Good living in west frankfort christmas issuu2

Good Living In

West Frankfort

No. 20 Fall/Winter 2013

Showcasing the People, Places and Pride of West Frankfort, Illinois

Holiday Issue

Christmas Memories The Word For Winter Stained Glass Splendor Send In The Cows Christmas Recipes Touching A Spot Farewell Friends Christmas in Wartime: WWII Bless The Beasts The Wandering Wiseman

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Good Living In

West Frankfort

Publisher’s Letter

T

he Publisher’s Letters that I write for the Christmas issues of Good Living in West Frankfort are always difficult for me. It isn’t that I don’t have anything to say, but on the contrary, I have too many things to say. My heart is always overflowing with good wishes for our readers and gratitude for our advertisers. I want this issue especially to be full of good feelings, nostalgia, and I hope fervently that each of you will find something here that touches you, makes you smile, cry, and makes you feel good.

I find stories here that brought out all of those emotions. Of course the stained glass windows at St. John’s Church are personally special to me. I was baptized there and married there. However, we chose the story, not for that reason, but because they represent precious fine art in our community. Little is known about their history, and you can’t see their beauty from outside the church. We wanted to record and preserve what information we could about them, the same reason that we choose so many other stories for our magazine.

Michael and I have used few freelance pieces over the years, but two of our past contributors are so special to us that we chose to reprint two of their articles that we had run when we were publishing Good Living in Southern Illinois. Gary Marx has been our favorite columnist ever since he wrote for The Southern years ago, and we still laugh at his anecdotes about growing up in the days of “Whoa snow.” Billy Coffey is a published author, and his “The Wandering Wiseman” is still one of our all time favorites.

A local writer and friend, Tim Hastings has offered us an article about his father, Robert Hastings and his book, “A Nickel’s Worth of Skim Milk”. If somehow you’ve missed it, it’s a great read and still in print. We are proud to have Tim’s memoir in our magazine.

The World War II letters home and my story of the hickory nut pie both touch a spot deep inside of me, as I hope they do you. These are just the main articles that you will find here. There are others. Please don’t overlook the most important of all. The ads that you see within these pages are provided by businesses that want to put this gift in your hands, perhaps just to remind you that even in the worst of times, in America, in our little town, it can still be the best of times.

Michael and I send you our wishes for a season filled with the peace that surpasses understanding, the love of friends and family and the kindness of strangers. God bless you all.

Gail Rissi Thomas, Publisher 3

OUR ADVERTISERS MAKE THIS MAGAZINE POSSIBLE A Day 2 Remember .................................. pg. 12 Aaron Hopkins, Attorney ......................... pg. 43 All American Hearing .............................. pg. 13 Banterra Bank ........................................ pg. 23 Browning Clark Auto Repair .................. pg. 11 Calico Country Sew & Vac .................... pg. 4 Coleman-Rhoads Furniture .................. pg. 13 Dogwood Ridge Bistro & Gifts ........... pg. 27 Dr. Michael Clay, Dentistry ............... pg. 28 Dr. Stephen Ponton, Foot Clinic ..........pg. 44 Dr. Toni Young-Norman, Orthodontist..pg. 16 E.R. Brown Furniture .......................... pg. 15 Frankfort Area Historical Museum ..... Back Gandy’s Auto Body Shop ..................... pg. 36 Guaranteed Property Solutions ............. pg. 17 G. L. Williams Real Estate ...................... pg. 30 Heights Market ........................................ pg. 35 Herron Chiropractic ............................. pg. 46 Howell Insurance ...................................... pg. 23 JenRuss Glass Design ............................... pg. 47 Johnson Real Estate ................................. pg. 27 Jordan Murphy Tatoos ............................ pg. 41 Lucas Bros. Honker Hill Winery ............ pg. 4 Kreative Design Showcase ........................ pg. 23 McCollom Real Estate ............................. pg. 47 McCord’s Market ..................................... pg. 26 McDonald’s ................................................ pg. 33 Mike Riva, Attorney .................................. pg. 8 Miranda’s On Main ................................... pg. 31 Nolen Chiropractic Clinic ......................... pg. 16 Origami Owl Custom Jewelry ................. pg. 19 Papa John’s Pizza ..................................... pg. 37 Parker-Reedy Funeral Home ................... pg. 20 PDO Design Group .................................... pg. 47 Professional Pharmacy .............................. pg. 2 Ramey Insurance ....................................... pg. 30 Rich’s Appliances ...................................... pg. 19 Rich’s Balloons & Party Shop .................... pg. 44 ReMax Realty ............................................. pg. 29 Sage Psychiatry, LLC ................................. pg. 28 Sandy’s Flowers & Gifts ............................ pg. 30 Severin Garden Center .............................. pg. 12 Southern Illinois Bank ............................. pg. 29 Stotlar-Herrin Lumber ............................. pg. 45 Union Funeral Home ................................ pg. 40 Weeks Chevy-Buick-GMC ...................... pg. 46 WF Chamber of Commerce ...................... pg. 47 WF City Hall .............................................. pg. 29 Contact Michael A. Thomas at 937-2019 if you wish to advertise in “Good Living in West Frankfort”.

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Good Living in

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Winter 2013

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Good Living In

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No.20 Winter 2013

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Table of Contents

Readers share their memories and photos of Christmases long, long ago.

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Robert Hasting’s “A Nickel’s Worth of Skim Milk”told stories of the Great Depression. His son, Tim, wonders about whose cows gave that milk.

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14 18

Have you ever heard of “Whoa Snow?” Writer Gary Marx explains.

”Stained Glass Splendor” examines the wonderful artistic treasures of the windows of St. John’s Catholic Church.

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27 27 38

32

Hickory Nut Pie is not everyone’s favorite choice. But for one man, it touched a spot deep in his heart.

32 34 42 38 34

We say farewell to two of West Frankfort’s longtime furniture businesses.

It was a different kind of Christmas for our nation and West Frankfort during WWII.

Thinking of getting a pet this Christmas?

“Bless The Beasts” gives you advice on where to look in Southern Illinois.

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A family’s Christmas Tradition is literally shattered and then made stronger. Author Billy Coffey shares a heartwarming story.

Good Living in West Frankfort is a magazine about the people, places and pride of West Frankfort. Our goal is to showcase interesting, unique and previously unpublished stories about the citizens, events and places in our community in a positive manner.

Good Living in West Frankfort provides businesses the choice to advertise in a high-quality full-color venue at affordable prices. This magazine is free to our readers because of those advertisers.

No portion of this publication, including photos and advertisements, may be reproduced in any manner without the expressed consent of Good Life Publications . ©2013 Cover graphic by Michael A. Thomas. Good Life Publications wish all our readers a Blessed Christmas and a Happy New Year.

Good Living In

West Frankfort A production of Good Life Publications 309 East Oak Street West Frankfort, IL 62896 (618) 937-2019

E-mail Contact: GoodLifePublications@Gmail.com Good Living in

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Winter 2013

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Christmas Memories

Our Readers share photos and memories of Christmases Long, Long Ago!

under his arm, a sight I will never forget. We slowly made our way back to WF, my Mom so happy, waitt was Christmas Eve, 1969. My husband, Frank, ing with coffee and cake. Little did we know as we had been drafted into military service the preced- celebrated that year that it would be my beloved mothing May, as the Viet Nam war was becoming very er’s last Christmas. She died the next May. You never severe. He was flying home for Christmas and I was know what is ahead, a very special reason to cherish so excited. I had dressed up “to the nines” as was a those precious moments with those you love the most. common statement, and my family was all gathering at my parent’s home for a light dinner prior to Midnight Tiny Tears (submitted by Linda Hogan) Mass. As they arrived, they stated that it had started y sister Kim was born on December 22, 1966 to sleet. We were all busy enjoying the festivities and in West Frankfort and she came home from food. I knew Frank’s plane was due in St. Louis before the hospital with my mom on Christmas Day. long and my heart was a flutter. We were both so looking forward to attending Mass together. As my family The whole extended family was gathered at our house began to leave, we could see the weather was really to welcome home this little Christmas baby. My niece bad. It wasn’t long before I received a call. Frank was Angie (Rich) was 2 years old at that time and had her in St. Louis but all flights to Southern Illinois had been little doll that she had just received as a Christmas gift. grounded. He said the plan was to put them on a bus. Mom walked in the door with baby Kim and she genMy heart sank as I knew any plans for Mass were gone tly laid the sleeping baby into a bassinette. Angie’s eye as it would take several hours for a bus to travel that far grew wide with excitement, especially when Kim woke with the weather. As I helped my Mom clean up the up and began to cry. “I want that dolly in the bassidishes, we were anxious but enjoyed being together and nette,” Angie exclaimed. Well, back in the day they watched Mass from the Vatican on TV. As the hours didn’t make dolls that cried or wet or made sounds, so ticked by, we prayed for Frank’s safe journey. Around Angie was very disappointed when we all told her that 3 am, we received a call that the bus was anticipated she couldn’t have Kim as her dolly and that she would within the hour. My precious Daddy warmed the car have to keep the dolly she had gotten for Christmas. and we made the trip to Marion on icy roads, taking Angie would have none of it. She threw her dolly across almost an hour and 20 minutes to get there. My smiling the room in disgust and began to cry. I’ll never forget husband was waiting in uniform and came out of the that Christmas! terminal carrying the Christmas present for my parents I’ll Be Home For Christmas (submitted by Carla Scobby)

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I Saw Granmda Kissing Santa (submitted by Susan Tre-

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goning)

hristmas Eve at Grandma’s house was always a special occasion. A fire would be burning in the hearth, so hot that no one but my mother could stand to sit near it. The Christmas tree was so laden down with presents they would spill out into the room, hardly leaving any space for us to sit and my father would be standing in the hallway because we just could not fit one more person in!

I remember one extra special Christmas Eve. I was 15, and the house was even more packed than normal.

We had a huge gathering of extended family: my GreatAunt Flo and Uncle Keith as well as many from my Uncle Mike’s side of the family came for Christmas.

Unbeknownst to me, we would have one more special guest that night… SANTA!!!

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The Sound of Music (submitted by Sue McCord)

rowing up in a large family, the youngest of six children, I could have written about many special times and wonderful Christmas memories.

Indeed, it was a difficult choice. However, I think I will have to fast-forward beyond my childhood experiences to my less idealistic times with my own young children, helping to create Christmas memories for them. Those were the usual festivities: cookie baking, painting their favorite ceramic ornaments and of course, decorating the tree.

There was one memorable Christmas when Kim and Valerie were quite small that they were to participate in a performance of “The Nutcracker,” under direction of Jo Lynda Aaron at the high school auditorium. After months of practice, costumes being made and everything perfected, just days before the production, Valerie There was a knock at the door. I remember Grandma had a leg injury, forcing her to walk with crutches. Of Vera saying, “Well, who could that be?” in a tone that course, she was unable to dance and was heartbroken as she sat in the audience, tearfully watching her sister and told me she knew exactly “who” was at the door! the other ballerinas dancing onstage.

Santa had arrived! We each took our turn sitting on Probably the extended family’s favorite tradition beSanta’s lap and having our pictures taken. Soon it was gan as Kim and Valerie, along with their cousins, RichGrandma’s turn. She hopped right up on Santa’s lap.

She was hugging and kissing on Santa and whisper- ard and Heath Neibch, began to play musical instruing in his ear. I think Santa even blushed at one point! ments and entertain us all on Christmas Day. The four That was when we knew that Grandma really wasn’t as young musicians would gather at my parents’ home “clued in” as she thought she was. Apparently, Santa week after week to plan, write the script, and then prachad been too busy to stop by our house and had sent one tice for their upcoming performance. of his helpers in his place. Grandma didn’t know this For their first year’s Santa, like she thought she did! Who knows what she production, they dewhispered in his ear, but we think Santa just thought signed their own proshe had been drinking! grams from wrapping paper. One particular I’ll always remember this Christmas as the year that Christmas Day after Grandma got fresh with Santa! a traditional dinner around the antique dining table, and a Christmas Eve, 1971, small gift exchange, West Frankfort’s favorwe congregated in my ite Santa, Gordon Hermother’s living room ron, gets his snowy white beard tickled by Vera to witness the first of Rissi as she sits on his several musical perlap. Herron made several Kim McCord (r) dances with formances. The chilhome visits each Christanother girl as part of a permas Eve in West Frankdren’s aunts, uncles formance of “The Nutcrackfort and also made many and cousins were all appearances throughout er” put on by Jo Lynda Aaron’s present to encourage West Frankfort during Dance Studio. the Holiday Season. them in their endeavors.

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With ten-year-old Kim seated at her grandmother’s ancient upright piano, Heath, the chosen master of ceremonies, introduced the other performers. His brother, Richard, was on the saxophone, cousin Valerie on the clarinet. Heath played trumpet to open the show with a squeaky rendition of “Away in the Manger.”

He then introduced Valerie, dressed in her angel costume from Halloween, who performed ”Silent Night.”

red band uniforms to look more festive. On occasion, a poem was even read, written by those young kids who today are responsible adults creating special memories for their own children. Even now, the aunts and uncles love to remember those “good old days,” when we had live entertainment at our family gatherings.

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Double Blessed (submitted by Tara Fasol) always feel “double” blessed, but the Christmas season seems to remind you of the true blessings that we sometimes forget. Here “She can sing like a recently, as we ficanary,” he read from the nally got two very script. On and on the mu- sick babies back sic went, with Kim ac- to sleep, two giant companying Richard on a blessings occurred saxophone solo, with more to me…I felt blessed than one sour note heard to be cleaning up from both instruments. puke at home and to Sue McCord’s musical children and nephews wore their red elHeath then introduced the be able to spend the ementary band uniforms to look last number as “a lovely next few days rockmore festive for family holiday young flutist,” and Kim ing sick and pitiful musical productions. Shown is flutist Kim McCord. closed the program with babies…because it Twins Zach and Bella Chambers stare in wonder at their Christmas Tree.

“O Holy Night.” doesn’t happen to us This was all followed by an abundance of applause by often. the proud family audience and of course, the proudest They are healthy and not usually sick, unlike many of all, Grandma. As thee years went by the instruments others who have nurses they know by name and the squeaked less and fewer missed note were heard on the route to the children’s hospital and St. Jude programmed piano. In some later years, they even chose to wear their into their GPS. I am so blessed that them being sick is a weird and uncommon thing for us.

I thank God for that because it is an absolute blessing that could easily be overlooked. We could easily get lost in the sounds of Bella and Zakk laughing and forget that many desperately want nothing more than to see a smile on their child’s face. Secondly, I realized how lucky I am to not be alone in these times. My wonderful husband, who spoils me daily, one ups himself in these moments in an even more important role, daddy to our babies. Bella clung to her daddy and shivered without any energy to even hold her little head up after being so sick. He rocked her and rubbed her back as she patted Kalleigh Baniak, Sam Dziadus and Ella Dziadus his the same and whispered, “I love 8

Good Living in

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you” to him because she could feel how much he loves her. It’s precious and I’m so relieved that both my babies get to have that, because I had that and still have it from my own daddy. Having a daddy who loves you to the moon and back is truly a gift that makes your life whole, holidays and all the other days of the year. Some babies don’t get to receive that gift and I’m grateful for the family I have with this wonderful man I’m not sure why I deserve any of these amazing people or the blessed path that we are on but when you have someone else’s vomit on your shirt and you can still say your life is tremendous and blessed, there is no better gifts that can be given.

Snow Sculptures (submitted by Janet Wood) n 1969, my dad, Robert Swafford, built a snow elephant for me. In 1984 he built another snow elephant for my daughters, Alana and Melodee. He used to build snowmen of all shapes and sizes: bunny’s, patriotic, tall thin snowmen that leaned over as they melted.

He was always game for playing in the snow. Maybe if it snows this year he will build one for my grandkids.

(Continued on page 33)

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The Reluctant Cowboys (submitted my Sherry Hanna)

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arry Warren and wife Myrna corral sons Brad and Bruce for a Christmas morning photo in the early 1960’s. Contributor Sherri Hanna sheds some background on the photo: “Our family would meet at Mom and Dad’s to open gifts on Christmas Eve and return on Christmas Day for dinner. Mom’s homemade chicken and noodles and all the trimmings was a family tradition for many years. The family now meets at my home on Christmas Day for dinner and Brad is now the official homemade noodle maker using his Grandma Warren’s recipe.” In the photo below, Brad is the boy who doesn’t look too happy about being a cowboy.

1969 (above) 1984 (below)

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Send In The Cows Impressions of the Depression

as he wrote. I think this kept his mind focused on his work. I know he also chose this position so we couldn’t see him cry. I remember periods of time when he sat quietly not touching the typewriter. I’ve always thought he was crying in those moments. He later said he laughed and cried while writing the book. .

I don’t remember ever hearing him laugh as he wrote. He finished the book well before Christmas.

Dad cried over the hunger that was a reality for many during the Depression. He never went hungry, but he said there were things he did hunger for; especially fresh milk. When the Marion City Dairy drastically reduced the price of skim milk during the Depression, dad wrote that it was, “the most fabulous offer that anyone could possibly imagine”.

He named his book for the price the dairy charged to fill any container with as much skim milk as one person could carry.

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By Tim Hastings was not alive during The Great Depression; however I have spent years contemplating it because of my father’s stories. People have been asking me for over 40 years if I was related to the man who (as many put it) “wrote the book about the buttermilk.” I was always proud to tell them that Robert Hastings was my father, and I have vivid memories of watching him write the book, “A Nickel’s Worth of Skim Milk: A Boy’s View of the Great Depression.”

lost his mother. I’ve always believed writing stories about his childhood in Marion, Illinois, was his way of grieving his loss. My grandmother believed my dad was born to become a great pastor. I’m sure that’s why she and my grandfather put special efforts into making sure my dad had a safe and healthy childhood.

I was moved at the sight of him typing the manuscript in the basement of our home in Carbondale.

He started each night after supper, not even bothering to change out of the clothes he wore to his day job as editor of The Illinois Baptist weekly Dad started the project when I was newspaper. a junior in high school. It was September 1970, and my dad had just He faced a wall in the basement 10

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“So long as that offer stood,” dad wrote, “each Saturday found me at the dairy with our water bucket. We had real ice cold dairy milk with Post Toasties for breakfast, in hot cocoa for dinner, with cornbread for supper, and over sliced bananas in between.” For a good laugh, I’ve enjoyed reading my dad’s memory of delivering a homegrown, hand dressed chicken to his pastor as payment for a funeral.

Before the book was published, I had never warmed up to the idea that there was anything special about living through the Depression. I can’t remember for sure if I had ever heard Dad tell about the episode with the skim milk. I do remember being repulsed in grade school every time he mixed himself a glass of powdered

as if he were examining a newborn child. Since I was the baby of our family and dad was not yet a grandparent, I had never seen him welcome a “new child” into the family.

When dad passed on January 17, 1997, I automatically began composing phrases in my head of things I might say in his eulogy. I must have started thinking about “Skim Milk,” for suddenly I sat bolt upright in my chair asking myself, “Where did the cows live which furnished the milk my dad treasured as a child?” I beMarion Township High School (MTHS) senior Robert Hastings, shown typing at left, edits the came obsessed with the question. school newspaper, “The Newsette,” in 1942. Staff pictured, from left, are Troy Wilkinson, Anna “We talked and talked about the June King, Hastings, Elsie Fries, J. C. Mitchell, and Edith Fietsam. (Photo from MTHS yearmilk,” I said to myself. “Why didn’t book, “The Memory Kit.”) we ever talk about the cows?” I felt skim milk, cooled it down with ice to Springfield, so when I went to we had neglected the cows; and that cubes, crumbled cornbread in it, and SIU to register for classes in Au- we needed to thank them, or at least gust 1972, Dad asked me to pick up the farmers who raised them. Sevate it with a spoon. two or three cartons of the book just eral years later I realized that in his own way my dad had thanked the Dad and I had other differences. completed at SIU Press. farmers.

I protested the Vietnam War and begged my dad (unsuccessfully) not I met my dad at the First Baptist to vote for Richard Nixon in 1968. I Church of Taylorville, just south of When Dad retired, he stayed active wasn’t exactly the greatest follower Springfield. Under bright sunshine, in writing and speaking. However, of the Baptist faith that my dad es- standing on the church’s green lawn, he longed to be involved in some poused. I planned to ditch the church I watched my dad wordlessly turn kind of team effort to serve oththe book over and over in his hands ers. He tried Habitat for Humanity, as soon as I was on my own.

But when Dad finished his manuscript, I wanted to get in on some of the notoriety. I asked my friend and classmate Andy Piper if his dad, a professor of English at SIU wanted to look at the manuscript.

Mr. Piper said yes and invited us to dinner. I waited until we were walking downstairs to leave for Carbondale before telling Dad, “Bring your manuscript. The Pipers want to see it.”

Merry Christmas

“You’re kidding!” he said One and a half years later, I was the first person in the family to see the printed book. We had moved

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Prison Fellowship's Angel Tree, and even joined a fellowship of hospital chaplains. Then he learned about a community-wide effort to assist the family of a young Amish boy who had survived a debilitating farm accident.

People from all walks of life helped the family with medical bills, travel assistance, and home repairs. Dad joined the group and wrote a book about the accident and the show of good will. It was called "Samuel: The Amish Boy Who Lived." All proceeds went to Samuel’s family.

One of the greatest tributes paid to my dad at his memorial service in Springfield was the arrival of approximately nine members of Samuel’s family. They had done all of their chores that morning (including milking cows), and hired a van to drive them to Springfield because their faith community does not own automobiles.

would say they could never convey their thanks to my dad for his gift to them.

My father’s book about milk still has an attraction for me. Late this past summer I got the blues one night. Normally at those times, I pull out a journal in which I record miraculous things God has done in my life. I couldn’t find the journal, so I turned instead to my bookshelf and pulled down my copy of “Skim Milk.” The book’s brown cover and the slightly oversized Roman typeface throughout its pages always convey warmth and comfort. I reread the familiar story on page five of how the dairymen satisfied my father’s thirst. My soul rested in those good memories.

Through all these experiences I have learned that something as simple as a nickel’s worth of skim milk, when given in love, is priceless. I have also learned that in God’s mysteriI did not mention cows in my eu- ous economy, even priceless things logy. I did express my appreciation somehow increase in value every for the way my father taught me to time we give them to someone else. love words. I often picture my father as a craftsman picking gold and My dad left the perfect summary silver letters of the alphabet out of of his experiences in the Great Develvet lined toolbox, and holding pression in an episode of his Tinythem up to the light as he polishes burg Tales radio series recorded in them. I told the mourners, “My fa- the 1990s. In the story, a group of ther was to words what Tiffany was senior citizens of Tinyburg relate to diamonds.” But I could not outdo their experiences from the Depreswhat Samuel’s family said with their sion to a group of sixth grade stuunspoken tribute. And I’m sure they dents at Tinyburg Grade School.

At the conclusion of the episode, a student asks what the seniors miss most about the Depression. A Mr. Charles Rodd answers, “I guess it was the togetherness, the friendship of knowing that you were not in it alone, that there was somebody to help you through those dark, dark days.”

Looking back at what I have written, I’m reminded of my dad’s words at the end of "Skim Milk", "Now I've gone and said more than I meant. I just wanted to say that when I was a young boy, I received a bucket of skim milk and it sure tasted good!"

Robert Hastings, author of “A Nickel’s Worth of Skim Milk,” edits “The Illinois Baptist” weekly newspaper at his desk in Springfield, Illinois, in 1983.

“A Nickel’s Worth of Skim Milk” is available on the SIU Press website. “Samuel”, which now has the subtitle, “The Inspiring Story of How an Amish Boy's Tragedy Brought Two Worlds Together” is available on Amazon.com )

Merry Christmas

618.932-2424 114 West Main Street West Frankfort, IL 62896 •••••••• www.day-2-remember.com angela@day-2-remember.com

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Winter�

The Word for

By Gary Marx

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Good Living in

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ou know, if it weren’t for the cold and snow and the ice and wind, winter wouldn’t be so bad. But winter has an annoying tendency to get wintry, doesn’t it?

Whenever you went out into a snow like this, it took some preparation.

Actually, there’s a science to it. You want to be warm enough, but you don’t want to be so bundled up that you can’t move and protect yourself when your brother comes at you I developed an attitude toward the with a shovel. season early on, during those prehistoric days of childhood. We lived So you followed a certain protocol up north back then, and we’d get a when getting dressed. First came the lot of snowstorms. And at least once long johns, then a pair of socks, and every winter, we’d just get ham- you tucked the long johns into the mered. socks to prevent what is known as thermal creep. Nothing worse than They say the Eskimos have hun- a pair of rebellious long johns. dreds of words for snow, depending on the type. My brother and I had a Then came the insulated top, the word for the deep and drifting snow second pair of socks, the jeans left by one of these storms. and a shirt. At the back door you slipped into a hooded sweatshirt The word was “Whoa!” and a pair of rubber boots, and then you punched yourself into a heavy If one of us woke up and looked out coat and pulled on a knit cap. The the window and said, “Whoa!” the last thing you grabbed was a pair other would know exactly what he of gloves and a meant. sense of dread.

“Whoa snow” was a good snow, especially if it came on a school day and if you could go out and just play in it. But if it were cold and windy — even if it canceled school — you just wanted to stay inside, and “whoa snow” became something else. It was then called “whoa-ohno snow.”

The wind hit us just as we left the back door.

Dad had started the work and had two shovels waiting for us. Once we got started, he disappeared.

Even tougher love.

It was after one of those whoa-ohno snows, which came, unfortunately on a Saturday, that Dad hustled My brother, two us outside to help him shovel the years older than driveway. Tough love.

I, would assume the role of foreI know now that the driveway was man in situations only a few hundred square feet, but like this, and he back then it seemed like 40 acres. pretty much told The distance from the garage to the me how to grip street was here to eternity. my shovel and which way to

throw the snow and how I was to hold my mouth while doing so.

He would grow up to become an architect, but even back then he had definite ideas on how to build structures and organize construction projects. So he had a particular notion about how the snow was to be removed from the driveway and where it was to be stacked. Snow was never “piled” on my brother’s watch, it was always “stacked.”

His idea was to build a wall to act as a shield against the wind, to stop further drifting in the driveway. I recognized the nobility of his vision, but his work process and my role as grunt laborer merely added to my misery, which was compounded by the fact that somehow snow had seeped into my boots and now my toes were feeling squishy.

Merry Christmas

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(618) 932-2012 Good Living in

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Thankfully, though, we finished the ed them in the direct heat. job in just under 14 hours. Or so it seemed.

There are times today, like right now, that I am still warmed by this Back inside I knocked snow from memory. And I don’t mind winter my boots, and while hanging up at all. As a matter of fact, I apprecimy wet winter wear I stole a glance ate it. Meanwhile, Mom had made out the window. It was still blowing some hot chocolate and brought and snow was drifting in open ar- each of us a steaming mug. With eas, but my brother’s wall of snow, I marshmallows. was only slightly happy to see, was working just as he had designed it.

When I removed my boots, I discovered my socks had turned blue and my toes were red, and as I padded barefoot across the cold tile toward my room, I mildly cursed winter.

But you know, if my toes hadn’t been so cold, the fresh socks I put on just then wouldn’t have felt so good. I almost forgot how miserable I had been outside. And back in the living room, Dad had a fire going in the fireplace. While my brother and I were shoveling snow, he’d been chopping wood, and the house smelled faintly of wood smoke. It was downright cozy.

Good job out there,” Dad said, and he squeezed my shoulder as I found a spot in front of the fire. My brother and I propped our feet up and toastGary Marx is a displaced Illinois writer now living in Kansas. He has worked for more than 30 years at newspapers including The Southern Illinoisan and the Kansas City Star. He is now an adjunct professor of journalism at Park University. Contact him through his website, www.marxjournal.com.

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The Eskimos might have a lot of words for hot chocolate, too. But my brother and I had our own word for it when it came to your lips as you sat in front of a fire, warming your toes in fresh woolen socks.

And the word was “Ahhh.”

A Smile is a Wonderful Gift Toni Marie Young-Norman, D.M.D., M.S

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17

Stained Glass Splendor

St. John The Bapitist Church windows tell a story of worshippers’ faith and sacrifice

By Gail Rissi Thomas Photos by Michael A. Thomas St. Jude, the patron Saint of Music, is featured in the beautiful Rose Window located in the balcony of St. John’s Church in West Frankfort.

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T

here isn’t usually a variety of great art in a small town.

That is true of West Frankfort. We have our share of older buildings with architecture of the Thirties and Forties, and the few classic homes and churches that give us our unique style here and there in the community. Probably we pass them daily never seeing them anymore other than as a landmark to tell us where to turn or when we are almost home.

But one of the most prominent buildings with the greatest number of classic pieces of art is St. John the Baptist Catholic church, standing majestically on the Main Street and exhibiting some of the most beautiful stained glass windows in the area. There are 13 windows all together, each standing about 10 feet tall, gracing the interior from front to back with vividly colorful, bright and shimmering stained glass on the east and west sides, allowing the radiant sunlight to shine through the stories that tell the life of Jesus Christ.

Unfortunately the history of the windows, and in fact the history of the church is meager.

We know that the original St. John’s parish was on Clark Street, and when the population outgrew it, the decision was made to move it to its present location. Oral reports that have been passed down from the immigrant families who settled here tell us that while the church was being

Sunshine bathes the interior of St. John’s Church allowing the beauty of the 13 stained glass windows to shimmer in vibrant colors.

built, men of the parish stood guard over it every night in fear of threats that the Ku Klux Klan members would burn it to the ground.

The Diocese of Belleville archives tell us that the cornerstone was laid July 19, 1921 and donated by Mr. Edward T. Dobary of Benton Marble and Granite Company. On Memorial Day, 1922, the church was dedicated and became the parish. Most of the other information, including anything about the windows comes from Mary Lou Sakonyi, a lifetime member of the parish who remembers attending St. john Church and School as a young girl. “There were originally only three stained glass windows,” Sakonyi recalls “Father Tragressor was the priest assigned

here at the time. Father Klimas was here as an assistant. Years later, Father Klimas returned here as the Pastor. That was in the 40s. The church had really been neglected during the Depression. Father Klimas arranged for the young men of the parish to paint the church. At that time, he asked for donations to add the rest of the windows, and today every window is inscribed with the name of a family who donated the money for that particular window.”

While we have no records that indicate the cost to donate a single window, we can guess that it represented a sizeable sum of money for the day. Even so, the church may have decided to purchase what it

Merry Christmas

YOU TELL STORIES WITH WORDS...

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thought it could afford. According to Ruth Green, owner of the Glass Haunt in Benton and a local stained glass expert, the windows are what is known as ‘poor man’s stained glass’.

“The pictures are painted on the glass, not leaded into the glass using individual pieces of colored glass,” explained Green. “In painted glass, you are able to achieve detail that was not possible with the leaded technique until recently. Each color was painted onto the glass. One man might do nothing but green leaves, another all the flesh tones. When a color was finished, it was fired in a kiln. It took many firings to complete the final panel.”

The names of some of the donors are still familiar: Dunn, Finazzo, Barney, Orlowski and Sawicki. But others, such as Dr. J.A. MacGregor, or Mr. and Mrs. Thomas Ronson, represent families who stayed only a few brief years in West Frankfort.

Some years ago, the outside of the huge glass panels was covered with Plexiglas in order to protect them from wind or any other damage. Unfortunately this also obscures the colorful scenes as you view them from the outside. If you have never had occasion to visit St. Johns, and if you ever have the opportunity when the church is open, try to take advantage to step in and see the magnificent workmanship and the brilliant colors of one of the treasures of our community.

The Rose window—so called for similarity in appearance to a multi-petalled rose— faces Main Street. Rose windows are characteristic of Gothic architecture and are particularly popular in all of the major Gothic Cathedrals of Northern France.

(Editors note: We encourage our readers to send us any information on the families who donated windows to St. John’s Church. It will be much appreciated. Good Life Publications would also like to hear from other churches in West Frankfort with stories concerning their history for use in future issues of Good Living in West Frankfort.)

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Winter 2013

Wishing the Blessings of the Season to the West Frankfort Community

604 E. Main Street •

Parker - Reedy Funeral Home • (618) 932-6500

1. The Baptism of Jesus. A gift of 2. The Annunciation. In Memory 3. The Assumption of Mary. In of Mr. James Dunn and Family.

John Maher and John Hughes.

Memory of Tonazzi and Mena Barney.

4. The Nativity. A gift of Dr. J. A. MacGregor.

5. The Holy Family. In Memory of the Finazzo Family.

6. Young Jesus preaching at the Temple. Donated by Victor Sawicki and Sigmund Orlowski

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7. The Most Sacred Heart of Jesus. 8. The Sermon on the Mount.

In Memory of Tonazzi and Mena A Gift of Father Michael Klimas.

Barney.

9. The Garden of Gethsemane.

Donated by Mr. and Mrs. Floyd Andrus.

10. The Last Supper. Donated by 11. The Crucifixion. In Memory 12. The Ascension. In Memory of Mr. & Mrs. John Land and Family. of Mr. and Mrs. John Murphy and Thomas Ronson and Family.

Family.

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Winter 2013

Happy Holidays from Howell Insurance

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Let’s Hear It For The Boys Holiday Recipes with a Man’s Touch

Michaelangelo Serena shows off his One Skillet Polenta and Sausage, hot off the stove. Serena says it is a dish that can be included at any Holiday Feast. John Thomas (inset) sends his Fratutta Dolce recipe to us from Boston.

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By Gail Rissi Thomas Photos by Michael A. Thomas

have been happier to share one of his favorite recipes. “Polenta with Sausage Parmesan is perfect for f your family is anything like anything,” he says. “You can serve ours, and I bet it is, when you it for Christmas Eve, Easter or just begin thinking and talking an evening meal. It only takes one about the holidays most of the con- skillet, too.” versation centers around the food.

My sister, Genelle, and I start about the first of November planning for Thanksgiving and Christmas Eve. We will each go through a hundred recipes on our own, and then talk by phone late at night about who will cook what. None of it really makes any difference. We could tell you years ahead of any holiday what our ONE SKILLET SAUSAGE AND holiday table will look like. We are POLENTA PARMESAN obsessive about traditions and the menu will not vary by one deviled Ingredients: 2 tbs. extra virgin olive oil egg because someone might be dis1 9.2 oz box of instant polenta. appointed or upset. Heck, we even make dishes that nobody likes any Prepare as directed on box and cut more, because, well I don’t know, into 8 rounds.

8 oz. sweet or hot Italian sausage. just because. (casings removed) But anyway, it’s time to read 2 cloves chopped garlic recipes, share them and think about making them (even though I prob- 1 28 oz. can of tomato sauce, salt and pepper to taste ably won’t). And since this is a About 10 basil leaves Christmas issue of our magazine, it really needs a few food stories. 8oz. sliced mozzarella cheese We didn’t have much room. We’ve Grated Parmesan Cheese chosen carefully.

There’s nothing like asking a pro- Preparation: Heat olive oil in a fessional cook to share one of his large nonstick, oven proof skillet recipes with the whole world, but over med. – high heat. Add polenta the first place we turned was our rounds and fry until golden, about 3 friend Michaelangelo Serena, own- minutes on a side. Transfer to plate. er of Michaelangelo’s in Benton. I Add sausage to skillet and cook, guess because of my heritage, when stirring and breaking it up, about 3 I think of Christmas food, I usually minutes. Add the garlic and stir in think Italian and I don’t know of tomato sauce, salt and pepper. Bring anyone more Italian then Michael- to a boil, reduce heat and simmer angelo. The husband of Teresa In- on low until thickened, about 7- 10 travia, the oldest daughter of Franco minutes. Stir in half of Basil leaves and Grazialla, they will soon be re- and arrange polenta rounds on top opening their restaurant at the for- of sauce. Top with Mozzeralla and mer site of Pizza Shack in Benton. Parmesan. Place skillet under broilMichaelangelo lived in Italy until er for about three minutes. Top with he was an adolescent, and could not additional Basil and Enjoy!

I

W

hen our oldest son, John, was in grade school, I remember him running into the house after school, flinging his books on the nearest flat surface and calling out, “Going to Grandma’s” as he raced out the door. “Whoa, whoa, wait,” I remember saying, “Why are you going to Grandma’s” “Well, I haven’t seen her yet today,” he would respond, bewildered that Iwould even have to ask.

I knew that John loved his grandma, Vera Rissi, and they loved spending time together, but I also knew there was more to it than that.

Something was always cooking at grandma’s. John was observing, helping and tasting. And as my mother got older and less mobile, it was John doing more of the helping and cooking, and Grandma doing more of the observing. When she was no longer physically able to cook, it was John who would cook anything that sounded good to her, from her mother’s Fiodone (Salami pie) to what we called Fratutta Dolce, which she traditionally made on Christmas Eve morning. (I really don’t think that was the name, but that was what we called it.) Her detailed instructions kind of skipped a generation on some of the most itraditional dishes, so I asked him to share one here.

Barely 3 years old, John Thomas was helping his Grandma Vera Rissi in the kitchen when this photo was taken.

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powdered sugar if desired. Can be with if they chose to do so. “What eaten hot or at room temperature. would I have to do to get this punch Mangia! recipe?” one gentleman asked me.

“Buy the business,” I responded.” hen Rissi Catering was “OK, How much?” he shot back. very young—and so We laughed. I should have sold it were we—we catered to him.

Well, here is our Christmas gift our very first job. It was 1989, and Steve Rhoads and Brent Coleman to you, any of our readers who may chose us to provide a lavish buffet be old enough to remember it or infor the opening of their Thomas- terested enough to make a special ville Gallery. Wanting something drink for their Christmas Eve guests. exquisite and unique, we created our own punch to serve that night, and used that recipe for hundreds of other events over the next 15 or so years. Michael, who honed and perfected it, named it Millionnaire’s Punch. We rarely served it that people didn’t ask for the recipe.

Our son John was 5 years old in 1989. We recall seeing him sitting on a corner couch surrounded by MILLIONNAIRE’S PUNCH five or six adults talking to him and Ingredients: laughing. When they admitted to us 1 - 12 oz. can frozen Lemonade later what was going on, we found 1 - 6 oz. can frozen Orange Juice that they were trying to squeeze the 1 – 6 oz. can frozen Pina Colada Mix punch recipe out of him. Although 1 – 32 oz. can of Pineapple Juice he had a pretty good idea of the in- 1- Liter Peach Soda 2- quarts of water gredients, he had been warned. “Not to tell.”

Preparation: In a large container Another punch story was a mix frozen concentrates with 2 Christmas party that we catered for quarts of water and stir well. Add Freeman Coal at their office at the Pineapple Juice and Peach Soda time on Route 13. To our surprise, and stir well. Transfer mixture to the coal executives and their prestiplastic quart containers and freeze gious guests were not discussing the for at least 24 hours. When ready to price of coal or the latest EPA reguuse, thaw 1 container until partially lations, but instead, gathered around slushy. Fill punch bowl with 1 or 2 the punch bowl discussing what was liters of 7-Up. Add partially thawed in it and what they might spike it punch to form slush.

W

FRATUTTA DOLCE Ingredients: 3 ½ cups of milk 1¼ tp 1 cup Cream of Wheat ½ cup of granulated sugar ¼ tsp. salt ¼ cup lemon juice. (optional) 2 eggs

Saltine Cracker Crumbs, finely crushed

½ stick butter Preparation: In a medium saucepan cook the cream of wheat with the milk and salt over moderate heat, stirring constantly to keep it from developing lumps. Add sugar when it begins to thicken. When very thick (it will draw away from the pan and begin to bubble) Stir in lemon juice or almond flavoring if preferred.

Pour mixture into an 8 x 8 or an 11 x 8 pan. A pie plate will work. When it cools a little, refrigerate. When cold or at least completely cool, remove from frig and cut into diamonds or squares. Mixture must be very solid.

Beat together two whole eggs with a couple of tablespoons of water. Dip each piece in eggs and roll in salted cracker crumbs. Fry in butter in a non stick skillet at low temperature. Sprinkle lightly with

Wishing Merry Christmas from the

McCord Family & Staff

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Touching a Spot A Pie. A Man. A Memory

By Gail Rissi Thomas

I

never even knew his name, but I will never forget him. Several years ago, when my sister and I still owned Rissi Pastries, an elderly man came in one day, marched straight up to the counter and said he wanted to order a hickory nut pie. We often had unusual requests, for things that were not on our menu, and hickory nut pie was certainly an example of that. We had even had strangers bring in a scribbled recipe and ask us to make it for them. They were usually men. It was usually something that their wife, now

deceased of course, used to make for them. Some well- meaning soul had told them that their best bet was to bring it to us and we would do it. I never knew how to make it. I never wanted to. I usually did it.

I explained to this gentleman that I could not make a hickory pie because I was quite sure it would require hickory nuts which I didn’t have and didn’t know where to get. With a big smile and a sigh he replied, “Oh, I have the nuts.

Picked them myself,” as he pulled a Ziploc bag out of his coat pocket and carefully laid them on the counter between us. “But I have

never made a hickory nut pie before “ I said in my kindest, “I don’t want to “ voice. “Oh you can do it,” he said as he pulled a rumpled piece of paper out of his pocket. “Here’s my wife’s recipe. She used to make them every Thanksgiving for me.”

Ok, the end of the story was predictable. “Pick it up Wednesday,” I said. We had hundreds of orders for the holiday I’m sure my smile was becoming a little more forced as the conversation wore on. The recipe was a little weird, it seems. I don’t remember the details but I’m sure that I scrapped the lard piecrust idea, scoured the Internet and came

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up with a doable recipe very close to what he had given me. It was the last order I filled the day before Thanksgiving, and I remember my sister and I joking that he probably wouldn’t even pick it up. I didn’t even write down the order or ask his name.

I think it was still warm when he showed up at the bakery to retrieve his Thanksgiving pie. It actually wasn’t that big a deal, something similar to a pecan pie. He insisted on paying me, although I argued with him about that, after all, he had supplied the hickory nuts. He seemed thrilled with his purchase, and I felt as much satisfaction as my tired aching body would allow that I had relented and made it for him.

End of story.

Well not exactly. A few days after Thanksgiving, he returned to the bakery. “I just wanted to thank you for baking my pie,’ he said. I just wanted to tell you, it was just like Nellie’s.” Personally, I don’t know how it could have been, but nostalgia does funny things to memories. “Yeah,” he said softly and stood there quietly for a moment, alone in his past. I was terrified that he was going to cry.

Then he said, “Something about that pie; it touched a spot deep inside of me.” I didn’t dare try to say anything, but as I swallowed the lump in my throat, without another word he turned and walked out the door.

About a year later, slightly before Thanksgiving, an elderly man came into the bakery. There was something familiar about him, and it took only a minute to realize what it was. It was the hickory nuts I recognized first. An old phrase something about no good deed going unpunished was traveling through my mind when he tossed a very full bag of hickory nut 28

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on the counter and with complete confidence said. “Here are the nuts for my pie. When do you want me to pick it up?” It took only a few minute for his words ‘It touched a spot deep inside of me’ to come rushing back to me. “Wednesday,” I said. “Better come late. We’re really busy.” That was an understatement, but one hickory nut pie was on the order board.’

The third year the gentleman came

back and we did it all again. The pie was more than just a pie now.

I was feeding him in a way that he needed to be fed. The following year, the bakery was closed. I didn’t even think of him until some time after the holidays. I hoped that he found someone to fill his stomach and his heart. And if he is still living, I hope he finds someone to make him a good hickory nut pie.

Merry Christmas to All

Back: Jetta Veldman , Leslie Hampleman, Kacy Gore and Cassie Ruzich. Front: Jody Hopkins and Dr. Michael Clay

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Winter 2013

Pictured: Holly Morsch, Dr. Julie Handwerk and Heather Hughes

Everybody’s Hometown Bank Johnston City, 1012 W. Broadway (618) 983-8433 Thompsonville, 21394 Shawneetown Rd. (618) 627-4400 West Frankfort, 404 S. Logan (618) 932-8536 Zeigler, 202 N. Christopher Rd. (618) 596-8028 www.southernillinoisbank.com

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Merry Christmas Best Wishes for a

Merry Christmas and a

Blessed New Year from

Thank You for a

Wonderful Run!

The City of West Frankfort West Frankfort City Council Working Together to Serve You

City Hall 110 N. Jefferson St. West Frankfort, IL 62896

932-3262

Coleman -Rhoads

“Quality Furniture for Less” 932-2128 300 Main West Frankfort, IL 62896 The Furniture Capital of Southern Illinois

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Winter 2013

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“Merry Christmas from Grandma Sandy’s”

Merry Christmas

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Good Living in

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Winter 2013

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Merry Christmas from the Gang at Miranda s

The Gang at Miranda’s: Back: Thomas Holloway, Jessie Hampton, DJ Ellis, Josh Adams, Josh Craig, Laura Oliver, and Dylan Cano. Front: Sandy King, Leslie Wilce, Tiara Crawford, Haley Rich, Kelly, Dorothy George, Kim Owens, Jennifer Braggs, Matt Prince and Patsy Hollon. (Not Pictured: Brady Davis, Jerry Dare, Larry Geutersloh, Jeana Gosnell, Angie Dunning, Ashlee Board and Stacy Wiggins.)

Good Living in

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1003 West Main Street • West Frankfort, IL 62896 • (618) 937-2621

Winter 2013

35

Farewell Friends

By Gail Rissi Thomas

L

ike many of you, I was watching Game Two of the recent World Series, and as the Cardinals, my husband and I all napped our way through it, I thought, “Gee, could this get any bleaker?” I got up to go take a look at Facebook and see what was going on in real life only to find that, “Oh yes, it certainly could.” That was when the news broke, “Coleman Rhoads was having a sale.” Everybody loves a sale, but I sure hated to see this one. I went on to bed, thinking, "Oh, come on Guys; say it ain't so."

I had heard the rumblings for months, that it would happen sooner than we thought. Coming on the heels of another major loss to our Main Street, the closing of BFJ Fur-

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niture, it is a devastating blow to our community. This took half of the foundation of the retailers that gave West Frankfort our claim to fame for so many years, “The furniture capitol of Southern Illinois.”

I am grateful that the other half of that elite club, ER Brown and West Frankfort House Furnishings are long-standing and solid businesses with reputations that bring customers to our community across the region.

The question I have heard so often is “Why?” Why would they close such beautiful and thriving businesses? I saw Steve Rhoads comment somewhere, saying, “It’s time.” I get it. We’ve been there, and every one of us should be able to relate to that. Just as my husband knew it was time to lay down the ba-

Winter 2013

ton, just as my sister and I knew it was time to turn the key on the bakery for the last time, and just as Mike and I will know at some point, “This magazine needs to be our last. Maybe due to health issues, economic conditions, tiredness or just knowing we have finished something we started, we will know when “It’s time.”

Two things I hope we learn from this. We have, probably through no fault of our own, lost not only two vital, thriving, beautiful businesses that for years graced our community and our Main Street as well as supported our tax base, but we have also lost three important business owners. Brent Coleman, Steve Rhoads and Jim

White supported West Frankfort with enthusiasm, generosity and integrity.

Secondly, we are so fortunate to have two furniture stores that are helping to keep West Frankfort alive and give us businesses to be very proud of. Sloan Brown of ER Brown and his brother Andy Brown of West Frankfort House Furnishings are still here. That family business is a pillar in our history.

Their doors are open and from my personal experience there are no finer people to do business with.

They contribute to West Frankfort in very important ways and give us every reason to remember to “Shop Local.” I am so grateful that another generation of the Brown Family has a vision for the business and someday will be ready to take over.

When it’s time.

Also, in lamenting the changes to the business community, we cannot forget that we have several new businesses, large and small, who have the confidence in this town to begin new ventures and a new business that is even starting out with new construction on East Main. We welcome all of them and wish them a long and lucrative future here.

I read something the other day that made me think of the present situation and future of West Frankfort. “Peanuts” comic strip creator, Charles Schultz said it well. Was he talking about us? “Why can't we get all the people together in the world that we really like and then just stay together? I guess that wouldn't work. Someone would leave. Someone always leaves.

Then we would have to say goodbye. I hate good-byes. I know what I need. I need more hellos. "

(Christmas Memories continued from page 9)

Grandma Ruth’s Bonbons (submitted by Andy Weaver)

I

n 1986, a new Christmas tradition started in our family. My grandma sked me if I would like to come to her house to make bonbons. She had made bonbons every Christmas for as long as I could remember. I couldn’t think of Christmas without thinking of those delicious treats. I immediately said, “Yes!” and started a tradition that has lasted for 24 years.

Andy Weaver with his grandma, As the years went by our roles Ruth Cutsinger. changed. No longer does my grandma have to pick me up and then drive me back home when we are finished.

Now I go to her. She no longer has to tell me every ingredient to use. We both know the recipe backward and forward and joke that we could make the bonbons in our sleep. Every year we write down how many bonbons we make on a notepad that hangs in her kitchen. We always look back to see how many we have made from year to year and joke that we are competing with ourselves, which is the best kind of competition.

In many ways we are much different people than we were when we started making bonbons together. But the main ingredient is still there.

We are a grandmother and grandson enjoying each other’s company, telling stories, talking about the past and the future, shedding a few tears, but always laughing. When I am my grandma’s age, I know I will look back on this tradition, and above all I will remember the laughter. I will remember that I had a grandma who wanted to spend time with me, who loved me unconditionally and who taught me the importance of a family tradition.

So does West Frankfort.

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Christmas in Wartime: WWII It was a different kind of Christmas for those serving their country and their families back home. A look at the Christmas Greetings and War Bond Sales from that era show a nation desperate for victory and a willingness of its citizenry to sacrifice in order to return their loved ones home safely.

CHRISTMAS - ARMY STYLE 1941. All Pennsylvania soldiers in Co. B of the 10th Regiment in Camp Lee’s Quartermaster Replacement Center gather to sing carols around the tree to show how men of the Keystone State demonstrate Christmas spirit. Camp Lee, Virginia. December 1941. (Photo US Center for Military History)

By Gail Rissi Thomas and Michael A. Thomas

L

et’s pretend for just a moment that it is 1942. There’s a war going on. Our beloved sons, husbands fathers, nephews are a half a world away. We don’t know how they are or where they are. They don’t have a cell phone in their pocket or an I-Pad in their bunk. They don’t have a phone card, a phone, Facebook or the Internet.

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We don’t know what they need, and any word that comes from anyone who knows anything about them is a treasure.

While browsing through old copies of the Daily American newspaper at the Frankfort Area Museum last week, that realization came to me in a very heart wrenching way.

In December of1942, they printed pages of “GreetingGrams,” Christmas messages from local residents to the boys overseas, and from the boys overseas, “letters home.”

Winter 2013

BITTERNESS AND STRIFE hold full sway in the world on this 1942 Christmas. My sincere wish is that the Good Shepherd may be with those Franklin County boys who will be absent from the home circle this Christmas. It is to them that future generations must give praise for the continued observance of the day dedicated to peace and joy and happiness in the lives of all people everywhere. My most sincere good wishes to the families of our sons in Service. May the New Year bring

victory to our cause and peace to CHRISTMAS 1942. Praise the our land.

Lord and pass the ammunition! And Leonard Dunn may 1943 see us buying more bombs and building more planes and ships, and making more powder and tanks and guns…and running those three There are just three guys we don’t wise guys right into their own death wish a Merry Christmas to (Hirohi- traps. Best wishes for everybody on to, Benito and Adolph) who we don’t our side. wish a Merry Christmas. We hope Mr. and Mrs. James E. Smith their day is perfectly miserable in every way. Fire when you’re ready, boys.

Mr. and Mrs. John W. Jones HERE’S FOR A BLITZKRIEG of happiness to all of you this Christmas time and the coming year. May you dip deep into life’s cup of joy.

They’ve rationed our gasoline, Lula J. Pharis cut down on our sugar and coffee, and made it difficult for us to bring home the bacon. But no power on earth can limit our Christmas good HELLO EVERYBODY! Merry wishes for our friends. So we’re is- Christmas and all that. Here’s wishsuing our usual communiqué for ing for all my back-home friends a Christmas and the New Year. Greet- jeep-load of Christmas cheer and ings one and all. a ’43 that will make old Hitler and Mr. and Mrs. Glen Allen his gang green around the gills. Joy to the world with plenty of shot and shells from our side.

Pete Broski, U. S. Army, Camp An uncensored greeting from Tyson, Tenn.

Fort Bliss, Texas. Here’s wishing my West Frankfort friends an allout experience with the good things of life at Christmas and a complete blackout on hard luck in 1943. It’s going to be a great year for us.

Good luck all.

Charles L. Sharlo, U. S. Army The Friendly Little Market on The Hill Fort Bliss, Texas 1720 East Main West Frankfort

(618) 937- 4921 Open Daily 6am-10pm

MERRY CHRISTMAS EVERYBODY. Here’s hoping you buy more stamps and bonds next year, so we can keep ‘em flying.

Private Jack M.D., Army Air Corps, Big Springs, Texas

Somewhere in war-torn Europe, children crowd around a G.I. as he opens his Christmas package from home.

(Photo US Center for Military History)

MERRY CHRISTMAS from old Wyoming. I’m marking time long enough to wig-wag my civilian friends back home sincere good wishes for the merriest Christmas possible and a New Year that will see all the boys come marching home-with the bacon.

Pvt. Samuel Bourd Co. G. First Reg. QMRTC, Fort Warren, Wyo.

Daily Specials Mon. Mostaccioli Penne noodles w/Kelly’s own sauce with 2 pieces of warm garlic bread. $4.62

Tues. Loaded Potato Served hot with butter, cheese sauce, bacon, sour cream and chives. $4.62

Wed. Taco Salad

New Owners: Kelly & Eric Kirk

• GROCERY • DELI MEATS and CHEESES

DAILY SPECIALS ALSO AVAILABLE IN LARGE QUANTITIES. ORDER EARLY FOR THE HOLIDAYS

Call-in Orders Always Welcome Lunchtime Delivery Available M-F 11-1

Seasoned ground beef over tortilla chips with all the usual goodies! $4.62/$6.47

Thur. Italian Beef Slowly cooked in au jus with thinly sliced onions, green peppers & seasonings. $4.62

Fri. Pulled Pork BBQ Extra tender pork loin with Kelly’s special sweet and tangy BBQ sauce. $2.31

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Articles in the Daily American told other stories about local sons who were away at war in 1942. A particular article titled “Parents Hear From Sons in the Pacific Fleet,” brought home just how important it was to receive a letter from a local boy who was serving in World War II – so important that it was newsworthy, almost as if the news from anybody belonged to everybody.

Mr. and Mrs. Mike Savina, 717 South Douglas Street, received a letter a few days ago from their son, Johnnie, who is serving with the pacific Fleet in Honolulu.

Johnnie attended the local schools and graduated from Frankfort Community High School in 1934. He has served three and one half years in the Navy. One December 8, he wrote a letter to his parents. It follows: Dear Mother and Dad, I suppose you heard all about the war in the Pacific. I am not at liberty to tell you what happened, but I want you to know that I am well.

Please don’t worry about me, as you well know it does no good. I will write no more letters, but will send cards that will state whether I am well or not. Will send cards as often as possible. If you do not get any mail from me, it will be because of faulty mail service.

I send my love and hope you have a Merry Christmas at home.

Johnnie

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Guy Ramsey, Sr., 213 E. Clark Street, received a similar letter from his son, Guy, Jr., also stationed in Honolulu. Carroll B. Forrester of Mounds, a friend of Guy, Jr., who enlisted at the same time as Guy, Jr., was killed during the raids at Pearl Harbor on December 7.

Advertising in the Daily American also took a very patriotic tone as businesses joined in promoting the war effort while still encouraging their customers to shop at their establishments. Weaver’s Flowers, for example, wished all not just a Merry Christmas but a “Merry American Christmas”.

Champion Cleaners managed to combine patriotism, war bonds, saving money and the virtues of clean clothes as examples of the perfect New Year’s Resolution: It is time to make one resolution, however, a resolution to do everything you can do to win this war no matter what the sacrifice. Everyone of us can do one thing to help—that is to buy defense stamps and defense bonds—stamps cost as little as ten cents each and school children are able to buy them, so why can’t others do at least as much as the children?

One other resolution you should make is to look into the advantages of having Champion do your laundry. The way to find out about this is to telephone 386 and our drivers will be on hand to explain to you how you can start 1942 with the

Winter 2013

knowledge that you will have better health, more money and cleaner clothes.

We have constantly improved our plant in order to give you better service. The water we use for our laundry work is state inspected ad so is the work we turn out—it must be spotless and it must be clean enough and pure enough for any hospital to use. Can you do laundry work at home that will pass the high inspection given at a hospital?

It cost money to buy laundry tubs, wash boards, buy water, buy fuel, buy soap and washing powders, buy the bluing and the dozens of other items needed for washing. With us, you pay only a few cents a pound for our wash and dry service. Have you ever tried to find out whether or not we saved you money? Many families have their whole family bundle done for 55 cents.

At the beginning of WWII, the United States lagged far behind the military might of Germany and Japan. It was essential to transform our peacetime economy into one geared up to that produce all the weaponry necessary to win the war. To raise money, the U.S. government sold War Bonds and War Stamps. Bonds were actual investments with the investor earning interest. For every $3 an investor made in War Bonds, they got back $4 at the end of 10 years. And even after 60 days, the buyer could get their money back.

War Stamps were an outright donation and asked for a small amount.

Selling for as little as 10 cents, children took their pennies, nickels and dimes to school to buy War Stamps.

Stamps were pasted into a booklet.

A full booklet contained 75 stamps and represented a total of $18.75, which could be exchanged for a $25 war bond that reached maturity in 10 years.

Newspaper ads in the Daily American showed pictures of military items and how much their cost in War Stamps and War Bonds. No item was too small for consideration: For only 10 cents (and up) in War Stamps, you could be buying a pilot a pair of sunglasses “ideal for spotting U-boats from a blimp.”

And just in case the pilot’s eyes still failed to spot that submarine, you could spend $4.50 for a ‘form-fitting life belt’, otherwise known as a Mae West where every man on ship is ‘best dressed when an enemy tor-

on Pearl Harbor. He spoke to them as a group and said: “I want you to take everything in this store marked Made in Japan. I want you to put up tables out in front and pile it there.

I want you to put up a sign saying ‘Free to Anyone Who Wants To Carry This Away.’”There were no takers and after a week, trucks came in and hauled it all away.

Well this isn’t 1942. It’s 2013.

There’s another kind of war going on. Our beloved sons, husbands, fathers, nephews are a half a world away. We have many ways to communicate with them and for them to communicate with us. We send our love to them at Christmas. If you would like to make their season a little bit brighter, here is a way you can do that.

Go online to www.anysoldier. com for instructions on how to send gifts to young men that are currently serving in Afghanistan. Read actual letters from soldiers who list what they want and what they need.

Something as simple as foot powder or chocolate candy bars can make someone’s Christmas special, and maybe they will be back home, if With the nation in fear of world domionly in their dreams. nation by Germnay and Japan, even dear old Santa Claus was enlisted to Send a few Christmas cards or encourage folks to buy War Bonds. thank you notes to be distributed to soldiers at: Holiday Mail for Heroes, their Christmas ornaments or manP.O. Box 5456 ger scenes that were made by those Capitol Heights, MD two countries. The manager of one 20791-5456 store in the Midwest addressed his employees the morning of December 8, 1941, the day after the attack pedo lurks nearby’. Comes in yellow only) for rescue purposes.

For the big spenders, there were bigger choices. The advertising copy reflects a time when the words politically correct were not a part of vocabulary or national psyche.

“Thirty Caliber Machine Gun. This little beauty is just itching to wipe out a platoon of Jap infiltration troops in Burma. It will do it, too, if you’ll only supply the $600.”

The mentality of the nation was bent on winning the war. After war was declared on the Nazi’s and Japan, many people destroyed any of

Happy Holidays from

PAPA JOHN’S PROUDLY OWNED BY THE

LINDSEY FAMILY

719 South Logan • West Frankfort, IL

(618) 932-8080 Good Living in

West Frankfort

Winter 2013

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Bless the Beasts

Considering a pet for Chistmas?

Consider adopting one from a local animal shelter.

Two cats enjoy a lazy game of tag while hanging out at the Marion Regional Humane Society shelter.

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West Frankfort Winter 2013 West Frankfort Winter 2013

Good Living in Good Living in

By Gail Rissi Thomas Photos by Michael Thomas

“I

want a hippopotamus for Christmas.” Well the best I can hope for you, Dear Reader is that those lyrics from the popular children’s song do not show up on your child’s Christmas list. That could lead to some real stressful Christmas shopping.

However another wish that you might find to contend with, may be a problem, or maybe not; that is the request to bring another live creature to share your home.

“I want a puppy for Christmas” That means not only a puppy for Christmas, but for each and every other of the 364 days of the year.

Perhaps it’s you that has the longing for a pet, but whatever the case, choosing the perfect animal companion is crucial and there are hundreds of beautiful animals out there, as well as abused or abandoned ones that need you just as much or more than you need them.

Since we hear so much these days about the great number of dogs and cats needing a family, we decided to take a look at shelters that might offer you a good chance of finding a pet that your family could fall in love with. Although we only chose two to visit and photograph we have included a listing of others at the end of the article that you might also want to check out.

Because the day we were free to go visiting and picture taking was also the Saturday of the open house at St. Francis Care in Murphysboro, we decided to combine a little pleasure with business and attend the festivities there.

Zeus, a loavable mixed-breed, was rescued from a high-kill shelter in Oklahoma where his original owners put him when he was six months old because they didn’t want “a defective dog”. Diagnosed with probable distemper, Zeus is now a star at the St. Francis Humane Sheleter in Murphysboro, where he was treated with anti-biotics and is on the road to recovery. He had a steady stream of customers who paid $1 for a doggie kiss as part of a recent fund raiser at the shelter.

St. Francis shelter is a no kill shelter and low cost spay and neuter clinic totally supported by donations and volunteers. Adoption fees for dogs are $225 and for cats $95. All animals have been spayed or neutered and checked for diseases, as well as vaccinated and micro-chipped.

The shelter, located at 6228 Country Club Road in Murphysboro, is currently located in a 1,000 square foot house. Fundraising is currently underway for the construction of a new 3,000 square foot facility that will better meet the rapidly growing number of strayand orphaned animals in the community.

The Marion Regional Humane Society, at 2410 Dylan Drive, south of Marion is unique in that it is the only free-range cat shelter in the area. Beautiful cats “hang out“ together in several rooms outfitted with what I would call “cat furni-

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ture.” Edna Fredman, director of this very humane shelter explained that because the cats are not caged, they are mellow, gentle, less anxious and used to living in harmony with people and with one another.

They are lovingly cared for by volunteers. One woman, who laughingly referred to herself as a cat petter, seemed to be enjoying her task of attempting to pet about 10 cats at one time, as they crowded around, trying to make sure that their head was the one that managed to seek out her hand.

All cats have already been spayed or neutered and had vaccinations before they become adoptable.

Costs are $100 to adopt a kitten and $50 for an adult cat. “We did have about 94, but we have a few more than that now,” Fredman said. The humane society is also in a continuous fundraising effort to acquire a much larger facility The shelter welcomes visitors, even if the visi-

tors are not looking for an animal to adopt, but are only curious cat lovers. Just be careful. The cats are very people friendly and you may be the one who is adopted before you leave.

Christmas for the Animals

Maybe you would like to adopt or rescue an animal but are afraid to take on the commitment, or perhaps this just isn’t the right time. There are still ways you can help. Every animal shelter struggles to get by and would be grateful for donations that are on their wish list. Needed items include: Bleach • Paper Towels • Trash Bags • Purina Cat, Kitten, Puppy and Dog Chow • Cat and Dog Carriers • Kitty Litter • Animal cages • Collapseable Carriers • Money

Two of the over 90 cats at the Marion Regional Humane Society cozy up to Edna Fredman, director of the facility.

Fredman describes the shelter as a ‘free range facility’, which means most of the cats are not caged but are allowed access to several rooms. This makes them more sociable, mellow and friendly.

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A Rescuer and His Dog Tim Lunduska of Carbondale holds his rescue dog, Sami, a Miniature Schnauzer. While most rescue animals are not pure breeds, Sami is an exception. Lunduska and his wife, Karen, were at the shelter to visit another dog they were interested in when they spied Sami. His original owners were an elderly couple who had passed away leaving Sami with the couple’s daughter who couldn’t keep him. “He had arrived at the shelter 20 minutes before us,” Lunduska explained. “We took Sami home with us for a weekend visit and he has stayed with us ever since.”

WHERE TO FIND A PET TO ADOPT Both Franklin and Williamson counties have animal control shelters, which though not equipped to house animals for long periods of time, usually have dogs and cats that need homes and can be adopted. If you really want to rescue a dog or cat, that may be the most obvious first stop in searching for a pet.

Franklin County Animal Control 618-439-9197

Williamson County Animal Control 11266 Skyline Dr, Marion, IL (618) 993-6075

253-448-0607

By Appointment Only

1201 E. Clark West Frankfort, IL

• No Flash • Original Artwork • Cover-ups • Enhancement www.murphystattooing.com

istock photo

Murphy’s Tattooing

Listed below are some of the no kill animal shelters in Southern Illinois.

Cache Creek Animal Rescue, Anna (618) 893-2500 Cachecreekanimalrescue.com

#Murphystattoo

St. Francis Care, Murphysboro (618) 893-1600 St.francis-care.org

Williamson County Humane Society, Herrin Williamson County Human Society 913 South 13th Street Herrin, Illinois 62948

Humane Society of Southern Illinois, Murphysboro (618) 457-2362 Huanesocietysil.org

Marion Regional Humane Society (618) 964-9999 Marionrhs.org PAWS, Anna (618) 833-3647 e-mail: pawspaws@shawneelink.net

A Tale of Two Kitties: The cat on the left seems to be pleading, “Please take me home! Please take me home!”, while the big furry cat on the right seems to gesture “You are in the presence of greatness. I may allow you the privilege of being your pet.”

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W

hat you see to the right is the last remnants of the Coffey family’s most cherished Christmas tradition—the Wandering Wise Man. Dropped earlier this afternoon by two very excited hands and onto the ceramic tile of the bathroom floor. May he rest in pieces.

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In order for me to fully explain the enormity of this event, I need to tell you about before. About three Christmases ago, when we were unpacking lights and ornaments and garland. And, most importantly, our manger scene.

My daughter was the self-appointed Nativity Setter-Upper, and it was a task she approached with the utmost

Winter 2013

courtesy of Billy Coffee

holiness and care. Animals were positioned first, then shepherds and angels, Mary and Joseph, and then Baby Jesus. The wise men came last. Three of them usually.

But that year, there were only two.

We rooted through boxes and overturned ottomans and scoured the dark places beneath the television stand. Nothing. Which meant Daddy had to climb back into the attic with a flashlight and a prayer.

Both worked. I found him upside down and backwards in a corner guarded by a hairy-looking spider.

Problem solved.

Christmas, moving daily—often more than once—from room to room in search of the Savior. It is as far as I can tell the best idea I’ve A while later my son happened to ever had. The kids are so engrossed walk down the hallway and see the in his progress that come Christmas wise man in the middle of the floor morning they head to the Nativalong with a note—Have you seen ity first and the tree second, just to Baby Jesus? By the time he ran back make sure he’s reached his destinainto the living room to summon the tion. rest of the family, it had moved again. This time to my daughter’s Earlier tonight the wise man appeared by the sink in the bathroom, bedroom. where he was found by my daugh“Guess he fell out of the box when ter. In her excitement to spread the we put the Nativity back in the attic news, she knocked the figure to the last year,” I said. “Now he’s gotta floor. He shattered into a hundred pieces. find Jesus before Christmas.” keep looking anyway. I put the wise man in my pocket, walked downstairs, and said nothing.

Thus the Wandering Wise Man was But then a thought occurred to me. born.

One about how we all seek Christ but sometimes get turned around He has miraculously emerged evand lost, and how it’s important to ery year since in the weeks before

She did, too. I found her on the bathroom floor cupping as many shards as she could find into her hand.

“I broke the wise man,” she sobbed.

Merry Christmas and A Happy New Year Aaron M. Hopkins Attorney and Counselor at Law GENERAL PRACTICE

402 East Main Street • West Frankfort, IL 62896 DUI Family Law Criminal Law 14 Years Experience Driverʼs License Reinstatement

618.932.3900 • fax: 618.937.3182 hoplaw1@gmail.com www.aaronhopkinslaw.com

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“I ruined everything!”

Because the lessons that count the most also tend to hurt the most.

Uh-oh. I gathered her off the floor Lessons like the one my daughter and passed her to my wife, who learned today. No matter how caretook her to the living room for some ful we are, we still break stuff. And rocking chair therapy. I snuck away not just wise men. Hearts, promises, long enough to swipe another wise trust, and dreams, too. man from the Nativity, scribble a new note, and place both at her bed- No matter how hard we try, we still side. make a mess sometimes. We still shatter the sacred and the special, She found them a while later. Christ- leaving nothing but the shards of mas was saved. what was once whole that we’re forced to pick up through our tears.

I checked in on her a bit ago before Thankfully, the One whom the wise heading off to bed. Beside the wise men seek doesn’t believe in everyman was a note written in seven- thing being ruined. He’s in the busiyear-old scribble: ness of putting together and making new.

Dear 2nd wiseman thank you for showing up.

And like my daughter’s wise men, I’m so sorry for hurting your He’ll always love us. friend.

About Billy Coffey: Billy Coffey lives I smiled. Both at the words and the with his wife and 2 children in the foothills of Virginlittle girl who wrote them. Then I ia’s Blue Ridge took a pen from my pocket, turned Mountains. A the note over, and wrote a reply: Please don’t be upset. Everyone makes mistakes.

We’ll always love you, the wise men.

I’m pretty sure that note won’t mend her broken heart, but it might be enough to get the needle and thread going. Sometimes that’s all you can hope for.

product of his small-town locale, Billy counts as assets his rural authenticity, unwavering sense of purpose, and insatiable curiousity--all of which tend to make his front porch a comfortably crowded place.

In Billy’s own words: “I’m a writer of three novels, Snow Day (2010) Paper Angels (2011), and When Mockingbirds Sing (2013) with two more on the way by Thomas Nelson. That may make me sound smart and/or wise. Neither is particularly applicable. I count that as a blessing, because the great thing about wandering around in the fog is you never know what you might run into.”You can also find him at his website: http://billycoffey.com.

What marks the boundary between a miracle from God and the imagination of a child?

Leah is a child from Away, isolated from her peers because of her stutter. But then she begins painting scenes that are epic in scope, brilliant in detail, and suffused with rich, prophetic imagery. When the event foreshadowed in the first painting dramatically comes true, the town of Mattingly takes notice.

Billy Coffey lives with his wife and 2 children in the foothills of Virginia's Blue Ridge Mountains. A product of his small-town locale, Billy counts as assets his rural authenticity, unwavering sense of purpose, and insatiable curiousity--all of which tend to make his front porch a comfortably crowded place. Snow Day is his first novel.

You can also find him at his website: http://billycoffey.com.

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Merry Christmas from

Stotlar Lumber

A Winter snowstorm hits the Heights in West Frankfort on January 10, 1918. (Photo courtesy of the West Frankfort Historical Museum)

M

emory is the best gift that you can give. We still have copies of our book, West Frankfort Back in the Day, available for Christmas.

We will have the books available on Saturday, December 7, from 1 p.m. to 3 p.m. We accept cash or check only.

To pick up a book at any other time, call 618-937-2019 or send a check to Good Life Publications, 309 East Oak St, West Frankfort, IL 62896. Cost of the book for in state residents is $47.58 including Illinois State Sales Tax. Out of state residents pay $43.95 Shipping cost is $6.50. There are about 100 books still available. They will not be reordered.

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Phone: (618) 937-3509 / Fax: (618) 937-3500

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10881 State Highway 149 • West Frankfort, IL

www.gregweeks.com

Winter 2013

618-937-2446 Open Mon-Fri 8am-7pm • Sat 8-6

Merry Christmas from

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Ph. (618) 932-2181 Fax (618) 932-6330 www.westfrankfort-il.com

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