Category: Interesting People

In this category I plan to post stories about special people that I have known or heard about, things they did and said that were interesting to me and hopefully to the reader.

The Roliffs

Since I had lived with my Lang grandparents for over 8 years I knew them better than I did my Grandma and Grandpa Roliff. I am telling this story from what I remember and from the things my father told me.

The Roliff family originally lived near Ravenswood, West Virginia, close to the Ohio River. According to Dad, they moved more than 30 times before he was 17, at which time he left the family to strike out on his own. During this time my grandfather, Fred Roliff, did not have a regular job, nor did he want one. His grandfather, Andrew Jackson Roliff, owned two paddle-wheel steamers on the Ohio River and made a fortune selling and delivering barrel staves.

The Valley Belle – owned by Andrew Jackson Roliff –     c. 1850

Somewhere along the line this wealth was squandered, but the attitude of entitlement remained with my grandfather. He was a very charming man and a good story teller, but hard work was beneath his dignity. Dad said his motto was, “Only Fools and Mules work”. His only occupation at the time was “horse-trading” which was about as dependable for making a living and supporting a family as being a gambler or used car salesman.

To add to the family stress, Grandpa Roliff was not very practical. Dad tells about the time Grandpa made some money selling a horse. Instead of paying the rent or buying some substantial food, he came home with a wagon-load of watermelons.

So here was the Roliff family with 7 kids, a horse-trader for a father, that moved every time the rent came due. It was Grandma Roliff’s job to keep this family together and to keep everyone from starving.

If anyone remembers Mammy Yokum from the Lil’ Abner comic strip they would have a good picture of my grandmother, Clementine Roliff. She had flaming red hair and the hardened look of someone who had lived a difficult life. Her ancestors were some of the original settlers of Appalachia who came from Wales and Scotland. She was the classic example of a tough mountain woman. Dad remarked that she could “chew nails and spit rust”. He recalls her chasing salesmen and rent-collectors from their property with a revolver.

One of the Roliffs’ last moves as a family took them to Portage County in Ohio, near Randolph. My father obtained a job in the Lang gas station-restaurant as a short order cook.

After the children grew up Fred and Clementine Roliff separated – I never knew the details. They didn’t appear to be angry with each other, it just seemed that they just didn’t want to live together.

After the separation Fred lived in a small apartment in Ravenna, did some house painting, and later was employed as a guard at the Ravenna Arsenal.

Fred “Grandpa” Roliff as Arsenal guard – c. 1943

Clementine had a bungalow in Brimfield and lived there with Uncle Emmett, her second youngest son, who had recently returned from the military.

When Emmett started a serious relationship with a girl, Grandma became worried that he was going to move out and she would be alone, so she was not very hospitable to Emmett’s new friend.

One day Emmett was looking around in the pantry and discovered a bottle of saltpeter.

Now saltpeter was used to preserve meat such as corned beef and prevent botulism in soups. There was also a rumor that it was mixed into food given to soldiers to cause impotence. Everyone at the time believed this, and Emmett was no exception – he was suspicious that Grandma was putting saltpeter in his food in an attempt to keep him at home and away from his girl. She was certainly capable of this, so he confronted her about it.

“It’s used to cure your meat”, Grandma told him in her own defense.

“It’ll cure your meat alright”, Emmett replied.

No one ever knew the real reason why the bottle of saltpeter was in the pantry or of its use, but nothing would surprise me concerning this incident. Grandma Roliff had a reputation of toughness when it came to her survival.

Grandma was a staunch Democrat and she hated Richard Nixon with a passion. As a matter of fact she had his picture glued to the inside of her toilet seat. She called him “Old hawg jaws”.

Emmett eventually moved out and Grandma acquired a boyfriend, but she didn’t want the family to know about this. While visiting her one day we suddenly heard some moaning and groaning coming from the closet. She had made the old boy hide in there so we wouldn’t discover her secret, but our visit lasted too long and the poor old guy almost suffocated. After the secret was exposed, friend Charlie was allowed to visit with us when we came, so from then on the closet was only used for clothes.

I often played bass with a dance band from Canton. One evening we played the Lakeview Cafe in Randolph. The crowd on this night was rather quiet and subdued. All of a sudden the door flew open and in came Grandma Roliff with 3 of her girl friends. They were all over the age of 60, but they danced like 20 year olds and the mood immediately went from subdued to wild and upbeat. They stayed for about a half hour, then out the door they flew and on to the next bar. The mood in the Lakeview Cafe immediately went back to quiet and subdued.

Clementine “Grandma” Roliff dancing at Ruth Roliff’s wedding – c. 1954

One time Dad and I went to visit Grandma at her place in Brimfield. We heard some loud singing and laughing coming from the back of the house. Grandpa Roliff and Uncle Bud were up on a scaffold painting the house, singing old hillbilly songs, laughing, and having a good old time. The singing went something like this:

Grandpa: “Rattler was a good old dog blind as he could be”

Bud: “Every night about supper time I believe that dog could see”

Both came in on the chorus:

” Here Rattler here, here Rattler here

Calling Rattler from the barn, here Rattler here”

Now they would start improvising:

Grandpa: “Rattler’s dead and gone now where all good dogs do”

Bud: “Better not act like a dog yourself or you will go there too”.

More singing, laughter, painting, etc, etc.

This was the last time I saw Grandpa Roliff alive. He had a heart attack and died in 1951 at the age of 66. Grandma Roliff died in 1977 at the age of 92. I don’t believe I will ever meet more colorful people than these two.

Uncles Emmett and Bud

Emmett and Bud were my father’s younger brothers. They were close in age – Bud being the youngest. Emmett was somewhat shy and quiet, Bud was boisterous and dashing. They were always together when they were young and had a reputation for extreme orneriness according to my mother, who taught them at Randolph school. Emmett would come up with ideas and goad Bud into carrying out the dirty work, then they would both sit back and laugh.

Dad told a story of how they would get their rooster drunk. They would fill a battery tester full of wine, stick the hose down the rooster’s neck, and then squeeze the rubber bulb, thus filling up the rooster. The drunk fowl would then drag his wing tips along the ground to keep from falling over, walk right off of the roost – a drop of about 5 feet, and exhibit other bizarre behavior. The boys would double up with laughter.

Emmett and Bud were both musicians – Emmett played banjo and Bud played guitar, and sometimes they would sing harmony together. They played old time music from the hills of West Virginia similar to what is now called “Bluegrass”. The Langs had never experienced any sounds like this since they were raised on classical and pop, and they thought this music primitive and comical.

Emmett and Bud both enlisted in the service during WW2 and were combat infantry soldiers. Emmett carried a sniper rifle and served in France and Belgium. He told me that the recoil from his rifle sometimes caused the scope to hit his face and gave him a black eye. He was wounded by shrapnel which took about 2.5 inches of bone from his upper left arm. The only apparent lasting effect was that his arm was shorter and somewhat weakened. This prevented him from operating his pump shotgun upon returning to civilian life, so he bought an automatic shotgun for hunting.

Bud carried a B-A-R (Browning Automatic Rifle) and saw action in the Battle of the Bulge and Hürtgen Forest. These were fierce and bloody battles – especially the latter. Unlike over 95 percent of his company, Bud came out of there alive – and without a scratch. He did however, end up with very severe PTSD ( they called it combat fatigue in those days).

Hürtgen Forest

Both uncles were a lot of fun, but Bud was by far the most entertaining. One time when he was courting his future wife she invited him over for dinner to meet her folks. In order to embarrass her when dessert was served, Bud picked up the cake and rubbed it all over his face.

Instead of saying “goodbye” or “so-long” when leaving our house, Bud would always give the old truck-drivers mantra:

“Keep your endgate up and your fifth wheel greased”.

At Roliff reunions Bud was the center of attention. He was full of fun and laughter and the kids loved to hear his stories. Emmett never talked much about wartime experiences, but he knew exactly how to push Bud’s buttons. All he would have to say is, “Hey Bud, tell them about the Battle of the Bulge”. Bud would then stand up, pull in his chin, puff out his chest, take a deep breath, and the tales would flow thick and fast about how he and his buddies beat up the whole German army with nothing but a rusty old fly swatter! Emmett would then just sit back and grin, satisfied that he had put Bud on once again. The stories were obviously a mixture of fact and fantasy, and told with humor as though he didn’t expect anyone to take them all too seriously.

I remember one story in particular in which Bud told of passing a jewelry store in Germany with the name “Roliff” over the door.

Somebody asked, ”Were you nice to the owners”

“WELL, I DIDN’T SHOOT ‘EM”, replied Bud in a big deep voice.

Someone else asked, “Didn’t you stop and talk to them since they were probably your relatives?”

Bud replied, “I didn’t have time”. Then he said in his most important voice:

“AFTER ALL, WE HAD TOWNS TO TAKE!”

The last time I saw Uncle Bud, I walked up to him and said,”Hey Bud, how the hell are you?”, expecting to start the usual round of fun and laughter. With wide-open eyes and expressionless face he stared right through me, not being able to say a word. He was dying of Alzheimer’s, which was most likely due to the stresses of war. The fun-loving person that I once knew no longer inhabited that body.

Because of the sacrifices of ornery boys like Emmett and Bud, we now live in freedom and speak English, not German.

Godspeed Uncle Emmett and Uncle Bud wherever you are. Keep your endgate up and your fifth wheel greased.

Old Codgers 2

These codgers had speech patterns that are best illustrated by using audio. To hear the audio, click on the arrow. I have included the text for each audio at the bottom of the page keyed to the number in parentheses.

Mr. Jim

Mr Jim was a nervous old fellow and talked very fast with a lisp. His speech pattern reminded me of the politician Barney Frank. Jim was the only person I remember who could drink a glass of beer without swallowing. He would hold the glass and put it partially in his mouth, tilt his head back quickly, and dump it in. There was no movement in the throat area that indicated any kind of swallowing. He just inhaled it – and did it often. I guess he didn’t want to take the time or effort to swallow, just needed to get it into his system in the least amount of time.

Mr. Jim worked with my dad at the Ravenna Arsenal and  they often rode together. Dad said that when they passed a bar Mr. Jim would say:

(1)

With that he would pull over and have a “coupla beerth”.

He must have done this also when driving with his wife because many times when passing the local pub his car could be seen in the parking lot with his wife sitting in it. In those days bars were not proper places for respectable wives so it was not unusual to see women in cars waiting for husbands to calm their nerves with a couple of beers.

During WWII one of the functions of the Ravenna Arsenal was to assemble and store artillery shells. These shells were stored in concrete bunkers called igloos. On one occasion one of these igloos exploded causing large concrete chunks to fly into the air (See newspaper clipping at the bottom of this page).

Dad was standing beside Mr. Jim when a piece of concrete as big as an automobile landed right beside them. Mr. Jim took one look at that big chunk of cement and exclaimed:

(2)

And it was. Mr. Jim quit the next day.

Besides her other talents, my mother was a notary public and also ran the driver’s license bureau out of the post office, similar to what the Bureau of Motor Vehicles does today. It wasn’t unusual for someone to come to our house at night to ask for these services.

One cold and snowy evening Mr. Jim and his wife showed up at the door wanting to apply for a license renewal. Even though it was our supper time Mom wouldn’t refuse. During the process she asked for Jim’s old license. He started frantically fumbling through his pockets. Not finding the document his asked his wife for help.

(3)

“I dont know”, said Leona”. “Maybe you left it in your other pants”.

(4)

Replied Mr. Jim.

After all, it was wintertime!

One evening Mr. Jim and his friend Mr. Jerome got into an argument as to who could drink the most beer in the shortest amount of time. They decided to have a contest to decide the issue. Here is how the dialog went:

(5)

I never heard who won or if they even had the contest. I only know that if they really had a contest, the way those two old Germans could drink beer the breweries would be putting in overtime.

Mr. Ralph

Mr. Ralph was a tractor mechanic – and a good one. He spoke in a low monotone with a strong German accent. When he pronounced his name “Ralph” it would come out

(6)

He liked to drink beer, schnapps, and tell jokes. I remember one joke in particular. It went something like this:

A priest was driving along in his new shiny Cadillac when he spotted a girl standing along side the road hitch-hiking. She was wearing very short shorts and a spandex top. The priest stopped to pick her up. She got into the car and immediately lit up a cigarette.

The priest looked at her and said in a scolding tone: (Ralph’s voice)

(7)

And to this the girl replied:

(8)

Touche!

Mr. Ralph’s real talent came forth at Sunday Mass after he had a breakfast of schnapps chased down with beer. Fr. Bertram’s sermons were very long and full of shouting and scolding. After about an hour of this Ralph would become rather impatient. If you were sitting within a few feet of him you would hear the following over and over:

(9)

Every so often he would partially stand and act as if he were walking out – but he never did.

All of our asses were getting tired but Ralph was the only one to express his feelings, even if it was in a voice so low that only God, the angels, and a few people sitting around him could hear.

(1) {“Dutch, I jutht gotta haf a coupla beerth My nervth are all shot . Gotta thtop and haf a coupla beerth. Gotta calm down my nervth”}

(2) {“By Godt, thith ith my latht day” .}

(3) {“Leona, I can’t find my lithenth. Do you know where my old lithenth ith? I can’t find my lithenth”}

(4) {“It couldn’t be in my other panth. I have ‘em both on” }

(5) {Jim: What  kind  of  beer  should   we uthe ?          Jerome : The stronger the better .

Jim: “where do you want to have thith contetht ?Jerome: Anwhere you like.

Jim: Do you want to drink it by the cathe or by the keg ?Jerome: Either way.}

(6) {“waaalvve”}

(7) {“If the Blessed Virgin Mary was on this earth she wouldn’t be standing along side the road in shorts hitch-hiking and smoking cigarettes”.}

(8) {“And if Jesus Christ was on earth he wouldn’t be driving around in a new Cadillac picking up girls.”}

(9) {“Let’s go! Let’s go! Jesus Christ I’m getting bedsores.Let’s go. Christ my ass is getting tired!. Let’s go!”. }

 

 

 

Excuses

My mother was a writer and humorist among her many other achievements. (see the post “Edith Lang Roliff”) She believed that laughter was the best kind of medicine – especially if you can laugh at yourself.

As I was looking through Mom’s many papers and newspaper articles I found these notes. It appears that even when she wrote a note to excuse her children from school she just couldn’t resist adding a bit of humor. Here is a note she wrote to the school principal Oliver Payne to excuse my brother Mark for early release:

And here is a note she wrote in pidgin-german for the same purpose:

I believe the first note is valid since Mr. Payne initialed it. I’m not sure about the second one. Maybe he was just too tickled to sign it!

In case the scans of the originals are illegible, here is the text typed out.

English version:

May 31, 1962

Dear Mr. Payne,

Mark may leave school after tests if:

1- It does not take him longer than 15 minutes to pass the Goody Shop.

2- He turns to the left at corners 224  and 44, and halts at 4027 Waterloo.

3- He promises to wash the windows, gather the eggs, clean the house, mow the lawn, start the supper and in the meantime, stay out of mischief.

He has my permission to walk, run, ride, and fly home, if he keeps one foot on the ground at all times.

I hope that I thought of everything.

E. Roliff

————

Pidgin-German version:

May 31, 1962

Herr Payne,

Las das kleinen Mark from der tests home ge-kommin. Das grass ben needin der cutting and mowen to preventin das wildebeasts from der prey ge-stalkin. Das hamsters ben home ge-starvin mit groanen and squealin, and a fit ge-pitchen. Das breakfast dishes ist on der table ge-standin. Das garbage ist ge-spoilen and over ge-running. Der mutter ben thinkin das boy needs der salt ge-earning.

E. Roliff

 

Old Codgers

Mr. Chris

Mr. Chris was the owner of the Sohio gas station located across the street from our house in Randolph. He was a gruff old German, and looked like Don Rickles after someone had beaten  him with an ugly stick. He also had a temperament to match. Almost everyone in town was afraid of him for very good reason. He was known to physically beat the tar out of anyone who disagreed with him or gave him any lip. Because of his sour personality he had everyone in town intimidated – everyone that is, except my dad.

One time Mr. Chris got into a fight with a customer from out of town, over what I don’t remember. Mr. Chris and the customer ended up rolling around in the mud in front of the gas station trying to choke each other. During the fracas somehow Mr. Chris bit the other man’s thumb. I don’t remember if he bit the thumb completely off or if it just was good and bloody, but the bite did serious damage to the man’s hand. Everyone was afraid to bring this incident up to Mr. Chris – except my dad. Every year on the anniversary of the bloody thumb fight Dad would find an old glove, cut the thumb halfway off, dip the thumb stub into a can of red paint, put it on his right hand and go over to the station and shake hands with Mr. Chris, at the same time wishing him a happy anniversary. He was the only person in town who could do something like this and still stay alive.

We had two doctors in the area, one was my uncle Walter Lang who was about about 5 feet tall. The other was Dr. Silbiger, the town GP, who was Jewish. One time Mr. Chris became ill and had to spend time in the hospital. My father went to visit him, and asked him how he was being treated. Mr. Chris replied gruffly, “At 5 in the morning when I am trying to sleep I keep getting pestered by the goddamn nurses who want to check my armpits, look down my throat, take my blood, give me a shot, and stick a thermometer up my ass. Then the doctors come in. First the Jew comes in to check me over, and then the Shrimp comes in and does the same damn thing. Between the Jew, the Shrimp and the nurses a man can’t get no damn sleep around here!”

Mr. Jake

One morning I was hanging out in the post office where my mother was working when I heard this strange noise out in front. It sounded like someone was scraping a piece of metal against the sidewalk. When I looked out the front window I saw the old farmer Mr. Jake coming up the steps. On his right foot instead of a shoe he had tied a bread pan. Inside the pan surrounding his bare foot was a generous helping of very fresh cow manure. He explained to Mom that he had stepped on an old board in his barnyard and a nail had pierced his foot. He said that the manure would draw out the soreness and cause the wound to heal.

I don’t know if Dr. Oz or Bristol-Myers ever heard of this cure, but it appeared to be effective since Mr. Jake didn’t need an amputation or develop lock-jaw. This method seemed to work since there were no further infections to the foot or other complications that couldn’t be cured by a good hot bath and a half-gallon of Chanel No. 5.

Paul Lang

My uncle Paul Lang was legendary in Randolph for his mechanical abilities as well as his constant search for an opportunity to laugh. He could find humor in small things that most people overlooked. Following are a few examples:

During the 30’s the local paper would publish a sample ballot prior to an election. Today the symbol for the Democratic party is a donkey and for the Republicans an elephant, but in those days the Democratic symbol was a rooster and the Republican symbol was an eagle. At that time the state of Ohio permitted voting a straight ticket. At the top of each ballot was a rooster and an eagle. Underneath each was a place to indicate your vote. You could vote for every Democrat on the ballot simply by putting an “X” under the rooster. An “X” under the eagle would vote for all of the Republicans. Paul would cut the ballots from the paper and pin them on the kitchen wall so I could practice voting. He told me, “Always put an X under the rooster”.

When company came to visit the family, Paul wanted to demonstrate my political abilities, so he would say to me, “Gene, go up there and vote”. Of course I would go up to the ballot and put an “X” under the rooster as any good 3-year-old would. He would then look at the impressed visitors and start cracking up.

I once had a small wooden pushcart with a long handle and wooden rabbits on each side. One day I visited Paul at Jenior’s garage where he worked as a mechanic. He took my cart, drilled a hole in the back, and installed an electric switch. Being 3 years old at the time I was very proud of that switch and used it often even though it wasn’t hooked up to anything. He just laughed hysterically about that switch even though it didn’t do anything – or maybe because it didn’t do anything – or maybe because he just enjoyed kids.

There was an old buckeye tree behind Lang’s gas station and during autumn there were hundreds of buckeyes lying on the ground beneath this tree. Paul taught me that I could punch a hole in each of two buckeyes with a nail, fasten them together with about 3 feet of string, then swing them like a slingshot and heave them up over the power lines. After I did this for several days the power lines in front of the gas station were festooned with buckeyes hanging from strings.  Needless to say, the linemen from Ohio Edison were not amused when they had to climb up there and remove the tangled mess. I was really terrified when I heard them talking to Grandma Lang and threatening the dastardly villains who threw those things up there  with prison and broken kneecaps. That put a stop to the buckeye tossing.

My dad told me this one:

The local Methodist church planned to have a chicken dinner as a fund raiser. Paul was a good friend of the preacher and he offered to provide chickens for the dinner at no cost.

It appears that Paul decided to furnish the chickens by stealing them from the preacher’s own hen house. The night before the dinner he sneaked in with a burlap sack and started to gather up some nice fat hens. As fate would have it the preacher decided  to feed his chickens at this same time. Paul heard him coming and hid behind some feed sacks. This would have worked out well but as the feeding progressed Paul got so tickled that he couldn’t suppress his laughter and was thus discovered. When the preacher found Paul with the sack half full of hens he also began to laugh. He told Paul that since he was that far along with the heist he might as well finish the job, so the hens were procured and the dinner was successfully held.

Paul was killed in a motorcycle accident when he was 24 years old. Even though I was only five  when he died I remember well this happy fun-loving man.

The lesson I learned from living with Uncle Paul was that It is worthwhile to sometimes lighten up, take time to laugh and enjoy life, but stay off of motorcycles.

Paul Lang on left

Wiener Huth

Among the many interesting people living in Randolph was Wayne Huth. Everybody called him by his nickname, Wiener. As with many American men of that time Wiener was drafted into the army and was later injured in combat, his injury causing the loss of one eye. Upon his discharge the government furnished a new eye for him made of glass. As a kid I was fascinated by this glass eye since it was so realistic. I asked my dad how we could tell the glass eye from Wiener’s real eye. He told me the glass eye was the one with the honest look!

Wiener had been a very good athlete in high school and the mere loss of an eye didn’t prevent him from doing everything a normal person would do, including playing on the town baseball team as a catcher.

It also didn’t stifle his orneriness.

This glass eye was removable. One had to pay attention at the ice cream parlor if Wiener was present or suddenly the glass eye would  appear on top of an ice cream sundae where the maraschino cherry would normally reside.

This also held true for people sitting at the bar in the local tavern  because sometimes when an unsuspecting patron finished his beer there would be an honest-looking eye in the bottom of the glass staring back at him.

After the laughter subsided Wiener would calmly retrieve his eye, lick it off, and poke it back into his head.

I cringe when I think of what Wiener would have had to do to get his eye back in case someone accidentally swallowed it. I don’t think he would have been licking it off!

Jane

Jane was my mother’s sister and the youngest member of the Clem Lang family. She was a student in high school when I first lived at the Lang household. I remember her as a vivacious, light-hearted fun loving person. Her beauty could rival that of any Hollywood star, and she would light up a room when she entered.  She liked to giggle, and because of her pleasant personality she was quite popular.

She had many male admirers. During WWII many of these were soldiers on leave. After a while she got tired of so many boys hanging around bothering her and she would sometimes treat them poorly. I remember one soldier in particular who came all the way from Detroit to see her, but she wouldn’t come out of her room to say hello to him.

“I told him not to come”, she said in her own defense.

At the start of WWII Jane was hired by Goodyear Aircraft of Akron, a company that made planes and other devices for the military. Goodyear Aircraft’s trademark symbol was the winged-foot of Mercury and they published an in-house paper called “The Wingfoot Clan” whose purpose was to disseminate information to the Goodyear employees. In one edition Jane’s picture appeared on the front page in a swim suit as a “pinup girl”. During the war pictures of girls in bathing suits were called pin-ups because the GIs would “pin them up” on their walls and lockers. They also painted them on war planes for good luck.

Pin-ups

Some employees sent the edition with Jane’s picture to family members who were stationed overseas.

 

Someone also happened to send one to Fr. Bertram.

Now Fr. Bertram was not a huge fan of pinup girls! He was also suspicious of anyone who appeared to enjoy life as much as Jane did. Anyone having that much fun, especially a girl, must be up to something devious or sinful. This pin-up picture confirmed his suspicions, and the result was a month or more of fiery oratory from the pulpit at Sunday Mass. My poor saintly grandmother sat there with her ears burning, listening to her family being castigated from the pulpit Sunday after Sunday in the presence of her fellow parishioners with words like decadent, scandalous, and horseflesh. The scolding was general and no family names were ever mentioned, but everyone in the congregation knew who the villain was.

Later Jane met Chuck Weber, a quality person who had a fun-loving personality similar to hers. After a while they decided to wed, however there was one large problem – Chuck was not a Catholic. To marry a non-catholic In those days in that community was considered to be as serious as the highest form of treason.

When it came time for the wedding Jane and Chuck visited the priest to face the music. When Fr. Bertram asked Chuck which church he attended Chuck replied, “I am a Protestant”.

“WHAT ARE YOU PROTESTING?”, the priest demanded in a voice so loud that it could be heard all the way to Purgatory.

Evidently Jane and Chuck survived the grilling because they were eventually married, had three wonderful children, and lived happily together for many years.

At a family reunion after Chuck’s death many years later I asked Jane how she was doing without her life-long companion.

“I am doing fine”, she replied. “As a matter of fact, right this minute he is sitting at home on the mantel” (he had been cremated). Then she added with a light-hearted giggle, “I turned on the TV when I left the house, so he’s watching the baseball game”.

Uncle Bob

Uncle Bob Roliff and his wife Eleanor farmed their land on Stroup road in Atwater, Ohio. In the summer they raised hogs, in the spring they ran a maple sugar camp. During the summer and autumn Bob chopped and sawed wood – tons of it, to fire up the maple sap boilers. No chain saws were used, just axes and two man crosscut saws, so it was difficult and strenuous work. I guess it didn’t hurt him since he lived to 96 years of age. Part of the farm consisted of 100 acres of timber, mostly sugar maples. My dad often took me hunting there for squirrels, rabbits, and pheasants. I also spent time with Uncle Bob when he was gathering sap and making syrup, so I have many fond memories of this place.

Uncle Bob’s was the only place I remember that had no electricity. If I recall correctly, this was about 1940 and power lines had not yet been strung down Stroup road. In the evening they used kerosene (they called it coal oil) lamps and at night they just went to bed since it was too dark to read. The place seemed rather dingy in the evening because an oil lamp didn’t cast nearly as much light as an electric bulb.

Aunt Eleanor also taught math at Atwater High School. Her father was a former preacher and very strict. He had a farm about a mile down the road and also made maple syrup. It was said that he poured the sap out on the ground that ran on Sundays because “That sap belonged to The Lord”.

Uncle Bob had a team of horses that pulled the plow and the sap wagon in spring. One of the horses was blind so the other horse in the team had to furnish eyes for both. Bob was so used to having horses that when he finally bought his first John Deere tractor, he had some trouble getting accustomed to running it with pedals instead of voice commands. He recalled one time pulling the tractor into the barn and when he said “Whoa” the darned thing didn’t stop, so it ran right through the back of the barn.

Bob also had a hen house as most farmers did at the time. He often had trouble with raccoons stealing the eggs and foxes killing the chickens. Dad told the following story:

One night while in bed, Bob heard a commotion in the hen house. He got up to see what was causing the trouble. He didn’t sleep in pajamas so he was wearing his long johns. Slipping into his rubber knee boots, Bob picked up his shotgun, loaded it, slowly and quietly sneaked around the corner with the gun poked forward, loaded, cocked and ready.
About this time his trusty hound dog pussyfooted up behind him and stuck his cold nose in the trap door of his long johns.

After the smoke cleared there were 6 dead chickens. Dad laughed when he told this story and said that if it had happened to him there would also have been a dead dog.

 

Edith (Lang) Roliff

My mother Edith taught 5th and 6th grade at Randolph School. She was also a musician and played piano for operettas and shows at the school, and the organ at St.Joseph’s church. She gave lessons on the piano and violin at home. For several years she was the town postmaster, and  ran the postoffice out of the front of Lang’s General Store.

She was a modest, quiet, woman who was often deep in thought. Due to her strict German Catholic up-bringing, she was somewhat  rule-bound and conscious of public opinion, the complete opposite of my father.

When Dutch blew into town riding his Harley she was completely and utterly fascinated by this handsome, reckless, devil-may-care individual. She had never seen anyone like that. She got a real kick out of some of his antics although she publicly disapproved and was embarrassed by many of them.

Mom was not a gourmet cook. The food was basic and healthy, but not much time or agonizing was spent in preparation. There was sometimes smoke in the house because she had forgotten about the food on the stove. When Dad would complain that the meat was tough, she would tell him it was “just chewy”.

She did bake very good raisin bread and we use that recipe to this day. One time she decided to try a new bread recipe, but she couldn’t get the dough to the right consistency. She would add flour, knead, add water, knead, more flour, etc. etc. She kept this up for quite some time. Finally she had enough. She wadded the dough into a big ball, took it out on the back porch, and gave it a mighty heave out into the back yard.

Housekeeping was not her specialty. We didn’t live in absolute squalor, but our house would never have made it into Better Homes and Gardens. She once said about dusting the furniture, “That dust can get off of there the same way it got on”. There were other things much more important to her.

The Button Incident

Mom also had an ornery side, and because of her quiet nature, her tricks would come as a complete surprise. One time I was sitting in church and became aware of an uncomfortable feeling in my crotch, some kind of a large lump. I reached down to find that someone had sewn a very large button in there. She laughed for weeks about that.

Sewing Project

When I moved to Brady Lake I decided to buy a sewing machine so I could fix my clothes, hem my pants, etc. I made the mistake of telling my mother and sister about it.

Several days later the mail man delivered a large package wrapped in plain brown paper. In it were a bunch of clothes in various stages of damage and disrepair, including a pair of ladies underpants without a crotch, a pair of mens shorts with several burn holes in the rear end, some bras with large holes cut where the nipples should be, and various other items that escape my memory. There was also a note from Mom and sister Ruth requesting that I use my new sewing machine and my prowess as a seamstress to repair those items. I’m sure they thought that since I was only a man untrained in the womanly art of sewing-machine-ship I would just laugh and throw the stuff away.

Wrong, thinks I. I will fix you guys. I went to Kmart, bought some maxi-pads, baby bottle nipples, naugahyde patches, and a few other sewing supplies and decorations. I patched the burn holes in the pants with the naugahyde and sewed the rubber nipples into the bras. I then made a large button hole in one of the maxipads using the button-holer  attachment, and used it to build a crotch into the ladies underwear. I tried to use every fancy stitch on the machine to do the repair work. Then I sent the whole package back.

We all had much fun and laughs over that incident, and I acquired some new skills! It just goes to show that mothers and grade school teachers know how to motivate learning.

Shovel Spoon

When I was a small child I was fascinated by tablespoons. I called them “shovel spoons”. Much to the horror of my mother and grandmother, I wanted to use a shovel spoon to eat everything – cereal, potatoes, meat, fish, everything.  They told me it wasn’t polite or proper and would make my mouth big. It didn’t matter what they told me I insisted on eating with a shovel spoon.

When the latest National Geographic magazine arrived, it contained a picture of a native African tribesman who had  large wooden plates surgically installed into his lips which made them huge. I asked Mom what happened to his mouth. She told me that when he was a kid he ate with a shovel spoon.

I never used a shovel spoon after that.

The Watchbird

Mom  subscribed to a magazine called “Children’s Activities” for my sister Ruth and I to read. She also used it in her classroom. In it were many stories, puzzles, pictures, projects, and other items of interest to children. Also to help guide us little devils in the right direction there were examples of good and bad behavior. One I remember in particular involved “The Watchbird”, which was a form of Big Brother for kids. The watchbird stories usually went something like this:

This is a watchbird watching Johnny stealing cookies from the cookie jar:

 

This is a watchbird watching YOU!

I’m sure you get the idea.

So when someone’s behavior went a little bit off the rails, the “watchbird” was often called into play.

The watchbird was OK for venial matters and light weight stuff like pilfering cookies, but for more serious offenses that the watchbird couldn’t handle, it was GOD who did the watching!.