Good Living in West Frankfort Vol. 2. No. 4

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West Frankfort Volume 2 No. 4 Holiday Issue 2008

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

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Holiday • 2008

Letter from the

Publisher

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f I were rich –and please be aware that I’m talking Major Money here – I would like to give a big Christmas party for everyone who reads our magazine. I would have great food—a real feast. And yes, Genelle, I would get someone else to cook it. And after dinner, I would invite Ethridge Tharp to be the guest speaker. I’d let him talk, just as long as he wanted to, about West Frankfort in the thirties, and the forties, and the fifties. Actually, my interview with Mr. Tharp is about as close as I can come to that. It doesn’t include all the little, jokes, chuckles and asides, or the twinkle in his eye, and I know that he has much more to say, but it’s a sample of his wisdom and his wit. In fact, it is a feast. Enjoy.

There are a lot of personal, close to the heart stories in this issue of “Good Living in West Frankfort. Christmas issues really bring that out in people. Some are touching—For instance, Ladies, Try reading my sister’s story about her little rocker without a Kleenex.

Some are funny. The image of Florence Butta in a little pink dress and brown galoshes is indelibly etched in my mind’s eye. I’m sure you will get a chuckle out of Julie Willis’ memory of the Christmas Belles in the snow. We have to see some things in life with humor, and I have to admit that after nearly ten years the memory of Jay, stuck at the mall, probably does bring a smile to some faces. Eventually, maybe mine. Give me another couple of years and ask me again.

People keep asking me why we don’t do more food stories and recipes in our magazine, so this month we bring you “A Lithuanian Christmas.” Actually it was going to be An Ethnic Christmas,” with recipes that West Frankfort families traditionally have on Christmas Eve, but, alas, Ethridge Tharp talked for so long that we ran out of room. But I can tell you that Lillian Martin’s dish, Kugali, will be on our dinner table this Christmas Eve. Finally, a story of two heroes, Robert McCord and George Michalic, is among this month’s offerings. Michael and I are so proud to have the opportunity to share both their accounts of the attack on Pearl Harbor in this month’s magazine. West Frankfort is honored to have them live among us.

And now a word about Christmas. A week or so ago at Sunday Mass, Father Trevor was talking about Christmas Spirit, and how some years you have it, and some years you don’t. If you don’t have it, you don’t really know why you don’t and there really is no sure way to get it, regardless of what you do. He talked about preparation for the real Spirit of Christmas, but I was caught up in the idea of the Christmas Spirit and why some Christmases are just-- different.

I will always remember a Christmas a few years ago. I can’t remember which one it was, and it may have been longer ago than I think, but we were sitting at church before Mass, and I was probably thinking of the food that was waiting in the oven at home and what I still had to do before the family gathered around our table. My son, John and my husband played the traditional jubilant opening music on two saxophones, and as the statue of Baby Jesus was carried to the crib at the front of the church, the congregation stood and began to sing, “Oh Come All Ye Faithful.”

I’d heard it before. For nearly every year of my life this had been a part of my Christmas, and this scene had been played out again and again. But this night, the words “Oh come all ye faithful, joyful and triumphant” struck me as though I had never heard them before. We -- gathered here together, were the faithful. We were the joyful, because our Creator had sent us a Savior. He had fulfilled His promise, just as we believed He would. We and anyone else who accepted His gift of faith would be triumphant. I can never quite get back the feeling of that revelation, but I never fail to remember that night when I hear what is now my favorite Christmas carol.

And that reminds me of a Christmas card that my father- in -law sent to us the first year we were married. I’m not sure if it was original, but I have to describe him as being the second most creative and interesting man that I know. The card had line drawings of three wisemen. The first was saying, “Gee I’m tired; I know we should have stopped back there at that inn.” The second was saying, “I’m starved and my camel is hungry; isn’t there anywhere around here to get a sandwich or something?” And the third, looking up at the sky, says, “Where is that star. A while ago it looked like it was over there. Now it’s over here.” The sentiment inside the card was the same that Michael and I wish for each of you, Dear Reader.

“This year, may you find the Christ Child easier and keep him longer.”

Gail Rissi Thomas, Publisher Holiday • 2008

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Letters

We Get Letters

A Real Classy Publication When in W. Frankfort for our Reunion, Class of 1959, we were given the opportunity to pick up copies of your magazine of which I did. I was delighted with every page I read. We left the area 40 years ago and we still recognized names from our yeas in W. Frankfort.

Granted these were children and grandchildren of the people we knew.

We read the magazines cover to cover and were entertained throughout the entire publication. Our memories were engaged as we enjoyed the sights, smells and feelings of living in West Frankfort. I didn’t know I was so nostalgic as I didn’t live in West Frankfort all my life like Bob. It is a first class publication We left our copies in our home in North Carolina. I got your email address from a friend. I would like to purchase a subscription and pay for a few of your previous productions. Please email me at the above address telling me how I may begin my pleasurable reading.

Thanks for a terrific job; fantastic. I plan to share with my Mom who is still living and would love to read these also.

Many, many thanks to all of you. Like I said, it is a #1 publication. Real classy!

Janet and Bob Pitchford Winter Springs

Thank You from The Yusko Family Dear Gail and Michael,

The Yusko children, Yvonne, Cecilia, Joe, Geraldine and Jim, would like to thank you for the wonderful article, “Joe and Mamie.” It is a great documentary of their lives. Our family will treasure the remembrance of Mom and Dad. Keep up the good work.

Thanks again and God Bless,

Cecilia Miller

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Holiday • 2008

Good Living In

West Frankfort

Vol. 2 No.4

Table of Contents

Letters

....

We get letters

4 Readers respond enthusiastically to another issue of “Good Living in West Frankfort”.

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6 Long lines, crowded stores and distant parking places are not the worst things that can happen when mall-shopping!

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8 Twenty years ago, three talented FCHS students formed a vocal trio to earn a little spending money at Christmas.

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10 Two West Frankfort residents, George Michalic and Robert McCord, were sailors aboard different ships during the attack by Japan on Pearl Harbor on December 7, 1941.

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16 Once again several West Frankfort residents are kind enough to share their best Christmas memories.

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24 30

36

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Before shopping malls, Wal-Mart and the internet, one businessman on West Frankfort’s Main Street did his best to make sure his customers had everything they needed and then some.

30 An old rocking chair is lost and found again in a set of amazing coincidences.

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36 The annual Lights Parade ushers in the Holiday Season.

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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.©2008 Printed quarterly: Spring, Summer, Fall and Holiday Season.

Cover Photo by Michael A. Thomas: The home of Gary and Harriet Willis is only one of hundreds in West Frankfort homes that are beautifully decorated for the Christmas Season.

Lilian Martin and Ruth Gregutis are proud of their Lituanian traditions at Christmas and share some of them with readers of Good Living in West Frankfort.

38 A quick little cookie treat for busy moms.

Good Living In

West Frankfort

A production of Good Life Publications 309 East Oak Street West Frankfort, IL 62896 (618) 937-2019 Published Quarterly: (Spring • Summer • Fall • WInter) Contact: For Story Ideas: Gail Rissi Thomas / e-mail: pollyagain@aol.com For Advertising: Michael A. Thomas / e-mail: mthomas100@mchsi.com

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Stuck at the Mall

Long lines, crowded stores and distant parking places are not the worse things that can happen when mall-shopping!

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By Gail Rissi Thomas

hh, the hustle, the bustle, the jingling bells tinged with the piped in Christmas carols, the fight for parking spaces, the cha-ching of the cash register. (Uhh, cash registers probably don’t go cha-ching anymore, so just replace that with the feeling of guilt from spending too much money.) You get the picture. Christmas shopping is not one of my favorite things, and I have few memorable moments savored from those mandatory mid-December trips to the mall. But one Sunday afternoon excursion does stand out in my memory.

I remember it well. In addition to finishing up gift buying for everyone on my list, (or probably starting, knowing me), both John, then a high school sophomore, and Jay, my 4th grader, needed new school shoes. So both of them were in tow as we ventured to the Illinois Centre Mall. Michael wasn’t joining us for some reason, and Jay can be a handful at times but I knew I could handle it. John was always very much an adult and at times had even better luck than we did in coaxing Jay out of a bad situation or into a better one. As we strolled down the mall, unusually crowded due to the season, I failed to notice the toddler coin-operated rides looming ahead of us.

Of course nothing like that would escape Jay’s attention. As soon as he spotted them he switched from his usual turtle pace to almost a scamper toward the big bright yellow and red cars. “Mom,” John said with some alarm in his voice. “He’s going to get in that car. “ “Yea,” I answered, “my thoughts somewhere between getting 1: what we needed, 2: what they wanted, 3:

was getting on my nerves, and I had a new irritation in my voice when I answered, “Go. Go on. Start looking for your shoes.

We’ll be down in a minute.” John hesitated a moment, but always being good at seeing limits, he turned on his heel and headed to the far end of the mall. Now for the coaxing, the threatening, whatever it would take. ”Come on Jay. Let’s go. Let’s go get shoes,” I started in a sweet, wheedling tone.

To my surprise he actually seemed that he intended to comply. But,oh wow. Finding that he couldn’t push his tummy past the steering wheel, he settled back into the car. “Come on Jay. Are you stuck?” My voice was even sweeter now, almost teasing. Only someone who knew me well could detect the little tremble of fear. I guess Jay, in spite of his limitations, knew that tremble well. That is when he started to scream.

The next few minutes were something of a blur. Me pleading, shushing, louder and louder. Jay, screaming, yelling louder and louder. He was like a scene out of “Home Alone,” but unfortunately, we weren’t home; nor were we alone.

Suddenly out of nowhere, like a fairy godmother, I thought, an elderly lady dressed like a security officer appeared between us. “Here sweetheart,” she was

“But MOM!” I heard the urgency in John’s voice. “He might get stuck in there.”

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what wouldn’t cost me a month’s budget, and 4: a cold Coke, not necessarily in that order.

“But MOM!” I heard the urgency in John’s voice. “He might get stuck in there.”

“Hmmm,” I mused. He’ll be ok. Just go on to that shoe store down at the end of the mall and start looking.” “MOM. I’m telling you. He’s going to get stuck.” The panic in his voice demanded my attention.

It also had the tone of my mother telling me what to do. Besides Jay was already climbing aboard and settling himself into a bright yellow truck. The whole thing

Holiday • 2008

saying. ‘Put this leg here. Now scoot down off the seat. For just a moment, Jay was quiet as he tried to follow her instruction.

Well a fairy godmother she may have been, but helpful person she was not. With that move, he become so stuck that he seemed to turn pinker, then red, then almost purple. Actually as I think back now, it probably wasn’t from being squeezed to death as I thought at the time, but more likely caused by screaming and crying at the top of his lungs. The scene was changing quickly. Grandmother Security had been joined by about three male security officers, all offering advice to both Jay and one another. A fairly nice sized crowd had gathered, with people watching and mumbling to everyone in general. “What’s the matter with the little boy?” “Oh is he hurt?” “Where is his mother?” Without turning to look, I had visions of heads wagging and tongues clicking.

It took some courage to step forward in that mob scene and speak quietly to one of the officers. “Uh, his brother is here in the mall. Sometimes he has better luck in talking to him. I could go get him.” “Well go get him,” the officer said bluntly. “He’s sure not going anywhere.”

As I turned to run down the length of the mall, I remember a fleeting thought of just how I might relay this desperate situation to John in a watered-down version.

As the crowd parted to let me through, a new security officer hurried up with a cell phone or something in his hand. “I just called the Marion rescue squad,” he said.

“They’ll be here in a minute.”

I ran like the wind. Time is a funny thing in a crisis. It seems I ran past shops and shoppers for about ten minutes before I reached the shoe store at the end. I ran into the store, yelling, “John, John. John are you in here.” Customers stopped buying and clerks stopped selling as they all turned their interest to this panicked, crazy person I had become. I saw John’s head poke up from behind a stack of Reeboks.

Even through his startled look, I could tell that he knew. He dropped everything and hurried out into the main aisle as I blurted, “Jay is trapped in that car. They’ve called the rescue squad to come and get him out.” As he ran out of the store, I saw the woman at the checkout clutch her heart.

“OH MY GOD,” she said. She looked at the woman next to her. “Who’s Jay.” “Oh

it’s ok, I reassured her,” as I ran to follow John. But he was gone, sprinting down the mall like a Sunday jogger. He didn’t even stop to say “I told you so” What a kid.

By the time I reached the growing crowd. John was already there, down on one knee, quietly coaxing. Jay had stopped screaming enough that I could hear the murmurs in the crowd. “Bless his heart.”

“Who’s that?” “His brother I think.”

“Where is his mother?”

John was saying “Jay, can you stand up just a little and put one foot out on the floor?”

said with just a whisper of a smile. Well, do you want the bad news or the good news? He gave me a disgruntled look,” Bad news first. Always,” he replied.

“Well,” I said calmly, “Jay got stuck in one of those kid cars at the mall and had to be extracted by the Marion rescue squad.”

Mike didn’t show nearly the surprise and shock that I expected. “Well, what’s the good news?” he asked in disbelief. I thought for a moment, mulling over the answer. “Well, nobody knew my name.”

§

“I twy,” he answered.

Again, the crowd reaction: “Awwww,” mixed with variations on the word sweet. “How sweet.” Ohh sweet little thing.” I tried not to glare at Jay, and instead take on the appearance of another sympathetic bystander. Jay put one foot out on the floor, but let out one of his best screams so far as he somehow got wedged in even tighter if that were possible. Like Winnie the Pooh in the honey pot, he was stuck.

Now one of the security officers was holding out his arms. “Ok, stand back.

Make way for the rescue squad,” he barked. I saw the three men from the Marion Emergency Service coming toward us with some major looking tools and as the crowd stepped back I did also, actually a little further back, perhaps. I watched as John knelt beside the car and the rescue squad began to disassemble it, taking off the top and the door so that Jay could step into freedom and the welcome of a cheering crowd.

That afternoon, when we arrived home, still shoeless, Michael asked how the shopping trip had been.

John rolled his eyes and I Holiday • 2008

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The Christmas Belles

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By Julie Willis

love Sundays. It is my only day where I don’t have to do something that pays me. I have it all to myself. Today is no different. I head down the stairs of my apartment building and outside to the crisp autumnal air ready to start my day when I hear them: the unmistakable sound of Christmas bells. As I get to the corner of the street, I see that overnight they have transformed my little corner of the world into a winter, Christmas wonderland. Well, ok. They really just hung up some street decorations--with bells on them. I am sure at the last community board meeting it seemed like a swell idea, but I have been listening to these bells for all of 2 minutes and I am already a bit edgy. I should probably add that I am writing this in October.

Hi! I am Julie Willis. I was born and raised in West Frankfort, IL. I am a proud FCHS Redbird, a fond SIU Saluki, and later defected and became a reluctant Purdue Boilermaker. I currently live in New York City. Like most New Yorkers, I am a small town transplant who became addicted to the bright lights of the big city on my first visit, and then had to stay.

AND…like most New Yorkers I have a love/hate relationship with this place I call home.

I think a good place to start for this issue is Christmas. I love Christmas. I do. I love everything about it, a near fatal allergy to pine trees notwithstanding, I love the music, the food, the decorations, the absurd over - consuming commercialism, all of it. One of my fondest Christmas memories comes Pg. 8

from my senior year in high school.

It is something of which I am reminded every Christmas at the first sound of Christmas bells.

Kari Richerson (May), Stephanie Cook (Odle), and I decided one year to make some easy cash.

So we decided we would get some tunes together and dress up ala the Andrews Sisters and book some local holiday parties. Kari’s mom, Kendra, sewed together some red dresses trimmed in white fur, and we put an ad in the paper. Our fee was any amount divided by three. I think the least we made per gig was $21, the most $72. We booked up

teria. Kari starts singing “Oh, the weather outside is frightful…”

I am not sure how we ended up home that evening, but my fuzzy memory seems to recall my father rescuing us from an intersection near St. Louis Street and Rt. 37. I think my Grandpa Bill was involved as well. There are many other stories from the Christmas Belle tour, including singing at a Girl’s Basketball game, driving down Interstate 57 singing to truckers over the CB radio in Stephanie’s car, and – I think I should stop there.

Originally from West Frankfort, Julie Willis is currently living in New York, New York, where she is an Adjunct Professor in the Department of Humanities at Hudson County Community Colleg, part-time actress, and part-time waitress. She is working on a solo performance piece, “Amazing Grace,” due to debut in the Spring.

Left: The Christmas Belles:Front to back: Julie Willis, Stephanie Cook (Odle) and Kari Richerson (May)

fast. Between our duties as students, band members, swing choir, and The Christmas Belles (as we proudly called ourselves), it was a busy season.

One night we were scheduled to sing at Evelyn Patton’s house for a sorority party (this was one of the $72 ones). While inside entertaining the guests, it had started to snow—a lot. Unfortunately, it was my turn to drive. We stepped out into the wintry mix, piled into my car, which I honestly think was held together with duct tape, and began to cautiously inch down Gardner Hill. I was shaking, a bit nauseous, and heading toward hys-

Holiday • 2008

So, today as I enjoy the beautiful weather a thousand miles from home, I hear the first jingle jangle of the holiday season and immediately look forward to being HOME. I am so glad New York loves Christmas as much as I do.

Between the Rockettes and Macy’s and all of the small neighborhoods in between, New York is one big Holiday World. Some might argue they start too early, but I don’t mind, because I can enjoy a beautiful season in New York, and then travel home, where my love for Christmas was born. My heart is in New York, but my soul is in West Frankfort

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Holiday • 2008

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Heroes Among Us

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here were no big anniversary gatherings at Pearl Harbor in Hawaii this December. Two years ago, it was decided that the veterans who have been called "the first American witnesses to the last World War," now in their eighties and nineties, find the trip to the site of the attack on Pearl Harbor too difficult to make, too far in distance and too long in travel time.

The dwindling numbers of airmen, sailors and soldiers in attendance in 2006 caused the president of the Pearl Harbor Survivors Association, Mal Middlesworth, to comment that at the rate things were going, “our next national reunion could be held in a phone booth. And we don’t have any replacement troops,” he quipped.

It is estimated that we are losing our World War II heroes at the rate of about 1,100 a day and the number of survivors of the Pearl Harbor attack may have di-

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The USS Arizona sinks beneath the waters of Pearl Harbor with the loss of over 1,000 crew members.

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Two West Frankfort residents, George Michalic and Robert McCord, were sailors aboard different ships during the attack by Japan on Pearl Harbor on December 7, 1941.

minished to only a few hundred. Perhaps that is what makes it somewhat surprising that two West Frankfort residents were there at Pearl Harbor, on December 7, 1941, serving their country when the Japanese launched the attack that would kill 2,335 servicemen and thrust the United States into World War II. West Frankfort resident, Robert McCord, was one of the thousands of young men who had joined the navy looking for

Holiday • 2008

adventure and found more than he could have ever imagined that morning as he began what seemed a routine day aboard his ship the USS Detroit. The light cruiser was anchored just a few hundred yards across Ford Island from a row of battleships. Those battleships of course, were the main target of the attack.

“I was just finishing up breakfast,” McCord recalls. “I heard the explosion followed by the emergency call, ‘Aweigh, One of the few US warships to escape Pearl Harbor relatively unscathed, the USS Detroit served as the flagship for the 6th fleet during the end of WWII and was given an honorary mooring next to the USS Missouri in Tokyo Bay during the signing of the Japanese surrender.

(Photo courtesy of Robert McCord)

fire and rescue.’ I ran one deck up to topside and saw the smoke and the planes. A plane passed so low overhead that I could see the face of the Japanese pilots. There were two of them.”

McCord, a pointer on one of the big anti-aircraft guns, took his battle station and began firing. His memory of that time was a period of chaos. “There was so much noise and confusion, a lot of mistakes,” he says. “We were all shooting at everything. We were shooting at birds.”

In a newspaper interview with the Daily American over 25 years ago, he recalled in more detail what the scene was like. “You could see a lot of smoke coming from the destroyers, but we didn’t think it was as bad as it was,” he said. “There was a lot of confusion; you just didn’t have time to take it all in. People who read a lot of history probably have a better idea of what happened that day than I do. It seemed like the attack went on all day, although it didn’t go on nearly that long.”

As soon as the crew could get organized, the Detroit set out for open seas and a rendezvous with other ships that had managed to survive the attack. It was one of very few ships that managed to sail out of the harbor that day.

McCord went on to serve on a hospital transport ship during much of the remaining time of his active duty. He returned to West Frankfort, where he raised his family and owned and operated a refrigerator equipment repair business.

Another West Frankfort resident was in the midst of the battle on that fateful day. George Michalic took some time out of his Monday morning only one day after the anniversary of the attack to reflect on the memories that have haunted him for 67 years and to share his thoughts with us for the magazine.

Michalic was Chief Petty Officer on the Vestal, a repair ship with a crew of pipefitters, welders, woodworkers and every type of laborer and craftsman that could be needed to keep ships in good repair. The Vestal was tied stem to stern with the USS Arizona. “We had tied up to the Arizona and gone aboard on Friday,” Michalic says. “We were looking over things that needed repairing or replacing, and we scheduled Monday for our crew to go back and begin the work.”

But Monday never came for The Arizona. On Sunday, the gigantic warship was destroyed by a 25-ton, armor piercing bomb. It took only nine minutes for

Mcord was a boatswain’s mate abord the USS Detroit which was staioned on the west side of Ford Island. Michalic was a Chief Petty Officer aboard the repair ship USS Vestal which was moored directly east of the battleship USS Arizona.

the ship to sink, taking with it the lives of 1,170 crew members.

“I was blown off my ship into the

Robert McCord still lives in West Frankfort.

water by the force of the blast,” Michalic says. “Before the explosion came, I was in the carpenters’ shop. Some of the chief officers were playing pinochle. We heard the command, ‘All hands, man your battle stations.’ One of the officers told me to go up top to see what was going on. I couldn’t believe the Japanese planes. All I remember (of the explosion) was reaching up for my hat and the next thing I knew, I was in the water.”

“One bomb hit the Vestal, but it malfunctioned. I don’t know what happened; there was very little movement on it, and it went straight down, But it did hit the carpenters’ shop. Actually it just missed my bunk. After I hit the water, I got myself together enough to swim to the ladder of our ship, and I was able to climb back aboard. There was so much smoke and fire. Everything was confusion.”

For those of us who have only heard

Holiday • 2008

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On the morning of Sunday, December 7th, 1941, the USS Vestal (rear) was moored within five feet of the USS Arizona (foreground) when a Japanese bomb struck the Arizona and tore into one of her magazine compartments. The force of the ensuing blast knocked Michalic—who was standing on the stern of the Vestal—some 25 feet into the water. Michalic suffered permanent hearing loss from the explosion. (Insert: Visitors to Pearl Harbor can still see the mooring spot of the Vestal.)

(Courtesy of George Michalic

the story of Pearl Harbor from the cold, lifeless pages of history books, the sights and sounds of a veteran’s memories of that day come alive when we hear them in his words. “I’ve often wondered why a ship will burn. It’s nothing but iron, you know. But of course the Arizona was on fire, and our

ship was on fire. I could see the men on the Arizona trying to man their battle stations with their clothes burning. The water between the Arizona and the Vestal was nothing but flames, and we were able to rescue a few of the crew from the Arizona that had been blown into the water between the The USS Arizona explodes.

This dramatic photograph depicts the moment the forward magazine of the Arizona exploded. It is probably the blast that blew George Michalic off the USS Vestal and into the oil-covered water. (photo US Naval Archives)

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two ships. I ran past a man from our crew in the carpenters’ shop who had been hit in the back. I said, ‘Are you ok?’ and he said, ‘I think so. George, look at my back and see if I’m bleeding. The shrapnel had dug a hole in his back, but the metal was so hot that it had seared his flesh and stopped the blood.”

“Our ship was 18 feet above the water line and the Japanese planes were coming in so low that I could see one of the pilot’s face. He was grinning. We were so close, we let him have it. Got him too. One of our machine gunners was hit in the tummy. He died.”

Michalic was not the only sailor aoard the Vestal to be hurled into the oil-covered waters of Pearl Harbor. Approximately 100 crew members, including the Vestal’s captain, Commander Cassin Young, were catapulted overboard by the force of he explosion that ripped the Arizona apart.With Japanese aircraft continuing their assault and their commanding officer missing, an executive officer onboard the Vestal gave the order to abandon ship. (The following account, courtesy of C. Douglas Sterner, www. homeofheroes.com.)

Men were streaming over the sides when an apparition clambered aboard. His uniform drenched with water and his entire body covered with oil, the figure presented an eerie sight standing completely exposed on the Vestal’s gangplank. “Where the hell do you men think you are going?” shouted the voice of Commander Cassin Young. Unbelievably, he not only survived the blast that hurtled him into the air but also the flaming waters of Pearl Harbor. Determinedly he swam back to save his ship. Looking down at the water,

now filled with crewmen who were Cassin Young was given the would have bled to death if we racing towards shore, he shouted, Medal of Honor for his actions at hadn’t done that.”

“Come back here! You’re not going Pearl Harbor. He was later assigned Immediately following the atto abandon ship on me yet!” Then command of the heavy cruiser USS tack on Pearl Harbor, the Vestal he strolled the litter-strewn deck, San Francisco and died at the Nacrew was ordered to guard swimheedless of enemy strafing ming pools for their fresh and bombardment. “All water supply, and within hands back to your battle a few days after tempostations and prepare to get rary repairs were comunder way,” he shouted. pleted by the crew, the Normal steam pressure ship was sent to dry dock for moving the Vestal was for complete repairs.

250 pounds. Damaged Days after the attack, pipes spewed hot steam Michalic shared some of into the air and only 50 the grim responsibilities pounds of pressure could of building coffins and be achieved. On this day, burying for the dead, it was enough. Mooring many of whose bodies lines to the doomed Arihad to be recovered from zona were cut and slowly, the harbor. miraculously, the Vestal “They were just redTo save her from sinking, the USS Vestal was deliberately beached on a coral reef.

(Photo US Naval Archive) moved into open water unwood boxes,” he says of der the fearless guidance of the coffins. “And they Commander Cassin Young. would drag lines with Two tugs were commandeered to val battle of Guadalcanal. He was hooks on them to snare the bodies help the stricken vessel continue its buried at sea. of the dead sailors (still floating in escape from the burning Arizona, “We had (another) one of our the harbor) and drag them through but water continued to pour in and officers hit in the leg. He had a the water to our ship. Once you it was apparent that the Vestal was huge hole by his ankle and was have smelled death you will never sinking. To prevent the loss, Combleeding pretty bad. There were forget it.” mander Young ran his ship aground cars parked up along the road with Michalic remembers the Christon a coral reef at Aiea. The Vestal people in them watching the whole mas of 1941, only a couple of would sail again, after some repair thing, not even realizing what they weeks later, as an insignificant work, thanks to its fearless skipwere seeing. They thought it was memory in the magnitude of the per’s sheer guts and determination. a peacetime maneuver. We got other events. “I think someone ashore and carried the officer up to went out and got a little tree of “He was the bravest man I ever one of the cars and told the driver, some kind and we all gathered knew,”Michalic said of Young.

‘We’ve got to get him to the hosaround it and sang some Christmas “The men all loved him. He was pital.’ ‘Not in my car,’ he said. So songs.” the best commander I ever served we threw his ass out and took the Michalic served on the Vestal under.” officer to the hospital. He probably for over four years and following

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President, Terry Rawson Vice President, Tracy Davis Secretary-Treasurer, Rosi Miller Recordiing Secretary, Bill Rainy Trustees: Jerry Cunnigham Terry Gossett Stan Patterson

the war was stationed in Cuba.

After discharge he returned to West Frankfort. He married his wife, Agnes, in the forties and they have one son, Mark. Unlike many Pearl Harbor survivors, he has never returned to the site of the attack.

He has no desire to go back. “I have no good memories there, only ghosts,” he says. “There’s nothing there that I want to see again.” He did see the movie “Pearl Harbor,” that was released several years ago.

“It wasn’t all that accurate,” he says. “I don’t know…I was in the original cast,” he adds with a smile.

“I just hope that we will be able to enjoy the freedoms of this country for many years. With the ways of the world today, I just wonder…”

It may seem unnecessary to interrupt the serenity of a work dedicated to Christmas in this community with unpleasant memories of war, while we’re focused on the happy recollections of its residents during the best time of the year. But let us never forget the reason that we are even free to enjoy the life we do, the festivities, the religious commemoration, the prosperity, and even the privi-

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lege to create and distribute this publication is directly due to the sacrifice of thousands of individuals like Robert McCord and George Michalic. There are no words effective enough to make the story

George Michalic Gladys Rockmore Davis resides in West Frankfort with his wife Agnes.

of December 7, 1941, new to us again. Like the story of the first Christmas, sometimes I wish that we could hear it once more for the very first time. But at least, we can stop a moment and remember their sacrifice and that of so many more.

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Last Sunday at St. John’s Church, where George Michalic is a regular member, at the end of mass, Father Trevor Murry paused to acknowledge the anniversary of Pearl Harbor Day and Michalic’s part in the event. As an honor to Michalic, the congregation stood and applauded for an extremely extended period. Many didn’t know the story; some found it to be very emotional. But as Michalic walked back down the center aisle to the back of the church, we all recognized that a hero was walking among us.

So to Robert McCord and George Michalic, for us to pause in the midst of a December issue filled with Christmas stories seems entirely appropriate. And although it is inadequate to say only, ‘Thank you,’ sometimes an understatement is all we have for an emotion that is so overwhelming. As Michalic said at the end of our interview as he reflected on that day so many years ago, “Yeah, it was a long day.” §

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Photos and Graphic image by Michael Thomas

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an old coal stove in the kitchen and an oil burner in the living room. We returned quickly to our new home in town to enjoy our Christmas together and never did go back to the farm to live. As I think back, I’m so thankful we had each other and my Mother who remained strong throughout the whole ordeal. There was a glow in the house that night as we began plans anew for a new life ahead of us.

Santa had arrived!! My parents explained that since Santa knows all, he must have realized my dad would be working and made our delivery first. Wow! We kids were believers again as we enjoyed our Christmas with both of our parents present.

It wasn’t until I had grown that my mother confessed that dad had not seen the program that night. He had slipped out, raced home, and placed all the gifts under the tree before dashing back. It always impressed me how much effort my parents gave to preserving the wonder we felt as children and more importantly, the feeling of family at Christmas.

John Moreland It was getting close to Christmas in 1958. It had been a pretty rough year for our family. Just before Christmas the prior year, my step-father died, leaving a widow of 38 years old and us four children, ages 5, 8, 11, and 14. I was the oldest.

My real father, a P-47 pilot, had been killed in action during WWII when I was only about 2 1/2 years old. My other brother came along about 3 months after that. My mother re-married about three years later to another much decorated WWII veteran and from this union came my two half brothers. My stepfather accepted us as his own, as did his family. We had been living on a farm in northwest Iowa, and in 1957 the crops had been a disaster. In 1958 we had to move off the farm because we were just tenants, but our landlord was a great and kind individual who let us live there free until we were able to move into town about 7 miles away.

My mother had a new home built from my step-dad’s GI insurance. The house was just about done right before Christmas, but our plans were to wait until after the first of the year to move.

We loaded some things up in the car Christmas Eve day and drove to town.

Even though there was not much furniture it was so warm and cozy. We all kind of looked at each other and went back out to the farm to load up our Christmas gifts.

I remember it was 62 degrees in that old farmhouse because, of course, it had no insulation and all we heated with was

Marsha Smart

When I was a child, our family always celebrated Christmas on Christmas morning. One year my father, who worked swing shift at a power plant, was scheduled to work midnights (midnight until 8:00 am). This meant there was no way he would arrive home before three young children were up on Christmas morning and he would miss seeing everyone’s reaction to the gifts that Santa left. (We always knew what Santa left because it was not wrapped and it was what we wanted most.) This event happened about the time my sister and I were beginning to question the very existence of Santa.

On Christmas Eve we all set out for the children’s Christmas program at church. My dad was an usher, the three of us were all participating, and my mom was helping with the program. After the program, we returned home to find that

Chere Herron

One of my best Christmas memories started when I was in college and became a tradition in our family. My sister and two brothers and I were all in college at the same time and none of us had much money to exchange presents that year. My mom started something as kind of a game for us.

She called it “Santa Cash.” She made up a bunch of clues and some rules. It was something like a scavenger hunt. The first year she just hid cash all over the house. We would compete to see who could find the most cash.

She did it every year after that, but she changed it into more of a game and hid presents along with the cash around the house. We loved it and always had so much fun playing. Later when I brought Holiday • 2008

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Kent home with me for Christmas, he too thought it was a lot of fun.

Now that we’re older, we don’t always get home at the same time anymore, but I know if we did that is a tradition that we would all want to continue.

with whatever pain he was suffering, finally wore himself out and fell asleep on my chest as I lay on the couch holding him. I was momentarily relieved at his relief when, with the outside temperature at five below zero, the electricity went off.

We then had something else significant to worry about--how to keep our sick child warm, all the while trying to decide whether we needed to head to Carbondale Hospital or wait to go at first light.

As I tried to lie very still so as not to awake our sleeping child, the sun rose on a clear, frigid Christmas morning, and almost miraculously for us, the furnace kicked on, signaling the return of electric service. That experience certainly gives us a special appreciation for the extraordinary plight of a couple that became first-time parents in a Bethlehem stable on that first Christmas.

George Hopkins Most parents, I think, can remember when they were first-time parents and how concerned they were for the well being of the gift they’ve been given. My wife Tina and I were no exception, and one of my most vivid Christmas memories has to do with that intense feeling.

Dustin, our first son, was born ten days before Christmas, so we checked to see if he was breathing about every ten minutes or so during that holiday time. Late on that extremely cold Christmas Eve, Dustin was stricken with what was later diagnosed as a strep infection, and we, of course, were very worried. We took turns trying to comfort him in his misery during that night.

When it was my shift at about 3 a.m., Dustin, after being completely miserable

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Karen Williams

It was getting close to Christmas in the small town of Farmington, NM, around 1957, but it didn’t seem like Christmas

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for three small children that year. Where were the presents and where was the Christmas tree? Where were the normal treats and good smells that usually come with Christmastime? The kids were beginning to wonder if Santa was going to come at all. They didn’t know what was going on until their father finally told them that there was no money for Christmas this year and that he would try to make it up later when he was working and things were better. WHAT!? No money means that there really isn’t a Santa Claus if your parents have to buy your presents.

Our parents had been whispering to each other for some time now, and it wasn’t about what we were getting for Christmas!

You see, we had just moved to New Mexico from Abilene, TX. Dad was a driller for an oil company and moved around a lot to different sites. This one was in “stack time” until after the first of the year, then the rig would be put up and the work would begin. Until then, you just had to make do. Well, Dad was down to his last fifty cents and decided that it was time for us to know.

It was Christmas Eve morning, and you can only imagine the disappointment that we felt at the time. Yet I can remember my brothers and me telling Dad, “It’s all right, Daddy; we have enough stuff anyway,”and him telling us that we would have Christmas later on. While we were still talking, there was a knock at the door.

It was Dad’s buddies who had come to New Mexico from Texas to work with him, and they needed to talk to Dad. We were playing around, not really paying attention, but you could see the tension leave and a look of relief and happiness come to Dad’s eyes. The house was filled with Christmas spirit then!

After awhile, the men drove off in Dad’s car. And now what was going on?

They had family back in Abilene and wanted to go home for Christmas, but they didn’t have a car. They also knew that Dad was having financial problems and

International Brotherhood of

Merry Christmas

Electrical Workers Local No. 702 106. N. Monroe St. Office: (618) 932-2102 West Frankfort, IL 62896 Fax: (618) 932-2311

had three kids who were not going to have Christmas, so they pooled their money and rented Dad’s car for two weeks to go home for Christmas. They gave Dad $250, which was a lot of money at that time.

Christmas was saved!

We walked to a lot where Christmas trees were sold, excited about getting a tree, but the only ones left were in very poor shape. Dad picked out two trees; each had one good side and one bad.

He took them home, and after a lot of trimming, wired them together and put them in a stand with water. They turned out to be a full and beautiful Christmas tree. Then we all walked to town for a day of fun and treats. All the way, Dad was asking, “Do you really believe there ís no Santa? What do you think now?”

We all got new coats and gloves and other necessities. Then we went to see a movie, 101 Dalmatians. I’ll never forget that movie or that day, and neither will my brothers. We went to an authentic Mexican restaurant for supper, a special treat because we rarely ate out. The food was so hot that not one of us could eat it, not even my dad, who liked everything with hot sauce; so he took us to a different place for ice cream. Delicious! We finished our shopping and had a wonderful Christmas dinner the next day. We’ve had a lot of Christmases since then, but that one turned out to be the best Christmas we can remember.

David Pearson On Jan. 1 1971, Tedra Gipson and I were married at Townmount Baptist Church in West Frankfort. After our marriage, we went by train to Jacksonville, Florida, and then to the Naval Base at Mayport Naval Station, FL. We spent a short Honeymoon there for 6 days before I left on a 6 month cruise aboard the USS Sarsfield DD837. The deployment I went on was called the Red Sea Cruise or Mideast Cruise. We sailed around the tip of Africa then up into the Persian Gulf.

This is where all the action is going on today called the Gulf War, but it was a lot prettier then than now. NO WARS. Tedra then left and came back home to West Frankfort to wait for me to return in June.

When the cruise was over I flew out of Bermuda into JFK airport then to

Saint Louis where Tedra and my younger brother Donnie were waiting for me. Tedra and I spent the time getting to know each other. We found a place to live and settled in. It wasn’t much, but it was home.

At Christmas time we drove home from Florida to spend Christmas with our families. We had a good time with both families, spending time with Tedra’s family up north at Dixon like she always did. Tedra’s brother and sister and most of her mom’s family lived up there. They always opened presents on Christmas Eve, so after we exchanged gifts, Tedra and I drove back down to Southern Illinois so we could be with my family on Christmas Day. When I got up Christmas Morning I called my parents to wish them a very Merry Christmas. My dad answered the phone and I wished him a Merry Christmas and he said, “It isn’t very merry.” I asked why, fearing the worst. He said that the ship had called and wanted me to report back as soon as possible; we had to get underway very soon. There seemed to be some Cuban gunboats shooting up the merchant ships around Cuba.

So Tedra and I packed up everything, said our goodbyes, and drove the 945 miles back to Mayport. Since our first anniversary was that week, we didn’t get to spend it together, so we had to wait and have a piece of our wedding cake on our second anniversary. It didn’t taste good at all.

We haven’t spent a Christmas or an anniversary apart since then in 37 years.

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to them. From there on out the kids had to have their clothes washed before they were able to wear them. Till this day, I still wash all clothes that are new before they wear them.

Shaney Gass

Florence Butta

I have had pretty normal Christmases except a few years ago. My kids had gotten clothes from Santa and after opening everything, it was time to go to the family’s house for dinner. You know kids; they have to put on their new outfits that they had just received.

At my mother’s house Shane, my son, had been scratching quite a bit. I had asked him what was the matter. He said that he didn’t know and I checked him and he had a rash from head to toe. His body was so red and bumpy. I had to take him to the emergency room where, like most of them, we had to wait for hours. After a few tests the doctor came in and said that the rash was caused from the dyes in the new clothes and that Shane was allergic

When I was a little girl, in the first grade, I used to walk to Edwards School every day. I lived at the corner of Taft and Midway and had to pass the old west mine, which was a working coal mine. It was a pretty bad area in which to walk, dirty, noisy and dangerous.

I walked to school with Parina Golio (Renik). My mother made me eat oats every day and I hated them. I still remember Parina standing there waiting for me to finish breakfast and saying, “Can she go now?” Well, that’s not really a part of the story.

But it was close to Christmas and I had a part in the school play. I can still remember the poem that I had to learn to say from memory. “I hang this wreath of

Seb Pagano Our first son, Richard, was born on December 9, 1973, It made that particular Christmas very special for me and my wife Helen. Now we have grandchildren and our latest addition, Isabella, was also born on December 9, 2005. So not only do we celebrate Christmas, but also the births of our son and our grandaughter.

"Have a ‘purr-fect’ Holiday Season" Pg. 20

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holly in the window here. It is an old, old symbol of Christmas joy and cheer.”

I practiced my part in the living room every night with my mom and dad. I would say my poem and pretend to be hanging an imaginary wreath. Even my little sister, Teresa, knew the poem.

After I would practice, then she would say, “Now let me do it. I can do it too.”

So the day of the play finally came and it was raining and cold. I walked home for lunch. My aunt fixed my hair, and I changed into my little pink dress and pink anklets. I had white shoes.

Now this was really a miserable day, dark and messy. The streets were muddy in those days, not paved the way they are now. My mom put my coat on me and made me wear these ugly old galoshes. I mean, these were really ugly old galoshes—big brown canvas things that pulled over around the top and snapped.

The last thing she said to me was, “Don’t forget to take off your galoshes before you do your part.” You can see where this is going, can’t you?

So I got to school and we all went to the First Methodist Church, where the play was going to be. My mother and grandmother were in the front row. Now, wouldn’t you think that my teacher, or one of all those teachers there would have thought to remind me to take off my galoshes, but no…

So I walk out on stage with my pretty little pink dress and all I could hear is a gasp in the front row and my grandmother say, “She’s got her galoshes on!” I almost forgot my poem.

My mother used to talk about that. I think I heard, “She went up there with her galoshes on,” ‘till the day she died.

That’s my Christmas memory.

My children, Chris and Leigh, would never settle for an artificial tree. They always had to have a fresh one – the bigger and fatter, the better. This pleased me a great deal, because I never had a real tree as I was growing up. I never even had a green tree. So a real tree, the bigger and fatter, the better for me, too. Until it came time to buy it and put it up It was our tradition to go some December evening, right after school, to find the tree. We looked forward to it all day. We knew that after the tree was finally selected and purchased, we would go to some warm, cozy restaurant for a late supper. But finding the big, fat tree was not always an easy task. We would start locally, then venture to nearby towns.

None of the trees were quite right. And if we found one that almost met our criteria (big and fat), we would “keep it in mind” Genelle Bedokis and continue looking for one better.

So, our much awaited pleasure of Have you noticed the new trend in tree shopping would get more and more artificial trees this year? They come in stressful. The evening I most remember all colors, and I do mean all – lime green, pink, red, black, aqua, orange, camouflage. was one in which no “perfect” tree could be found. As the time passed, the weather O.K., I haven’t seen camouflage, not yet worsened, we got hungrier and hungrier, anyway. Well, I am not amazed by any of and our nerves were shot. We decided to these, because when I was a child we had settle for one of the earlier trees that we a pink tree. had seen. When returning to get it, we My parents were very contemporary. found that it had been sold, so we bought Our furniture was blonde and wrought the next best thing. By then, most nicer iron (very fashionable at the time). The restaurants were closing. And again room colors were sometimes chartreuse we had to settle. We forfeited the idea and brown or other unusual combinations of “nice and cozy” for just a sandwich of colors. As odd as it may sound, our somewhere. But we had a tree. home was very nice. But the Christmas When we returned home, Chris, who tree, that’s another story. was about ten at the time, insisted that we We had a small artificial tree (about 4 put the tree up that night – at least, get it feet high) with a music box in the bottom in the stand so that we could decorate it of it. The tree had gone through many the next day.

Putting the tree in the stand transformations to match the décor of our was not my forte.

It usually meant using living room, but for the longest time it an axe and cutting the base and limbs and was pink. Spray-painted pink that is. The stuff like that.

Chris, who was the man paint was in clumps on the tree and quite of the house, knew that this was his job; ugly by today’s standards. But it was our however, he soon discovered our tree was traditional tree, and besides it had a music less than perfect.

The trunk that was as box in it. We thought it was grand. crooked as it could be would present a real This memory leads me to my story.

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problem. But Chris set to work and called for my help only to assist in carrying the tree in the house, and holding it while he placed it in the stand. Leigh, who was almost four, held the door.

At last, after much fussing and straining, the tree was standing. Or was it? Within seconds, it crashed to the floor.

We lifted it again, steadied it, and down it went. Up again, down again, over and over. This was more than I could take.

It was getting late; it had been a very long day. And my headache was beyond description. I left for my bedroom and threw myself across the bed. I felt guilty as I heard the misshapen tree continuously crash to the floor.

After a while, there was a light rapping on my bedroom door. Knowing it was Leigh, I looked for her bouncing red curls that always seemed to enter the room before she did. But, instead, she stood sheepishly at the door. “Mommy,” she very quietly said. “Chrithy said a bad word.” “I’m going to say a worse one if you don’t leave me alone,” I barked back.

Immediately, I guilt overwhelmed me.

Poor Chris, he just wouldn’t give up. He was only ten and so eager to complete this manly task. He just didn’t know what to do. But I did.

I hurried back into the living room to help Chris. “Tie the D---- thing to the curtain rod.” (I know, I know. I didn’t say I was “Mother of the Year”.) I never saw Chris’ eyes get so big. “What? Are you serious?” he asked in disbelief. But I know that secretly he was hoping I meant it. “Tie it up?” “Tie it up.” I said. And so

Pg. 22

I held it while Chris tied it. Leigh stood and watched. And finally our tree was standing.

In my mind, I can see the three of us in that living room. Sometimes they are younger; sometimes they are older. But we are there together, getting ready for our favorite time of the year--putting up the “perfect” tree – the bigger and fatter, the better.

Mike Woody One of my most memorable Christmas seasons was in West Frankfort. Our family had suddenly moved to town as my father chased employment in this region during the late 1950’s and early 1960’s.

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We lived in a large two story home on the corner of Emma and an alley…I’m sure there is a postal designation for where we lived but I just can’t recall. During this brief stay that lasted part of one school year and into the next year at St. John’s, dad lost his job and the family any hope of a “Merry Christmas”.

Our family, consisting of a set of parents and 5 kids, faced down the prospects of a meager holiday meal due to our sudden “negative cash flow.” We weren’t the only ones facing troubling times. I remember to this day a next door neighbor coming to the back door and asking for hot-dogs and cigarettes for their Holiday meal. Mom had prepared us for a very non-traditional meal (bean soup or spaghetti…It might have been both).

Later that Christmas Eve another visitor arrived. That guest was Dr. Ahlm accompanied by a few other folks who brought in turkey, ham and all the specialties for our Christmas meal. Just like the legendary St. Nicholas, he and his associates were gone, spending little time for thank yous and gratitude. I realized later that he knew the best gift is in the giving.

So here I am, decades later, remembering with sincere thank yous and gratitude that random act of kindness. I try to do that too now and then, and when I do, it’s all because of a blessing received in West Frankfort.

Merry Christmas to All.

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Shop Local

Before shopping malls, Wal-Mart and the internet, one businessman on West Frankfort’s Main Street did his best to make sure his customers had everything they needed and then some.

S

Ethridge Tharp stands with his wife Berniece in their variety store located at 232 West Main Street in West Frankfort.

Photo Provided

hop Local. There’s quite a promotion circulating around that idea this Christmas. Area towns along with the Regional Chamber of Commerce are combining efforts to encourage Southern Illinoisans to stay home, save on gas, spend their money in their local communities and take their Christmas shopping back to Main Street.

Etheridge Tharp would have laughed at that idea back when he worked the retail market both in West Frankfort and as a traveling salesman in the entire region.

Where else would you shop? Not only did the Christmas season find West Frankfort bustling with shoppers loaded down with

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treasures, but Main Street was lined with shop after shop offering goods from toys and trinkets to the finest in women’s fashions and fur coats.

Tharp spent the better part of an afternoon with us last October talking about his memories of Main Street. The volumes of information that he was able to share were almost like a stream of consciousness, images of shops that came and went and came and stayed over the years that Tharp was either a retailer with his own store on Main Street during the forties and fifties, or a teenager working for one of the prosperous women’s clothing stores in the thirties. The 98

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year- old Tharp is a treasure trove of West Frankfort history.

Tharp was only a teen when he began working in downtown West Frankfort, and quickly became well acquainted with many of the most prosperous and wellknown business people. “There were a lot of Jewish merchants who had come here from St. Louis,” Tharp recalls. The business community was dotted with the names Burg, Rosenburg, Susman, Rubenstein, Zwick and Arsht.

“I worked for Max and DeVera Burg at Burgs in the twenties when I was in high school,” Tharp says. “I did all kinds of things there. I put up stock, cleaned

“I knew a guy named Bill Reed, at Sky-Ray Antenna Company in McCleansboro. I found a hula-hoop at a paint store in Mt. Vernon and took it to Reed. I asked him, ‘Can you make some of these out of the aluminum you use?’ He said, “Sure, what is it?’ I said, ‘Man, Don’t you watch TV?’ I ordered a hundred or so and picked them up the next day. I didn’t have them two hours. I went back and ordered 500 more, and sold them almost immediately. I got up to 4500 a day.”

--Ethridge Tharp--

the carpet. I got very good at window dressing when I was in high school. I dressed the windows there and at one time trimmed windows for the Famous Store, which was a real nice department store that sold both men and women’s clothing.

People would sit in their cars at night and watch while we dressed the windows. But that wasn’t surprising; Main Street was full of people” “People were strolling up and down the street nearly every night, window shopping and visiting, especially on weekends, of course. You could stop at Cline Drug Store and get a cherry Coke for a nickel. There was Barret’s Barbeque.

They were so busy that they had four men working all the time. They were at the corner of Logan and Main on the northeast side. They had a roof garden with a dance floor up there on the roof and they often had live music there, usually on Saturday night.”

Dancing to live music was a fashionable activity on West Frankfort’s Main Street, and apparently there were plenty of opportunities to kick up your heels on a weekend if you were so inclined. “There was a ballroom on the third floor of the Elks building” Tharp recalls, “and the Veterans’ Service Club (the yellow building) had a huge ballroom Holiday • 2008

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upstairs. They had really big benefits, dinners and dances in their dance hall.”

“There were also several busy movie theaters,” he adds. “At one time there was the State, the Strand, the Roxy and the Family Theater in the Heights. My uncle opened that one, and I remember that he hired me and some other boys to put the seats together. We were going to get paid in free tickets,” he laughs. “I think I got one. Dr. Koons owned a theater by the hospital too, early in the twenties.”

But bottom line: if you wanted to Christmas shop in West Frankfort in those days, there were plenty of places to do it.

Tharp’s memory walks us up and down the Main Street, naming businesses that thrived here. Which ones came and went at what times are details that we didn’t worry about. “Bryan’s Furniture was a big draw,” he says. “Very busy. There was the Fashion Shop, the Rosalie Shop, J.V Walkers, Carps, Susman’s Department Store. He was a real nice guy. Harry Zwick bought that store and had a promotion like I’ve never seen before.

For every dollar you spent there, you got a ticket and once a month he drew a winning ticket and gave away a Maxwell Touring Car. It was real pretty too. Eventually he was financially exhausted. The store closed and then burnt down.”

“There was Joseph’s Men’s Store on the south side. That was a really good store. Miller Shoe Store was next to the Post Office. Of course Coleman Chevrolet took up a lot of the 300 block, and the Woodway Grocery Store. Max Burg owned the Fair General Store. Limerick Loan was another Main Street business.”

Perhaps one of the more interesting businesses that operated on the west side for some time was Sam Board’s Shoe Store. Many women living today throughout Southern Illinois may remember the tangle and confusion of designer shoes that littered the broken floor of the store and the Jewish man from St. Louis with the unpredictable and

Photo Provided Above: Ethridge Tharp stands outside his Main Street West Frankfort store on a 4th of July in the early 1950’s. Insert: Tharp is 98 years old and now lives in Christopher.

He was the first store in the area to introduce a wonderful new product called “Elmer’s Glue” to West Frankfort residents Pg. 26

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Tharp’s Variety store was located 232 West Main Street just east of the RFC garage.

Ethridge Tharp opened his store in April of 1946. The large ad above appeared in the Daily American on Saturday, April 13, 1946.

Tharp prided himself on providing such diverse seasonal items as live bunnies and chicks at Easter, Memorial Day flowers, 4th of July Fireworks and an in-store Santa Claus for toddlers to visit and have their picture taken with.

eccentric personality. “Sam had an army surplus store here for quite a while, before the shoe store. He would go to St. Louis on the bus and carry back the shoes he bought in two big shopping bags. I can still see him coming down the street with those two bags. He said they were shoes that had been worn one time by models in the city. He would buy them for 50 cents a pair, clean the soles of them and sell them for about $5 a pair. He wanted to sell me the store at one time for $1 a pair for every pair of shoes he had. I don’t know how many he had, but he said

Photo Provided

10,000. I passed on that opportunity,” Tharp laughs.

Women came to West Frankfort from all over Southern Illinois to buy more than cheap designer shoes.

Burgs, where Tharp worked, was like a window on the lives of the area’s rich and famous. “We Holiday • 2008

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Tharp stands next to the scale that for a penny would give your weight and tell your fortune.

“I paid $60 for it and about $12.48 in frieght,” Tharp reminisced.

had very elite people coming in,” Tharp recalls. “One hundred dollars was a lot of money in those days, but Burgs had $100 dresses, and not just one of them, but a lot of them. We sold fur coats and often had 40 or 42 coats in there at a time. I remember one time someone bashed in the back door, even though it had bars on it, and stole all the coats. That was a big loss.”

By the time Tharp graduated from high school he had a pretty good background in the retail business. “My dad was a blacksmith,” he explains. “I had helped him in the shop at one time. We were making wagon wheels and I burnt my arm pretty badly. I wasn’t even shoeing a horse or anything exciting, just got my arm too close to the hot metal. So I worked about six months in the mine, but then went to work as an assistant manager for J J. Newberry’s, next to the post office.” The Newberry company moved Tharp from one location to another until finally, after a three year stint in St. Louis, he decided that he was ready to come back home.

Back in West Frankfort, Tharp found a location for a variety store on the west side of town. He drew up plans for the counters and fixtures and opened

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for business on West Frankfort’s Main Street with Newberry’s as his competitor.

Having been well trained as a five and dime store manager, Tharp stocked his store with everything he could pack in the limited floor space. He put out his flag and opened for business.

In addition to a beautifully trimmed front window, the store provided a candy counter to satisfy any sweet tooth, a variety of sewing notions so unique that it brought in women from area towns, clothing accessories, Memorial flowers, fireworks and pet supplies that even included live bunnies and chicks for Easter.

Of course, there were greeting cards, house wares, toiletries and a huge display of toys. He was the first store in the area to introduce a wonderful new product called “Elmer’s Glue” to West Frankfort residents, and at this time of year, the store was crowded with parents and kids waiting to have a photo taken with Tharp’s “in house” Santa. The store was a family business. In addition to Tharp’s wife, Bernice, and daughter, Judy, nephews Dean and Maurice were also regular helpers.

The mine disaster at Orient 2 and the beginning of the decline of mines in the area took its toll on the local economy. As business declined, Tharp decided to close his variety store in 1956 and take his show on the road. It was during those years that his genius for innovation made him successful as a traveling salesman.

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“I was traveling up around Alton one day,” Tharp tells the story. “I was talking to another salesman and he said, ‘Boy, I wish I knew where to get a few hundred hula hoops.’ I said, ‘hula-hoops? What’s a hula hoop?’ He said, ‘What’s the matter with you, man? Don’t you watch TV?’ He went on to tell me about the new toy craze that was sweeping the nation.”

I knew a guy named Bill Reed, at SkyRay Antenna Company in McCleansboro.

I found a hula-hoop at a paint store in Mt. Vernon and took it to Reed. I asked him, ‘Can you make some of these out of the aluminum you use?’ He said, “Sure, what is it?’ I said, ‘Man, Don’t you watch TV?’ I ordered a hundred or so and picked them up the next day. I didn’t have them two hours. I went back and ordered 500 more, and sold them almost immediately.

I got up to 4500 a day.”

“Then I went back and asked, ‘Could you make these in colors?’ Yes he could, and it wouldn’t even raise the price. I said, ‘Why don’t we make something different. Could you drill a hole in them and put in a couple of bbs?’ So we had musical hula-hoops in six colors. Were they ever a hit! I had 4500 at a time in my station wagon. You should have heard the music every time I stopped at a stop sign.”

“That went on for about a month or so.

I got stuck with about 4500 too. When it was over, it was over. I couldn’t give one away,” he laughs. Then we had an idea to take the aluminum pieces left over from the hula hoops and make rose

www.simplesolutionsprint.com e-mail:simplesolutions@neondsl.com

100 E Main St. • West Frankfort, IL 62896

(618) 932-6177 1-800-699-1751

Fax: (618) 937-3613

When the hula-hoop craze faded and Tharp was left with 4500 hoops nobody wanted, he turned them intofolding rose trellises.

trellises out of them, but every garden shop I went to, they told me they already had a line of rose trellises. I went back to

Reed and said, “Make me some more rose trellises, but I want them to open up like an umbrella. I drew him a diagram. You stick it in the ground and then just open it up. He made one that afternoon; it was six feet tall.”

“Well, I ordered 250 and picked them up the next day. I sold 200 in St. Louis before noon. I ordered another 250 in five sizes and picked them up the next day. Man, we sold a lot of rose trellises. I could still sell them today if I were selling.

We had other hot items too,” Tharp says.

“I saw a monument saddle for floral arrangements and went back to Reed. I drew him a picture of it, and he started making them. We sold thousands.”

Tharp acknowledges that not every idea that he and Reed had were moneymakers.

“I remember we made kind of a TV tray and got rid of some of the tubing left over from the hula hoops. We

also made a toy; we called it a roll-s hoop.

It didn’t go over too well.”

One of the big attractions in Tharp’s variety store was a Find Your Weight and Fortune for a Penny Scale. He still has that scale at his house today. But Tharp will tell you with a smile that at age 98, he isn’t open for business anymore.

Ethridge Tharp’s storehouse today is full of memories of a businessman who is still as brilliant and creative as he was when he decked out the window at Burgs at a very young age. This may not be a Christmas story, but better than that, the time he took to share his memories of a Main Street that most of us can only imagine is a Christmas gift to all of us.

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Graphic by Michael Thomas

I

grew to hate that chair, not at first, of course. It was a muchappreciated gift from my husband’s grandparents. It was an antique rocker that had been in their family for many years. I had no idea how old it was, but I do know that it had belonged to Granny’s sister who was 101 years old at the time.

I was pregnant with my first child, and I was young and naïve. I knew nothing about antiques, or rockers, or even babies for that matter.

I didn’t know that all rockers weren’t created equal. Nor did I know that I could ruin the value of an antique by painting it a gold color and gluing ornate wooden decals on it. I didn’t know that a chair that’s seat was only 15 inches from the floor and had no arms was not the ideal rocker for my needs. But I had a rocker, and I would be ready when my baby got here.

didn’t buy another chair, I don’t know. I guess I just didn’t want to hurt anyone’s feelings. At any rate, I continued to rock all night, every night, for eight months in that more than inadequate chair that I grew to hate.

Of course, as Christopher got older, things got better. He started sleeping more, I started sleeping more, and the little chair was used less and less, and then not at all. Christopher was six years old when my daughter was born,

that Christopher was born.” I thought that was coincidence enough. But at that moment, I was passing an antique shop that was having a sale, and some of the sale items were sitting outside.

One thing in particular caught my eye as I drove by. I slowed down for a better look. There sat a little antique rocker, painted gold, with wooden decals glued on it. It couldn’t be! I couldn’t make myself stop. Instead, I circled the block to look again. And then I circled it again, and then again. Finally, I pulled to the curb, got out of the car, and walked over to the chair. Tears had started to well up in my eyes. As I got closer, I knew.

This was the chair that I had rocked my baby in so long ago. I knew that I couldn’t leave it there.

I didn’t know where it had been all these years, but I knew that I couldn’t leave it in that awful building with all those other aged, damaged, and smelly pieces of furniture. This chair deserved better. It was beautiful! It was my chair.

“Do you like that chair?” If he only knew. I couldn’t answer him at first; the lump in my throat prevented it. Finally, I asked, “How much is it?” He said, “Two hundred and eightyfive dollars.” He had to be kidding – not for this chair.

When he arrived, Christopher weighed over nine pounds. And he was the child who didn’t sleep. He didn’t sleep at night for 8 months, and, because my husband worked nights, it was just me, my son and the rocker alone. To make matters worse, we lived in an apartment. It was alright to keep me awake but not the neighbors, so every time I laid my sleeping baby down for what I hoped would be a good night’s sleep, I had to grab him up because he immediately started crying. Then I’d head to the little rocker to try again.

This was the routine I followed all night, every night. I always said that “I rocked a million miles in that rocker.” Why we

but before she arrived, a beautiful Tell City rocker was delivered to the house.

By then, the little antique chair had long been forgotten. I supposed it had made its way to the garage or attic with all of the other useless items that made their home there. However, unbeknown to me, my husband sold the rocker, probably for some minimal amount. I never thought about that chair again—at least, not until a bright summer day many years later.

I remember it as if it were yesterday.

I was on my way to the grocery store.

I was driving west on Poplar Street on July 29, 1994, at 2:00 P.M. I looked at the clock in the car and thought, “It was 26 years ago today at exactly this time

Within minutes, a salesman was standing by my side. He asked, “Do you like that chair?” If he only knew. I couldn’t answer him at first; the lump in my throat prevented it. Finally, I asked, “How much is it?” He said, “Two hundred and eighty- five dollars.”

He had to be kidding – not for this chair. Who would pay that for an old, undersized rocker that had a crack in the seat, no arms and had been painted gold.

I said, “You’re kidding, right?” But he wasn’t. I repeatedly told him, “It isn’t worth that much; I know; it’s my chair.”

“It could be,” he let me know, “for two hundred and eighty-five dollars.”

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After some arguing, the clerk finally revealed to me that the storeowner was out of town, but she had told him that he could reduce prices 20 percent. Figures started rolling through my head. Even at 20 percent off, the chair would still be over two hundred dollars. “It’s not worth that,” I said again. “I know; it’s my chair.” Of course, the clerk didn’t understand or didn’t care. He informed me that I could return at the end of the week and talk to the storeowner. What else could I do? I couldn’t pay what they were asking; the chair really wasn’t worth it – or was it? Was I taking a chance that someone else would buy it before I came back? But then who would want it?

I didn’t go to the grocery store that day. Instead, I returned home. By the time I entered the house, I was sobbing.

My daughter and her boyfriend (at the time) were sitting on the floor watching television. They couldn’t imagine what was wrong with me. “I found my chair,” I said as if I had been looking for it all of this time. “I found my chair at the

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antique store, but it was too expensive.”

I was blubbering by now. I remember the boyfriend jumping up and grabbing his billfold. He didn’t know what “my chair” meant, but he couldn’t stand to see me cry. “How much do you need?” he asked. I couldn’t have loved him more than I did at that moment. But there was no way I would let him give me money, and, besides, I told him, “The chair isn’t worth it.”

them how important it was that I get it, and to prove my point, I cried.” She cried! Ashamed of her? On the contrary, I had never been prouder.

A month later, I was celebrating my birthday at my sister’s home.

I had opened my gifts, when all of the family left the room. I looked up and everyone was gone. “Close your eyes,” they shouted, and then, “Happy Birthday.” When I opened my eyes (yes, you guessed it), there they all stood, grinning, circling “my chair,” my little rocker. The family and boyfriend all went together to buy it for me. My daughter later informed me that they had gotten it at a “better” price, but she never said how much. She said, “Mom, you would have been ashamed of me.

When I went to buy the chair, I told

I am living in an apartment again. I no longer have a crying baby to comfort so that he doesn’t wake the neighbors.

The little rocker sits in the corner of a guest bedroom – never to be rocked in, probably, never to be sat in - only to be cherished. I can look at it and know that it is at home where it belongs. It is a constant reminder of my family’s love and understanding that it really was “worth it.” It is a reminder of those wonderful, sleepless nights so long ago.

It is the rocker that came home to stay. I truly have grown to love that chair.

Holiday • 2008

I know you probably were expecting a story about a Christmas gift, but instead it is about a different kind of gift.

Actually, it is about a gift that was given to me twice – a gift of love. My family knew that I would treasure it forever.

§

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W

ouldn’t it be fun if you had a golden ticket that would allow you to go around from house to house throughout West Frankfort on Christmas Eve and drop in on any family’s festivities just to see extraordinary dishes that )were on the menu that night? At some Italian households you might find a plate piled high with sugar dusted cannoli. Some parties probably have a creamy spinach dip nestled in a loaf of sweet, fresh bread next to the all too familiar vegetables and dip tray. And undoubtedly, many tables, while groaning under the sheer weight of the selections of ham and smoked turkey, will sport the All American Texas Taters, also known as the plain and simple hash brown casserole. Whatever it is that your family wants, you can bet that it is steeped in nostalgia. They may not even think of it at any other gathering, but on Christmas Eve or Christmas Day, they gotta’ have it. And in that sense, regardless of what unique recipe Grandma may have brought with her from the old country, when it comes to tradition and food, we’re all more alike than we are different.

Lillian Martin was born and raised in West Frankfort, but is actually only of the first generation of her mother’s family

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to be born in America.

“My mother came here from Lithuania when she was only 15,” Lillian explained. “She married and had three children. She and my oldest sister went back to Lithuania to vis it and left my two brothers with their father. World War I broke out when she was in Europe, and it was seven years before they were able to return to America. By that time, her husband had put the two boys in an orphanage and taken off. She and my brothers were reunited again, and she later remarried and my sister and I were born. It must have been a very difficult time. She and

Ruth Gregutis my kids love it,” she says. “We used to have to grate the potatoes by hand, but I found out a few years ago that shredding the potatoes in a food processor works just as well and really cuts down on the preparatio n time.”

Recipe for Kugel

Lillian Martin my sister could speak no English and my brothers could speak no Lithuanian.”

Martin is familiar with many of the European dishes that her mother cooked, but one in particular that has become a traditional favorite at her own family Christmas is Kugel, which she pronounces Kugali. “Kugel is a potato dish, and

Holiday • 2008

Dice about one pound of bacon and one medium onion. Fry together until bacon is done and onion is transparent.

Grate 8 large or 10 smaller potatoes.

Add salt and pepper to taste.

Beat in 3 or 4 eggs. Ad d one small can (6 oz) Evaporated milk.

(Not sweetened condensed milk.) Stir in bacon and onion and then add 1 cup of scalded milk.

Place all in a 9 x 13 greased baking dish and bake at 400 for 15 min.

Lower heat to 350 and continue to bake another 1 hour and 15 minutes until golden brown. Serve with dollops of sour cream.

Ruthie Gregutis is another West Frankfort resident who was born of Lithunian parents and grew up with the

traditions that they brought with them from Europe to America. “Kucios is the name of the traditional Christmas Eve dinner,” Ruthie says. “The custom is to serve no less than 12 different dishes. I don’t do that anymore. There are only three of us here now. When the kids were at home, I had a lot more of the traditional dishes. Now I might have only a few.”

“We would have Plotkele, which is an unleavened wafer that we would get in Chicago. It is blessed by the priest and shared by everyone at the table. That is a symbol of unity. We spread straw on the table to symbolize the manger of the Christ Child and cover the straw with a clean white cloth. The 12 dishes that are served represent the 12 apostles.”

“A traditional Christmas Eve meal might be cold beet soup, fish (usually a baked fish, but I often fry it), marinated herring, Lithuanian rye bread, raisin bread or some other kind of sweet Christmas bread. I would usually make cheese or potato dumplings; that’s another traditional Christmas dish.”

Gregutis talks of a traditional potato dish, Zeppelini, also spelled Cepelinai, a potato dumpling that is served not only on Christmas Eve but is on the menu with meals for any special occasion. “Recipes for the dumplings vary a little,” she says, “but the dough is basically pretty much the same. They can be filled with a variety of fillings.”

Ingredients for dumplings…

• • •

3 eggs 2 tablespoons water 3 cups flour

Mix the ingredients and work into a soft dough. Divide into three parts and roll out each part to 1/8 inch thick. Cut into circles with floured glass about 3 inches in diameter. Fill each circle with filling, seal the edges and twist over the ends. (Fillings can be fried ground

beef and onion, or coo ked potatoes. The two can also be combined to create a filling) Mushrooms or cottage cheese can also be added. Drop dumplings in salted water.

They are done when they float to the top.

If you don’t believe that Eastern Europeans are serious about dumplings, consider the fact that in Germany, near Weimar, there is a potato dumpling museum—the only one in the world! They advertise that they have the largest potato dumpling in the region. How cool is that?

So to you and yours happy cooking and Merry Christmas, or as they say in Lithuania, “Su kaledoms.”

We know that many local residents enjoyed

the Lithuanian Mushroom Casserole that we sold at Rissi Pastries. So if you want to try a really easy Lithuanian recipe for your Christmas menu this year, this one’s for you!

Rissi Pastries Lithuanian Mushroom Casserole 1 pound fresh mushrooms 3 tablespoons butter 1/2 cup minced onion 1 cup sour cream 1 tablespoon flour 1/2 teaspoon salt 1/2 cup bread crumbs (we use seasoned) Heat oven to 375 degrees Clean mushrooms, leave whole or cut in half Saute mushrooms and onions in 2 tablespoons of butter Mix sour cream, salt, and flour Put mushrooms in a shallow baking dish Spread sour cream mixture over them Sprinkle with bread crumbs and dot with remaining butter Bake for 10 minutes or until top is brown

• BUY • SELL • PAWN

“WE BUY GOLD!” (618) 937-2466 SHAWNEE TRADING COMPANY 230 West Cleveland Street West Frankfort, IL 62896

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Lights Parade 2008 Clockwise: (1) FCHS Drum Major Jennifer Hogg looks sharp in her Holiday dress as she leads the band. (2) Even the red lights of the firetrucks reflected in the street add to the atmosphere (3) Amy Galli and Jon Adkins were just two of the dozen members of the First Christian Church Handbell Choir who entertained the many people who lined Main Street to view the parade. (4) Watson’ s Jewelers was one of the many windows on Main Street decorated for the Christmas Season. (5) Santa Claus, the guest of honor himelf, did not disappoint the crowd as he waved merrily to young and old alike.

(Photos by Michael Thomas)

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A Quick Cookie Trick!

Austin, Madalyn and Joey Willis check out some of Grandma Harriet’s homemade cookies!

I

know everyone in the world but me probably already knows about this little Christmas cookie trick – So why didn’t any of my friends tell me about it before now? They all think I like doing things the hard way. We ran by to see Gary and Harriet Willis for some photos one Sunday afternoon and caught her three grandkids in the act of checking out the cookies. We helped them taste test and had to agree with Austin, Madalyn and Joey. They’re pretty darn good.

Best of all: the hardest part is unwrapping the kisses.

Spread pretzels on a cookie sheet (small thin pretzels, any brand, any shape). Unwrap chocolate kisses and set one in the center of each pretzel. Place in preheated 250-degree oven for 3 minutes. Remove from oven and press one red or green M&M into the center of each kiss. Let cool until chocolate is set. (See picture below)

These also work with a Rolo chocolate instead of the chocolate kiss and M&M. Substituting three whole pecan halves for the pretzel makes the end result look more like a chocolate turtle.

Gotta’ run. I’ve got some baking to do!

Photo by Michael Thomas

Don McCord Owner

•Butcher Block Quality Meat •Home Delivery Service

McCord’s Market 501 South Logan West Frankfort, IL Phone: 618-937-4146 Fax: 618-932-3972

Luke 2: 1-20 Pg. 38

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Holiday • 2008

Photo by Michael Thomas