Thoughts on a Sunday Stroll

Suddenly the wind blew into my face as if to wake me up from a daydream and I began to realize the beauty of the evening before me. A cool breeze had replaced the muggy heat that had been so prevalent throughout the summer and the sky was remarkably clear. There was a renewed sense of enthusiasm in my stride and my mind began to work again. As the wind blew through my hair I had a real feeling of being alive.

I was strolling through my neighborhood and of course as I would have loved to have had some sort of amazing mental discovery, I did not. I was consumed by the difference in architecture, colors, automotives, landscaping and many other aspects of my neighborhood. I became mesmerized by people's gardens and flowers - I appreciated their personal touches and creativity. And once again I fell in love with the very idea of individuality.

When I was young I loved to draw houses. I was intrigued by architecture in all its capacities. I loved to look at buildings, bridges, barns - you name it…but houses always caught my eye and held my attention. The affinity was derived I am sure from a mixture of ideas and feelings, but just the same it is an affinity that I have retained to this day. The very idea of the prominence of brick, a chimney covered in ivy, dormers, a brick sidewalk, copulas and spires. The added details that make a home stand out speak to me like paint on a canvas and in many ways our homes, be them big or small, say a great deal about who we are.

As I mention often, I grew up in the small Western Kentucky town of Dawson Springs, where little old ladies raised red geraniums in concrete planters. Slathered with a fresh coat of white paint each year, these urns and geraniums were fixtures on many southern porches. Lawns and porches kept as clean as their Duncan Phyfe filled parlors and dining rooms - they knew what they were doing. On a less beaten side street on a beautiful Sunday there is always a chance that someone might drive by…and be delighted to see the effort put into a yard, a house - a home. I did, try it! Take a walk!

9/11

The questions that don't really have answers sometimes leave us in a place of unsettled injustice. These questions make us stumble away from our innocence scathed by factors that we had no hand in. The life we lead brings us to these places with the distant hopes that the courage, strength and love that it takes to be a hero is an instinct and not a procedure. Nine years after the planes struck the World Trade Center's Twin Towers in New York City, we are still left with questions that are not answered. Questions that make us wonder why humans throughout history have felt the need to kill and destroy.

Looking over a slideshow of photos posted on a media outlet on the internet a couple of days ago brought tears to my eyes and a pain in the pit of my stomach for those men and women lost on that horrible day. Seeing those photos rekindled a pain for the survivors of these men and women, a thankfulness for the brave men and women who went to Ground Zero to risk their lives to save others and a renewed since of pride in our country. A country that always heals but never forgets, a land of hearts and helping hands, a people of strangers willing to come together when the chips fall and on that day unlike any other … the chips fell.

Spending the weekend with good friends the date 9/11 was brought up a few times, somberly, as we looked back on where we were on that day. Flashbacks of news coverage and photos plastered on every media outlet known to man were only ideas tossed around in our heads compared to those that had to witness this horrible event. Not to mention those that were in the towers. A day that claimed thousands of lives goes down in history and as we remember it is hard to believe that something this terrible could ever happen.

Unfortunately, we live in a world that terrible things like this do happen. Ideas and misunderstandings can become so extreme that such things have happened throughout all of history. Lives that have been taken for reasons that seem to have no merit. Murders, acts of violence, terrorists attacks and wars represent a push for power that involves fear, bullying, and distain for humanity. I remember clearly the discomfort and anxiety that I felt in the days following September 11, 2001. I remember firefighters and policemen searching the rubble in New York, at the Pentagon and in a field in Pennsylvania. Thoughts that only lead us to more questions and less answers. Thoughts that make us wince and give us hope for better a understanding of why we need to do such things. Why we as people, why nations, and cultures feel the need to shift our weight in such way. Answers to questions that we may never understand, and truthfully, if we did it may reveal a part of the human psyche that would scare us and disgust us even more.

No matter what these questions do to us, and no matter how many times they arise in our minds, it is my hope that they never allow us to lose hope in the goodness that is in the world. I hope that we don't ask these questions to lay further blame or to validate these unknowns. I hope that we ask these questions to gain a truer knowledge of ourselves. I know we will never forget that day and the days that followed. Those moments in time that have been engrained in our memories that represent some of our darkest fears. Fears that fade away but come back like phantoms from the past as if to remind us that we are all mortal and that we do not know what the future holds. I hope that as we continue to remember and as we remember I hope we continue to heal.

I Like September

As the rain peppered my window this morning I welcomed the sound and the thought of fall lingering into place. All through life we face transitions and just as the seasons change these transitions make us stronger and more adaptable to the next phase. The month of September has always held some significance to me as it is the month of my birth. That said, it always becomes a month to reflect on where I have been the past year and where I am going within the next. However, two years ago my move to Austin added more significance to the month of September - in just a few days I will reach my two year mark in this vibrant city.


Personally, my birthday has and always will have its place as a yearly milestone, but with each passing year it has become less and less important. On the other hand, the anniversary of my move here has become extremely important to me. It would be hard to convey the meaning of all the thoughts, fears, excitement and new experiences, that have passed through my days over the last two years in Austin. However, I would be lying if I didn't say that each day here I have gained a bit more confidence in myself and I feel like I have grown as a person during this block of time as well.

Life began for me in a small town - Dawson Springs, Kentucky was my home for eighteen years and some change. In my heart that will always be home, my family lives there and it was there in that quaint little town that me and my friends cast our dreams on shooting stars and skipping rocks. It will always be there that my mind goes back to. After leaving home I lived in Murray, Kentucky while attending college and later I lived in Nashville, Tennessee. Both places that I loved and enjoyed and have strong ties with many fond memories and friends that are still in each of those cities. But two years ago on a "wing and a prayer," as they say, I left my comfort zone and moved to Austin. A decision that I was confident about but still had my fair share of anxiety toward. Fortunately, this move has been a successful move for me. Looking back on the past two years is a pleasure thinking about all the new experiences and people that have come into my life. Experiences and people that have challenged me, inspired me, and helped me to recognize that life has to be lived.

I have taken a sabbatical of sorts from blogging over the last couple of weeks - but as this month peaks near two very important dates in my life, I feel recharged and ready to tap at these keys again. I feel like life is good and that I have been very fortunate. I know that there are things that I need to work harder at, new things that will be learned, new experiences to have, as well as new people to meet. Those things will fall into place as they always do - and as they do I hope that I allow myself to embrace them with a renewed sense of self and a vigor that reaches out to the stars.

Twenty nine here I come, I can't believe I am saying that, and here's to two awesome years in Austin!

Brunette: Brunette Russell Franklin Cato

When I was growing up I don't recall Nannie doing a great deal of cooking, although I know that in years past she had. I have heard many stories from within the family about her cooking this or that, in fact my Mom and Aunt Trisha pass her Pecan Pie recipe back and forth over the phone every Thanksgiving and or when the craving calls. Nonetheless, by the time I knew her that was a chore that she had abandoned. I do however remember going out to eat each Saturday and Sunday throughout my childhood. One of those days of course was reserved to a lunch meal in Madisonville, to be followed by an afternoon of shopping at Baker and Hickman's Department store; afternoons my Mom and Sister enjoyed and I muddled through. The weekend lunches were like clockwork - she would arrive at our house just before noon drop in to chat for a minute before heading back out to the car. When we lunched in Dawson Springs we ate at the Hickory Pit, Dudes, the dining room at the Lodge of Pennyrile (State Park), The Place, or Corky's a hamburger dive that was later bought out by Dairy Queen. In all of these locales we would see familiar faces and Nannie knew everyone. She glided through these restaurants smiling and talking to almost everyone in these places, and so it was no surprise that my sister nor I have ever met a stranger.


On nights when I would sleep over at her house and we were alone she always expressed a large interest in my thoughts and my ideas about my future. She often talked about the old days with me and encouraged me to draw more, learn more, and talk more. She also inadvertently encouraged me to spend more time with Buddy, because she often went to bed really early. On those nights I would go out and sit in the family room with him and we would cook up pranks to pull on her, talk more about the old days, eat club crackers and drink Coca Cola out of a wine glass. One night Buddy and I even developed a little skit by using a couple of canes that they had lying around the house, along with his hats and a record (I believe) of Frank Sinatra singing: "I did it my way." A sight to behold I am sure - a sight that made her grin from ear to ear - laughing and clapping.

My sister and I were the only grandchildren on Mom's side of the family and we were spoiled a little because of that. But what is most important is that we were brought up with a great amount of love. There were so many people all around us that wanted to make sure that we had good lives. There is six years difference between Shannon's and my age and we really never competed against each other for anything and certainly not love. We grew up fast when I think about it and I doubt we thought much about how lucky we were then. I was in the 6th grade the year that she graduated and left home to go to Western Kentucky University. I know it was an exciting time for her but it was also a sad time for me…I think we were all a little sad. On her last day in town we went around to all the relatives houses so that she could say good byes, and our last stop was Nannie and Buddy's. Nannie cried from the time we got there until the time we left, and as we were walking to the car the two of them were still crying. A year later she was gone too.

Only gone in a different way - a way that I had not been accustomed to - she was really gone - not coming back gone. On an ordinary fall evening, Mom and Dad were moving about in the kitchen cooking dinner just like clockwork and the phone rang. Oddly, it wasn't Nannie making her routine call while Mom and Dad were cooking dinner - I don't even know who it was. I just remember Dad saying I'll take care of this you just go. I didn't know what was happening I just followed Mom, got into the car and headed across town. I guess Dad turned off all the things on the stove and hurried over himself - if he hadn't been there we might have just left it all turned on. The rest of the story is quite sad, but a peaceful sort of sadness, and with all due respect I will leave it at that. Nannie died on November 1, 1995, she was sixty eight years old.

My Uncle Bill a few years earlier had just completed an assignment in Jamaica and had accepted duties that would be carried out in Bratislava, Slovakia in the near future. The two of them were already in language classes that would help them abide in that culture for a few years. Mom's first phone call was to her sister and she was en route to Dawson Springs immediately.

Softly and tenderly she had slipped the bonds of this earth - just like that. Friends began to call, as they say, and the house was soon filled with women with casseroles, meat loafs and fried chicken. Family members were called and arrangements were made and then, as we have many times since, we gathered in the blue chapel at Beshear Funeral Home to grieve. It was somber, it was gut wrenching, it was scary and it shouldn't have been so bad at fifteen. Maybe I was ill prepared but the feeling that I felt on those days has been surpassed very few times. So few that I am reluctant to go into it here, at least not any farther than this.

I think that it might have been the first time in my life that I had seen so many adults crying. Grown men and women that were members of my family that had always seemed to have it together, but they were crying. People coming in and out saying kind things, sharing stories, feeling sad, all those things took place too. I remember my Mom, so stoic, so solid, she and Trisha greeted guest and shook hands while Buddy, Dad and my Uncle Bill created a separate wall of hand shaking and greeting themselves. I don't really know what they were all thinking, I had no way of knowing rather than asking and even that I put off for another day. Nannie joined my Grandfather Decola Franklin at Rosedale Cemetery.

Days turned into months, months blended into years, and before we knew it so many things happened to us all. A phrase that I like to borrow says it best: life happened to us. She would have been proud to see us gather for holidays for many years in her living room with Buddy at the helm, a man who would often mention her name and lend me many stories that have helped to fill these lines. A man who changed my life through his love, generosity, and confidence in me over the years. He would leave their home just as she had left it and for many years until his death she was ever present at the house at 600 Russell Street. Buddy passed away in 2002 and was buried next to his Grandfather on his mother's side, T. C. Cash, in Ausenbaugh Cemetery, just outside of Dawson Springs.

Bill and Trisha would go on to serve the Foreign Service in Bratislava, Slovakia. I was lucky enough to visit Bratislava with Mom in those years, among other places in Eastern Europe. Their careers, travels and life in general would be a breath of fresh air in ours and as I have said before, they helped to make the world a bit smaller for all of us. During the final years of Nannie's life Trisha completed her PhD, graciously mentioned in the introduction of her dissertation is the acknowledgement of a loving and supportive mother. My Aunt and Uncle still reside in Washington, D.C. and have both recently retired respectively; Bill from the State Department and Trisha from the Foreign Service Institute.

Just as much as she would have enjoyed being a Great-Grandmother, Nannie would have loved to see my Mom and Dad fill the rolls of Nana and Poppy. The year after her death my sister married Steven Parker in a ceremony at the First Baptist Church, a celebration that Nannie would have so enjoyed. Something old, something new, something borrowed and something blue - the day was a beautiful day and Nannie would have shined to see my sister look so beautiful.

Of course there have been so many things that have happened to me over the past fifteen years as well…but there is no great need to go into all that here. Life has happened to me in the best ways more than the worst. I suppose that above all with all things considered, the greatest gifts both sides of grandparents gave me were my parents. Parents that have loved me no matter what steps I have made, what jobs I have chosen to take, or what places I have decided to move. Lots of love. I suppose that is what brought this entire piece of wordage together…love. When my Grandfather Buddy passed away I was fortunate enough to inherit a few pieces of furniture that have made their way to Texas with me. Every day when I enter my home here in Austin, these things remind me of their steadfast presence in my life.

In going back through her life, producing a sort of meaty timeline, I have questioned myself many times as to what my purpose has been. I have often wondered if it was really okay for me to expose someone in this way when they really have no choice in telling me to keep going or to stop. All through this process I knew that this was something that I always wanted to do. You see, this process has had more to do with me than it did with her. Nannie, a title that she chose and wore well - a loving wife and a dear mother, did things for me and my sister that only we can describe. She was beautiful - inside and out and to borrow a phrase from my dear Aunt Ami, "she had a heart as big as all outdoors."

At Beshear Funeral Home and then on out to Rosedale Cemetery, on that dreary November day, we all said good bye to her. Knowing not what the future would hold for our family without her. Without her love, her laugh, her generosity and her grace. I am sure we all wondered deep within our thoughts about how the structure of our family would change, and it surely did. But she achieved something that every person that lives on this earth does not have the power to achieve - she kept going. Her smile is present at every Christmas dinner that our family has shared since then on the faces of her two daughters. Stories of her have been brought up time and time again, and I suppose that so long as I am able to speak and write those stories will continue.

She walked a line that was so fine - I think that she was the only one that could see it. Her strength outweighed her weaknesses and she tackled life with a distinct class and grace that I have yet to see perfected so well since. "Her heart was as big as all out doors," and there was nothing that she would not give or do to make the lives of those around her richer and better. And over the fifteen years that I had the honor of knowing her she captivated me and has held my attention long after her death.

In an old reel to reel film that belonged to my Uncle Gar and Aunt Ami, a film that I have watched over and over again. There is a portion backed with music to the melody of the song "Memories." In this particular film she is getting out of her car at the mines in one of her trench coats, hat and gloves to match. She starts toward Gar and Ami who had been babysitting my Mom there at the mines. Mom was probably around three years old and she too had on a long coat with a high button - a beautiful little girl dressed in late fifties fashion. When she realized that her mother was there the biggest smile came across her delicate little face and she ran and jumped into her arms. Nannie spun around with her little girl in her arms and the scene closes out with her holding her tight…clinging to her little girl and smiling. A smile that I can see to this day, a smile that could warm the coldest day and raise the lowest spirits. A smile that I knew all too well and knew not how to deal with its absence.

Fifteen years has passed since she went away - years that have seen our family well. Nannie would be proud to know that we are all doing fine. If it is possible I hope she has gotten glimpses of her two beautiful Great Grandchildren: Cole and Sloane Parker. These two would have been the light of her life, I know they have been the light of ours. She would have smiled over her daughters and their husbands as they have followed life's path so graciously and kindly just as she did. And if she can read these words and feel my feelings as they pour on to this screen I hope that she knows that did do this for her too…not all for me. I guess it is the selfish little boy inside me that needed to get all of this off my chest. I needed the world to know that I had this grandmother that was so great, because I lost her so early. So as I turn this page in my mind and soon I will get up from this seat and turn off this device, go over and curl up on her sofa and read someone else's narratives - I hope she knows that I am fine too now. And in so many ways I hold her responsible. She and a score of other people who loved me often more than I deserved over the years. Life is what it is and we all know that we can't live forever. The ones that are lucky, find out what matters to them far before those things or people are gone. We grow to learn that life is a journey of reaching a certain understanding and just as you think you are getting everything figured out an obstacle arises that may have never occurred to you.

I have grown to feel a deep responsibility to my family and to go even farther to its history. I have felt compelled for several years to write about such thoughts and especially about the great people that I have known. The people that changed my life. Nannie was one of those people, one of those dear, sweet, people that devoted part of her life to mine. That matters. Fifteen years of memories and fifteen years since and I am still talking about her. But what still amazes me, after all these years of inquisitive talking, is that I always find another person that she has influenced or touched - lives she changed just by living. So now it's done, the only way I knew how to do it, and with misty eyes I will post this blog of many sorts onto the world wide web. On to this web with many messages in one but one that I must add just in case she sees it: Thank you.

Many, many, years ago, in a little community called Menser, just outside of Dawson Springs, Kentucky, a little girl was born, and they named her Brunette. She was my grandmother.

Brunette: Turn the page.

As memories fade and then resurface I am reminded of the true beauty of the phases of our lives. The moments that separate time from ordinary into spectacular - the happiness and joy that is paired with tragedy and sadness. Sometimes it is more difficult than others to realize the true gift it is to live the lives we are given. I think Nannie new that and although she was fragile at times she had the strength to smile and rise again with the same grace and class that she had embodied before. Always.

In 1979 Nannie would marry John Edward Cato, who was known by friends and family as Buddy. Buddy had retired from the United States Postal Service in the early 1970s after serving in a long time position as Postal Inspector. A job that was based in Milwaukee, Wisconsin. Upon retirement and a divorce he had returned to his hometown where his only family resided. After a brief stay at his Uncle and Aunt, Clyde and Beatrice "Bea" Woodruff's home, he settled into the Wingo Apartments on Hall Street next door Mr. and Mrs. (Christine and Harold) Wingo's florist and he later purchased a home on the corner of Hamby Avenue and Russell Streets. Buddy was the son of Joseph and Dessie Cash Cato, whom at the time of his return to Dawson Springs had both already passed away. Nannie and Buddy's courtship led to marriage and the two moved into Nannie's home on South Main Street. They would later sell this home in addition to Buddy's home and purchase a home together at 600 Russell Street. The home on Russell Street had been built and lived in By Edward and Dorothy Simons.

It would be during this time in the fall of 1981 that I was born, I would grow up to know Nannie and Buddy as my grandparents and they would live there at 600 Russell Street until both of their deaths. It was also during this short period that Nannie would suffer an injury while working at Ottenhiemers that would lead to back surgery, and her retirement. I would come to know her in a time when her life was slowing down, she had more time to visit with family, decorate and shop. In the early eighties she would also lose both of her parents.

First in 1981 her father, Ollie J. Russell, would die at the age of eighty one from lung cancer. The loss of her father would be one that would strike her to the very core. A man who had been known as Ollie J, Judge, Daddy, and Papaw, died in Caldwell County Hospital. He had been retired for many years from the VA at Outwood. He was an avid gardener, a faithful Christian, and beloved husband. Nannie would recall her days of milking the cows with her Dad, among fond stories of sitting next to him at the family table at the "old home place" while growing up. Papaw Russell had long been revered as an honest and good man. A man that was often called upon to say prayers over the sick, a man who had worked hard, good to his family and to his neighbors. I have often been told that he had the ability to witch water, a gift in those days that helped determine a lucrative spot to dig wells. He was certainly a jack of all trades. He had been married to Myrtle Johnston Russell since 1919, adding up to sixty two years. Papaw Russell was the father of eight children, and had lived to experience the loss of one of his sons William, who died in a car accident just outside of Saint Louis, Missouri in 1965. He was a grandfather of eleven grandchildren who loved him and enjoyed spending time at his house "up on the hill." The family gathered at Beshear Funeral Home where "When the Roll is Called Up Yonder" was sang and he was buried among many family members in the Isley Cemetery.

Later in 1983, Nannie's mother Mrtyle Russell died at the age of eighty five. Mamaw who had been ill for several years was spoke of as a constant source of kindness. A resourceful and hardworking mother, who loved nothing more than to have her family gathered around her for Sunday dinners, holidays and special occasions. Mamaw had pinned yellow ribbons to her porch in the days of the second World War and prayed that her two boys would return to her safely. She had been the person that wanted the family to move into town. She had boiled clothes and linens in an iron kettle over a fire and scrubbed them over a wash board. There is no possible way to imagine the amount of goods that she preserved and canned for the winter months over the years, the meals that she cooked, the clothes and quilts that she made. The thing that were all in a days' work for her, she would live to see become easier tasks, task that her own daughters would later find ways to make quicker or obsolete.. But never would they try to improve the Sunday dinners that she hosted - fish fries, barbeques, the fried chicken, the roasts, the holiday turkeys and hams, and never in this family could we forget the desserts. We all know that the Russell's love desserts! After all this… she too would pass the baton and leave a large family to mourn her loss. She joined her husband at Isley Cemetery, surrounding the church that they had been members of for so many years.

I know that the burden of losing both of her parents so close to the loss of my grandfather Decola was a huge weight on her heart. After the loss of her parents she would work together with her cousin John Lush Russell and her own brothers and sisters to create the Russell Reunion. An event that would be held annually to gather the descendants of William and Lenora Russell, the original group that had once lived, romped and played on the lane near the "old home place." This reunion would be an important undertaking in her life and over the years she would reunite cousins and family members that would gather long after her death, as this reunion still takes place -although the crowd has grown sparse.

Also, during this time of her life Trisha and Bill would move to Washington, D.C., where Bill would work for the state department. A job that would lead to their first assignment in Brasilia, Brazil. A mixture of worry and concern would be paired with a great deal of pride surrounding this move and Nannie would look forward to their return but boast of their good measure while they were away.

It is around this time that my own memory kicks in. I remember quite well Christmas Day Dinners in the living room at Nannie and Buddy's house. To me her house was a show place and the living room was a room that we did not inhabit much, except on holidays and special occasions. A stately brick home nestled on a street with no outlet, made for less traffic and a peaceful existence. The basement was the home of their two Oldsmobile's, usually a ninety eight olds and a delta eighty eight, the same year but different colors. It was in those days that my sister and I would receive our three dollar a week allowance from Nannie - money that I often saved or hoarded - a trait I wished I had today. Nannie's room had a sitting room as well, equipped with a sofa, a rocking chair and an arm chair and of course her beautiful twin bed set that is now in my Mom and Dad's home. The living and family rooms were parallel to one another and this is where Mom and Trisha would prepare the Christmas dinners to go along with Buddy's turkey. In the family room the men would gather in the sitting area discussing what was happening in the world at the time or the current sports season - Buddy keeping the tempo. While my sister and I would be making snow angels on the plush and almost white carpet. It was there in the living room surrounding a fully decorated and lit tree that my sister and I would open present after present at that time of year. Seated near a regal mantle piece over a fire place that was never lit we enjoyed many happy times. The furniture and things in that room seemed to sit as if they were made to be there and it was this room that I felt was one of beautiful rooms of my life. And year after year my sister and I would look forward to our picture being taken with Nannie before the fireplace.

To be continued...
 
{This is part of a series of blogs about my grandmother, Brunette Russell Franklin Cato, titled: Brunette.}

Brunette: Sixties blend with Seventies

As if to make a loop around someone's life it is very difficult to sweep in and out of the important moments and not leave anything out. Obviously it would be absurd to think an entire decade could be squeezed into one page. However, I must remind myself that I was not there so my memory is there only by direction and stories retold time and time again. I have to continue to keep myself on track but be mindful of the fact that I am only a visitor to these moments in time and that I really was never a part of them.


The late sixties would see an end of the coal mining business, the mines and equipment would be sold and retirement from this phase of the family's life would take place. Somewhere during this time period with both her children in school Nannie would join the working force again at Ottenhiemers, a sewing factory that had been in operation in Dawson Springs since the late 1940s, she worked in the shipping department. A phase in time that pant suits would come onto the scene Nannie would blend in nicely. Also during this period Nannie and Decola would embark on business ventures other than the mining business such as a men's clothing store called Dad's Duds. Dad's Duds would have a store located in Madisonville and in Hopkinsville - these venues would expand their group of friends as well as their time schedule. Earlier in this period Decola had opened a franchise called Gambles, and housed it in downtown Dawson Springs. Gambles was located on South Main Street. This was a building that during my childhood was the location of Rex Parker Insurance Company. My Uncle Joe Russell was hired to manage Gambles and he later took over the business until it closed in the latter part of the seventies.

Decola would also dabble in real estate during this period, buying, selling and renting properties in and around Dawson Springs. State Representative Fred Beshear, a former Dawson Springs resident and businessman had been instrumental in having two water sources dammed to create a lake that would later be named Lake Beshear in his honor. Lake Beshear was to be a huge benefit to the city of Dawson Springs in the eyes of the legislature and this proved to be true over the years. The benefits would be that the lake would create a permanent water source for the city, add to the fish and wildlife habitat of the region, create recreation such as boating, fishing, swimming and skiing, as well as real estate development. It did just that.

The early seventies would prove to be a very busy period of time. The house on Hospital Road would be sold to Joe and Auntie, Nannie, Decola and Mom would then move to a home on Kentucky Avenue that had been built by Decola's sister Wetona in the late fifties to early sixties. A modern and sprawling home, two levels, and equipped with a pool. Nannie still felt tender toward her home on Hospital Road but really never had to let it go since her brother and sister-in-law had purchased it. In later years the family has spent many happy occasions in the home on Hospital Road as Joe and Auntie's doors have always been open to us. Nonetheless, Mom would leave home to attend school and Nannie and Decola would then move to Dawson Village Apartments, which had been newly built, and later to another home on South Main Street.

In 1973 my Mom would graduate high school and attend Murray State University. In 1974 she would marry my Dad, Edward Eugene Storms II, the son of local business owners Edward E. and Billie Carter Storms. Gene and Billie as many referred to them, were known to me as Granny and Papaw. They owned and operated Storms Antiques in Dawson Springs for over twenty years after my grandfather's retirement from the United States Army. A June wedding would unite the two families for life - a union that exist today after thirty six years. Their wedding would be around the same time of the city's centennial celebration.

Later that year Decola's mother would succumb to cancer, she was seventy six. Orvy who had acted as the matriarch for the Franklin family for many years would pass the baton - a hard blow to the family. Orvy, a classy and beautiful lady would fade away with dignity leaving her family to mourn the loss of a faithful mother and grandmother. She would join her husband and infant child in Old Petersburg Cemetery. A woman who had left home in the late teens to marry her sweet heart Chesley, would make their house a home as they started their family. My Aunt Trisha often shares affectionate stories about Orvy with me after spending tons of time with her while she was growing up. One particular story she has shared with me involved her and a co-worker at Outwood State Hospital of which she was an administrator during the seventies years. As the story goes she and this co-worker were driving through Dawson Springs on their way to lunch when Orvy was making her way down the street toward the Commerical Bank. Orvy who had always been known for being impeccably dressed was now in her seventies. Gracefully adorning a fur and walking with a cane Trisha's co-worker asked: " I wonder who that beautiful elderly lady is?" My Aunt's response was: "That's my grandmother." And so her memory exists this way still.

As we all know there are endings and beginnings and these transitions come with great sadness as well as great joy. The loss of Orva Teague Franklin would be followed by the birth of Shannon Danielle Storms. The decision to be called Nannie would be made and practiced in the months following November 5, 1975, when my sister was born. The Franklin's first grandchild would charm them like no other gift and they would then become Nannie and Grandad. In pictures and in memories retold it is easy to see that Nannie and Grandad were not the only people that this little one wrapped around her tiny fingers. The family grew and with that growth came more love and this bouncing baby girl, as light as a feather and tiny as a minute would captivate this family in a way that it hadn't seen since the late forties and mid fifties when Trisha and my Mom were born. All smiles now.

Unfortunately, there were bad times too as there always are. My Grandfather drowned in mid June accessing his lake property on the No Outlet side of Lake Beshear in 1978. The front page of the Dawson Springs Progress published the story about the longtime local business man who had drowned in an accident at the lake. In this obituary and among all the successes of his life, his collegiate background, his service to his country, the many businesses that he had owned and operated, and his beloved daughters, was the name Brunette. A woman who had stood beside him for thirty two years, a widow of fifty two. She would learn to mourn a loss that she had not even begin to fathom. Decola Franklin would become to me a man that I never knew but always did. A face that I had seen a million times but never really saw. An important name in my grandmother's stories while we occupied her walnut twin bed set when spending nights at her house. The loss of my grandfather would be a huge loss to the family. My mother was twenty three, a young wife and young mother - Trisha, my aunt, also young and married and now living in Atlanta, was only thirty years old. As the family gathered and friends drew near to mourn the loss of a local fixture and good man, it is hard to know what thoughts were going through Nannie's mind. I am sure her thoughts led her back to forty six when it was just the two of them, back to the apartment on Ramsey Street and the home on South Main, and certainly back to Hospital Road. In her mind I doubt she ever stopped traveling those roads that they had traveled together - after all thirty two years is a long time.

On Father's Day, 1978, Decola Wayne Franklin was buried at Rosedale Cemetery. Just down the row from his Grandparent's T.R. and Salley Rachael Franklin, his Aunt and Uncle Johnnie and Tilathy and other members of the Franklin family; he was fifty seven.

Brunette: The Sixties I

In the late 1950s my Mom would start elementary school - beginning with kindergarten taught and organized by Mrs. Rita Grace Ridley and housed at the local school. Trisha would be in Junior High and before they knew it the 1960s were upon them. It would be in the sixties that Trisha would graduate high school in 1965 and go to Western Kentucky University to attend college. Mom would host slumber parties and Nannie and Decola would still enjoy the life between business and Frankfort. In 1967 Louis B. Nunn would be elected Governor of the Commonwealth, Decola had been a large supporter of Nunn so during this period he became the go to man for patronage jobs in the region including and surrounding Dawson Springs. This made the trips to Frankfort more frequent and important even still.

Unfortunately, it was also in 1967 that Chesley, Decola's father would suffer a fatal heart attack. It was on a Sunday afternoon at Aunt Agnes and Uncle Chester's farm, where the family had enjoyed a Sunday afternoon dinner and had retired to the lawn when Chesley had a heart attack; he was seventy years old. Chesley had lived a very successful life, but a success that did not come without a great deal of hard work. The business that he had worked to create had thrived during the last few decades and most if not all of the people who knew him respected him as a good businessman and a even better man. Aunt Agnes, the youngest sister of Orvy, Chesley's widow, had worked as Chesley's secretary at the mines for many years. She wrote a poem about the day he died, among many poems that she authored. Chesley's death came as a shock to the family, as he and Orvy were in the process of having a new home built a few blocks down the street from their current residence of Keigan Street. The new home would be located on the corner of Keigan and Locusts Street and today it acts as the current Methodist Church Parsonage. Both of the homes that Chesley and Orvy lived in on Keigan Street are still standing. I am told that Orvy would have rather stayed in the home that they had made together but the sale had already been made to longtime family friends, Elliot and CoLene Cluck, grocers and neighbors.

Chesley was a member of the Board of Directors of the Dawson Springs Comerical Bank, he was the founder of the Chesley Franklin Coal Company, and co-owner of the Decola Franklin Coal Company, as well as another mine that had just been re-opened. He was a devoted husband and father and was missed by his large family and many friends. Over the last years of his life he enjoyed working with both his son and his daughter Wetona on business ventures. He had employed many members of his family, as well as his extended family. He had looked after his mother, his younger brother Edward, also known as Uncle Ed, his sister-in-law Tilathy, among others. It was also during this time in his life that he and his son attended two Republican National Conventions, spent time on the Florida coast where he and Orvy had purchased a summer home, he made many Saturday trips to Hopkinsville with the family for dinner, and on some days could be found sitting outside the Standard Station discussing the day's news, or having breakfast at one of the local restaurants with his son Decola. Fortunately, he also made time to sit for a snap shot in his living room during these years with his grandchildren. A photo that would become one of my Mother's prized possessions. In the photo Chesley is sitting in a chair in the living room at the house on the corner of Keigan and Franklin Streets, the fireplace can be seen and on a round occasional table a noticeable sign of the times is a starched doily with waves like the ocean. Flanked around him from side to side and on his lap were Trisha, Mom, as well as Wetona's three boys Dale, Lynn and Reed Harrell. Chesley was buried at Old Petersburg Cemetery just beyond the church in Mannington, Kentucky where he and Orvy had both grown up. Buried beside him was their first born son Madison, who had died as an infant.

Over the years I have heard Nannie often speak of Chesley fondly, she had a great deal of respect for him as did many members of the family and the community. Fondly enough the most frequent of those stories was about the day that he came into Mr. Kavanaugh's Grocery store and told her that he had a son that he would like for her to meet. That introduction would change her young life as do so many introductions that follow with love, marriage and starting a family. It's hard to say if fate had a hand in that or if they would have met regardless…I like to think it did. What can certainly be determined is that Chesley had good taste in beauty and in character.

During this time in the country President John F. Kennedy was assassinated in Dallas, the Civil Rights Movement would begin, only to be followed by the assassination of Martin Luther King Jr., the leader of the Civil Rights Movement and Senator Robert F. Kennedy, former Attorney General and brother of slain President JFK. The war in Vietnam would begin and the first voyage to the Moon would become a success. All of these events I am sure were watched conscientiously on the television and read about in the newspapers in the den on Hospital Road. Just like for any other American family, the 1960s would have its moments for the Franklin's.