Recipes for Living Dr. David Hoadley

My family background is in Adair County, where my dad grew up on a farm that his grandfather homesteaded. His brother, Jack, farmed this Century Farm until he retired, at which time he sold it.

Dad's brother Kenny’s wife has been the family genealogist and has traced us back as far as William the Conqueror (1027-1087). He is my 14th great-grandfather. We don't brag about being related to Henry Lott, who is accused of having started the Spirit Lake Massacre in 1857. The story is that he was selling whiskey to the Indian. The family tells that they came one time when the supply was depleted, and, in a rage, the Indians scalped Lott's wife and son. Accurate or not, there were conflicts in which Lott killed several Indians, which led the Indians to take revenge, killing 33 people. My aunt has established that my sisters are Daughters of the American Revolution. To be qualified, you must prove that you had an ancestor who signed the Declaration of Independence.

The farm house where I grew up is really beautiful. It has a white finish but is made of river sand concrete blocks that give the impression that the house could stand forever. In the basement there is a section in the shape of a doorway that is a different color. In the days of prohibition, the owner operated a still. We often found stoneware bottles that must have been used. The police evidently came in, filled the place with dirt, and cemented over it. The house was great for playing hide-and-seek because there were closets which served as passageways to other rooms. Within a few yards of the house, there was an old abandoned house. In it there were no stair steps from one floor to the other. Instead, there was a ladder between the floors. We also discovered an old wooden steering wheel and a wooden yoke for horses.

Grandpa Hoadley had a baseball diamond on his farm, and Ronald Reagan used to come from WHO radio to announce ball games. Grandpa was very proud of Christmas cards he received to get from Ronald Reagan, saying that he had this card from the Governor of California. He had no idea that Reagan would some day become president. Grandpa had a big iron helmet with a dent where a bullet supposedly hit it in WWII. I heard years later that when soldiers left the service, they sometimes made those dents themselves.

Grandpa played several musical instruments. One was a fiddle, which he played at neighborhood parties. For those events, everyone who played an instrument became a performer. He said he used to catch muskrats by filling cream cans about half-full of water. The muskrats would climb in and be trapped.

Grandmother Hoadley had a stroke and passed away in her 50s, when I was born. Grandpa Hoadley lived to be 83 and passed away when I was a sophomore in high school.

Dad was from a family of nine children and tells stories about ornery things they used to do. They pushed Aunt Lana off a hayrack to see if she bounced. They put bullets in the furnace at school. When the bullets got hot enough, they would zip and zing around inside the furnace, and the teacher wouldn't know what to do. They had women's and men's outhouses, and one winter the boys packed the girls' toilet full of snow. Within the last several years, Dad wrote an article about their escapades, and it was published in the Winterset paper.

If I follow the example of my maternal grandparents, I will probably live a long time. Grandpa Crawford is 101 and my grandmother lived to be 99. Grandpa's mind is still clear and Grandma’s was clear to the very end. She developed lung problems and went fast after that. Grandma died about a year ago and Grandpa is lost without her. They were together for 77 years. He is in a wheel chair and went into a nursing home a few months ago. Before that they were in an apartment connected to the nursing home, where Mom works.

It has been fascinating to talk to them. They are Pennsylvania Dutch and the religious freedom promised them in America brought these families to this country. Grandpa farmed with his brother-in-law for a few years before starting his own farm. I was there just a month ago and said to Grandpa, "You have seen a lot of changes in your lifetime," and he said, "Ain't nothin' the same." They lived in a big, old farmhouse where Mom was born and on land my parents still farm. There are four upstairs bedrooms full of relics. When possessions are divided among nine children, as was true with Dad's side of the family, it is hard to know who has what, but in Mom's family there were only three children and they kept track of everything. We have been going through the treasures and find bowls, jugs, and a pitcher that came from Germany. We have found pictures of my grandfather's dad and his dad's dad. My great-great grandfather had a goatee and straggly hair, like the pictures of General Grant. Both my great-great-grandfather and my great-grandfather are buried in a small country cemetery close to the house.

We discovered articles that speak of our history. In a sale bill of 1926, there were shoats for sale, which Grandpa explained were spring pigs. "How come you don't know that?" Milch cows, instead of milk cows. I wondered if that was the German spelling for milk, or if he didn't know how to spell. After all, he only went through seventh grade. But I was wrong. "Milch" is in the dictionary, "(of a domestic animal) yielding milk; kept or suitable for milk production."

Grandpa Crawford's farm was near Pitzer, which is where I grew up. It is still on some maps, on the line between Madison and Adair Counties. In the town there were scales for weighing grain, a station where you could buy gas or get tires changed, a grocery store, meat locker, church, gun shop and about three houses where the people lived who owned the stores. The grocery store was in business until I was about 12 years old. We went every day to get something. Farmers gathered to talk about the weather, complain about the government, and solve the world's problems. All that is left are the scale and the houses. The gun shop is now the Pitzer Gun Shop in Winterset.

We were among the 20 or 30 people who went to the Webster Methodist Church. It was a white building with a tall steeple. A picture of it is in the United Methodist Church in Winterset, where they have a collection of paintings of churches no longer standing. Mom and Dad have a church pew from the Webster church.

I was born February 9, 1965, during the time my parents lived in Des Moines. After Dad had completed his military service, he worked for a year or two at Cargill until Grandpa Crawford retired and we moved to that farm.

It seems to be a tendency in our family that children are born years apart. Mom, her brother, and sister are each 10 years apart. I have two sisters younger than I. My sister Debbie is five years younger. She lives in Des Moines and is a court reporter. Debbie is extremely quiet. She got that from Mom's side of the family. Grandpa never went out in public. Grandma would converse, but they always said of Grandpa that his nature was to say only a few words, one or two at a time. "How are you doing?" "I'm doing." But when he talked, you listened.

Shyness is kind of a family trait Grandpa’s son, Paul, who is now 72, lived at home a very long time, and Grandpa and Paul intended to farm together. He now farms other land and lives about 1 mile from my parents. He never married, never dated-like Debbie.

There are traces of this all through the family. One spring there were people painting the house. Dad wanted my mom to mow the lawn, but she couldn't bring herself to mow in their presence. However, Debbie is probably the most quiet. She is okay if she is talking one-on-one, but she is in no way out-going. If she was home alone and the phone rang, she wouldn't answer.

It could be the difference in the way we were raised. I was the oldest, so I was protected, as was Debbie. By the time Dawn, my sister ten years younger than I, came along, Mom had gone to work, so Dad raised her. She toted along wherever he was - on the tractor or riding in the back of his pickup. She is now a live-wire nurse in Des Moines at Methodist Hospital, but she rolls from one thing to the next. She's been married twice, has had about 10 jobs, not because she couldn’t do them but by her choice. Besides the hospital, she has worked in doctors' offices and one year was the camp nurse at Wesley Woods. Dawn inherited Dad’s Mom’s red hair. There were nine brothers and sisters, 80-some grandchildren, and she is the only one with red hair - bright red like fire.

I probably also inherited some of the shyness. My natural inclination is to sit, be quiet, and listen- not to the degree of my uncle and sister, however. Now, after going through college, often speaking in front of a group, I have kind of gotten over it. Next year I will be Lion's Club president, and I have no problem with that.

My daughter Taryn has the same trait. I tried to get her into children's plays and she hated being in front of people. Morgan, my other daughter, seems to have no such characteristic. She sang a solo at a class concert in front of 300 people. I was so shocked! Her words came out clearly and she stood there as though she were saying, "Here I am, doing my thing." If that had been me, I would have curled up and melted away. Actually, I don't sing that badly. Mom used to play the piano and we kids sang. In front of anyone, I wouldn't be able to make a sound, but nothing stops Morgan. Whether she is before one person or 1,000, it is the same.

Dad had made the decision to farm based on the fact that people would always need food. He wasn't so sure of his career choice after going through the '70s and '80s, watching others doing better financially; but he stayed with it. So, when I was small, Dad farmed and Mom was in the house, cooking and cleaning. But about 1972 or 1973, the farm economy got so bad that Mom went to work in Bethesda Nursing Home as a nurse' aide and did that for a couple years before the position of office secretary opened up. She took it and is still there. A few years ago Dad got involved in local politics and now is a supervisor. He seems to love it but is discouraged that he can't make everybody happy all the time. He will be 65 on his next birthday and will probably cut back on his activities.

I had great parents and a great home life. It bothers me even now that I wasn't more sensitive to the economic situation my parents faced in the early '70s. I guess when you are a kid you don't realize what is happening. One Christmas there was only one package for me. I threw a fit! Only one present! It makes me feel so badly now because I know that my parents could only afford so much, and that fact plus my tantrum must have hurt them deeply.

At that time lots of neighbors lost their farms, which had farther-reaching effects than might have been apparent. It seems to me that was the end of small farms that would sustain a family, and only the big operations are able to make it now. Until then we had the same neighbors year after year, and there was a unity. If anyone was in trouble, neighbors appeared and did what was necessary. When there was a wedding, there were chivarees. They knew what went on in each other’s lives and there was empathy. There seems to be less of that now.

It is interesting how the solemn things of life kind of creep up on a child. I remember the death of Edna Eckels. She was a neighbor, and I used to go to her house to play. I remember that she had a granddaughter who did cartwheels. Mrs. Eckels had a windmill, and Dad and I watched to make sure there were no blown fuses because she depended on that source of power. Her death was strange. She was on vacation - it could have been at Disney World. In her sleep, she walked into a swimming pool and drowned. The family found her there and of course it was devastating to them. Being the first person I knew who died, it added a new dimension to life.

Until it happens, you don't really think of anybody dying. Her grandson was also killed tragically. His father was using the manure spreader and the boy was riding in the back. They were going down the road when the gear kicked in and the tines ran him through.

I mentioned that Pitzer was on the county line. We had a Winterset phone number, a Dexter address, and I went to Greenfield school. We were 15 miles from each. Every day five school buses passed our house - Winterset, Greenfield, Stuart, Dexter, and Earlham. I watched for the Greenfield bus and went all through school in the Greenfield system. In kindergarten I went half days and rode half a bus - a small one half the sizes of the usual ones.

Kindergarten was a traumatic year for me. When I was born both of my eyes turned in. They tried a patch, but that didn't work. In that year, I had eye surgery at Wolfe Clinic in Marshalltown. It was performed by Dr. Graether, who still practices. I was there for four or five days and I remember that the class sent a big card with all their names and a blow-up reindeer. Dad got me a robot that I thought was so neat that I took it out in the hall to play with it. I didn't realize that the front opened, lights went on, and it made machine gun noises. It became my favorite toy, but at first it scared me so much that I began crying. It was an anxious time anyway, and that was too much. I spent some of my time in the playroom where there were kids with cancer. I played with one who had the bald head that we now associate with chemo. I don't remember feeling anything in particular about them except that it was strange to realize that they were sick all the time.

After my corrective eye surgery, I had lots of trouble adjusting. It seemed like the whole world moved. I lacked depth perception. I was scared of stairs and crawled up and down. I saw both an image and a ghost image and they would jump around. When we took Basic Skills tests, we had to fill in ovals. Those came out really bad. I tried to color but couldn't stay within the lines. The teacher didn't understand. One day when I was coloring out of the lines, I said, "Oh, well," and she said, "Who said that? We never give up!" In kindergarten we raised our hand before going to the bathroom. One day the teacher started a story and I raised my hand. She would not allow me to go until she finished the story and in those days if a teacher or parent said, ''No," that was it. No arguing or talking back. I wet my pants. I tried to hide it but whether I did or not, I'm not sure. It was another humiliation.

The correction affected my coordination. If someone threw a ball to me, I was more likely to get hit in the head than to catch it. Being a boy, that was particularly embarrassing. I also had asthma and was the smallest kid in the class, an easy target to pick on. When there were occasions for the kids to pick a team, I would be one of last boys picked. That was hard to take!

I really struggled in the first grades, but in fourth grade things turned around. It was a combination of several things. My eyes were doing better and I had vision therapy. I saw the eye doctor every couple of weeks. I had a special handwriting teacher, but most importantly, my teacher, Mrs. Don Carlos, took an interest in me. She was extremely nice. She taught me how to study. Until then I had pretty much just shown up at school. The practice was that if the work wasn't done, and done right, the student had to stay in at recess. That happened to me all through second and third grade. Everybody was outside and I was inside, hating it. But Mrs. Don Carlos was friendlier and made school and learning fun.

I went out for wrestling in fifth and sixth grades and through high school. For that the hand-eye stuff didn't bother. I could hold my own, and I guess for boys being an athlete is important. My parents made me try basketball. Dad had been really good in high school and even played college ball in Maryville. I tried it for a whole season but I didn't have the hand-eye coordination to catch and throw well. I could hardly throw the ball, let alone hit the basket and get it through the hoop. Maybe it was part of the shyness thing. Other kids made it, but when my time came, I felt everybody was looking at me. My arms would get so weak I could hardly lift them to throw. I wish now that I had stayed with it. You can play basketball later, but there is no opportunity to continue to wrestle.

At that time, however, wrestling was something I could do, and it made me feel good about myself. I could beat somebody. I didn't ever get to be one of the good wrestlers. I didn't go to state, but I could do it and have an even record. We had kids' wrestling tournaments and a really good coach - Frank Riley's brother, Larry. He also taught industrial arts. He was one of those people who talks about how life is. He related it to school and said, "I do homework every day." He had been in the army and said there is the right way, the wrong way, and the army way. He gave us reasons why we should choose the right way. His wife, Barb, was also a teacher. She taught geometry and advanced math. They taught the same way. Instead of just teaching the class, they worked hard to teach values.

I was in 4-H until high school. I showed sheep and goats, but preferred to show my goat, Nanny. Sheep are hot to hold and groom, and we were required to show a lamb; but with my goat, I could always exhibit the same animal. That made it pretty easy. All I had to do was show up. However, that goat was an aggravation. She was always on top of a building or had her head stuck through a fence. She had horns that would catch on the wire and she would have to be freed. We built a shed to keep her in, with windows six inches wide and about nine inches tall. That 80-pound goat could get through in spite of her head seeming to be as big as the hole. She was exasperating but I won a championship ribbon just about every year. It is ironic that Nanny met her death by getting her head caught. She saw a hole in the haymow and got her head stuck between the boards and the wire and died before we could get her out. I probably shed some tears at the time.

I also had other projects, like photography, and hobbies of collecting bugs and butterflies. There was a time that my picture was in the paper with a huge paper-wasp nest. I took it to school when I was in third grade. Dead bugs fell out and the teacher was afraid kids would get stung- by dead wasps? I also took my hamster to school one time and it got loose. We looked everywhere and finally the music teacher brought it back. One of the kids picked up his trombone and the hamster ran out. It scared everybody half to death.

Our 4-H leader was Mr. Sealine, whom I remember well. He had a funny little laugh kind of a "he-he-he." I have a tape of our graduation and can hear him all the way through. He was great with us. He told us what to do in order to do well and always helped the kids a lot. He was never too ambitious about getting his own work done, however. He was always the last one to get his crops in. His wife was completely opposite. They kind of reminded me of the Grant Woods painting of the man and wife and pitchfork. She was as serious as a drill sergeant, and if she hadn't pushed, the crops might never have gotten in.

Their lives came to an untimely end. Mr. and Mrs. Sealine were driving in a flood. The water was so deep that he couldn't see the road and ran off a bridge. They both drowned. The very next week their son, who was a trucker, was also killed in a freak accident. Through no fault of his own, he was hit by a truck that crossed lanes of the highway.

Junior high was a lot of fun. A carefree time without much to worry about. Beginning in upper elementary, I had mostly A's and B's. I got one D+ in math and drew a line through it to make it look like a B. My parents showed it to me recently. It wasn't even a very good job of deception. We had our first dances in junior high. The boys lined up on one side of the room, the girls on the other, and the girls had to pull the boys out to make them dance.

I suppose it was about that age when I was chased by a cow. We roped baby calves, put a tag in their ear, and gave them medicine. That was my job. I rode on the back of the tractor and Dad drove. If I got in trouble with a cow, the plan was that Dad would drive the tractor between the cow and me. Something about that plan failed. I suddenly realized the cow was chasing me. I could feel the heat of its head on my back, and I ran as fast as I could. By the time it quit, my dad was a small dot on the hillside. I realized that there was really nothing Dad could have done.

Finally in high school I began getting some coordination. I didn't do great at baseball and basketball but I was kind of catching up. I enjoyed being in plays. My voice carried well and that was about the only requirement. We had no microphone so it was important to talk loud. When a play came along that had a big speaking part and required no singing, I usually got it. The director knew I'd rather have died than to sing alone. We did "South Pacific" and "Oklahoma" in which, being skinny, I naturally played the part of "Slim." I might even have video tapes of those performances. I should get involved in Clarke County Arts Council's productions here but use the excuse that there is not enough time.

I was in FFA (Future Farmers of America), held offices and continued to show animals, but in the fourth year, I decided I didn't want to be a farmer. I took typing, etc. My grades improved particularly in science and math. I didn't do so well in English. For that I worked hard to get a B, but had A's in science and math. I remember saying that you can do things with science and math, but English is useless. I don't know if I really felt that way or rationalized that since I'm not good at it, who needs it?

In the standardized tests in our senior year, I got the best in the class in math and next to the best in science. It made me really proud and kind of shocked my math teacher, Barb Riley. It was up to each teacher to buy a medal and make a brief presentation. For science it was a big deal. The presenter showed the class the medal and made a nice speech. Mrs. Riley just kind of handed mine to me. Later, she wrote to me, "You need to work hard. Life is not a bed of roses."

That may have been partly because in her computer class, I didn't start at the beginning of the book but went to end and was doing graphics and cartoons. I thought I was doing great, but she didn't agree. The Riley’s' philosophy was that there was one right way to do things and the students were to do it the right way. It wasn't so much what I learned but how I did it, and she made me stay an extra two weeks and do everything over. The Riley’s were probably shaking their heads wondering how this kid was ever going to make it. They didn't know that I actually listened and wish that every kid could know what the Riley’s taught me. They said a hundred times that you get out of things what you put in, and it probably took the hundredth time for me to hear it. This is hard for kids to understand.

I was in all kinds of activities in high school and made the honor society. I just missed being in the top ten of the class when I graduated. Maybe it was the computer thing. I had a B one quarter, an A one quarter, and an A on the test. Usually that would be an A, but I was given a B, maybe to show me, or maybe it was just the way the grades averaged out.

I graduated in 1983 and went on to college at Southwestern because of proximity to home and the money situation. There had been a savings account for that purpose when I was growing up, but that had disappeared in the farm. It was time to make a career choice. I thought a little about pharmacy and teaching, but optometry was always my choice because of my eye problem. I knew that I had to do really well and did. I ended up in the top 10 in college with an A- average.

It was necessary to work to help pay my way and I took my first job at Lil' Duffer in Creston. First job, first and only time I was ever fired. I probably could have handled it differently but - shyness again? - I was quiet and took the blame for everything that went wrong.

I worked in the kitchen and nobody else would help. There were three people in front calling their orders, and there was no way I could keep up. I thought I had to do everything. The manager only stopped in from time to time and didn't really know what was going on.

The first thing that made him mad was in regard to schedule. It was posted and I checked it. My next day to work was Saturday, so I didn't check it again. They changed the schedule but no one called to tell me. When I didn't show up and he was angry, I should have challenged him, but I let it go. The second situation was a really busy night of a football game. People were going in a steady stream through the drive-in, and again three in front were taking orders and I was in the kitchen. One hamburger went through with no meat. Unfortunately, it was the order of one of the manager's neighbors. He confronted me and asked, "Are you sure this is the job for you?" What could I say? It makes me mad now because I know I was doing as well as anyone could have done in those circumstances, but it was survival of the fittest and I got run over.

My next job was with Fareway at Creston. I went into it with what I think of as the "farm mentality." I ran from the minute I clocked in until I clocked out. Trucks came in at 5:00a.m. two or three days a week. We would unload before school - the old way, through a little hole in a side of the building, and slide the boxes on rollers. I liked the work, though, and thought I could stay and be a manager but I'm glad I didn't. They do well money-wise, but physically it is very difficult.

As in many jobs, there were pranksters, and new employees took the brunt of their jokes. We were told to pull down the shades in the afternoon because it was getting hot, but there were no shades. Or they would send someone to get the lettuce pump to make the lettuce look big and fluffy. Of course the new guy went to ask where the pump was and looked like an idiot. The only one they got me on was the Italian dressing. I was told that it was real important to shake the bottles every night so that the thicker ingredients didn't sink to the bottom. I did that and then someone, seeming to be helpful, said that I could put them in the box and shake them all at once. After awhile someone got on the microphone saying "ha ha ha."

For awhile in college I drove back and forth, riding with a fellow from Greenfield. Then I decided it would be better if I left home. I saw an ad and began sharing an apartment with two other guys - Doug Fierce (Teresa Woods' brother) and Ryan Hopkins from the Grand River area. For about the first six months it was fun. Then, I'm not sure who started it, but someone ate someone else's food. It escalated and everybody got mad, so we all ate each other's food. That led to Doug putting his initials on all he purchased, and we got along with that fairly well. Pretty soon all the food was marked with somebody's initials.

About that time the rent was raised so the same three of us moved into the bottom half of a house. The top half was occupied by baseball players from Missouri - Mark Lang and James Hunsicker. It was chaos. They were there to play baseball and party. At the back of the house there was a flat garage, and we used to sit out there in lawn chairs to study. Underneath was the entry to the bottom half. It didn't take long for the fellows above to rig a system so they could pour water on anyone coming in or going out. The next trick was to turn off the hot water. Here you would be in the middle a shower and the water would turn off. One time one of the guys upstairs put tar in a pan and placed it at the bottom of the stairs. Doug was the first one to go upstairs and stayed up all night scraping tar off his bare foot.

The feud went on between the upstairs and downstairs. We fought over everything. Maybe it was because we were poor college kids and had nothing else to do. The climax was the night the baseball guys had a party. Instead of a few people, the whole town showed up, and that included high school kids. They were running around everywhere. There was beer. I didn't usually drink, but I did that night, and I drank too much. The landlord heard about it and his imagination took off. He pictured holes in the walls and total destruction. He was as mad as he could be, and I didn't know what to expect. When he walked into the room, I was sitting on the couch feeling terrible. I must have looked at least that bad. He just looked at me and laughed. All he said was, "I guess you learned your lesson."

I went on to optometry school at the University of Iowa. Most people are not accepted without a four-year bachelor's degree, but you can be accepted with three years of undergraduate work if you take the right classes and do well. I was there for a year during which I was required to take a foreign language. I took two semesters of Spanish, which I didn't think I would ever use. I chose it because it was the easiest one. Now I use it nearly every week. I also have tapes that take me through an eye exam. I listen to those in the car, and I have a computer program.

It happened that I couldn't have picked a better year to be at the University of Iowa. I've always been a Hawkeye fan. That year Iowa and Michigan were #1 and #2, and they played each other. The very day of their game, I was stuck in a room taking a test, but I did get home in time to see the final kick. Iowa won by two points with no time on the clock.

I married Laura Landis after I left Creston. I met her through a girl from Winterset that I called a girlfriend. I took that girl to the prom, but the relationship was so platonic that I didn't even kiss her. I had an old Atari game, which by modern comparisons looks pretty silly, but I took it to Teresa’s apartment and met Laura there.

We moved to Chicago for optometry school and Laura took a job downtown. I hated the city all the time I was there. Being from a small town, I couldn't get acclimated to the noise of traffic or the rudeness of unfriendly people - I wasn't geared to that. We lived in a high-rise on the 21st floor and there were so many tenants that when we returned to the apartment at the end of our days, we would sometimes have to drive around an hour looking for a place to park. It was necessary to live there about a year before being assigned a parking place.

The traffic was crazy. One time a taxi crossed in front of me and caught my bumper. The cab driver jumped out and said, "No need to call police. It's just a little bend in the bumper. I'll give you a check for $50 and you can fix it." I was so naive that I took the check and it did turn out to be good, but when I tried to straighten the bumper by tapping it with a wooden mallet, the whole bumper fell off. I was driving a Dodge Colt and we got a new car, but we couldn't keep up the insurance on both, so I dropped it on the Colt. We had to park on the street, and the next thing I knew, the whole side of the Colt got bashed in. It had been struck by somebody who left traces of yellow paint. Then it was stolen, which meant that I walked to school. But the humorous part was that one day I saw my car sitting in the parking lot of a grocery store. I still had the keys, so I simply stuck the keys in the ignition and drove it home.

The last straw was when I was mugged. I had to dress up with a white shirt and tie for school. I was going home one night, carrying a bag of Chinese food. Two guys jumped me and got me in a full-nelson. They undoubtedly thought I was a business guy with money instead of a student with no money. I wasn't thinking too clearly and asked for my wallet back. They looked in and said, disappointedly, "$5?" I did report it, and the police told me that gangs follow the eltrain and get off to work an area for a period of time, then hop back on the train and work a different area. They had a "line-up," which was a bunch of probably about 50 black kids anywhere from 18 to 20 years old. I couldn't tell one from another, but the police encouraged me
to pick some guys whether I recognized them or not. I think they just wanted to put some of them in jail. I didn't identify any of them, but from that time on, any time I got off my familiar route, or was alone in a strange area, I was uneasy. If I saw a group of kids, I crossed the street, vividly remembering the horrible feeling of being grabbed and thrown down.

The optometry school was down by the White Sox park. It was a good school in a not so good area. Cars were broken into, women's purses were snatched, and things like that. Almost everyone in my class of 140 was the victim of some crime. One of my classmates rode his bicycle to school. One day he went out to get it and saw a kid with a hack saw trying to cut the chain by which it was fastened to a pole. The security guard was watching on a monitor and doing nothing about it. My friend ran down and yelled, and the kid ran off. That same classmate had friends who came to visit him. His friends' car was stolen, and police found it later all beaten up with the windows broken.

I did enjoy the food in Chicago. There were tons of good places to eat. They had deep dish pizzas and Italian sausage sandwiches with jalapeno peppers and a sauce on them. Those were good! One of my favorite places to go was Lincoln Park Zoo. There was a great ape-house with the apes behind a huge Plexiglas window. There was one big ape that would sit quietly, but all of a sudden, when a bunch of people had gathered and were standing right next to the Plexiglas, the ape would pound on the window and scare them half to death.

Taryn was born while we were in Chicago, while I was in my third year of optometry school. I remember the adrenalin rush while we were on our way to the hospital. I couldn't even think straight. I parallel parked and hit the car in front and the car behind me. I didn't even care; I just rushed into the hospital. While Taryn was a baby, she had red hair. I thought maybe she would have that characteristic that pops up every once in awhile in our family, but the color changed when she was a year or two old. She was just a year old when we left Chicago so probably doesn't remember much about it, but she thinks it is great now to be able to say she was born in Chicago.

The last 1 ½ years in school were hectic. Laura and I had to get to our jobs and get Taryn to a sitter with the reverse as we returned in the evening. One day I was really tired. I stopped downtown to pick up Laura at her work at Federal Savings and Loan. Usually I drove around until she came out of the building but this day I was so tired that I double parked. It wasn't long before a policeman tapped on the window saying, ''You can't park here. If I ever catch you here again, I'll put you in jail!" I remember being so out of it that I didn't even care.

My job was as an optician at a place called Eye-Tech USA. I learned lessons there on how not to operate a business. Dr. Lasker was the optometrist, in partnership with his brother Syd, who was an optician. Dr. Lasker was thin and his brother rather rotund. His brother smoked and had hard time breathing. They would get into fights and argue all day long. The theme was always the same, "Will you listen to me? You never listen to me!" This would go on for hours at a time, and neither listened to the other.

They had a one-hour lab, and the goal was to see how fast they could get patients in and out. Between patients, Dr. Lasker would watch soap operas and eat hot dogs. He invariably got mustard on his white coat, but it didn't seem to bother him. He would run out in his soiled jacket and take care of patients as fast as he could. The business was open on Sundays, but neither of the doctors was there. They had two employees-one of them a big black guy, the other a big Russian. These two would have their friends come in, make glasses for them, and pocket the money. I ended up ratting on them because I thought it was the right thing for me to do. They were caught at it, but after that happened, I was a bit nervous about what they might do. We had a problem with shop-lifters, too. They would steal color contacts or frames, and then they would bring them to our school and say they needed lenses. They were never caught. In my practice in Osceola that is very rare, but in a city it seems as though everybody wants what somebody else has. We have things pretty good around here.

I graduated with honors from optometry school in 1990 and it was great to leave Chicago. We moved to Clive, in the Des Moines area. I went to work at Vision Park; for Dr. Paul Thielking and Dr. Dave Hansen, who were my optometrists when I was growing up. I was there the first year out of school and enjoyed it, but I was really interested in having my own practice. For me to buy into theirs would have been very expensive, so in the fall of 1991, I decided to start my own office.

Morgan was born at Mercy Hospital in Des Moines about a week after I started the office in Osceola. I was calmer than the first time - not in as much of a panic. I was afraid to cancel all my patients, but they were fine with it. In small towns, people are more understanding - totally different from the attitude I found in the city. So, Morgan has always lived in Osceola, which has made everything more convenient. That may have affected her nature because she has always been easy to get along with. She just goes with the flow.

My introduction to Osceola was interesting. While I was working inside the office, I heard a voice saying, "I hear a ghost in here. I hear a ghost in here." That was my introduction to Diane Grune. I wasn't a very good host because, as she was running around to see what was going on, she tried to talk to me. I was painting and had taped myself inside a room, which wasn't conducive to conversation. Two older fellows were leaning against the front window and didn't realize that when you are touching the glass, you can hear what is being said on both sides. One said to the other, "Do you know what is going on in here?'' ''Yeah, a new doctor is coming to town." "Is he any good?" "Well, some say he's good, others say he ain't worth sh--."

My first days were rough. The majority of patients had really severe eye problems that other doctors had been unable to help with. Most were blind, but they came in hope that the new guy could help. It was a long day because I saw so many that could not be helped.

To make a go of it when I first came, I worked ½ time in Osceola and ½ time for a firm in Marshalltown. That way I had a guaranteed income while the Osceola office was getting up and running. In four or five months, I was able to quit going to Marshalltown and could work full time here.

I acquired Dr. Nielson's records when he left in 1992, which made me a lot busier. Dr. Adams had preceded him and it always amazed me the number of files he had. Dr. Adams kept records on 3x5 cards - name, address, birthdates, and prescription. That was all he needed. Now about five pages of records are required by law and by insurance carriers.

Another difference is that in earlier days optometrists were primarily eye-glass persons. Now we can do a lot of medical stuff that we couldn't do before. In fact, now we do everything but the surgery itself - even the pre-surgical and post-surgical procedures. That requires getting a TPA (Therapeutic Pharmaceutical Agents) degree with which you can diagnose and treat. About 1/3 of what we do is treating, so I can't imagine not doing it.

It is important to stay abreast of the latest advances, and everything has changed drastically. I had no computer for the first few years. I remember the first computer was $5,000 and the software was $15,000. I began with one employee, Sue Querry. Now we have nine computers and are looking for our eighth employee. Ten years ago, we scheduled one patient an hour, as most doctors did. About five years ago, we saw two people an hour, and now three to four in an hour because assistants can do part of the work, equipment is so automated, and computers help.

The practice continues to grow. When Dr. Everett Davis retired, I bought his practice. Dr. Heaverlo is in business with me. He lives in Chariton and is there most of the time, but he spends some time here and I have scheduled time in Chariton. For seven years I've gone to Corydon one day a week, and to Chariton on a regular basis. I am so pleased that I chose this career. I enjoy my patients and like it when we have time for conversation. It is amazing how interesting people are.

Our family life has changed. In 1995, Laurie and I separated. She is a stay-at-home mom, continuing to live in our house. We both see the girls a lot Laurie is remarried. Her husband is from North Carolina and is working at Lakeside Casino. He has two children, both of whom are autistic and communicate by sign language. Our daughters have learned this, also, and all four children get along really well. Taryn enjoys art. In my office there is a picture of a leopard that she has drawn. She is particularly good at drawing animals. Morgan has been in ballet classes and takes piano lessons. She is in peewee cheerleading for the football team. Both girls are"living at the pool" during the summer months.

In 2002 I married Sandy Savvas whom I met through her sister Ronda Carpenter. Sandy grew up in Chariton. Her parents were divorced quite early and she grew up with her dad, Roger Cackler, who builds houses. He built Russo's restaurant for Sandy and her husband in Albia. They lost it at the time of their divorce. It’s now called Bogie's. Sandy is well known from having worked for a long time at the Fareway Store. She thought she wanted to do something different and took a job in Des Moines, but didn't like the drive. She was enjoying her work at Sieman's, but in the downsizing her job was discontinued. She is now going to nursing school in Creston, earning all A's, and working part time at Junction Creamery.

Sandy has two daughters, Calista and Maria, both of Greek ancestry. Their father owns a Greek restaurant in Pella, and presently he and the girls are vacationing on the small island of Kalymnos in the Mediterranean Sea. Calista has been married to Dan Mills for about five years and they live in West Des Moines. She works for Data Power Technology, a company that sells a device that keeps computers cool. Maria just graduated from Simpson College. Her mom hopes she will get a job. She worked at Disneyworld for about a month and didn't like it, so she will be trying something else.

My main activity outside of my work is in Lion's Club in which I've been active since my first year in Osceola. It is in my line of interest because we fit people who can't afford glasses, usually two or three a year, and help coordinate hearing aids. We collect old glasses and hearing aids that we send to Ames where they are sorted, the prescriptions are read, and they are taken to impoverished areas. We pay for audiology tests and people are fitted with hearing aids according to their needs. Most recently-on July 4, 2002-I put in lots of hours in the food trailer, which is our primary source of income for the year.

I've been pleased with what the Lion's Club has contributed to the community. At East Lake Park we built almost all the shelters, the swan pen, and the look-out towers, as well as the look-out tower at Redfern’s Timber. Our main money-raising effort is for scholarships. When I see the schedules of some of the young men, I wonder what the future will be for Lion's Club and other service organizations. I hope there will be people who will have the time and resources to continue what we have done. One of our blessings has been several retired people who have the stamina and care enough to devote hours to our work. They have done a great deal.