Blogging through the Years!

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Hello, my name is George Hollis and yes I am a babyboomer. I was born in 1949 and that puts me near the first of the Boomers born from 1946 to 1964.

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Mother Load - April 09

This is one of those times that I have thought about much through the years. It is funny I suppose but did not seem so at the time. I was only about five and was a tag along with my older brothers.

Here's the story. It was Easter and the little town of Sturgis, Kentucky always had sponsored activities of one sort or another going on. Today, if you are a motorcycle enthusiast, I'm sure you have heard of the 'Little Sturgis' motorcycle rally. It is held at the Sturgis Airport just outside the town of 2500. Back then, one of the activities was a county Easter egg hunt. Any and all of the kids from who knows where was invited to come and hunt.

We lived on an off road across a couple of big fields from the airport. My older brothers and a cousin decided that the best way of going to that Easter egg hunt was to just walk across the fields. Find out what time it started and a three quarter of a mile walk across the fields and we are there, right in the middle of one of the biggest egg hunts around.

The day finally arrives and we wait as long as we can. The excitement over takes us and we get permission from the folks and take off. We talk about all the eggs that we will gather and what about the 'golden egg'?

Whoever finds the golden egg gets a special prize given by the sponsors. We all edged forward toward the hunt and each took his turn trying to guess what the special prize would be. The way we figured it, that prize was as good as ours.

There were about four or five of us and we were rather carefree as we walked. All of a sudden, we began to notice Easter eggs laying in the grass. There were eggs everywhere. We began to pick them up and put them into our bags. We had big bags because of big hopes. They quickly began to fill up. We had hit the 'mother load'. The only thing that was lacking was the elusive golden egg.

We had spent several minutes and just about loaded our bags when we noticed a couple cars speeding in our direction. We patiently waited to see what the people in the cars were in such a hurry for. When they got there and to our great surprise, four or five men jumped out of the cars and with extremely angry voices exclaimed "What are you boys doing here? What do all of you think you are doing?"!

With the best of my remembrance, we simply replied "We are hunting Easter eggs". I then heard one of the men say something to the effect of just throw'em anywhere, it is almost time to start. They grabbed the bags out of our arms and began throwing those eggs everywhere. We just stared in amazement and thought 'There goes our mother load' or something like that.

After the men had talked and given us a few mean looks, they finally agreed to let us ride back with them to the starting place right before the egg hunt 'officially started'. We lined up to begin the hunt and as I remember was put in the rear of the group. The hunt started and from the rear and at my age all I could do was to watch all those eggs being picked up like a giant vacuum cleaner going across that field.

It seemed like just a matter of minutes and it was over. I did not find that golden egg and the big surprise that came with it. As a matter of fact I had a grand total of....zero. Yep, I went from mother load to no load. That is an Easter that I will remember for a long time.

George Hollis
www.hollistoo.com

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Ripped From One End to the Other - March 09

I couldn't have been but about eight or nine years old and it got ripped from one end to the other. Let me explain. We grew up in the country and loved it. We had a lot of space to run and usually covered most of it even in our younger years. There was not a whole lot that we did not try at one time or another. Probably, as most kids did back then, we just enjoyed exploring and finding new things to do.

This particular day started, as I remember, on a Sunday and it was a beautiful day. We went through the usual activities of the day finding things to do. Then our parents informed us that we were going to grandma's. Well, we were not much for car rides. There were a bunch of us, all in one car and not much space. It wasn't pretty after a while. But the bright side of the trip was that we got to explore new territory.

We finally arrived and there it was, brand new country just waiting to be explored. There was even a barn we could find new adventures in. We had pretty well covered most of the close-in areas when we spotted something out in the field behind grandma's house. There was a cow standing but on the ground there was a tiny little black spot. What was it? We finally realized that it was a small calf lying on the ground, barely visible.

I honestly do not remember how many of us there were but I was probably the youngest. We undauntedly crossed over into the field and began heading toward the cow and her calf. As we approached, the cow began to get nervous and uneasy. She placed herself between us and her calf. She even acted as though she would charge us a couple of times. We would back up of course.

What I have failed to tell you is that for some unknown reason my mom had me to wear a brand new pair of dress pants that day. I never gave them a second thought all day, especially when that cow began to circle back and forth in front of us.

All of a sudden the mother cow made a lunge at us and we ran. The cow stopped so we stopped. We went back and it happened again; the cow was really nervous by then. The next time we went back to the cow she lunged and did not stop. By the time we realized she was not going to stop, she was very close. We ran as fast as we could (which is not very fast for an 8 or 9 year old) toward the end of the field.

All the rest of the kids (older than me) were out in front and hit the gate and began to climb over it. Now to me that gate looked very tall and that cow looked very big. The fence was not near as tall so I decided to go over it. There was a problem there also which I did not realize. The fence was topped with a sharp strand of barbed wire.

Well I hit that fence in full stride and up and over it I went so quickly that it would make a seasoned athlete proud. There was one little catch, and I do mean catch. One of the barbs caught the inside seam of those brand new pants just below the straddle and ripped the leg. It ripped it from one end to the other. There it was. The leg of those pants just flopped as I walked. I worried a lot about what my mom was going to do to me but was relieved that it was my pants ripped by the fence and not me ripped by that mad mother cow.

George Hollis
www.hollistoo.com

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Be My Valentine - Blush - February 09

I don't know if there is any particular age limit that applies to this subject. I do know that for me there were several years that did.

You have to realize that for a red headed, shy, freckled faced boy (see my about page) from a family of eight boys and no girls that anything related to a girl was cause enough to get red faced. This story begins at school when the teacher sends that note home instructing your parents that on such and such date the class will be exchanging the thing that causes it all, the 'Be My Valentine' cards.

The cards would be purchased, brought home and of course we had to be the one that wrote the note and signed the thing. Today, my grandchildren buy cards that are Sponge Bob, Bratz, Disney, Hanna Montana, Transformers, Spiderman and on and on. Back then, they were cards with hearts and a very personal message like 'Be My Valentine' or 'Your My Valentine' on them.

So there I sat with the list of all the kids in my class and the task would begin. First name up, Kathy, then there was Cindy and Marilyn and Polly and Bob...Bob! I didn't want any of these to be my valentine especially Bob. What was I to say. Even if I just put my name on the blasted thing, it would still say 'Be My Valentine'. What would they think? Would they think I wanted to be their boy friend and what about the boys?? It was enough to cause your brain to explode.

This had to be very carefully thought out but the harder I tried, nothing worked. That was part of the torture, trying to put just the right thing on the card without committing yourself. Then there is the day that the cards must be handed out. The way we did it was to take our nice little stacks of cards and go around person to person. The terrible thing about that was having to look at the other person (especially girls) knowing that when they opened the card, there it would be. 'Be My valentine' or even worse 'Your My Valentine' sticking out like a sore thumb.

Well the card exchanges all takes place and as the day wears on I think that I catch a glimpse here or there or a shy smile coming my way. Then there is Bob. Was that a frown, a smirk or a 'I'll get you later look'? Or, or were they all 'Be My Valentine' looks? Blush!

George Hollis
www.hollistoo.com

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The Searchers - December 08

No, I'm not talking about the 1956 John Wayne movie 'The Searchers'. It was Christmas and time for the real searchers to come out. That was me and my brothers. Mom and dad were the best at hiding the gifts which included the bags of nuts and fruit that they got each Christmas. They knew that if they put the nuts and fruit out too soon, eight boys would have them devoured before Christmas arrived.

We never knew when they got the goodies but the nuts and fruit always showed up on Christmas eve day and many of the presents on Christmas morning. (Some were put under the tree to keep us focused on those.) It almost got to be a tradition. When we got to be a little older, we knew by then that they had them somewhere and it was just a matter of searching.

We would hunt for the presents and believe it or not we never (never!) found them. We did find the bags of fruit and nuts in the trunk of the car one time. Evidently, after that, the pace picked up. We never found them again as long as we were young enough to search.

Let me share at least one experience. One year when I was about eight or nine, we got the idea that mom and dad had put the presents in the attic. Now our house was an older one and the ceilings were probably nine feet high at least. The access into the attic was a little hole in the ceiling of mom and dad's closet with some kind of covering over it. If you can imagine, the closets back then in older houses were not much more than just holes in the wall. Put it full of clothes, and shoes, and this and that, and things and young kids have a major job ahead of them.

So we began. There had to be some planning. We had to time everything so that both mom and dad were away from the house long enough for us to accomplish this task. When the time was right, the first job was to get a ladder in that little closet.

Let me explain something else right here. Dad was a do it your self type person. The ladder that we had to carry in and get into that little closet was about ten to twelve feet long, hand made out of rough sawed (not finished out) oak wood and it had to weigh a ton if it weighed a pound. Remember, the reward would be worth the effort.

Next, we had to find a flash light. Even though flashlights were invented in the late 1800's, they were a rare commodity around our house. Dad coon hunted some but he mostly used carbide lights back then. Even we knew better than go spying around in a small closet full of clothes and a dry attic with an open carbide flame. This is where I will have to confess I don't remember what we came up with. I do know we did not burn the house down searching for presents.

We became more and more excited as that attic opening got closer and closer. Never mind that we had clothes on the floor and rough wood pieces on the clothes hanging up. Nothing would deter us now. Findly, that big ole ladder was in place and up we went. It did'nt even matter and we gave it no thought of all the dust and insulation that fell as we pushed the covering to one side. We popped our heads into the attic to see all those hidden presents.

Again, you have to understand, we could not and would not open the presents. It would be just the joy and the satisfaction that we FOUND them. So here we were on the verge of finding the presents in the perfect hiding place. We looked to the left and to the right and we looked again, after all it was pretty dark up there. But, alas, not one present was there.

We came down out of that attic and almost did not have the heart to face the work of restoring everything back to its place. But probably as with the case of most kids back then, fear gripped us when we got a good look at the situation and to work we went.

We felt pretty good about the way things looked when finished and of course we acted as if nothing had been done when mom and dad came home. If they ever noticed or realized what we had done, they never said anything about it and we kept on searching.

George Hollis
www.hollistoo.com

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Sweat Bees and Green Apples - November 2008

Summer days and summer fun and plenty of time to enjoy them both. That is how it was supposed to be. We would get up in the morning and most of the time had no particular plans for the day; just take each hour as it came.

In the country we had plenty of room to run and roam. When we got to the end of our property, we just crossed the fence and kept going. There was not as much to be afraid of in those days for young children as there is now so in a days time we covered a lot of territory. Just about every inch of the distance covered had some kind of different adventure. Swinging on grape vines, crossing over ravines, swimming in dirty ponds, you name it we probably did it.

For those of you who are thinking 'swinging on grape vines?' The kind I am talking about is some kind of wild variety that grows fairly large and hangs from the trees, not the little vineyard kind. We would cut the end of one that just happened to be on a small creek bank and swing on it for hours. Those were the days of the original Tarzan shows you know. (Probably another story, Ha!)

My mom and dad had a small orchard that had about ten to fifteen apple trees. Through the course of a day we would usually make sure we made a trip through the orchard and would grab four or five green apples each to eat. Normally, we would be going away from the house and just ate them on the run. Sometimes, if we were tired enough, we would hunt some shade and just relax while we ate those apples.

I have never had a reason to look up 'sweat bees' until now. One authority says there are nearly a thousand varieties of those little creatures. The kind I am talking about is only a little over one eight of an inch long and dark greenish brown in color. They are attracted to the salt in a persons perspiration and thus are called sweat bees.

As we would sit in the shade, usually with no shirts on, eating and enjoying our green apples, someone would spot one of those little bees on someone else's back. We would usually get up and act like we were going to do something and lightly put our finger on top of one of those bees. Boy, would they get mad! I'm talking about the bee. It would exercise its perogative to show how angry it was and a yelp would follow. I'm talking about the boy. This would continue until everyone got wise to anyone getting up or we ran out of green apples.

Those were the summer days of sweat bees and green apples.

George Hollis
www.hollistoo.com

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Drop Your Guns - September 08

As I continue the 'Blogging through the Years' thoughts and remembrances, one particularly horrifying memory comes to mind. It was horrifying at least to a five or six year old.

To a young kid in those days of the early fifties, there was nothing quite as exciting as one of the real life super heroes. Hero's such as Gene Autry, Roy Rogers, and the Lone Ranger was at the top of my list. We spent many hours playing cowboys with nothing but our hands or a stick for guns. Let's face it though, trying to sneak up on someone like they did was never quite as easy in real life as one of those guys made it seem.

On that rare occasion when you were able to sneak up on the bad guy, and you got him fair and square, you either, as kids did back then, shot the other cowboy or said 'Drop your guns'. Most of the time they tried to turn and out shoot you and claimed that you missed them. That is when the fight would start until we would decide to start all over.

For those who had 'real' toy cap pistols, they were the envy of all the rest, especially if they had caps to go in the guns. So it was that desire to have a 'real' gun and that special Christmas that one wonderful year that began the real story to that horrifying moment.

Christmas at our house was always a special occasion. Our parents did their best (bent over backwards as the saying goes) to see to it that we got a good portion of what we wanted. This particular Christmas I had made it very clear that I wanted a real set of cap pistols. Please allow me to digress one more time.

There was or at least would be eight boys in my family. No girls. (That has got to be some kind of record.) Anyway, with that many boys and our parents always trying to make the day special, there was always a lot of excitement on Christmas morning. Many, many times we were up at anywhere from 3:00 to 5:00 AM opening our gifts.

That Christmas morning I climbed out of bed after being shook awake by the older brothers and made the usual mad dash to the Christmas tree. We all began to look for our names on the packages. Then there it was! I could tell by just looking!

Off came the paper and away went the box. Those were the days before all the wire and plastic tie downs. Anyway, there they were. The best looking set of double black holsters with pearl (white plastic) handled pistols and a whole box of caps to go with it.

I immediately loaded my guns and adjusted my belt and within a matter of minutes there was not a bad guy left in the house. I would practice drawing my guns and with the most stern voice I could muster yell out "Drop your guns."

It was, I suppose, within a few days that I thought I would practice jumping off of rocks and buildings or whatever you jumped off of onto the bad guys to surprise them. I climbed on top of a tall dog house and just at the right time I leaped and when I hit the ground so did my guns. The impact had ripped loose the brads that held the holsters. There I stood with a bright shiny belt around my waist and the holstered guns lying on the ground.

I had indeed 'dropped my guns'. I could not believe it. After all the anxious waiting and the excitement of seeing those guns for the first time, and now there they lay. It was....a horrifying experience.

George Hollis
www.hollistoo.com

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HORSEWEEDS - August/08

As I sit here and write and this being a new site, I sort of wanted to begin at the start. What I mean by that is as a babyboomer I do like to reflect back and think of the 'good ol days'. Reflections, that for many of us, even our children have not heard.

However, when I was in my sophomore year of high school one teacher at that time was talking about the very same thing and he said "Yes, the good ol days were good in a way", but he also added "You also had bad heat systems such as coal fireplaces that you had to 'bank down' at night and put plenty of cover on the bed until morning. You had cars without heat, you had no phones or party lines with eight to twelve families on them, you had roads that were still dirt and turned to mud after a rain or gravel with all the dust" and so on and so on.

I think you get the idea but we were just a little later on in time and I don't consider things that bad. I am some what of an idealist though.

Back to my original thought. We were a family of ten and always had an extra one or two around most of the time. So there was always some kind of excitement going on. Many things were just fun and simple though.

As a very young kid, I can remember the simple pleasure of finding 'something' to do. How is that for a novelty. Yes, and here comes the hobby horse. Kids today find themselves extremely bored if you don't furnish 'something' for them to do at all times that is push button, fast paced and can sit in one spot to do it.

How is this for a comparison. For those of you who do not know what horseweeds are, they are weeds that would grow around corn fields and would have thick trunks sometimes as big as an inch across and had leafy limbs that grew symetrically up the stalk and became very bushy at the top.

One of my favorite things to do in the fall when these horseweeds were about six or seven feet tall was to cut one down, trim all the limbs off up to the top and leave all the bushy part on. We then would go out into the dirt lane in front of our house and ride that stalk like a horse with the bushy part dragging in the dust. With two or three of us riding our horses side by side, we could really stir up the dust as we blazed the western trail. We would eventually get tired but not until we were good and sweaty and covered in dust. It was time to find some shade and just lay back and relax.

I can think of many such instances over the years. Some of them bring fond memories of joy and happiness and others of hurtful injury. Join me through the upcoming weeks and months and reminisce over some of your own past happenings and blog through the years.

George Hollis
www.hollistoo.com

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