drags his foot to stop so I can tag him. He dares me to run across the cattle guard and carries me to the house with my chin split open. As a small child I want to marry him and spend my life taking care of him, and I cry when our mother tells me Charles must marry another. He is my brother. He was my first love and still is. He never calls me a sissy when I don’t want adventure. I like to wear his hand-me-down clothes. He knows I will keep his secrets as I have repeated our solemn pledge of trust “cross my heart and hope to die…” a thousand times, and I don’t tell when he squirts the cats when milking. He will jump out and scare me, and he won’t go far when playing hide and seek in the dark. On his 16th birthday, he earns his pilot’s license and I envy him. When he wants to fly, I am always ready though I really don’t like to do spins and loops. He is there for me when our mother dies. I cry when he joins the Air Force. He goes away and I have no one to confide in or to guide me. Our relationship continues into adult years and as time passes, we each find another to be our soulmate. When I marry, I ask him to give me away; he is happy

Charles surrounded by sisters (from left) Carlie, Louise, Pat and Caroline.

“

On his 16th birthday, he earns his pilot’s l icense and I envy him. When he wants to fly, I am always ready.” —PAT

and neither of us hold back the tears. We make our own homes and distance separates us. We vow to see each other often and wish it to be more. And, like the children we are, we remember and laugh, reminisce and cry tears of joy and tears of sadness. We laugh at what is and shed tears at what may have been and always, always have faith, hope and love. Decades later, we talk regularly by phone and I hear the change in his voice and hold back the tears until we hang up. He tells stories of our childhood. He laughs at how we played marbles and how we caught frogs when it rained. And the time we sailed the playa lake and the boat filled with water. I knew it would sink and I was sure that we would drown; he stepped over the side of the boat and pulled it to shore. He reminds me, “You were so scared.” Then he laughs and tells the stories again. He speaks of things we did 50, 60 years ago but can’t remember seeing me two months ago. There are times in late evenings when I am alone, I get a deep melancholy feeling in the bottom of my heart that seems to last until I talk with my brother. More often than not, I tell him I get homesick when I think of a West Texas sunset. He replies, “You know, I do too but that feeling only lasts for about thirty seconds!” and we laugh. Before we hang up he says “I love you” and says it again, giving me a false truth that all is well with his world. My heart aches as days change — not the relationship, but the scene. He doesn’t say much on the phone now; memories fade. The body is thin; the hair, gray and balding; the gait is slow; the voice of the soul is still audible and holds love. I know this as his last words are always “ I love you”! He was my first love and still is. —PAT

OUR LOVE STORY

Patty was waiting for him, he was looking for her â&#x20AC;&#x201D; and a little town sparked a big romance

The wedding party (from left): Jane Newsom, Joan Southern, Pastor Roy Ford, Pat and Wayne, Charlotte Williams, Charles Frye, Homer Frank Harvey and Terry Higgins.

OUR LOVE STORY

How We Met PAT T Y R E A L LY WA NTED TO G O TO TH E MOV IE TH AT S U N DAY NIG HT, S O S H E K EP T A N E Y E O U T FO R C U TE B OYS D RI V IN G BY

Being a teenage girl in Hereford, Texas, on a summer weekend could be exciting or it could be miserable. Every girl who was anybody would have a date on Saturday and/or Sunday night. If you didn’t have a “steady,” chances are you would be sitting at home, feeling sorry for yourself. I hated “pity parties.” You had to plan ahead to look nice and to be seen. This particular weekend, I had sat at home on Saturday night. I didn’t want to do the same on Sunday night because everyone would be at the movie! Our home was at the corner of 5th and Lee Streets. In our small backyard was a weeping willow tree. This was a favorite place of mine to sit and watch the traffic pass by. Plus, it was a place where I was visible from the street. I dated boys who didn’t have wheels so we would walk the three blocks or so to the movie. So on this mid-June Sunday afternoon, I “parked” myself under the tree and pretended to read a Modern Romances magazine.In a few minutes, a car of boys pulled up to the curb. I recognized one as being a classmate of my brother’s. He walked over to me and made some small talk, probably about the weather. Then finally, Wayne asked if I would like to go out with him that night. I tried to be nonchalant and said, “Sure, let me go ask my dad.” So, as quick as I could, I ran inside. “Who is Wayne Newsom?” my dad demanded in his usual rough voice. “Oh, he’s John’s brother.” I didn’t say “John’s older brother” but added he was a friend of Charles’, knowing that would make it OK. And the rest, of course, is history. —PAT SHE SAID

“ ‘Who is Wayne

Newsom?’ my dad demanded in his usual rough voice.” 20

How We Met DID WAY N E R E A L LY N EED TO B E DA R ED TO A S K O UT TH AT PR E T T Y G IR L , O R WO U L D H E H AV E M A D E TH AT U -T U R N A L L O N HI S OW N ?

One of the forms of entertainment for guys on summer Sunday afternoons in Hereford, Texas, was to “drag Main Street.” That meant taking your parents’ car or your own — should you be lucky enough to have one — and primarily drive up and down Main Street or around town visiting and looking at girls. On this particular Sunday afternoon we drove by my classmate’s home, Charles Frye, who was the older brother of Patricia Frye. Lo and behold, there was this cute, young chick sitting in the backyard of the Frye house under a weeping willow tree. And as girls would do, I bet she was probably hoping that one of the guys cruising around town that afternoon would see her. Most likely she was very aware of the goings-on that day. In our car, my friend John Coombes dared me to ask her for a date. I took the dare.We did a U-turn at the corner and stopped at the curb near where she was sitting. I got out of the car, visited very briefly because I was nervous and asked her to “go out” with me. It was probably assumed by all parties that it meant go to the movie, as there was nothing else to do for entertainment in Hereford, Texas, other than what we were already doing — driving around. I don’t remember if she said “yes” right away or if she had to get permission from her dad. Dads were the key. Her dad must have given her permission because this was our first date. As you may know, she is a whole lot younger than I am. And her middle name is also Wayne. To tell you how much younger she really is, when she was born, her dad liked me so well that he decided to name her after me. Must have been fate. —WAYNE HE SAID

Pat and Wayne’s engagement party, 1952

“Lo and behold,

there was this cute, young chick sitting in the backyard of the Frye house.” 21

One year, it was just Wayne and the boys. Then came love...

OUR LOVE STORY

The Big Wedding Day W I T H W H I T E R O S E B U D S , S W E E T S M I L E S A N D A P L A N T O AV O I D FA M I LY P R A N K S , T H E H A P P Y C O U P L E W A S R E A D Y

They met on a Sunday afternoon and were married on a Sunday afternoon, in a candlelight ceremony on August 10, 1952. The song “Indian Love Call” greeted guests as they entered the First Methodist Church in Hereford. Joan Southern was the maid of honor and Homer Harvey the best man. Pat’s mother wore a corsage of yellow rosebuds; Wayne’s mother, white rosebuds. Baskets of white

gladioli, pompon chrysanthemums and Majestic daisies decorated the altar and carried a happy scent throughout the church. The Rev. Roy Ford performed the service. Back in those days, you just didn’t have a wedding on Saturday, so all weddings were on Sunday. We were married at the First Methodist Church. It was considered a formal wedding, but my dad would not walk me down the aisle. Even though he was well-known, he was a pretty private man. He didn’t want to do anything for show. Because I was the youngest child, he didn’t want to give me away, so Charles, my brother, gave me away. I think he was smiling through his tears because we were big buddies all through life. Wayne’s sister, Jane, and my nephew Terry were both 12 years old. They were our candle lighters. With it being in the summer, the church was pretty warm, so they had fans going. Jane would get to a certain point and her candle would go out. Terry would walk over and light her candle again, which she’d take another step or two and the candle would go out. Finally, they walked up to the altar together and Terry just lit all the candles. (Years later at Jane’s own wedding, she did not have candle lighters.) The reception was at our family home and everybody came, 100 guests. One regular traditon was that friends of the couple would decorate the car and send off the couple with a chaperone. Wayne’s brother John kept asking, “Where is your car?” We had taken it out west of town, to a little community called Summerfield, and put it in a friend’s barn. But I told John that it was east in the next town of Canyon, parked in a used-car parking PAT:

Pat’s parents hosted the wedding, but brother Charles gave her away.

On this summer Sunday in Texas, Pat and Wayne started a life that would lead to four children, 13 grandchildren and a still-running tally of great-grandchildren over the next six decades.

“

Our married life got off to a great start.” —WAYNE

BRIDAL STYLE

DRESS: Pat wore the dress of sister-in-law Jeareen, who made the dress for her wedding to Charles two years before. The floor-length, fitted bodice style with high neckline and long sleeves was made of white satin overlaid with white Chantilly lace.

The design was a tiered French illusion veil that fell from a headdress of pearlized stephanotis.

VEIL:

White satin ribbon wrapped around the white rosebuds and stephanotis. BOUQUET:

The only piece was a single strand of pearls, a gift from the groom.

JEWELRY:

lot. That got that bunch out of town. But we still had to deal with the Frye tradition, which was that all the brothers-in-law would corner the groom at the reception and kidnap him! WAYNE: One thing about that, when they would kidnap

the groom, they didn’t just take him off for an hour or two. I mean, they’d go for the rest of the day. It really wasn’t that much of a fun thing, at least to the groom, but the other guys, well, they didn’t care at all. As the reception was going on, I knew what was in store, so I went to a bedroom, opened the window, jumped out the window, and ran down the street to where a friend lived. His dad knew what was happening, so he got me in his car and took us out in the country where our car was hidden and got it. But now wait a minute, how did you get to the car, Pat? PAT : Well,

y’all stopped by my parents’ house and picked me up at a certain time when I was able to sneak out from the reception. We went to Summerfield and already had our suitcases and everything in our car, so we were ready to go. It was a lot of work and planning but it was worth it. WAYNE: That’s right! So that guy whose home that we

went to and whose dad took us out to it, his name was John Coombes. He and I became friends in fifth grade and stayed in touch for the decades since. A few years, we took him with us to Mexico. John died November 18, 2013. I do owe him a lot. Because of John, our married life got off to a great start — with no kidnapping.

OUR LOVE STORY

The Honeymoon F O R H I S N E W B R I D E ’ S F I R S T T R I P T O C O L O R A D O , W AY N E W A S FOCUSED ON GETTING THE BEST VIEW

WAYNE: After escaping from the reception, we went

to John Coombes’ house. His dad took us to our car that was in a barn at Summerfield, Texas, about seven miles southwest of Hereford. When Pat and I met up again at John’s house, we headed to Clovis, New Mexico, which was probably about 50 miles to the west of Hereford, and spent the night there. The next day, we made the big drive to the little mountain town of Silverton, Colorado. These days, the drive from Hereford to Silverton is about eight-and-a-half hours. We had reservations at the Grand Imperial Hotel, which is still there in Silverton in a valley of the Rocky Mountains. We stayed at the hotel for a couple of nights and decided to move to a motel for the rest of our honeymoon time. I had been to Colorado before but Pat never had. At that time I never dreamed we might live there someday. For as long as I can remember, my family took a vacation every year. A lot of times we would go north to Missouri where kinfolk lived, and we might stay there for as long as two weeks or so. Sometimes we would go over to New Mexico. One time we took a trip to the Northwest to Washington state and Oregon. Once we went to California to the Rose Parade. I guess those trips during those early years is when I really got the traveling bug and wanted to see While most photos of the world someday. the early couple were sweet (above), the honeymoon prompted a “fanny” photo or two.

the honeymoon that we still laugh about to this day. I don’t know where Wayne had gotten his special binoculars, but they were one of his most prized possessions. He of course had packed them to use for this Colorado trip. While we were on the honeymoon, we decided we’d go horseback riding one day. I really don’t know that I’d ever been on a horse before. You’ve always heard how when a horse is headed home or back to the stable, that they’re really anxious to get back. Well, we must’ve been on about a two-hour ride. I had the binoculars around my neck because Wayne wanted me to see the mountains or something. Knowing Wayne now, I’m sure it was those mountain views he was marveling at — “Pat, you gotta take a look at this.” We were on our way back to the stable and a horse stumbled and I fell off. I was on the horse behind Wayne. He turned around and looked worried. I was really touched that my new husband would show such concern for me. Then with wide eyes, he opened his mouth and blurted out, “Did you hurt my binoculars?” “No, I’m not hurt. I just … wait, what did you say?” I should have known. He did ask me if I was OK, eventually. But Wayne really, really did love those binoculars too. We still have them, and everytime I look at anything with those binoculars, I think of that.

There was one par- WAYNE: Yep, Pat didn’t hurt my binoculars on the ticular incident about h oneymoon. So we didn’t get divorced. PAT:

In 1953, the baby boom began for newlyweds Pat and Wayne, with baby Linda in Hereford.

PARENTHOOD

A little girl soon blessed the new Newsom household, followed by another one, then another one, then another one â&#x20AC;Ś

PARENTHOOD

Four Daughters OVER THE NE X T 12 Y E AR S , THE NE WSOMS ADDED A QUARTE T OF BE AUTIFUL BABY GIRL S

Linda D’Ann

Cynthia Sue

Karen Kay

Kathryn Jane

BORN: May 1, 1953 PLACE: Hereford, Texas THE GIRL: Every day when I walked

BORN: September 18, 1954 PLACE: Hereford, Texas THE RIVAL: Cindy was born a day

BORN: May 28, 1958 PLACE: Garden City, Kansas THE BOYS: We thought she might

BORN: July 19, 1965 PLACE: Hereford, Texas THE TEACHER: I had had a nice,

home from school for lunch, a little girl would be in the front of her house and walk with me down the length of her yard. Her name was Linda. Then D’Ann was from a novel. —Wayne

after a neighbor’s girl, Eveyln Oleta. When we moved to Kansas, Cindy started school at age 4. We later moved back to Hereford. Cindy was a year ahead of Evelyn, who was so mad. —Pat

be a boy. We had boy’s names picked out for each one of them. There was going to be a Douglas and a Donald. For a girl, we had “Sharon” but changed it at the last minute. —Pat

nice t eacher at school and Sunday school named Kathryn. She was an old maid before she married at a late age. Then we got the name Jane after my sister. —Wayne

Pat with baby Katie and big sisters Karen and Cindy in 1965. One doctor told Pat that after two girls, the third baby was bound to be a girl. And after three girls, Wayne wished for a fourth.

TWO OF A KIND:

Linda and Cindy were close in every sense, only 16 months apart and good friends to each other.

PARENTHOOD

The Boxcar Girls T H E N E W FA M I LY S E T U P H O U S E I N A R A I L R O A D C A R — R E A L LY ! — W I T H C O L D D I A P E R S A N D W A R M H E A R T S

PAT: As newlyweds, we lived out on the farm across the driveway from Wayne’s parents. We had a little two-bedroom house made out of a boxcar, if you can but believe that.

when you were born?” I said, “Well, my mother said I weighed 12 pounds,” because he knew that Linda was going to be a big baby. He said, “Oh hell, when you were born, they weighed the dishpan and all.” Linda weighed eight-and-a-half pounds. That was a WAYNE: My dad had bought it from the railroad and had pretty good-sized baby. She was a good, cute baby. We had it hauled out on a big truck. The work crew set it on were still living in the boxcar house when we had Cindy. a concrete foundation. Then they went ahead and built Linda and Cindy are only 16 months apart. Everybody all around it. We had two bedrooms and a bathroom and could tell that they weren’t twins. Back in those days a nice-sized living room, a nice-sized kitchen. You could people had kids close together. Linda was still in diapers not tell it was a boxcar because of all the siding, the roof for a while. I was going into town, which was about six and everything. It just looked like a house. But it had so miles, to the laundry. I would get up early on a Monday much heavy steel underneath that, years later when the morning and drive into town and do the laundry, and owners tried to move the house, they couldn’t do it. I’d be back in an hour and a half, maybe, to hang them out on the line. I’d tell Wayne, “Whichever one wakes PAT: After my dad remarried, my mother-in-law was up first, they get the one dry diaper that’s left,” because very good to me and taught me how to do some essen- I never did wash diapers in between time. tial things like washing with an old ringer washer and fixing strawberries for strawberry shortcake. She was WAY N E : I tell you what, in the wintertime too, you very good and patient with me. had to hang those diapers out on the line, because they We re-papered the little house. They had used it for didn’t have clothes dryers either way back then. Those hired help, so we had to fix it up as our first home. You things would have to just freeze dry in the winter. know how women are when they get pregnant? They get sick. I was really pretty good while we were wall- PAT: We later moved to Kansas for Wayne’s job with papering, but if I went outside or went to town or some- an irrigation-equipment company. Karen was the only thing and came back, the smell of that wallpaper always daughter not born in Hereford. She was born in a Cathmade me sick. To this day, I don’t actually get sick when olic hospital in Garden City. When I went in with labor I’m wallpapering, but I think about that still. pains, we didn’t have time to leave Linda and Cindy I learned how to wash diapers with a wringer wash- with friends, so they were just in the car with us. We ing machine and hung them out on the clothesline. Not pulled up to the hospital and Cindy said, “Oh, I know too long before Linda was born, the doctor was giving our baby’s coming now because I saw a Sister out there me an exam and he said, “How much did you weigh waiting for the stork.”

Cindy and Linda show off their Easter best circa 1957.

“Life with four girls

was crazy, happy, beautiful — and n ever, ever boring.” —PAT

The girls celebrate Katie’s first birthday in 1966.

he had a close relationship with the other girls, even though we didn’t get a chance to see him very often. WAYNE: When it came to our fourth one, after three girls, people would ask if we wanted a boy. I’d always say that I figured if we had a boy, it would either be a woman-hater or a sissy growing up alongside all these girls. Actually, since we had had three beautiful girls, I was just hoping that we’d have another girl. I knew a good Catholic, and I think this friend had had five or six girls before he ever had a boy. We didn’t need to do that. PAT: Katie was a cute kid. I won’t say she was spoiled, but everybody was happy to take care of her. When we went back to Hereford, we did not live in the boxcar again. We were living in an old house on Main Street while we built a new home. When Katie was about two weeks old, we moved in. In 1996, we went back to that house when we were in Hereford for the graveside service of my sister Louise’s husband, Earl. Karen wanted to go by and look at that We lived in Kansas for eight years and then the com- house. She went up and knocked on the door, and the pany transferred us back to Hereford in 1964. We really lady who answered asked her if she’d like to come in didn’t want to go back. and look. Karen came back out to the motel where we WAY N E : We thought that we had broken away from were staying and got us. She said, “You have to go look at home when we moved with the girls. We’d escaped. that house.” It had been about twenty-something years PAT: We had a really good relationship with all the fam- since we had lived there. ily there, and my dad got sick and needed help. The one Everything in the house was just as it was when we thing I regretted: He died in November 1964 before Ka- had built it — the carpet, the wallpaper, everything. tie was born the following July. I really wasn’t very far Nothing had been changed. You just had the feeling along in my pregnancy, so I never did tell him that I was that you were walking back in time. The memories pregnant with her. I always felt bad about that because came back too.

No boys allowed: With little Kathyâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s arrival in 1965 (she wouldnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t go by Katie until yearslater), the family of six was complete.

“

Our girls grew up loving the land, just the same way my mom and dad taught me.” —PAT

The Fryes remained a tight unit, most of them living in the Texas panhandle for many years. From left, Carl, Pat, Charles, Louise, Carlie and Caroline.

Patâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s father was close to the girls, holding baby Karen here at Christmas.

OUR (MOSTLY UNLUCKY ) CATS

LITTLE ONE This was our first cat. We got her as a little white kitten. We only had Little One for a week before she got run over by a man in a car. LITTLE ONE TWO She was also white and was run over by the same man as Little One. SMOKEY JOE This cat would go into Cindy’s bed at night and chew on her pigtails. He got caught in a car engine. SPLATTER A calico cat who disappeared. I think was poisoned.

A black cat that had a litter of six kittens — all black — under the stairway. CINDERS

SALLY JANE This cat was something, always scary.

She was my favorite. Good old Troubles ended up living with us for a very long time.

TROUBLES

ONE FISH, TWO FISH ... Wayne always loved to fish.

In the early days of family life, he would take the boat out to lakes and come back with a fresh catch. There was nothing better than slipping a red salmon egg on a hook and casting it out. But Pat and the girls didn’t quite agree (though Katie did really try). Wayne would have to wait for the sons-in-law. 40

“

We wanted to show our girls the world, and let them see all the places life could take them.” —WAYNE

OUR ADVENTURES

The Newsom family crisscrossed the country by land, sea and air, discovering stories that the daughters have held onto ever since

On a family trip circa 1968, Pat and the girls took in the splendor of the American West.

OUR ADVENTURES

Have Tent, Will Travel L I N D A R E M E M B E R S C A M P I N G T R I P S W I T H S P E C TA C U L A R M O U N TA I N S A N D T H E W O R L D ’ S B E S T P I C N I C S

In every Father’s Day card, I tell Dad I’m grateful for his love of the mountains, where he took us camping when we were kids. I recently took a drive through “the Park” outside Estes. I was standing on a bridge watching seven small trout in the fast-running creek that flows out of Sprague Lake. I relived all the senses of those camping trips. In the early 1960s when I was about 7, Mom and Dad loaded up the car and we headed west to Colorado. Most of the camping gear went into the car-top carrier on the roof of the “finned” pink and white Plymouth. We always left on trips before sunrise, still wearing our pajamas. Before the fast-food era, we stopped at roadside parks on the barren plains of eastern Colorado to eat whatever Mom had packed. Whether it was breakfast in the Park or lunch beside the road, she always made the best lunches. As we drove into the Rocky Mountains, it was with the same excitement as today. We didn’t stay Happy campers on the way to Colorado. in a campground, just pulled up along a fast-moving river and pitched the tent. To prevent a lumpy floor, we cleared all the rocks, sticks and pinecones from where the tent would be set up. That old canvas tent must have weighed 40 pounds. I can still smell it as Dad unrolled it. It was much more cumbersome than the high-tech bungee-corded tents of today that go up in less than five minutes (the reason I declined it when it was offered about 20 years ago). We blew and blew to inflate the air mattresses that most likely would be flat by morning. They were topped off with two brown sleeping bags lined with red —LINDA flannel plaid that were zipped together. The three of

“ The old canvas

tent must have weighed 40 pounds.”

us girls were in one, Mom and Dad in the other. I guess that was a way to try to stay even a little warmer with as much extra body heat as you could get. The best part of the camping was taking the milk, Coke and whatever needed to stay cold and putting it on the rocks in the river. That was so cool. Mom boiled water or added iodine to the river water for drinking. After meals, we heated water on the camp stove to wash dishes and “bathe.” I don’t remember what we ate, but we stored everything under a folding aluminum table when it rained. At night we sat on folding green camp stools around the fire and searched for satellites among the stars. Then it was off to bed to repeat it all the next day. The number one rule for a canvas tent: Do not touch the tent when it is wet — it will leak! We were reminded of that rule more than once. One rainy afternoon while we were reading books so Mom could nap, a chipmunk tried getting in. That was really funny. During the day, we’d hike or drive to see the tourist sights or just stand in awe of the mountains. If we hadn’t caught fish in the river, we were guaranteed to catch our limit at the trout pond. Ten cents an inch. The souvenir of choice every year was a beaded belt with Colorado across the back. We ended vacations with a stay in a motel the last night so we could clean up. Still, everything smelled like a campfire, but now we realized how much we smelled! I wish camping was a memory I could have shared with all of my own kids. But now six grandkids are of age to come camp with Nana (parents are welcome, too). Thank you, Mom and Dad. — LINDA

Cindy relives a thrilling, harrowing, unforgettable flight of true courage with Mom and Dad.

ON A WING AND A PRAYER

When I was about 9 years old, Dad was training to get his pilot’s license at the small airport in Garden City, Kansas. I got to ride in the backseat of the singleengine Cessna 172 during one of Dad’s flying lessons with his instructor. After the lesson, Dad took me to visit the weather station at the airport. The meteorologist had a rubber balloon that carried instruments up into the sky. He filled it up with helium, and I got to let it go! It was a great feeling watching that balloon rise toward heaven. A few months later, Dad received

his flying license and we were off on our first “cross-country” trip to visit our grandmother and granddad in Hereford, Texas. It was a crisp, autumn morning in Kansas. Linda, Karen and I were lifted up into the backseat of the plane, and we buckled up our seat belts. Dad sat in the pilot’s seat and Mom sat next to him in the co-pilot’s seat. Dad started the motor and let the engine warm up. The plane just had one propeller, but it was really loud. We put our fingers in our ears to muffle the sound as we took off. Once we were air-

borne, my attention turned to the bird’seye view I had of the world below me. I gazed down at the flat, brown farmland that extended for miles. After we were in the air for 30 minutes, suddenly the loud roaring of the engine stopped. What a relief! I could finally take my fingers out of my ears. Now all I could hear was the sound of the wind rushing past us. I felt like a bird flying freely through the air. I heard Dad trying to start the engine. It wouldn’t start. He tried again and again but it never started. By this time, I was enjoying the excitement. We were now flying in a glider! Dad called the Garden City airport on his radio. He told them that he was going to look for a place to land. He found a dirt road that he thought would make a good runway. I was sorry that our gliding experience was about over. Then Mom calmly turned toward us in the back seat and said, “Let’s pray!” After Mom prayed out loud, I sat quietly in anticipation. We were going down, down, down. Suddenly the plane’s wheels kicked up a lot of dust on that little road and slowly the plane came to a stop. It was all over. We were alive and well. As I have thought about this experience over the past 50 years, I have come to really appreciate Dad and Mom’s courage. Pilots I’ve since talked to have been amazed that, amid such an unforeseeable mechanical failure, Dad showed such tremendous skill. That day, I learned this: 1) Enjoy the moment. 2) Things are not always as they seem to be. 3) Practice, practice, practice. 4) Always pray. 5) God answers prayer. — CINDY

LONG DRIVES, COLD FISH

I would occasionally get to go to work with Dad — when he was a salesman and traveled around Kansas. I don’t remember the town, but I remember stopping at a greasy spoon for lunch. That was the first time I ate an entire hamburger. I was so proud of myself! In the bottom drawer of one of the nightstands in their bedroom, Dad had a collection of all the little things salesman get from other companies. It was always fun to sort through the drawer and find

tape measures, cool pens, rain gauges, little notebooks. One year, I must have been about 11, Dad took me ice fishing at Lake John with Larry Overton and his boys, Mike and Dan. It was so cold! We kids windsurfed on the ice for most of the day — our coats as our sails — while our dads fished. We either took our sled or found some cardboard to use to slide down the hills. Did anyone actually catch any fish? I remember always going to Texas or

Karen’s favorite recollections show the fun of exploring far afield with Mom and Dad

Iowa for vacations. We would all pack up in the Oldsmobile 98 (or the Chrysler before that) and head down the road. Don’t remember wearing seat belts back then. Yikes! Mom would always pack a cooler with sandwich makings, and we would almost always have grapes and Cheez-Its. We would stop at a roadside park, bring out the beach-towel tablecloth, and have lunch in the usually windy barren countryside. On some occasions, we would stop at Dalhart, Texas, at this restaurant that had good pie. Now that I think about it, it was probably 3:00 and time for coffee! One trip included a ferry ride across Lake Michigan. The boat left late in the afternoon in stormy weather. I was hanging around outside in the very strong wind — strong enough that if you held out your arms, it would push you and we would slide to the back of the boat. I think Katie had a friend with her, and we were out there in the “fresh air” to keep from getting seasick. Now that I think about it (again), we were pretty stupid to be out there — we could have been blown over the railing! I’m pretty sure even Dad got sick on that trip. When Mom would fix fried chicken, she would always fry the heart, gizzard, and liver. When we asked to try it, she never would let us, saying it didn’t taste very good and she was sure we wouldn’t like it. Years later, I found out those were her favorite parts. Dad has been a member of Rotary ever since I can remember. I would read his Rotarian magazines about all the worldly things Rotary was doing. Now that Scott is in Rotary, I still read the Rotarian from cover to cover! The first time we went to Mexico with Mom and Dad was when Kellie was in 4th grade, Shannon in 2nd. Mom wrote a letter about it to each of the girls, to open on Christmas morning. Kellie burst into tears, thinking she couldn’t go because she couldn’t miss school. We had to have a conference with her teacher, Mrs. Heisler, for her to assure Kellie that it was okay. She did have to write a report about it when she got home. That was just the beginning of Mexico trips full of special memories. — KAREN

OUR ADVENTURES

Tough Love and Tender Help F R O M A L E S S O N I N B U D G E T I N G T O S U P P O R T W I T H H E R O W N C H I L D R E N , K AT I E R E C A L L S H E R P A R E N T S ’ S T R E N G T H

My earliest childhood memory is skiing at Hidden Valley in Rocky Mountain National Park. I must have been about 4 years. Dad would hold his ski pole out behind him, and I would hang on for dear life. I would ski behind him down to the “warming lodge” where I could see Mom, Linda, Cindy and Karen watching us out of those big windows across the front of the building. They would all be waving to me. Mom was inside with a thermos of hot chocolate, and I would drink it out of that little cup on the top. When I was 8, I got to “drive” the big Oldsmobile in the lot behind Gifford-Hill Western. Whenever we visited Dad’s office, I always stopped by to say hello to Alex Prop. He always had the best Christmas lights in town. We would all get in our PJs at Christmas time and get in the car to go drive by his house to see them. I also remember helping Mom set up the Nativity scene on the drum table in front of the picture window every year. When I was about 13, I remember being at Luella’s house and Mom called to ask if it was okay with me if we moved to Thomasville, Georgia. I loved the idea! I still consider that move one of the most influential events in my life. I fell in love with the South. I remember Mom sitting on the edge of my bed at night when I was in high school. We would pray together and she would tell me stories about her high school days. She would scratch my back until I fell asleep. One night, I remember Dad telling me stories about the pranks he and his buddies pulled on his high school principal.They put a smoke bomb in his tail pipe. He laughed so hard he was crying. The memories tickled him so much that long after we

went to bed (my room was just a few feet away), I would hear him burst into laughter in the darkness. Then I would start laughing. We would settle ourselves down only to burst out again and again. My biggest life lesson came when I was in college. Mom and dad sent me off to college in North Carolina with one check that was to cover tuition, books, room and board, and a little bit of spending money. Three weeks before I was scheduled to fly home for Christmas break, I ran out of money. I had decided to buy a new dress for a sorority function and didn’t budget correctly. When I called to ask for a little more money to hold me over, Dad told me that I needed to go get a job wrapping Christmas presents at the mall. I told him it was finals week and I had to study. He told me that it was a tough lesson to learn. He didn’t send me a cent! Mom and Dad came to visit me in North Carolina on Dad’s 60th birthday. I took Dad rock climbing for his very first time. He climbed an 800-foot route and never even blinked an eye. Katie’s life lessons ran from childhood to her own motherhood. The single nicest thing anyone has ever done for me in my entire life was when Sarah was about 2 years old and Emily was a constantly screaming infant. I had flown home to see Mom and Dad and at the end of my visit, Mom took me back to the Denver airport. Sarah was crying and needy and I couldn’t calm Emily down for anything. Mom said she couldn’t bear to let me get on that plane without help and went to the ticket counter and bought a round trip ticket. She flew with me to St. Louis to help with the girls and turned around at the gate in St. Louis and flew back to Denver. I still cry every time I think of it. —KATIE —KATIE

“ I remember Mom

sitting on the edge of my bed at night.”

OUR ADVENTURES

Colorado Calling A F T E R Y E A R S O F L O N G I N G T O B E I N T H E R O C K Y M O U N TA I N S TAT E , W AY N E A N D P AT F I N A L LY M A D E T H E M O V E

Scene of countless Rocky Mountain Park picnics.

I had always loved Colorado, since before we went there on our honeymoon. My work selling irrigation systems had moved us from Texas to Kansas back to Texas and then on to Fort Morgan out in the plains of eastern Colorado. It’s very flat out there, a lot like Hereford. We would make trips due west, staying in a cabin in Estes Park. This was the most beautiful place I had ever seen. If only we could live here. Instead, we then moved to Thomasville, Georgia, in 1978. Karen had graduated high school, so we just had Katie at home. I was never at home. The company was starting to sell pivot sprinklers, so I was traveling all along the East Coast. And then I started covering the Northwest. We wanted to start getting business up in there, so I went to Washington and Oregon and Utah and northern California. It wasn’t fun anymore. They wanted me to move to Oregon. I said, “No, I don’t want to move to Oregon. But I’d move to Denver.” “No, we want you to move to Oregon.” I said, “Well, adios.” We moved to Estes. We had to live here. But when we first came up here in 1979, we didn’t know what we would do. Friends said, “What in the world do you want to do up there?” I said, “I don’t know. We’ll find something to do.” We first thought that we might buy one of these retail stores downtown. Through a connection that I had, somebody said, “Well, if you want to get into real estate, you can go to work in our office.” Gosh, I never had even given thought to that. But my brother had been in real estate in California. My sister, Jane, had been a Realtor down in Texas for some years. “Shoot,” I said, “I might just do that.” So I went to real-estate school, got my license. Then I

started to work in the Estes Park office of Realty World. I worked there for six years, then Vicky Holler and I worked out a franchise deal with Coldwell Banker. She and I have been sole owners, not just owners, of Coldwell Banker Estes Village Properties for almost 30 years. And I still go to work every day. I just don’t have to be there at 8 o’clock anymore, especially once I turned 75. Now I take it easy and get in later, usually about 8:10 or 8:15. Pat and I drive down Main Street on many pictureperfect Estes Sunday morning and see people just opening their stores. I say, “Man, Pat, aren’t you glad that we didn’t buy one of these retail stores and have to start work at 10 o’clock on a Sunday morning?” We built the life that has made us very happy in a place that we wanted to be more than anywhere else. — WAYNE

“

We had to live here, but we didn’t know what we would do.” —WAYNE

Wayne and Pat hit the slopes at H 足 idden Valley in Rocky Mountain National Park next to Estes. Only black diamonds, of course.

“

This was the most beautiful place I had ever seen. I knew it was where I wanted to be. ” —WAYNE

THE SUMMIT

I climbed Longs Peak out here, about 30 years ago. Most tired I’ve ever been in my entire life. It’s at 14,300 feet above sea level. Pat’s second cousin lived over in Fort Morgan. He wanted to go to the top with me and his son-in-law. It takes so long to get up and down, about 13 hours round trip, that you have to start early. We got so tired. We timed ourselves: “We’re going to walk 30 minutes, then lay down.” We’d be lucky to walk 15 minutes, then lay down for three or four. Man, we were just dead. But I had to do it. Everytime I look out at Longs Peak from our house, r elaxing upstairs in the sun room, I think of that great day. —WAYNE

Estes Park

450 W. WONDER VIEW

Listing: A true Rocky Mountain stunner. Custom built in 1982, the house has vast windows showcasing Longs Peak to the south. Beautiful lawn is an elk magnet.

“

Everywhere we’ve lived has been priceless, from the Hereford houses to that first Estes cabin.”

ON THE MOVE

Parade of Homes I F W AY N E T H E R E A LT O R H A D T O P U T T H E FA M I LY H O M E S O N T H E M A R K E T, H E R E ’ S H O W T O S E L L T H E M

1 Hereford, TX

FARMHOUSE

416 DAVIS

Garden City, KS

Hereford, TX IN TOWN

416 CAROL STREET

Fort Morgan, CO

Thomasville

331 TUXEDO DR.

VACATION CABIN

Estes Park

Listing: Cozy two-bedroom, one bath. Most tornado-proof house in the Texas panhandle; made of 50-ton boxcar steel, surrounded by wood frame. Immense yard.

Listing: Perfect house for a growing family, with mod 1960s-era style that hasn’t been updated at all. Close to lakes. Boat not included but will take best offer.

Listing: Small-town living at its finest. Classic ranch style. Within walking distance of all of Hereford. Small but immaculate yard, recently fertilized with whiteface cow m anure.

Listing: Ideal home on the range, within sight of the Rocky Mountain front range (if you have a great telescope). Within walking distance of all of Fort Morgan.

Listing: Like new twostory beauty in the Georgia woods. Barely lived in. Previous owners had nothing against the house, just the people and the job. Move-in ready.

Listing: Experience the Estes Park of your childhood with this classic cabin, tucked in a quiet corner of this mountain haven. Upstairs is a little spooky. Live the dream!

NEXT GENERATION

Four weddings, 13 grandchildren and a running tally of great-grandchildren have led the family tree to blossom

Wayne with Chris, the first grandchild in a wave of new kids in the family.

NEXT GENERATION

Four Weddings P AT R E M E M B E R S H O W E A C H D A U G H T E R , O V E R T H E N E X T 2 5 Y E A R S , T I E D T H E K N O T I N C O L O R A D O

Linda & Wayne Tauber M A RCH 25 , 1 97 2

Cindy & Sergio Rapu

J ULY 26 , 1 975

I made Linda’s wedding dress. In fact, This ceremony was at St. Malo’s Church I made Cindy’s too. The ceremony was with a beautiful chapel up on a rock at the Catholic church in Fort Morgan. formation. For the reception, we went Even our exchange student, Paulo, was to the Stanley Hotel, overlooking part of the wedding. downtown Estes Park.

Karen & Scott Thompson

A P R IL 1 6 , 1 98 3

We were in Estes, and Karen was in Greeley, so she really planned the whole wedding herself. Even a friend made her dress. Scott came from a family of five boys. It was neat to mix with four girls.

Katie & Phil Kladar

J U LY 26 , 1 9 97

Katie wore my wedding dress! Aunt Jeareen and one of Jeareenâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s friends had also worn it; all four brides were here. We took the Stanley Steamer to the reception at the Stanley in Estes.

Cindy first met Sergio as a result of a foreign-exchange program to Chile. The reception at Estes Parkâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s famed Stanley Hotel was especially Âexuberant, with relatives in from Chile and Easter Island.

SAGE

C H R IS

J U LIANNA

T RIC IA

RYA N

MATA’U

The Taubers The Rapus

C H R IS , SAG E , TR IC IA , RYA N

Linda’s kids lived in the Colorado mountain town of Evergreen, which didn’t have quite enough snow, so they later moved to Minnesota.

60 60

J UL IA N N A A N D M ATA’U

Cindy’s worldly adventures continue with her kids, who are fluent in three languages and know every statue on their native Easter Island.

NEXT GENERATION

Thirteen Grandchildren B O Y S F I N A L LY S Q U E E Z E D I N T O T H E P I C T U R E A S E A C H N E W FA M I LY G R E W . . . A N D G R E W !

E M ILY

SH A NNON

K E L L IE

T HOMAS

SARAH

ELLIE

WILL

The Thompsons The Kladars

K E L L IE A N D S H A N N O N

SA RA H , E M ILY, THOMAS, WILL , ELLIE

Karen’s Colorado girls gave a new name Katie’s crew grew and grew to five strong. to Granny: Peeps, as in “Riding into town Together they’ve helped countless more kids in Peeps’ Jeep.” Today they are both with their charity work. And they’ve made world travelers—Jeep optional. Idaho their own all-natural playground.

61 61

The Taubers on the front deck in Estes.

Above: Caught in the act: a classic “Granny nap.” From top: The Taubers and Rapus meeting at the airport. Julianna and Mata’u with Granny. Cindy and Karen with Julianna, Mata’u and baby Kellie. Christmas morning with the Rapus and Katie.

It’s not what you think.

Shannon and Emily

The '80s Newsoms

With Sarah and Emily

With Phil and Katie

GRANDKIDS’ MEMORIES

CHR I S: Granny’s perfect

biscuits and gravy, a lucky rabbit’s foot from the Copper Penny, and a Trail Ridge snowball on a sparkling summer day.

SAGE : Granny would stay up late to greet me after my shift at Poppy’s. She would lay on my bed and talk to me about my day while I counted my tips.

TR IC IA : Picnics in The

Park, learning to drive in the Jeep, attempting to camp out on the deck, Casa Bonita, driving up Pole Hill with the top down, whitewater rafting, pimento cheese sandwiches.

RYA N : Laying on the upstairs deck—under a blanket of stars, satellites, and meteors—and having Granny come out to check on me and stay awhile.

J U LIANNA: For fun, Granddad would pull to the side of the road and pretend to spot an animal just to make others look all around for what he was watching.

MATA’U : Elena’s first visit to Colorado to see them. We hiked all around Rocky Mountain National Park. KELLIE: Peeps driving us in the Jeep and everyone staring at us as we honked the “ooga” horn.

The ‘90s Newsoms

Fishing with Phil

Grandkids and more

SHANNON: When I was 3, I heard Meemaw compliment Kellie on her long hair. I walked into the kitchen fluffing my short locks, saying, “Isn’t my hair getting soooo long?”

SA RA H : Their phone call every year on my birthday, sing ing “Happy Birthday” and at the end, Grandad always sings, “...AND MANY MOOORRRREEEE!”

The Kladar kids

Thomas

E M ILY: I loved driving for my very first time when I was visiting Mema and G’dad. They let me drive Ernest T. (a.k.a. the Jeep).

I love that Granddad and I always share fishing stories on the phone. I loved going to the Y camp in Estes and staying with Mema and G’dad. TH OM AS :

With Emily

I love that I was born on G’dad’s 76th birthday and that we always celebrate our birthdays at the Texas Roadhouse when they visit us every June. WILL:

ELLIE: When Mema comes, I love sitting on the couch and reading with her. I love going to their house and going down in the “underground.”

GLOBETROTTING The familyâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s world map is dotted with well-earned pins on Hawaii, Antarctica, Europe, China and all spots in between

Pat with Julianna, Katie and Cindy alongside moai statues on Easter Island.

GLOBETROTTING

A Whole New World C I N DY ’ S FO R EI G N-E XC H A N G E P RO G R A M O P E N ED TH E D O O R TO E XP ER IE N C E S I N E A S TER I S L A N D A N D B E YO N D

Pat exploring an archaelogical site on Easter Island.

While we had traveled as a family in the western U.S., we hadn’t done anything abroad. When Cindy was in her senior year of high school, the International Fellowship program had opportunities for North American students to go to South America and vice versa. If you sent an exchange student from your home, then you were obligated to host someone. Cindy applied and was accepted to a program in Chile for nine months. We then had a student from Brazil, Paulo Ivan, stay with us for about six months. Though Cindy went to Chile, her host family was actually from Easter Island. People would send their kids to the continent to go to school because the island’s school only went to the equivalent of about fifth grade. Often relatives would take the kids from Easter Island and room and board them while they went to school. Cindy started out in Chile and then for her Christmas vacation, she went out to Easter Island with one of her host family’s daughters, Sonia. Cindy fell in love with the island.She wanted to go back someday. It’s really kind of ironic. She wanted to go back and stop the tourists. She had left right before her 18th birthday and came home in March. She was able to finish the last part of the senior year in Fort Morgan. Paulo was still at the house at the same time, so they graduated together. Then later while Cindy was in college, Sonia came to stay with us. She ended up being with us about a year and a half. On Easter Island in those days, there was only one boat a year. So if somebody left the island and didn’t come back the next year, the people there just considered them dead because that person was apparently never coming back. We had the feeling that,

after that long of time, Sonia’s family thought that she was our daughter then. She was with us at the same time as another foreign-exchange student we hosted, Gigi. That helped with the language barrier. Sonia had a difficult time learning English, so we sent her to an English-instructional school in Arizona for about two months. That really helped her when she came back to Colorado. Even with both Linda and Cindy gone — Linda married and Cindy at school in Boulder — we still were back to having a full house. Sonia had a cousin, Sergio, who was also staying in the U.S. He was assisting Professor Bill Mulloy at the University of Wyoming in a study of erecting the moai statues on Easter Island. The professor felt he needed someone from the island to help carry on his work after he was gone, so he chose Sergio. Cindy would take Sonia up to the college to see Sergio. They’d make the trip maybe every three weeks or so. Pretty soon, Cindy was going without Sonia. That was the beginning. —PAT

“ If you sent an

e xchange student, you were obligated to host someone.” —PAT

Pat with local kids in Asia

Wheeling through Vietnam

of Antarctica Hawaii WithWaterfalls penguins on

With wildebeests

With Cindy in Antarctica

Surrounded by a snake

Taking flight in Hawaii

With Cindy on the Big Island

Riding an elephant in Asia

GLOBETROTTING

International Thrill Seeker F R O M C L I F F J U M P I N G T O R E M O T E F I S H I N G T O S C U B A D I V I N G , W AY N E H A S R E L I S H E D T H E R U S H O F T R AV E L

We’ve had the opportunity to take some amazing trips. But if I had to name the best thing I’ve ever done, I’d say jumping off a cliff in New Zealand. I climbed this big hill with a guy who had a parachute on his back. He just ran up this hill. There was a big cliff over on the opposite side. He strung out his parachute on the ground. I got my harness on. He got his on. He said, “I’ll pop this parachute out for the wind to catch it. Then we’ve got to really pull, pull till we get to the edge of the cliff. Then jump.” And that’s what we did. Man, when we jumped, we just took off. We were about 1,500 feet above the ground. Cruised around just like a bird. Looked at the ocean, flew over town. He just banked it like we were gliding around. We landed in a soccer field. It cost me 90 bucks. I could do it every day if I didn’t have to pay. That was really fun doing that. Didn’t scare me at all. Only thing was, when we got closer to landing, he said, “You like riding roller coasters?” I said, “Man, that’s one of my favorite things, riding roller coasters and Ferris wheels.” He said, “Well, hang on!” And he just spun that thing around two or three times. I thought, “Oh gosh, that’s enough!” I’d never do that again. That just about made me sick. But otherwise, that was a good trip. One of our best trips was going to Antarctica. That was fun. I also really liked going up into the Amazon jungle. Vietnam was memorable. In Ho Chi Minh City, that’s where the Vietnamese were entrenched during the war. They had caves. We went out to those same areas where those caves were, went through the tunnels. Crawled in one and came out another place.

Man, that was truly an experience I’ll never forget. I think we’ve been down to Easter Island four times. One time I went fishing with some of the locals. Their main fish is tuna. They had made their own wooden boat, about 16 to 18 feet long, with an outboard motor. There were three guys plus me on the boat. We took off from Easter Island, heading southwest. Just as a reminder, Easter Island is in the middle of the South Pacific close to nothing at all. The ocean is about 100 feet deep close to the shore then drops off a shelf to about 2,000 feet deep. The farther we got from land, the smaller the island’s volcanoes looked in the distance. We were out there fishing with a monofilament line about the size of lead in a wooden pencil, so pretty big. They cut a notch in the side of the boat. They told me I better wear leather gloves. We had spinners we’d use to attract the fish, about 8 inches long, trailing them out a long way behind the boat. Then you’d take that line and put them in the notches in the boat. And you had a wooden spool that you put between your feet. But you didn’t dare pick up your feet. If tuna strikes, just turn. Let the line stay and just pull it in. Because if it tangled around your foot and it took off running, you’d hurt your foot. I caught the biggest one that day, 45 pounds. Then the motor quit. I didn’t know what we were going to do. I think these guys just had a screwdriver and a pair of pliers. I figured if we didn’t come in, somebody would come out to help us. They weren’t scared. They were monkeying with that motor. We must have fooled with that thing for an hour. One guy

On the back of this photo of the world traveler, Pat wrote: “Good lookin’!”

Wayne parasails solo off the coast of Cancun.

“

You get up about 300 feet above the water. Man, that is so much fun.” —WAYNE

jerked the rope, and it finally started. An old man wore a woman’s stocking on his head to keep his hair from blowing. Every once in a while, he would look at me and say the same couple of words in English. The words were not relevant — just two or three English words and probably the only English he knew. When we got back to the island, I was told a story about the three men and two boys who went out into the ocean fishing and a large storm came up. They could not get back to the island because the wind was blowing them further away. They drifted possibly 2,000 miles to the Marquesas Islands, in the area of Tahiti that is 3,000 miles southwest of Easter Island. The group survived by catching and eating fish and drinking rain water. They worked their way back to Chile and caught the oncea-year boat back to Easter Island. The islanders were so surprised to see them as they thought they had died in the storm. This story is mentioned in books about Easter Island. My fishing buddy with the stocking on his head was one of those men. I’ve been on a couple really good fishing trips with Phil. One time we flew on up into Canada with his uncle Glenn and brother Tom. We kept flying north until we were close to Churchill, near where polar bears live. We landed on a lake in a float plane and stayed in cabins. We had an Indian guide because all of those islands on those lakes look alike; you’d never find your way home without help. You had to catch fish in the morning if you wanted lunch. We’d catch trout, stop at an island, cook the catch of the day, and eat fish till the world looked level. A good day of fishing is when you catch so many fish you do not keep count. We would

throw a fish back if it didn’t weigh five or six pounds. Pat and I have also been to Europe, China and other places. But the place we’ve been to the most is Mexico. For almost 30 years, we’ve been going down to the Yucatan peninsula. I’ve done primarily sightseeing to go look at ruins and some snorkeling. The resort staff has always said, if you have any interest in scuba diving, meet us at the pool at 10 o’clock. I’ve been thinking about it all these years. I thought if I’m gonna go, I better go. So I went over there a couple years ago. Got into the swimming pool, put all the gear on, air tanks and mask and the thing in the mouth and fins and all that. They gave us instructions in the swimming pool for about two hours. Then after lunch, we got on a dive boat. The way you get out of a boat with scuba gear on, you sit on the edge and fall in backward. As you descend, you have to stop about every three feet and equalize the pressure on your ears. We went down 40 feet below the surface and just swam around. We saw a lot of fish. Stayed down there till our air tanks were low, then it was time to come up. Came up the same way, slow, slow. Now since I’ve done it once, I think I’d go again and it would probably be more fun. I was too nervous about doing everything right. Another thing I like to do in Mexico is parasail behind a boat. You get up about 300 feet above the water. I like to go up by myself in a harness. They have some with two seats, but that’s like washing your feet with your socks on. It’s more fun to just go by yourself and just look. Man, that is so much fun — the next best thing to jumping off a cliff. —WAYNE

THE JEEP

Put the top down! The story behind the familyâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s beloved cherry-red all-terrain vehicle is finally revealed

Grandkids take the wheel at Katie’s wedding.

The Kladar kids join Mema with the ragtop rolled up.

Wayne and Pat’s view of Old Fall River Road.

Kellie with Peeps, Gdad and the Jeep — with none showing signs of slowing down.

THE JEEP

The Icon of Estes A C L A S S I C I N E V E R Y S E N S E . B U T H O W D O Y O U S P E L L “ U U U U G G G A A A” ?

Moving to the mountains and Estes Park, it didn’t take long to realize we really would enjoy a Jeep … and what to our wondering eyes should appear — a cherry-red Jeep with a ragtop! Purred like a kitten, climbed mountains like a goat and sometimes rode like a bucking bronco. This was Katie’s “car” when she was in high school and classmates loved it, perhaps more than she did as they always knew where Katie was — at school, driving down to Allenspark, at the gas station or just stranded. You see, oftentimes Ernest T would not start when Katie was ready to go somewhere. She would call Mom and Dad and say, “Dad, the Jeep won’t start. I have wiggled the wires under the hood, but it just won’t start.” So no matter the hour of day or night, Dad would go out to rescue her. He would get in the driver’s seat, turn the key and Ernest T would start without hesitation. The saga continued through her high school career and to this day. We have enjoyed trips through Pierson Park, across Buffalo Pass between Steamboat Springs and North Park, over Old Fall River Road and just around town. But now, we do well to put 50 miles on it in a summer’s time. Perhaps the most important role of Ernest T for most of the grandchildren, it was the vehicle of their first driving experience. Then, of course, they loved it when I took them to camp at the YMCA as everyone loved to honk the “uuuugggaaa” as we passed others along the way. They especially loved riding down Main Street, honking the horn and getting a “thumbs up” from the tourists. Kellie and Shannon named it “Peeps’ Jeep” and that name has stuck. There are a lot of special stories about Ernest T. To this day, it is an icon of Estes! —PAT The Jeep today, r epainted for the first time.

THE CELE TO MARK THEIR 60TH WEDDING ANNIVERSARY, PAT AND WAYNE TREA

E BRATION T THEIR LOVED ONES TO THE ULTIMATE FAMILY REUNION IN MEXICO

“ When we celebrated our 50th, there were 19 of us. We almost doubled that to 35. A lot of miracles happened in those 10 years.” —PAT

Cancun 2002 for Pat and Wayne’s 50th wedding anniversary.

The original Newsoms 2012: Wayne, Pat, Linda, Cindy, Karen and Katie.

The Taubers

L IN DA , C H R IS , SAG E , TR IC IA , RYA N

The boys may have moved to Florida and Texas (alas Brownsville, not Hereford). The sisters have made their homes in Minnesota — when they aren’t making themselves at home at Granny and Granddad’s, that is.

The Rapus & Leongs

C IN DY, M ATAâ&#x20AC;&#x2122; U, E L E N A , J UL IA N N A , J O H N , TE A RA , H E IKURA , M ATAO RA

Julianna met John and started their beautiful family in Hawaii. Mataâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;u and Elena were married on Maui, then have split time between Minnesota, Easter Island and their next adventures.

The Thompsons

KA R E N , S COTT, K E L L IE , S H A N N O N

Few can resist the call of Estes, including Karen and Scott, whoâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;ve set up home base there as a place for Kellie and Shannon when they arenâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t exploring everywhere from the jungles of Central America to backcountry of New Zealand.

The Kladars

KATIE , P H IL , SA RA H , E M ILY, TH OM AS , W IL L , ELLIE

Granddad and Phil can fight it out over which is the true heaven on earth: Estes Park or Couer d’Alene. Undisputed is the fact that the fishing is much better in Idaho. The hiking’s not bad either. And there’s pretty snow but no lawn-munching elk. Hmmm...

“

We have grandkids from age 5 to 40. That’s quite a span for one generation.” —PAT

The 13 grandkids with Granddad and Granny/Peeps/Mema

The Taubers II

The Nielsons

Vic kicked off the fourth generation in 2002, as Chris and Michelle settled down in Orlando. Granted, it may be only 106 feet above sea level, but the roller coasters can seem a mile high.

As native Minnesotans, these great-grandkids know their way around snowpants. And thanks to trips to Estes, they know their way around Granny and Granddadâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s mountains.

CHR I S, MI CH E L L E , V I C, LOU, FRA NK , T I L L IE

TR IC IA , J E R E MY, AVERY, LIVIA

The Kladars at Chichen Itza

TeAra in Coba

The Taubers in Tulum

Sage climbing Nohoch Mul in Coba

Mataâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;u and Elena atop Coba

Avery at Tulum

Frank and Chris in Coba

Leongs, Sage and Rapus at Coba

Yajaira and Ryan

Coffee talk

TeAra, Heikura and little Mataora

“ I loved visiting

the archeological sites with the big extended family and all the little kids running around.” — M ATA’ U

Kladar and Tauber buds

Kladar and Thompson girls

Michelle and Vic at the epic buffet 89

Tricia and Jeremy poolside

Livia, Linda and the pool gang

Phil and Will

Kladar and Leong kids

Michelle and Mataora

Avery, Thomas and Vic

Emily, Frank, Thomas and Ellie 90

In town with the Thompsons, Granddad and Peeps

Jeremy and Sage

8 Taubers + 2 Nielsons in downtown Cancun

Ellie and Mema at Xcaret

Granddad, Bandito, Cindy

The happy couple

“ Everything about

the Mexico trip was AWESOME!” —T H O M A S

Katie and Julianna

Sarah swings away.

Phil and Ellie take five.

Vic has a go.

Granny and Cindy

Emily 92 and TeAra

Yajaira’s great idea to do a piñata was a huge hit in every sense.

Tillie, Livia and Frank show off their reunion t-shirts.

“ The night with

the piñatas was my favorite. We had so much fun whacking them with all of our cousins!” —V I C Tillie and Sarah

After the piñatas, the boys couldn’t resist an impromptu game of football in the courtyard.

Boy cousins unite.

Katie sports a scarf she received in the family gift exchange.

It’s a match! Sarah reveals her prophetic “Secret Santa”gift.

Avery models his new hat.

John and Mataora

“ My favorite memory

was taking a step back and seeing what has been created by Granny and Granddad’s love.” —RYAN

Hot sauce for Phil!

Scott kept Tillie entertained throughout the festivities.

Kellie rocks her new headband.

Thomas and Granddad enjoying the gift exchange.

Thomas, Vic and Lou received Mexican luchador wrestling masks. 95

Family togetherness: When the gift exchange wrapped, Phil read a poem heâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;d written for Granny and Granddad (right).

WHAT IS A MEMA? “What is a ‘Mema’?” you may ask and ponder. A mythical legend? A mystical wonder? No. Memas are real. We’ve had one for years. I’ve seen with my own eyes, heard with my own ears. Her talents are many, her skills are immense. Her wisdom is longer than a West Texas fence. Memas are foundations for families to grow Solid like so many bricks in a row. Memas are mothers, sisters and wives Who give so much to others, all of their lives. They can cook for a houseful and tirelessly entertain, Remembering birthdays, graduations and grandchildren’s middle names. But there is one thing that Memas teach us more than anything else: To love one another, more than ourselves. — PHIL

THE CELEBRATION

A Celebration Surprise T H E E X C H A N G E S T U D E N T S W H O B E C A M E P A R T O F T H E FA M I LY M A D E A G U E S T A P P E A R A N C E I N M E X I C O

Paulo Esteves A native of Andradina, Brazil, Paulo attended Fort Morgan High School while living with Pat and Wayne. He and girlfriend Nicole gifted everyone with prized Havaianas flipflops from Brazil. Obrigado, Paulo!

Gigi Zanoni Also from Brazil, Gigi was the second foreign exchange student taken in by Pat and Wayne. Despite the language difference (no Portugese speakers in the Newsom clan), Gigi has remained close to her hosts.

“We have always felt a special bond with Paulo and Gigi.” — PAT

Granny and Gigi e xchanging gifts.

The Original Newsoms

SEPT. 23, 1972: Chris Tauber

SEPT. 21, 1974: Sage Tauber

NOV. 30, 1978: Julianna (Rapu) Leong

JUNE 6, 1979: Tricia (Tauber) Nielson

JULY 26, 1997 (wedding): Phil Kladar

JUNE 12, 1998: Sarah Kladar

NOV. 12, 1999: Emily Kladar

FEB. 20, 2000 (wedding): Michelle Tauber

APRIL 13, 2002: Thomas Kladar

JULY 1, 2006: TeAra Leong

JULY 19, 2007: Frank Tauber

JULY 28, 2007 (wedding): Yajaira Tauber

OCT. 22, 2007: Ellie Kladar

MARCH 16, 2008: Avery Nielson

WATCH OUR FAMILY GROW! From the first grandchild to the newest great-grandchild—plus in-laws along the way—Pat and Wayne’s brood always has room for more

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MAY 6, 1982: Mata’u Rapu

APRIL 16, 1983 (wedding): Scott Thompson

NOV. 9, 2002: Vic Tauber

DEC. 17, 2002 (wedding): Jeremy Nielson

APRIL 29, 2009: Tillie Tauber

MAY 11, 2009: Heikura Leong

OCT. 16, 1983: Ryan Tauber

JAN. 4, 2003 (wedding): John Leong

FEB. 18, 2011: Livia Nielson

FEB. 10, 1988: Kellie Thompson

DEC. 19, 1989: Shannon Thompson

FEB. 1, 2005: Lou Tauber

JUNE 20, 2005: Will Kladar

AUG. 5, 2011 (wedding): Elena Rapu

JAN. 7, 2012: Mataora Leong

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C INDY

THE LOOK OF A NEWSOM

KAREN

Who looks like Wayne? The sly smile, those sweet eyes? And who looks like Patty? A strong brow does seem to run in the family...

LINDA

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KAT IE

RYA N

CH RI S

SHANNON

ELLIE

KELLIE

MATA’U

T RIC IA

EMILY

J UL IA N N A

T HOMAS

SAGE

WILL

SARAH 103

195 2

1 95 9

1 956

BEST FRIENDS FOR LIFE From their wedding day to their golden years, Pat and Wayne have always had each other 1 978

198 4 104

1 98 2

1 98 6

1 98 8

1999

1 9 97

2006

“ We are each other’s

rocks. We both know we will be there for one another. Always.” —PAT

1994

201 3 105

WHAT WE’VE LEARNED You must always like yourself. A spoken word is something that can never be taken back. Always tell the truth. You can always remember the truth but have trouble remembering lies. Always treat everyone with respect and as you would want to be treated. Treat your friends like family and your family like friends. Always be honest.

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“We are so proud of

each and every one of you, from our daughters to the youngest great-grandchild. There’s so much love in this family.” — PAT A N D WAY N E