Iris's Chapter

First born. First daughter.

AND SO, IN THE BEGINNING, in the early years, there was Mom and Dad and me, Iris Lee. I don’t recall lots of things before Bobby and Bernie were born except I had my own room. Later, I was to look back on that as a real neat treat. Uncle Lloyd would mysteriously come and go and always brought me little gifts. China dishes. Several sets. I loved them and treasured them. I kept them all in their original boxes and packed them carefully away after playing house. I’ve always been a dreamer and did a lot of make believe. The tea sets were the perfect tool for a little daydreamer. I imagined myself all dressed in lovely clothes dancing to pretty music and serving tea to beautiful people. I’ve never stopped daydreaming. With God’s help, a good husband, and good fortune I’ve come to realize those childhood day dreams. I do entertain lovely and beautiful people. I’ve been blessed with good friends all my life, and a lovely home in which to entertain them. I am doubly blessed with great and loving brothers and sisters.

I remember Grandpa Williams sitting down in the basement at the old workbench. He would sit all afternoon cracking the nuts we had gathered in the fall. He used an old metal shoe last that Daddy used to resole our shoes to crack the nuts, and then he picked out the nut meats, as I recall. It would take hours. Then, in the evening after supper, Mom would toast the nut meats in a tin pie pan with salt and butter. We’d all sit around the kitchen table and enjoy them while Grandpa would tell limericks. He could recite them from memory—one after another—all evening long. I regret not understanding the importance of this. It would have been so wonderful if even one of us could carry on this old family tradition. They were like a story in rhyme, and were very long but very entertaining; some sad, some funny, some were just a tale of life. It was good; better than we even know.

I remember the little grocery store across the street from 1015 29th Street. Just the front room of what used to be a nice home converted and very functional. Good for a loaf of bread, a quart of milk, or penny candy. I remember living between the river and the railroad tracks and hobos coming to beg. They’d jump off the railroad cars and go from door to door asking for food. Mom always gave something, but we didn’t always have that much for ourselves. I remember Grandpa picking dandelion greens that Mom would cook with bacon drippings. Not too bad tasting; sort of like collard greens. I remember River Drive. I remember Dad’s Model T Ford. He just loved cars. I remember Dad had a rabbit hutch by the garage. Seemed like that didn’t go on very long, but my memory fails on some of it. I remember hollyhocks all along the back of that old garage. We’d make dolls from the blossoms. I remember one summer I fell from my bike and really hurt my knee. The street was covered with black cinders. I put in some dreamy long days on the wood swing on the front porch, healing and cutting out paper dolls. I remember when Mom came home from the hospital after Carol’s birth. Mom was very sick, anemic, pale, and very weak for a long time after. Seemed like Grandpa was there, but only part of the time. And again, Uncle Lloyd would show up for a day or two then disappear again. Grandpa Williams and our dad didn’t really get along very well. Lots of sharp tongue between them. I remember Mom and Dad and friends playing cards (Poker, Cribbage, and 500 Rummy) on Saturday nights. THE

At the River Drive house, we had a large green iron stove with a tank on one end to hold hot water—the only hot water we had in the house as far as I know. Also, we

shared the bathroom with the couple upstairs. Mom used to heat her iron on that stove as well. It was a heavy thing. Seems like there was more than one iron. One on the stove heating while she used the other. Maybe it had two bottoms; one to use while the other heated up, and only one detachable handle that stayed cool. We had a wooden icebox and the iceman would come often carrying a block of ice on his shoulder with a pair of ice tongs. Can you believe it?

I remember Grandma and Grandpa Guild’s house in the woods in Minnesota. Grandpa had cleared a section from the forest and built a one-room house. In my child’s memory it was quite large. Inside, it was curtained off with sheets hung from the low ceiling by rope. There were two bedrooms across the back half and the front half was living quarters. A kitchen with a black iron stove, a table and chairs and various other cabinets formed half the living quarters. I don’t remember much about the rest of the room, seems like it was a casual living area. Grandma Olive would take her rocking chair outside and I would brush her long silky hair. Grandpa Dan would play with the chipmunks. He had trained them to run up his pants leg and into his shirt pocket where he had stored a cache of sunflower seeds. They had a deep, cold well nearby with a large wooden bucket on a pulley. They stored milk and butter down there. Probably other perishables as well. The kitchen stove always had a kettle of mutton stew simmering. I really didn’t like it at all. Couldn’t stand the smell! On Saturdays and Sundays all the aunts, uncles, and cousins would come out and there would be a family picnic. I remember strawberries and homemade ice cream, especially. Fried chicken and biscuits and singing! Seems like I remember the men playing horseshoes.

I must have been eleven or twelve when we moved away from River Drive out to our new house in the country. I don’t remember much of the first years there, but I remember my old boy’s bicycle. Dad bought it second-hand and fixed it up for me. Then he made me a large wooden rack to hold my newspapers. I had a newspaper route of eighty homes. I delivered the Moline Daily Dispatch every night after school. I’d ride my bike up 41st Street to Fredrickson’s grocery store. I’d fold my papers neatly, tucking in the ends for better tossing, and stack them into the wooden rack, then take off to deliver my country route. On Saturday mornings, I had a bread route and used that same rack to load up my bread and deliver it to all my customers. Peter’s bakery dropped the bread off at an old farmhouse, where I’d pick up my orders. I had an order form, and as I delivered to each customer, they gave me their order for the following week. I loved it. I guess business was in my blood from the beginning. Interesting how things take shape in life. When I was sixteen, I took a job at the Cozy Corner restaurant after school. Hard work, but I liked working behind the soda fountain in the front best. When I worked the late shift, Mom would always wait up for me. Sometimes, I would bring Mom home a little treat of a piece of deep-fried chicken and some French fries, which I remember she loved. Next, I took the job at the Highland Ben Franklin store. I was in charge of the candy and cosmetic counters. That’s where I first met Bill, who was the manager of the East Moline Ben Franklin store. He came over in the evenings to visit with our store manager. At first, he teased me and pretended to be my supervisor from Butler Brother’s Ben Franklin headquarters in Chicago. He would critique my counter and open the doors to the candy bins to check for cleanliness. Of course, he had no business doing these things. It was just to get my attention. Okay, he got it! But Bill also showed me a direction I could go in business and in my life and sincerely encouraged me for a while. Then he asked me out. We went on a picnic for our first date. Fired chicken—apple pie—and you know the rest of the story. We had our first date in May and were married in September.

In the war years of the Forties, I remember bobby socks and saddle shoes. Every self-respecting girl wore them. I wouldn’t have been able to consider myself “in” if I didn’t have at least a half dozen white blouses in my closet, but heaven forbid, no colored blouses. Pleated skirts in plaids or solids and white blouses with a cardigan sweater to top it all off was the uniform of most of the Forties. Then, of course, later I think in the Fifties, the poodle skirts. A full, flared skirt, ankle length, made of felt. Mom made mine. Some had a cut-out poodle appliqued to them.

Cut a circle out of felt. Cut the circle large enough so it falls to your mid-calf or ankle. Cut a hole in the middle and attach a narrow waist band. Applique a poodle cut from felt in a contrasting color. Pink poodle on black felt was very “groovy.” Wear it with an extra wide, black, patent- leather cinch belt and a blouse with the collar turned up, “natch.” Black suede flat loafers to finish it off. Everyone wore black suede shoes for dress. And don’t forget penny loafers in brown or black with a brand-new shiny penny slipped into the special slot on the top of the shoe. (Or, remember the zinc silver-colored pennies issued during the war?) We wore long oversized sweaters over our jeans, which were, of course, always rolled neatly up to the knee. I made all my own skirts, but used my babysitting money for the blouses. I babysat for a dollar fifty a night! We loved to dance at the “Rec” center at Moline High, and Frank Sinatra, “The Voice”, who was quite the “rage” made us all swoon. The Jitterbug was our favorite, Wow! Could we ever Jitterbug. The same dance that’s made a comeback all across the country, now. Dancing was definitely my passion. Everyone cut their own hair in those days because we kept our hair long. I can’t remember anyone with short hair. We mostly set it in pin curls with bobby pins. We also rolled our long hair around a “rat” so it looked like much longer hair rolled up. The rat was a switch of some kind of mesh that came in different sizes and lengths. The hair could be rolled over and around it staring in the front at the forehead and temples then gracefully continued all the way to the back of the neck. This was “the look” of the Forties. The rat could also be used to roll an elaborate bun at the back of the head with all of your natural hair pulled straight back tightly. It was considered “really neat.”

When Johnny Comes Marching Home Again (Hurrah! Hurrah!) And we used to sing the songs of the day all the time. We walked everywhere we went, of course, because of the gas rationing, and we sang all the way. Someone would start and we’d all follow-in. Good oldies like: Deep Purple (When the deep purple falls over shady garden walls…) I Dream of You (more than you dream I do…) I’m Gonna Buy a Paper Doll (that I can call my own…) Somewhere Over the Rainbow (way up high, there’s a land that I heard of, once in a lullaby…) (I love you for) Sentimental Reasons Marzy Doats (and dozy doats and little lamzy divey a kidely divy too, wouldn’t you?) I wonder how many of you know what this nonsense really means? I’ll tell you now. Mares eat oats, and does eat oats, and little lambs eat ivy. A kid will eat ivy too, wouldn’t you? The White Cliffs of Dover (There’ll be blue birds over the cliffs of Dover...) A favorite of mine. Don’t Sit Under the Apple Tree (with anyone else but me, anyone else but me…) The Air Force Song (Up we go into the wild blue yonder, climbing high into the sky…) These were some of the songs that came out during the Second World War. I was eleven when the war broke out. Too young to truly understand it all. But I tried to help the “war effort” because President Roosevelt came on the radio and asked every American to do his or her part. So we did. I went to the YWCA on Saturday mornings to make squares for quilts going over to the GIs. We’d stack them in neat piles for the Red Cross ladies to sew into quilts. When I was about thirteen years old, I walked up to the grocery store—a long way, I remember—to sell war savings stamps. We wore red, white, and blue hats—like butcher’s hats—and little matching aprons. We set up a card table outside the store. We handed out the savings stamps books and sold the savings stamps. Each one cost a dime. A hundred stamps filled each book. I’m pretty sure of that, but not positive. I do know that twenty- five dollars bought a war bond, and at the end of the war I had two bonds. Dad didn’t get drafted because he had such a large family, and Grandpa was too old. Also, Dad was involved in making military machinery for the war effort while working at John Deere; that would have kept him out, too. I did have a boyfriend who joined the Marine Corps, but that was after the war was over. We had a big garden because we always did. But part of the war effort was to plant a garden and preserve your own food. Most people did that if the land was available. Certain foods were scarce and you had to use your Ration Stamps to get them, if they were available at all. I remember coffee as well as sugar, was scarce because it came by ship and the ships were mostly converted for the war. And meat got scarce because it had to go to feed the troops and many farmhands had gone to the war. I stood in line at the New York Store for nylon hose. We held our nylons up with garter belts. No panty hose in those days. If we got a run in a stocking, we mended it carefully with tiny, tiny stitches and kept right on wearing the mended socks. Everyone had to. So, we were all in the same boat, so to speak. We also drew stocking seams on the back of our makeup- covered legs. Mom taught me that trick.

The radio was, of course, the best and fastest line of communication. We always had it on so as not to miss anything that might be happening. The good ol’ Moline Daily Dispatch was our other avenue of information. Mom and Grandpa listened especially for news that might effect Uncle Lloyd who we knew was in New Guinea fighting the Japanese. The radio was such a big part of our life then. I remember clearly that on the day President Roosevelt died, we all cried and sat around the radio waiting for any bit of news about him we could get. We had a picture of him on the living room wall. The entire nation was in mourning for this man. He was highly respected and loved in our country. We all loved the radio for the music. This was our only means of listening to the latest songs and the “Big Bands.” We listened to the radio and sang to the radio and we sure did dance to the radio. These are some big bands and songs of the Forties that I remember: Les Brown and His Band of Renown Tommy Dorsey Jimmy Dorsey Eddie Howard, To Each His Own and A Rose Must Remain Kay Kayser and his Kollege of Musical Knowledge Frank Sinatra was s-o-o-o wonderful. Every girl in school loved him. Glenn Miller Spike Jones Ted Lewis danced and sang, Give Me That Old Soft Shoe and Me and My Shadow (strolling down the avenue…) According to Bill’s account, out of Germany, Lord How How and Axis Sally, and out of Japan Tokyo Rose would broadcast all the best music and songs that were the favorites of the American servicemen at the time. (These overseas broadcasts were picked up on short-wave radios in the U.S. and reported in the newspapers.) They’d play music quite a long time and then they’d have an interruption and they’d have a fake news broadcast (in perfect English) stating that the U.S. was losing the war. Then, they would use scare tactics to demoralize our troops. They had outstanding intelligence, so they had a lot of very specific information they could use to make their broadcast seem credible. For example, they would say, (I’ll use Bill’s name as the example) “Don’t fly today, Lieutenant Willis Retzlaff, we’re waiting for you and we know who you are. Lieutenant Retzlaff of the 450th Bombardment group is flying today and his target is Mainz.” They could tell you who was shot down, when and where, and his full name, rank, and serial number and his plane’s serial number and the same information about his replacement. Chilling information they should not have had access to. Everyone knew the information came from spies hiding within the U.S. government. Very scary. I remember on August 6, 1945, the USA dropped the A-bomb on Hiroshima, Japan. What a lot of reaction that caused at home. Many people thought it was wrong to do such devastation to the Japanese people, but the majority of the population was all for it. The people in the trenches fighting the Japanese were very much all for it. Dad, as I remember, agreed with it. Harry Truman was the president at the time of the bomb. He was a haberdasher from Missouri and was a note-worthy president who ended the war. He was known for these lines: “If you can’t stand the heat, get out of the kitchen.” and “The buck stops here.”

LIFE GOES BY…

I think life goes by too quickly. There are so many things I wish I had done and have not, like downhill skiing for starters. All of a sudden, here I sit writing my memories and wondering, where did it go? Yes, we’ve raised five wonderful children and I’m proudest of that above all. I thank God for each and every one, every day. What happened to that musical career I wanted so much? If I could do it over I’d sing and dance a whole lot more. I’m very sad for the world today with the drugs and immorality. How hard it must be for parents to raise their children amidst all of this. Perhaps if I were to write this even tomorrow, I would sound completely different. Who knows what thoughts will travel through our mind each day? When I’m reborn I want to be four inches taller. Then I wouldn’t have to shorten every pair of pants I buy. If I could live life over, I’d probably change very little. Okay, of course, I’d correct some mistakes I’ve made along life’s way, but I believe we are destined to live life the way we do. Life’s a learning experience and we grow from each days happenings: relationships, love’s trials, grief, happiness, anger, pain, forgiveness, and being forgiven—perhaps the greatest lesson of all.

DID YOU KNOW?…I believe in angels.

In my heart and every fiber of my being, I believe in angels. Angels are spirits created by God and some are sent to earth to be our guardian angels. Each of us has a guardian angel. I’ve read several books on the subject. The more I read, the more I believe. It’s come to me slowly, not as a divine revelation or anything as dramatic as that. Just a steady slow sensation and awareness that I have angels watching over me. I believe we all do. You can pray to your angels for help with any kind of problem and because they are all around you at all times they are ready and eager to help. But you have to believe it. You must have that deep-down comfort that’s like a quiet little place in your heart and you just know it!

Angels above us and angels around Angels to love us and keep us from harm Smiling and dancing in happiness abound Their love will sustain you Their hearts always true Just ask them to guide you You’ll be surprised what they do —Iris Retzlaff

IN MY HEART…I believe first and foremost in God as our creator. Through God comes faith, strength, and love. The guiding hand to help us through life. The giver of strength to see us through the tough times we can’t see our own way out of. The comforter in the middle of the night when our problems and fears overwhelm us. I believe in prayers answered. I try to understand those prayers that are not. I believe in His divine forgiveness. We are all here for a purpose, a destiny to fulfill—perhaps we know it, perhaps we do not. I believe in family, always. And I believe my husband Bill has been the spiritual backbone of our family.

As I go through life, I’ve come to believe A hug is wonderful thing to receive. And I’m also learning the longer I live, That a hug is a marvelous thing to give. Love, encouragement, congratulations, “I care.” These are a few of the thoughts you can share. Whatever emotions you want to convey, It can probably be done with a hug today.

—Helen Bush

Bill and I were married on September 11, 1948, by a Baptist preacher in the pastor’s home. We lived in a friend’s house. We had a kitchen in the basement and a bedroom in an unfinished attic, and we shared a bath with his family of four. One year later, we rented a small upstairs apartment in Moline for fifty-five dollars a month rent. It was still post-World War II, and lodging was almost impossible. We lived there for two years. Every Monday night, Daddy would bring all you kids over to watch Wrestling from Hollywood and you ate potato chips and drank a whole lot of Pepsi. We bought a small house on 6th Street Court in East Moline, Illinois where Linda, Beth, Jeffrey, and Laurie were born. We lived there six years. We built our first home on 4th Street Court in East Moline in 1957. We lived there thirteen years. Kurt was born while we lived in that house and our whole family grew up there, really. In 1976, we moved north to Roscoe, Illinois and bought a home. We lived there, on Kinnikinnick Road, for nineteen years. We had a summer place up north in On Lake Enterprise for fifteen years, among others. In May of 1996 we sold our beautiful house in The Ledges, then built a wonderful home in Arizona. In the spring of 2000, we moved from our town house into our beautiful three-level home in Rockton, Illinois. A good life, for sure.

We’ve owned and operated together Ben Franklin Variety Stores, Elliot’s Fashions; owned a bank and an insurance agency for a few years; and now we’re in retail craft supplies in our Ben Franklin Crafts stores.

Designing and decorating Christmas trees is my hobby as well as doing the same in our stores. I also have helped to operate the gift shop in each store, but designing Christmas trees is on the top of my list. I love to play golf and cross-country ski. Snowmobiles are next. I’m thrilled by the power and speed of a good snowmobile. I love swimming, too, and boating. I’m an avid bird watcher. I love to sing (Daddy taught me) and most of all I love to dance. I’ve recently started ceramics and find it very creative and satisfying. I love to crochet and have made many Afghans, bed dolls, hats, and scarves. Every member of my family has a crocheted Afghan I made for them. I’m an avid reader of fiction, non-fiction, fantasy, fairy tales, and books about angels. I love dogs. You all know that. Dogs have a special place in my life and in my heart. I remember, from the early days of my marriage, Patrick Henry, my lovely miniature Doberman Pinscher who was my first dog. How I loved that little guy.

Dad and I used to sing in the car, especially on the long trips to Brainerd. Dad also taught me to dance, and I’ll always love him for that because I’ve loved to dance all my life. One of Dad’s favorite songs was Red Sails In The Sunset. I always think of him when I hear that song and picture him beside me in the car singing, happy as could be. I miss my Dad. I have some vague memories of life, for a short time, on the Rock River. The house had a large screened-in front porch. Aside from that, I don’t remember much. We did move out at a time of flooding. I remember putting things in a boat and vacating the premises that way. Also, lots of mosquitoes. I think that may have been Mom and Dad’s second house in Moline. Yes, Dad taught me to shoot a gun when I was about twelve, and I was a pretty good shot. Dad was proud of that and would brag about me. I’m sure it was a twenty-two rifle I used. But memory and time—you know that old story. He took me hunting but I never did shoot anything, though I loved being in the woods. He also took me fishing when we went to Brainerd to visit our relatives. I did catch fish. I remember Mom on her hands and knees, sorting tomatoes under the big tree in the back yard. Some for canning whole, some for catsup, some for juice. And, oh, her pepper juice was so good. I remember canned pork. What a treat. And, I regret not learning how to do that! I miss my Mom. I asked Bill to relate something about Mom and Dad. Here’s what he remembered:

I always felt she was my friend, a good person to talk with. I recall, at Christmas she would prepare a box of candy and cookies just for me. I really treasured that, so I would hide it under my bed so I wouldn’t have to share it. This also brings to memory other wonderful things she baked. To me it was always a pleasure to be invited to her house. —By Bill Retzlaff

When asked if I recalled anything about Floyd, it came to mind that one Saturday, he called and wanted to make Glug. That required shopping for port wine, raisins, and spices and coming up with a recipe. Finally, the four of us—Ethel, Iris, Floyd, and myself— settled in our downstairs kitchen. Floyd, in his typical enthusiastic way, kept reassuring us this Glug would be the best thing we ever tasted. As he called out the recipe, we’d add each ingredient to the boiling pot. This lasted for hours. Finally, the result. Floyd was anxious to taste it while it was still quite hot. The expression on his face was enough to make us realize it didn’t turn out as he had hoped. Iris and I had not been married very long when this next event took place in the back yard of the Moline house. Floyd was not very friendly and had never been to me in those early years. It was Thanksgiving. We were invited to dinner and somewhat before dinner he asked me to go with him into the back yard. He had a four-ten shotgun crooked in one arm and an armful of potatoes in the other. Walking some distance into the back yard, Floyd loaded the gun, threw a potato high into the air, raised the gun and fired, blowing the potato apart. With that, I received a meaningful stare. The gun was thrust into my hands as he said, “See if you can do that!” Another potato was thrown high into the air. I had not been out of the service very long and one of the things I enjoyed was shooting almost anything. So Skeet was a favorite. The potato reached its highest point and seemed to just hang there, I fired and blew it to pieces. I handed the gun back to Floyd and threw a potato for him. He was a good shot and always hit the potato. After the supply of potatoes was exhausted, we went back to the house. It seemed that after that, we were better friends, and he would even come to our house when I was at home. —By Bill Retzlaff

I’d call Mom and be complaining about something or someone and her reply, after listening patiently, would always be, “I don’t know what to say about that.” She never took sides, never talked behind anyone’s back, and never told secrets. Quite a lady, that one! She could bake anything and was just very good with anything made from yeast. That’s a talent in itself. Mom taught me how to crochet as well as cook and make my own clothes. I’ll always remember her late at night in the kitchen with that old treadle sewing machine finishing up something one of us just had to have the next day. A labor of love.

Last, but by no means least, is the story of Dad’s property tax problems and the sheriff. One summer evening, we were just sitting down to our dinner and the phone rang. One of our children answered the phone and it was Dad and he wanted to speak to Bill. He said, “I’m in jail. I need an attorney, and I need you to come to Rock Island right now!” Bill immediately called Julie Lytton, our attorney and friend, who said, “Fine. I’ll meet you in half an hour at the jailhouse in Rock Island.” When Bill arrived there, the deputy sheriff, Jack White, also a friend of ours, was there. Bill asked for Floyd Guild. They brought him forth, and Dad was excited and chagrined, and he told Bill they had taken his belt, wallet and shoestrings away from him. He also had to empty his pockets, and said they wouldn’t find him decent food. He’d left a steak dinner on his plate at home. Bologna sandwiches didn’t quite cut it for Dad. Jack White, the deputy, defended the food, but Dad would not eat. Our attorney, Julie Lytton, arrived at this point and asked the deputy what the charge was. The deputy said Dad had not responded to a direct court order from Judge O’Neil to pay his property taxes. Julie Lytton arranged for a court hearing at 9 a.m. the following morning with Judge O’Neil. Bill told Dad he’d be at the hearing, but that he’d have to spend the night in jail. Dad protested because he said he’d been put in a common cell with drunks, petty thieves, and crooks. The following morning, at exactly 9 a.m., Bill met Julie Lytton in the courthouse. The attorney spoke with Dad and explained the charges and cautioned Dad to keep quiet and let him do the talking. Bill said, “Floyd, you’d better just listen and keep your mouth shut.” Shortly thereafter, Judge O’Neil took his seat. The attorney asked if he could approach the bench with his client. Judge O’Neil granted the request. The judge spoke to Julie for a few minutes, then turned to Dad and in a very kindly manner asked Dad, “Mr. Guild, why haven’t you answered my letters to you?” The attorney replied that Dad was under the impression he didn’t have to pay the property tax as they were doing in Cook County. The judge lectured Dad that anytime he receives a letter from the court, he should open that letter and read it. He had Dad promise that he would do that. He also said quietly, “I’ve tried to understand you, and I’ve written several times and I’ve tried to be fair about this.” Then he fined Dad seventy dollars. Dad told Bill he didn’t have the money so Bill gave it to him. He had prepared ahead for that. They paid the court and proceeded back to the jail to pick up Dad’s personal possessions. After Dad put his shoelaces back in and replaced his belt and they returned his billfold, comb, and everything else he had in his pockets, they all went out to the parking lot to pick up Dad’s car. Unfortunately, Dad had left his windows down in all the excitement and to add insult to injury, it had rained. So the seats had gotten all wet! Happy Ending: Julie Lytton never sent either Bill or Dad a bill for his services. P.S. Later Mom did find the letters in Daddy’s dresser drawer. They had never been opened.

Gus Falk was a good friend of Daddy’s and visited our home often. The two of them went deer hunting together. Gus was instrumental in getting Daddy to move to Moline. Gus went to Minnesota on his vacations to hunt and fish each year. On his way he had occasion to stop at Grandpa Dan Guild’s radiator repair shop in Brainerd, where he became acquainted with Daddy, Uncle Clarence, and the other sons. He always told the boys if they ever wanted a job to come to Moline: he worked at John Deere and could get them jobs there. Daddy and Clarence became dissatisfied living at home after Grandpa Dan Guild decided to cut down and sell their black walnut trees for lumber. Daddy was so upset by this he decided to set out for Moline. He was sixteen years old at the time. Gus got him that job he promised him at John Deere Plow Works and Daddy worked there for thirty-nine years. Though, I recall that during some of the first years of the Great Depression, Daddy drove a truck on a WPA road building company. He later claimed a particularly bumpy section of road on the way to Chicago was built by his crew, who he said didn’t know what they were doing, but we never believed him. Gus Falk would occasionally ride to Brainerd with us. I remember his family had a lake on this property and Dad and I would go fishing there. Bernie and Bob too, later on. We always seemed to catch a lot of fish there. It was wonderful to eat fried fish instead of Mutton stew. For sure!

I’m certain I’ll always be more of a second mother image to all of you as youngsters. Now, however, we have time in our lives to become friends. And I value these relationships and the time together immensely. I wasn’t so sure about all of you, however. Like the times when Bernie was cracking up my toy china tea sets. But, Bernie, you were such a cute little boy, full of mischief and full of energy. You’d give me a swat on the behind every time you walked by me. Then, I’d chase you around with a dish towel till Mom made us stop. Oh, it was a good life, but we were too young to know it. Then one day along came little Barbara; last but not least. Cute as a button (you all were,) but I was thirteen, the perfect age to help Mom with her. So Barby became my little pal. Do you remember Barb? I took you everywhere with me and my friends thought you were adorable. Diana, I remember when you were in such pain and I would rub your poor ulcerated leg with lard. You were a rock, however, and cried very little. A brave little girl. Carol, the day you were brought home from the hospital is a day I’ll never forget. You were so small and pink. Your little head lay against your shoulder. Mom taught us all to turn your head to the other side each time we passed by your baby basket. The muscles in your neck were so weak you couldn’t turn by yourself. I truly don’t remember how long it took but eventually you were able to hold your head up by yourself. And Delores, we all thought you were a stubborn little girl who just wouldn’t mind. Then finally we discovered your hearing problem. What a revelation! We all felt happy to finally find that out, but really regretted all the scolding you got for not minding. And then, Bob. Quiet, and, never a problem to anyone. Sweet little Bobby who wouldn’t talk. Didn’t need to because we did that for him. Bob, you just pointed and we all knew what you wanted.

I’d like to be remembered for my floral work and decorating at our little white Congregational church in Roscoe, Illinois. I’m known as The Flower Lady there and it makes me very happy. I’d like to be remembered by my children and grandchildren with love. I’d like to be remembered by Bill, my husband of over fifty years, the very same way.

I’D LIKE TO MAKE A DIFFERENCE

God has given me a place on earth To be here for a while. I hope that as I’m passing through I will make somebody smile. I want to make life easier For all the ones I meet. I ask God his blessings To the stranger on the street. I hope I’ll never fail a child If I can help somehow. I want to be as generous As my sources will allow. A when life on earth is done It will be my final plea: Let someone, somewhere think or say, “You made a difference to me.”

—Helen Bush August 13, 2001

Such a long time since I have written you. I thought of you today, as I have almost every day since we lost you. I suppose we all do. We didn't know what to do after you passed on. As a family we were angry and confused; none of us realized what we had lost. Now we do. We lost a quiet gentle soul who knew all along what was most important in life: to love and be loved, to share that love, and never be afraid to show that love. Your sense of family and right overshadowed everything else that life brought to you. We lost a man of wisdom and compassion and quiet strength. In your eyes, we never failed, just struggled. You saw the magic and wonder in life that we often looked at as fearful. You knew by having your faith in God and this wonderful Universe you would never fail, and you never did. You knew so much from such a young age. As they say— you were a very old soul. Your quiet understanding gave us all a sense of calm. Oh, dear sweet brother, how we miss you. You come to me when I call out to you, and I have the most beautiful dreams of you. You’re still sharing, Jefferino—I believe that will never change. Your humor and your smile can be replayed in our minds so easily. Our gentle, funny big brother could always make us laugh. I try every day to remember what you brought to us— to experience the joys of life with a big smile and open heart. You showed this family that just a little love could go so very far and keep reaching way beyond the stars. My dear sweet brother, may God keep you and hold you close until we are all together as a family once more. I hope and pray with all my heart that your short journey on this earth will remain a constant reminder to us all of what is truly important in the rest of our journey on earth. Our love for you is constant. Be at peace, Jeff, until we meet again. I love you with all my heart, as we all do.

Your sister, Beth

Just the facts about Mom and Dad and Grandpa Williams

—By Bernie Guild

TO THE BEST OF MY KNOWLEDGE, following are the true stories of our father, Floyd Raymond Guild, our mother, Ethel Katherine Williams Guild, and our maternal grandfather, Edward Williams. The facts written down here are compiled from the most reliable information available to us at this writing. You should know that these facts were established after everyone had written their own story for this book. Those accounts are based entirely on each person’s own memory of events or by relying on sketchy family stories they had heard over the years, my own included. I did not go back and change my own or other’s impressions of events after I learned these new facts, but instead left them as written as an expression of what we thought and felt was true as we were growing up. Mom and Dad talked little of their backgrounds, so what we have in our memories can finally be corrected if we choose to accept these new facts. Captain Merlin Ringering, our cousin, and the son of Bessie Guild Ringering, Daddy’s full sister, was the greatest source of information and shared many old photographs with us. He was there as a boy, living from time to time in the same house with his grandparents, Dan and Olive, and has a great memory for detail. He has been diligent in locating, documenting and repairing the grave sites of our ancestors. Many new facts about Dan and Olive Guild were recounted to Arnold Guild by his father, Clarence, Dad’s full brother, before he died. Arnie’s mother, Francis Guild, also added a lot of detail as she clearly remembers all the early Guilds and Vosburgs personally. Dad’s half-sister Myrtle’s son, Orville Prescott, helped us get Clarence Vosburg death and the events leading up to Olive’s marriage to Dan Guild straightened out. Barbara Guild Miller’s genealogical tracing and Diana Guild Brady’s oral history inquiries of Mom confirmed some facts we had long assumed and dispelled many, many others. Diana plied Mom with margaritas to gain some tidbits of Mom’s early life as well as Mom’s father, Ed’s, life. Still, the facts related here are anecdotal if not allegorical and cannot be proven, but we hope represent enough truth to establish a reasonably accurate permanent family history. At any rate, even if it’s not all true, it certainly is a first-class myth. Meaning no disrespect, I am calling Mom and Dad by their given names, Ethel and Floyd, so future generations will be able to read a clearer story.