Saturday, March 13

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March 13, Saturday - Made a trip to the hobby shop as usual, then downtown to get underwear. Margaret and Eva got me a pretty gown. Not very busy Gampper said I had a job as long as I wanted one.

March 14, Sunday - Pretty slow Sunday. Feel much better today. Myrtle and Lee came by to see me. Everyone in the store has promised to come and see me. Lois Ward is replacing me.

March 15, Monday - Paid rent, got hair fixed, went to store, did laundry, went to Dr. Hesser. Go to hospital next Sunday, operation Tuesday Went out for dinner and went downtown and shopped.

As usual, mom's expensive kid demands tribute in the form of ready-to-assemble plastic. Gampper, Kroger Zone Manager for Kansas City, Kansas just made a friend for life when he promised mom a job no matter what.

Slow Sunday at the store - Myrtle and Lee are mom's maternal aunt and her husband from Topeka. Lee Crawford ran a laundry a block west of the Kansas State Capitol building. Dad always referred to Lee as my rich uncle, and while he may have been well-off relative to our means, he wasn't a Patton family benefactor, and had a family of his own. His grandkids visited Kansas City a couple of times, but we really didn't hit it off. They were suburban kids, and we, the big-city mice, didn't agree with what passed for a Topeka sense of style.

Grandma Patton (Pansy) with Lee and Myrtle Crawford

Rent. Mom and dad moved us into our little house on 11th Street in 1955 after several years in Fort Scott, Kansas. My uncle Lawrence, aunt Gladys' husband, was employed by Cirese Investments, owned by Big Joe and Mary Cirese. They charged mom and dad $60 a month for the house on six lots. Lawrence and his son Frank helped dad excavate a large enough area under the house to serve as dad's bait factory. (Just thinking about that makes me cringe. There was a small area that held a water heater and room for a washing machine. They dug out five times that much area, hauling the dirt out in buckets. It was like something from The Great Escape.)

Dad's gigantic industrial Hobart mixer had a permanent spot on the original concrete pad, and the rest of the operation horseshoed around the basement, through the center grade beam, and over to the east side of the basement. Dad eventually put a ladder and trap door in our bathroom that allowed access, though not easy access, to our basement in case of a tornado or the beginning of World War III. Either seemed likely in those days. The original entrance, a short ramp facing south, was still handy for doing laundry or dropping off 55-gallon barrels of blackstrap molasses or cheese trimmings that dad used to manufacture various baits. Stick around, this gets interesting later in the summer.

Anyway, sixty bucks a month. In today's money, maybe $550. A few years later, when big Joe died, there was talk of raising the rent, but Mary held off. When dad had his heart attacks in 1962, Mary reassured mom that she would never have to pay more than $60 for rent. Mom finally moved out of that miserable little house and into assisted living in 1979. Her rent was still $60, the equivalent then of about $130. Anyone who says anything bad about Mary Cirese will have to answer to me. She was a saint.

Wednesday, March 10

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March 10, Wednesday - Things are better today. I'm glad. Couldn't stand another day like yesterday. Worked hard. Training 2 new boys - patience is a virtue. Bob and Patty called.

March 11, Thursday - Still teaching the boys. Trying hard to keep up my spirits. Should go downtown tonight, but will put it off until Monday. Mary called.

March 12, Friday - Dad's birthday. Worked pretty hard - short of help as usual. Have a yearning to see the mountains. Jean called. Everybody has been so kind.

Mom's life as a head checker for Kroger was a constant revolving door of new hires. Everyone had to know how to run a cash register, count back change, and bag groceries along with whatever duties came with their respective department assignments. The only department that didn't have to deal with my mom was the meat department. Their union was stronger even than the Retail Clerks.

This is the first birthday anniversary for Grandpa Patton since his death the previous October. Mom took her dad's death really hard, harder perhaps, than the rest of the siblings. This is what led me to my "Extreme stress or grief as trigger events for the onset of cancer" hypothesis. I don't know of any research institution that's taking my idea seriously, or even looking into it, but this, and at least a half-dozen other instances are all I have to run with. I'm quite sure that a lot of cancer is actually the product of a sort of genetic lottery, but I don't know much about it. 

Update: Recently, I have come to understand that the stresses associated with grief and loss are far more severe than I had previously thought. My mom was a tower of strength.

The family phone tree kicked in almost immediately, driven by the matriarch Pansy. Bob, Patty, and Jean are all mom's siblings, Mary is Bob's wife. This is a tight, tight, family in every respect. Their ability to support one another was amazing to see and experience.

When my dad had his heart attacks in early August of 1962, mom still needed to work as well as watch over dad in the hospital. I stayed with my aunt Patty for a while, with aunt Jean for a while, and finally, when school started after Labor Day, I became a latchkey kid until dad finally made it back home in late October, and my dad's sister Gladys kept an eye on me from time to time, as did the neighborhood moms - Mrs. Jackson, Mrs. Fairhurst, Mrs. Stark, and Mrs. Billings next door. It was a real neighborhood, where neighbors cared for and about one another.

Sunday, March 7

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March 7, Sunday - Took Ron, Mom, Bud and Marv to the airport. Tried to go to church, no place to park. Had a good time, took mom home and watched TV in evening.

March 8, Monday - Carol did my hair, did washing. Marv found out about my left breast & rushed me to Dr. Sims. (Now what?) Sims rushed me to (Dr.) Hesser. Took Marv out to his birthday. May be pretty busy on 3/29, or I may not be busy at all.

March 9, Tuesday - Low day. Blue, blue, blue. Told Johnson about my operation - he was so kind and understanding. I bawled like a nut. Tomorrow will be better. Worked on the front end - real busy, too.

Again with the airport. No one is traveling anywhere - we're just going to look at the airport. It's real Wes Anderson stuff.

Then the shoe drops. Mom found a lump in her left breast the size of a golf ball. If I remember the conversations properly, she had known about the lump for more than six months, but didn't think it was alarming enough to see a doctor about. Dad wasn't so calm, in fact he was furious that mom had sandbagged the discovery.Her regular doctor, Dr. Sims, was equally concerned, and immediately sent mom to see a surgeon, Dr. Hesser, the same day. The surgery was scheduled immediately and would take place about two weeks later at Bethany Hospital in Kansas City, Kansas; the same hospital I was born in some fifteen years earlier. They had the nerve to tear it down in the 1990s.

Bethany Hospital's Early Days

Mom took dad to his birthday celebration early - which can mean nothing besides a dinner at Crane's Cafeteria at the corner of Truman Road and Hardesty. Crane's fried chicken was and still is, to my mind the best I have ever eaten, and while they closed years ago, the very mention brings the taste back to me as though it were hot on my dinner plate. This was pretty much the only restaurant my mom and dad ever went to on any kind of regular basis. Cafeterias were, in general, the venues of choice for my family. Cranes. Myron Green's, Putch's - we knew them all, plus a few more in Topeka. Standing in lines as we pushed trays along seemed like second nature. It was the time of the factory worker. 

Crane's Cafeteria

Dad's real birthday is March 29, but mom didn't know if she would be able to follow through when that date rolled around. My mom was strong, but the reaction of dad and the doctors terrified her, and rightly so. In today's parlance, mom had Stage III metastatic breast cancer. It was entirely likely that they would take her breast, some muscle tissue, and as many affected lymph nodes as possible.

The reality of what's about to transpire has hit mom, and she's laid low. I'm sure she dreaded telling her store manager the news. Mom's manager, Kenny Johnson, was a strong manager, and he treated his people like family. Mom, and most everyone who worked with him, was crazy about the guy. My mom was the store mom, and a lot of the employees there would have walked on hot coals to keep her out of the hospital.

We all would have.

Monday, March 1

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March 1, Monday - Bud home with a cold, I spent most of the day in bed - just tired. Sleet and snow. Cold tonight. Put gravel in driveway and back yard.

March 2, Tuesday - Had store (zone) meeting today. Came home and went right to bed - sore throat & cold. Bud went bowling until 11:30

March 3, Wednesday - Feel better today. Got things pretty well caught up in office. Went to chiropractor. Falling apart.



Another short post. Mom is increasingly tired and feels listless much of the time. Some of this is the winter blahs, some of this is a general sense of futility. An additional factor will be revealed soon.

Bowling until 11:30 for an eighth-grader. Who's spolied? A Tuesday night men's league has several important functions: 1. Bowling with men whose games are far superior to my own helped me become a better bowler. 2. It started to pull me out of my shell. 3.The guys on my team looked the other way when I sneaked a drink of their beer. 4. I learned a lot of interesting new words.

Thursday, February 25

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February 25, Thursday - Cold again 5° Getting starter fixed. Fell in the store. Hope I didn't injure myself. Bud and I made out his schedule for next year. He's taking band at my suggestion.

February 26, Friday - Stopped at Mom's this morning. She's better but not her old self. Busy today, warm - 50° at 6 p.m.

February 27, Saturday - Had a good day. Felt real good and got a lot done. Spring day - 70°.

Not much to see here, but it bears mentioning that I would have been in band, no matter what Mom suggested. The push here was to step up to Varsity "A" Band at Northeast High School while I still had classes across the street at the "Junior Building". This put me in marching band, for what that was worth, at Northeast. The marching unit was a small, ragtag, group, 25 members tops, with questionable musical talent, and marching skills to match.

Truth be known, I was pretty excited about the whole thing. After six years of trumpet in the public schools, private classical lessons, and suffering through the hormone-infused middle-school shenanigans of eighth-grade band, "A" band seemed like a free ride to Juliard. They had uniforms in the Viking signature purple and white, and silver metalflake Shako hats with white plumes. It was Meredith Wilson's "Music Man" come to life, and I loved it. Did I mention the white bucks?

I'm glad no recordings of our actual playing exist. It would be horrifying to hear that today. The best connection to come out of Varsity Band, under the direct tutelage of one Mr. Harry Bianco, was Stage Band, what most might call Jazz Band today. Here I learned to improvise, 12 bars at a time. It was a small, select group of high school musicians playing hits from the Big Band era. We visited tea rooms, women's clubs and nursing homes and played the music of their lives.  This connected me back to my folks in interesting ways. Because of this connection and a family dedicated to the musical TV stylings of Mitch Miller and His Sing-Along Gang, (don't judge) I still have a soft spot for the music of the forties. Mitch helped me appreciate mens' choruses and Welsh Mens' Choirs.

Magnus Chord Organ

My dad had an emotional attachment to music that I never could put my finger on. He encouraged me at every turn, and the songs he reacted to the most were songs that I wouldn't have guessed he would have a connection to. He bought me a Magnus chord organ from Jenkins Music when I was about twelve. I wanted something I could noodle out trumpet arrangements on, and a piano was out of the question, money-wise.

The Magnus was actually pretty cool. It was a reed organ, which meant that it was basically an accordion with legs. There was a motor inside providing air that was channeled through the reeds based on which keys were pressed. It had thirty-seven piano keys and twelve chord buttons on the left side - six major, six minor. The sound was not at all unlike a parlor pump organ, a harmonium, or a large Melodica. Sheet music was available for these things that had the key notations by number as well as the chord designations. I didn't need the numbers because I could sight-read but the chords were pretty handy, because my left hand wasn't.

Outside of Christmas and the ever-present Baptist hymnal selections, dad's request list was pretty short - "The Band Played On", "Back Home Again in Indiana", "The Banks of the Wabash", "Yankee Doodle Dandy", and not much else. I always suspected that these were songs that reminded him of his first wife, an old flame, or just another time, but dad never really said as much. There was definitely a connection to Indiana, or so it seemed. He had never been to Indiana that I was aware of. I know he was envious of my ability to read and play music, but he grew up dirt-poor, and music was a luxury when there were eight people living in a 700 square foot house in Fort Scott, Kansas.

Music was a gift my dad gave me that has lasted my entire life. He bought me my first horn and signed me up for classes without even checking with mom when I was six, and used his connections to get me a classical tutor from the Kansas City Philharmonic, and it has made an incredible difference in my life. I really should have stayed with it and done more with it, but the fact that it occupies such an important part of my being is good enough. Thank you, dad.

Wednesday, February 10

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February 10, Wednesday - Doug showed Gampper a bad check that I took. Gampper said to write me up. If he does, he'll have to write up Art Lane - he has one too.

February 11, Thursday - Started to rain in the morning, then got colder. By 5 o'clock, it was 15º and slippery in spots. Shooting at Wyandotte High School. War news is no better.

February 12, Friday - Pretty slow for Friday. Bought groceries - $20.00 ($155) The boss dressed down the trainee. Sure am crazy about that boy of mine.








Gampper is the zone manager for mom's store. He has the power of life and death over all the employees. Such power is not always administered with grace. Suits are suits.

Wyandotte High School in Kansas City, Kansas was mom's Class of '34 alma mater. Shootings were fairly rare in the area back then, even more rare in schools.

Mom always loved working for Kenny Johnson. He's who she's referring to as "that boy of mine".

Thursday, February 4

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February 4, Thursday - 16º this morning. Slept all night - first time in a long time. Worked like crazy. Doug told everyone in the store if they were friends of mine, they weren't his.

February 5, Friday - Another hard day. Bud had his cast taken off. He has to stay off it as much as possible. Went to Truman and Hardesty for groceries. What a mob!

February 6, Saturday - Bud had to have pencils before I came to work. Got my glasses. Another hard day. A day off tomorrow. Hoorah. Drizzle. $10.00 short.

Once again, Doug the Horrible Trainee rears his ugly head. I don't know exactly who Doug is, but I can imagine how this played out - Mom, a dedicated head checker, has the routine down pat, and does everything the Kroger way. Doug, fresh from college, has his own ideas how to make things better or more efficient. A couple of failed attempts, and mom had to go into recovery mode, and probably pinned his ears back. His college-trained sensibilities offended, Doug probably lashed out. This isn't too far-fetched, nor is the first time something like this happened. Mom had a sparkling reputation as an accomplished trainer, and after she spent a number of years as a head checker, the Kansas City Kroger office made her the area trainer. She taught checkers and grocery clerks how to do things the right way, and was responsible for opening a couple dozen Kroger stores in the region. I got to help sometimes, and was called in to build gondolas, stock new stores' shelves and work the front end on opening weekends.

Finally got that damned cast taken off. Mom mended my split slacks, and I was again made whole in the eyes of my peers. Sort of.

Mom stopped by what would eventually be my home Kroger store at Truman and Hardesty - K204. Fridays at K204 were as busy as Saturdays. The local steel mills - Armco and Sheffield, paid every Friday, and by 5:00 the Monroe-Swedas were spitting out register tape as fast as we could load it in. This went on until we locked the doors at 9:00. I always worked Friday and Saturday until close. Some fun. We even had a couple of double-basket orders that broke the magic $50 barrier. (That's $350 in today's dollars.)

Had to have pencils - that's code for "Bud is a real pain in the ass this morning."

Everything is an emergency for Bud. The world revolves around me. I'm definitely spoiled rotten, though that fact isn't made clear in my own mind for a few more years.

Thursday, January 28

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January 28, Thursday - Cold and snow this morning. Colder tomorrow. Felt tough today - took Bufferin all day. Went to bed as soon as I got home.

January 29, Friday - Snowed all day and grew colder. By the time i got home it was 15°. Bought groceries - $20.72. ($161) Have a cold, too.

January 30, Saturday - Temp - 5°. Feel miserable. Should have stayed home. Customer reported me to Johnson because I checked too fast! Got back a stolen check. Tomorrow has to be better.

The idea that a customer would report you for moving too fast is only foreign if you've never worked with the public. There were simply some customers that wanted you to pick up one item at a time, enter it, and wait for their approval before you went to the next item. At that rate, a full basket of groceries, which would set you back $30 or more, would take twenty minutes instead of five. Ain't gonna happen, sister. Over the course of my career with Kroger I was reported for checking too fast, sacking too fast, wearing my hair too long, wearing an offensive after-shave, and maintaining a snarky attitude. I can refute everything but the attitude problem. I was then, and now remain, a committed smart-ass. I can usually only say two serious things in a row. After that, I go for the laugh. I was never written up by my managers, because they knew how hard I worked.  Such is retail. The Johnson referred to is Kenny Johnson, the store manager at 31st and State.

The stolen check coming back is totally mom's fault because she trusted her gut instead of sticking to company procedure. Customers filled out a signature card with the store they did business with, and once checked and approved were given a number to use when they wanted to write a check. A card for my account might be something like S-390. If one of your checks came back, your card was pulled and put in the provisional file. Even with the number on the check, it still had to be approved by the head checker, head grocery clerk, or a member of management. If all the pieces weren't in place, it was incumbent upon the employee to turn down the check. If they took a bad check and it hadn't been cleared, it could come out of their check. It's some really nervous shit when a check comes back, even more so when your name is on it.

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January 31, Sunday - Today is better. We have a chance of getting our money for the bad check. Byron put his name on the check after I made the statement that I would pay for the check. I appreciate it but I take full responsibility for my mistakes - stupid as some of them are. Took my prescription to Schneider yesterday. Will get my glasses next Saturday. Blizzard warnings out for tonight. Signed up for vacation the 14th of June. May go to Colorado.

Mom is still battling the bad check, but Byron Scanlon, the store co-manager has stepped up and taken mom's side. Byron would be the first Kroger manager I worked for the following year at the store at 61st and Leavenworth Road, also in Kansas City, Kansas. Mom set me up with that store and Byron to help me keep my car on the road, even though it was almost fourteen miles from our house on the Missouri side. It paid $1.40 per hour - fifteen cents above minimum wage, but then again, gas for my thirsty 1957 Pontiac Hardtop was only 32 cents per gallon. I worked an average of 25 hours a week. You do the math.

Wait, Mom didn't get her glasses from McBratney?

Blizzard warnings = busy grocery store. 

Mom always tried to put her vacation sometime in the first two weeks of June. I was usually out of school by June 19 or so, and the weather for road trips across Kansas wasn't unbearably hot. It took a full day to get from Kansas City to Limon, Colorado. Most of the trip was on US 40, a two-lane that stretched from Topeka, the western limit of the Kansas Turnpike, to the Colorado line, 400 miles away. The speed limit was 45mph, and the distance you could travel without hitting a small town was limited, to say the least. 

Now, where was I? Whatever, here comes February.

Wednesday, January 13

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January 13, Wednesday - Finished inventory today. Good television. Helped Bud with his homework - speech.

January 14, Thursday - Worked hard today. Think Bud broke his foot again. Fell in the back yard and can't stand on his left foot. To Dr. Williamson tomorrow.

January 15, Friday - Going home and eat oats. Worked like a horse - just as well eat like one. Cold 19° at 5 p.m. Bud is back in a cast.

"Good television"? I don't know what mom was watching, but TV was pretty grim on Wednesdays. My best guess for mom's lineup that cold January night in Kansas City:

"The Adventures of Ozzie and Harriet", followed by "The Patty Duke Show", then "The Beverly Hillbillies", "Green Acres", "The Dick Van Dyke Show", and "I Spy". 

I could never figure out what qualified as an "adventure" for Ozzie and Harriet, and most of the show was Ozzie looking lost as David and Rickie gee-whizzed their way through life. Most of those shows I could take or leave. We only had one TV, so I was probably doing something else most of that evening, and would have much preferred to watch "Lost In Space" in the Ozzie Nelson time slot, if only for the horrible nerd-crush I had on the lovely, talented, and doe-eyed Angela Cartwright. Oh well.

Almost a year to the date earlier I broke my left foot - my fifth metatarsal - during a Sunday visit to the Pattons. It swelled up like an eggplant, and into the cast it went. This year was just as bad, probably at the same point on the bone, and the remedy was a cast that went from my toes to just below my knee. It had a rubber platform molded into the bottom of the cast to walk on. It necessitated splitting several pair of slacks up the outseam so I could get dressed and go to school. The first week, I had to stay on crutches so the plaster could set properly. Yeah, right. Winter is no time to have a water-soluble foot covering. Today, they'd put me in a walking boot, and send me on my way.

I was met by howls of derisive laughter when I got back to school, where the challenges were just beginning.

Sunday, January 10

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Sunday, January 10 - Went to church - excellent sermon. God doesn't expect perfection - just your best. Helped Bud write a story. Drove over to Mom's for a few minutes. Patty & Walt, Paul & Linda were there.

Monday, January 11 - Nice day. Got my hair fixed, did the laundry, took Marv to the doctor. He has some kidney & prostate trouble. Bought me a new dress, purse, and Bud 3 pair of sox.

Tuesday, January 12 - Work as usual - inventory today. Felt better. Bud went bowling tonight, got home about 11:30


Mom loved church, and was always lifted by the message. At this point, I'm pretty sure she was still going to Bales Baptist Church, on 12th street. Later, she would move to Independence Avenue Baptist Church.

Mom was an excellent writer and storyteller. When I needed the seeds of help getting a project under way, she knew how to give me just enough to get started, then she backed away and let me move forward on my own.

Her mom, Pansy, still lived in the house at 1501 Garfield in Kansas City, Kansas. Mom's dad, Tom, died the previous October. They had been married fifty years at the time of his death, and the entire Patton clan kept a close eye on their mother's well-being. This is a tight-knit family, and proximity to her family is probably why we lived in Kansas City to begin with. When I was born, we lived in an upstairs apartment at 1932 N. 14th Street, just a block away from Tom and Pansy, and next door to my great-grandmother Effie Snavely.

Clusters like this were common in many families, including my dad's. When I was two, we moved to a rental house at 207 South Washington, in Fort Scott, Kansas. This was a short walk to my grandparents' house on Wall street, and close to my uncle Clarence's meat locker, where dad worked as a meatcutter.

When I was four, we moved back to Kansas City, into a rental house on the Missouri side at 4137 East 11th Street, owned by Joe and Mary Cirese. It rented for $60 per month, the equivalent of about $530 today. Mom and dad never lived anywhere else. When my mom, suffering from cancer for a second time, moved from that house in 1978, the rent was still $60. Mary Cirese will always be "Saint Mary of 11th Street" to me.

I'm all but sure that mom decided that Fort Scott was too far away from her folks for comfort. Then again, they may have wanted me to have the opportunities that a larger city's school district would afford.

Patty & Walt are mom's sister and brother-in-law. Paul, the next younger Patton is there with his wife Linda.

Monday, mom's day off. The normal things that people do: chores, shopping, errands.

Tuesday, back to work. Inventory in retail settings is always a big deal. Outside services come in and go through the store like a locust storm. No one looks forward to inventory.

Bowling again, since it's a Tuesday night, I can assume I was standing in as an alternate for one of the men's teams I bowled with. Late getting home on a school night. Spoiled rotten I was.

Thursday, January 7

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January 7, Thursday - A usual Thursday. Real warm 70°. Bud spent part of his Christmas money from Sonnie ($10.00) - bought a model. Hope my disposition improves.

January 8, Friday - This morning it was 62° when I got up. When I came home from work it was 15°. Bought groceries $16.00

January 9, Saturday - Went to Dr. Guptkey - lost 1 pound in seven weeks - 173. Gave me some bladder pills. They help. Doug and I did book work tonight. Trainees - phooey.


So there's the weather report - typical Kansas City January, or any other month, for that matter - warm, then cold, then freezing, then tornadoes. Maybe not tornadoes. Sonnie is my half-sister from dad's first marriage, "Sonjalee". Never thought much about halfs and others - always thought of her as my sister. Sonnie was twelve when I was born. She is pure Simpson - six feet tall.

Sonnie, with her two boys - my nephews - Brian and Mark. Photo ca 1963

$10.00 gift from Sonnie in today's money: $77.00

"Models" refers to plastic car kits. I discovered cars when I was about twelve, and threw myself into all things automotive with the same zeal that I applied to music and science. I built hundreds of car kits, customized and detailed them, and entered them in contests. There were also the occasional airplanes - especially B-25 Mitchell bombers. My dad helped build them during WWII. He was 4F, but went to work at North American Aviation in the old Fairfax District of Kansas City, Kansas as an assembly expeditor.

My car obsession quickly filtered over into real life. By the time I was fourteen, I could rebuild a small-block Chevy motor on my own. 

Mom bought a week's worth of groceries for $16.00. In today's dollars, that's about $124

Mom talks about her weight again. She's fighting a lifelong battle with heredity and lifestyle. Her mom was always fairly heavy, as was her dad. Her dad was Type I diabetic, and mom rightly feared the disease. Even so, she was an emotional eater. Happy? Eat. Sad? Eat. Bored? Eat. In this way she and I are close almost forty years after her death.

Back at work, she has to close the store on Saturday night with a trainee that will turn out to be a thorn in her side.

Monday, January 4

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January 4, Monday - The usual routine. Picked up Marv's glasses, which he likes. Took Marv to Dr.
Bud went bowling & came home sick.

January 5, Tuesday - Doug and I are in the office together. Very discouraged today. My mouth is too big.

January 6, Wednesday - Got home today and Marv was real sick. Got a prescription from (Dr.) Miller and he slept pretty good. Hate my job this week.




Marv is my dad. Marvin is his middle name, like mine. Like my mom, he was from a family of six, but the comparison ends there. The Simpsons were friendly enough, but they were not close, at least to the casual observer. His dad died in 1954, and his mom lived in the little house in Fort Scott, Kansas where the family moved sometime around 1920. Dad would have been ten.

Dad and his Cadillac, ca 1967. This is a rare photo, as he seldom looked at the camera.

My dad and his family.
No one looks at the camera, a defensive move against the
powerful output of the M5 flashbulbs that were so common back then.

Our glasses came from Chick McBratney's optical shop on Minnesota Avenue in Kansas City, Kansas, a relationship that dad stuck with for decades.

Dad's regular doctor was Wilson H. Miller. When dad first started seeing Dr. Miller, he was working out of a small office upstairs at Independence Avenue at Monroe. At the time of dad's death in 1974, Miller was Chief of Staff at Research Medical Center, and had an office on the Country Club Plaza. Dad paid for that office.

Dad's health was always teetering between bad and worse. His heart attacks in 1962 left him nervous and afraid of dying. Please remember, the treatment for a heart attack in 1962 was Demerol and weeks of bed rest. In dad's case, sixteen weeks flat on his back at St. Joseph Hospital on Linwood Avenue in Kansas City. The Demerol made him think the nuns were ghosts, and the pigeons on the ledge outside were eagles. He gave up cigarettes, stopped using salt, switched to that godawful Sanka instead of coffee, and always kept a small bottle of nitroglycerin tablets in his pocket in case of an angina attack. It worried him ceaselessly that any day might be his last. If he had been born a few years later, bypoass surgery might have extended his life by decades.

Bowling was central to my teenage years. I bowled several leagues at Allen's Bowl on Independence Avenue. Dad sponsored a couple of my teams. I tried to maintain my dignity in spite of wearing a blue-trimmed King Louie shirt with "Simpson Baits" embroidered across the back. I wasn't all that good, but I was determined as hell.

Doug was an unknown Kroger employee - I think he was a manager trainee or co-manager. See January 7.

Friday, January 1, 1965

January 1, Friday Started the year right. Worked 10-7 - busier than I thought. Bud went to Patty's - color TV. Weight 174

January 2, Saturday Worked as usual. Made appointment with Dr. Curran for 25th. Marv goes to the doctor Monday. $100 short. Wish I was a chorus girl.

January 3, Sunday My Sunday to work. Since Thursday I've worked every hour the store was open except 5.

This is a pretty good baseline post. Mom is at work, the Kroger store at 31st and State Avenue in Kansas City, Kansas. She is a head cashier, "head checker" in their parlance. Her job is to keep the front end of the store running smoothly, maintain cash accountability, and keep the books. Her Saturday entry indicates that her daily counts came up $100 short. She doesn't say whether it was from one till or total, but that kind of money sets off all kinds of alarms. "Wish I was a chorus girl". Mom had a love-hate relationship with her job at Kroger. I suppose all working-class heroes have that.

Mom, in the store office at Kroger.

Mom mentions her weight. It has been her cross to bear for years, but her weight always seemed to define my mother in her own eyes.

"Patty" is mom's sister, my aunt. Her daughter, Susan, two years older than I am, is one of my best buddies in the family. We vacationed with Patty and Susan, and I was as comfortable at their house as I was at home. We laughed a lot. That was Mom's family in a nutshell. Close, supportive, and always laughing.

L to R: me, my cousin Susan, my aunt Patty; Pike Peak, 1961

Mom was the oldest of the six Patton kids. She was born in a tiny house in equally tiny Jarbalo, Kansas in 1915. Her siblings were, Paul, Jean, Jane (Patty), Bob, and Bill.

Mom and the Pattons, Christmas, 1975