Two Thanksgiving Days

TWO THANKSGIVING DAYS



To begin my Thanksgiving Day stories I must mention that at home, in school, and
several other places, the nicest thing I learned in my lifetime, was that God loves me. I wish that everyone on Earth knew that God loves them.

The year was 1947. Some people in Maine remember it as the year Maine burned. Forest fires raged throughout the State during the month of October. I was ten years old, my brother, David, was sixteen and my sister, Ruth, was eight years old. Our parents were about age 45. Dad had been too young to serve in World War I and too old to be drafted in World War II. Both of them were still trying to recover from the storms of life. Probably the greatest one was the hardships of the Great Depression that had enveloped them with their son David in the early 1930’s at Philadelphia, PA. They returned to the area where they had grown up and started living at my Grandparents store. Until she died in1973 my mother never fully recovered from that setback. She did not love living with her in-laws. In 1938, after a family feud, my parents moved from the store and rented a large house about one mile (West) down the road. In September, 1941 they bought a very small place a half-mile East of the store. After moving from the store, my mother and her in-laws had very few if any direct communications.

Our home was a very small building, near a swamp, but less than fifty feet from U.S. Highway #1 in Perry, Maine. In 1943, due to the war, My Grandparents Model A Ford, that my Dad often borrowed, stopped being available. For the next five years my
Mother stayed very near the house or in the house. Her long distance adventures were walking to the blueberry ground in September and picking blueberries after the fields had been harvested.

Our home had few luxuries. The nearest telephone was a half- mile away at my grand-parent’s store. Water was carried in a buckets from a well located about one hundred feet from Route One, on the other side of the road. Inside the house were two kerosene lamps, a cook stove; kitchen table-- plus two heaped-up storage tables, five small chairs, a desk made from two orange crates and a wide board; and a rocking chair by the stove. There was a large galvanized tub for baths, and a wash board that teamed up with the same tub for scrubbing clothes. Two pieces of 4’ X 8’ wallboard were stacked on their side and separated the kitchen from the bed room that contained our parents bed, and three beds for the kids. My spot was a large crib in the corner that I was rapidly outgrowing.. On the back side of the house was a wood shed that was nearly as large as the house. Attached to the back of the shed was the aromatic outhouse.

To me the little house was home. I was protected from the outside world, found lots of love there, and my heart has never really left that place.

In August 1947 the well went dry. Water was carried in gallon size, heavy glass, vinegar bottles from a spring a half mile from home. ( Light plastic Jugs were unavailable.) In early October billows of black smoke rolled on the horizon toward the South and West. At school my schoolmates noticed that the smog from the fires caused the sun to look like the moon. Grey cinders fell upon us as we played in the school yard. It was frightening time for many Maine residents.

Large amounts of rain arrived near the first of November and the forest fires went out. For my family, life seemed to return to the way it had been at that house for the past six years.

For me to compare two Thanksgiving Days that happened ten years apart it is also important to mention that neither of our parents were high school graduates. In 1947 my brother, an honor student in the Senior Class at Eastport, Maine realized in those days there was nothing like Financial Aid, that is well known today, for him to attend college---but David had dreams.

At that time I had no special occasion clothes. My everyday clothes went to school with me, then returning home, after putting on boots if necessary, they went with me to the swamp, trails, and woodlots, behind my home. The greatest distance I had traveled in my lifetime happened on a day when I was so young I couldn’t remember it. A 80-mile round trip was made to visit relatives in St. George, New Brunswick, Canada. A classic story from my mother resulted from that trip: Her sister, My Aunt Gertie, (Gertrude Spinney Hicks) made the trip with us. I had a prolonged crying spell that frustrated everyone in the automobile. Aunt Gertie made a statement using a word that was very common in the Spinney lingo: “There is nothing wrong with the little bastard. He’s just ugly!”

November 1947 found me in grade 6. I wasn’t good at catching a baseball even if I had a baseball glove, I couldn’t hit a ball if I had a bat, but I knew I loved the game. I didn’t know how to ride a bicycle but desperately wanted one. In geography class at school I heard about interesting places so far away that I would never get there. Someday my Dad would take me hunting. I had dreams.

Less than 20 years earlier, before she married, my mother was the live in maid for a rich family in Concord, Massachusetts. She had worked with luxuries like modern electric appliances, central heating, running water, a flush and bathtub, and an ice box. She cooked banquets for the members of the Country Club that often visited the home. Each day of her life she wanted the best for her kids, wishing they would be smarter and better mannered than the rich people’s kids in the city. She had dreams.

My father was employed as the shipping room foreman at a Sardine Factory at Eastport. The work was seasonal. During the winter months he tried to keep the family going by cutting pulp wood in four foot lengths using a buck saw and axe, then stacking it. His jobs had not been to his liking since becoming unemployed from The National Biscuit Company in Philadelphia in the early 1930’s. He loved to go hunting,---and he had dreams.
Many things that were unimaginable to my family that Thanksgiving Day morning in 1947 would start happening in the near future, but God knew, and led us along.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Mom and Dad were up early on Thanksgiving Day morning and were surprised to find that a light snow had fallen during the night. My earliest memories from around age three were being out of bed and eating rolled oats, Ralston, Cream of Wheat, or corn meal mush, with mom and Dad before Dad went to work. It is no surprise that I ate breakfast with them before daylight that morning. Soon after that Roland Ward, a neighbor, arrived at our home with his car. Dad and Roland went off deer hunting to their favorite spot about fifteen miles away.

Mother started cooking the holiday meal. She prepared two large chickens, made dressing and stuffed them. The menu would also include: potatoes, gravy, cranberry sauce, rutabaga turnips, canned peas, Apple pie, and squash pie.
My sister and I have never forgotten the lime jell-o. We watched our mother mix it up and poured it in the most fancy crystal bowls we had ever seen, then paced it to cool on a shelf in the woodshed. She said they were as fancy as the desserts she made when she was living and working with the Foote’s in Concord, MA.

The chickens cooking in the oven gave our home a wonderful aroma. My sister and I played in the yard that day and made several trips in and out of the house.

Dinner was ready by 11:30. There was no way to dress up for this special meal. We all just washed our hands in the little basin and sat down at our places at the table. We missed Dad being there and hoped he would come home with a deer. There was an abundance of food. After dinner Ruth and I continued playing. Our brother David left home for our Grandparents store where he had a daily job of helping them with the chores. I started counting the hours and minutes until Dad would return home. We were used to him returning from hunting within a half hour after sunset.

In late November darkness comes early in the most eastern part of Maine. The kerosene lamps were burning brightly when Mom, Ruth and I had supper. Of course we had leftovers and there was plenty left for Daddy. Mom said he was traveling quite a ways but he would be home soon.

After supper I sat by the window and watched lights of the autos on the highway traveling from West to East. They all passed our home. The evening was very cold with a moon in the sky that was close to being full.

By 8 o’clock I was worried and crying. “Something awful must have happened to Dad!” I went to bed and continued crying and praying that Dad would come home. There have been few times in my lifetime when I have been more upset than I was that evening.

For his usual non-school day routine, David listened to the world news on the radio at our Grandparents store, then started walking home. He arrived home about 9:30 pm and gave the news that Dad had called the store. Dad had shot a deer deep in the woods and it would take him and Roland a long time to drag it to the highway.

It was after 11:30 pm when Dad and Roland returned home with a deer tied to the fender of the automobile. The bright moon was shining as the deer was moved from the automobile and hung in the woodshed. Deer steak and deer meat stew would soon be on the menu. I loved it.

Mom warmed up Dad’s Thanksgiving Day dinner. I sat next to Dad at the table, had a lunch with him and listened to his exciting hunting adventure. Then went to bed and thanked God that Daddy was home.






---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


NOTES:

At Christmas that same year, The management at the factory where my father worked (The Riviera Packing Co., Eastport, Maine) realized they had a very successful year and gave all of the employees a bonus. Because of that, a luxury, in the form of a battery powered radio, arrived at our home. World news and music entered our home. Mom loved it.

After the new year my Dad’s mother and step father invited our family to live with them , keep the store going, and take care of them until the “end of their road of life”. My parents agreed , the property ownership was transferred to them, and my family moved to “The Store” in April 1948. My mother told me a few years later that she really didn’t want to move but thought it would be good for us kids. (“Thank you Mom. You were right!” Elsie and I now live at that place April through October and our grand-daughter Alyssa has celebrated four birthdays there.)

Before summer arrived in 1948 I used my life’s savings and bought a new bicycle. Through the years it was shared with my brother, sister, and several kids in the neighborhood. I also owned a baseball bat, ball, glove and found neighbor kids that liked to play baseball. That fall my Dad took me hunting for the first time. We went hunting together many times after that.

Of great importance was that during the summer of 1948 a Professor, (Kimbal Flaccus) from a college in Pennsylvania was camping on the seashore a short distance from the store. As a customer in the store he became friends with my family. My brother expressed to him his dream of going to college and not having any funds. Mr. Flaccus explained to him the correct procedure for applying to the U. S. Naval Academy at Annapolis, MD.
My brother followed his instructions, and became a first alternate candidate from his Maine District for the class that would enter the Naval Academy in 1949. The main candidate met all of the qualifications. Although a bit disappointed for not being accepted, my brother’s efforts enabled him to discover the Maine Maritime Academy at Castine, Maine. The school was tuition free. He applied and became a member of the entering class in August 1950. He was successful there and graduated from the Maine Maritime Academy, with a Merchant Marine Engineer’s license plus an Officer’s commission in the United States Naval Reserve in 1953.

The College did not remain tuition free. My brother, with a good job on the merchant ships helped finance my way to attend the Maine Maritime Academy and graduate from that school in 1957.----Then, with both of her brothers with good jobs, and encouraging her, the family was confident that enough funds could be procured for Ruth to attend College. She Graduated from Washington State Teachers College, Machias, Maine (Now The University of Maine at Machias) in 1962. Brother David had dreams when we all lived in that little house..

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
THANKSGIVING DAY 1957

Ten years later on Thanksgiving Day 1957 found me as a College graduate on active duty with he U.S. Navy. I was the Engineering Officer aboard The USS Illusive; MSO 448. By that time I had played baseball in several Maine cities and several cities in the Caribbean. My senior year I was co-captain of the college baseball team. I also had traveled. For three winters my training ship had taken me around the Caribbean and the Gulf of Mexico. I had crossed the United States by train, and sailed across the Pacific Ocean. My ship was at the Pier in Yokosuka, Japan. We were docked behind the aircraft carrier USS Bonne Homme Richard. I was the ship’s duty officer. By 11:30 am that day I was starving but dinner would not be served until 2:00pm and there was bad news. There would be no evening meal!

Two o’clock arrived. The three other officers and I changed from our work uniforms to our dress blue uniforms for the holiday meal. It was after 2:00pm when the Captain, dressed in his work clothes, entered the wardroom. He saw our appearance, said: “I’m embarrassed,” then headed for his cabin to change to his dress blue uniform. I knew I was going to starve to death for sure!

The Officer’s Messman, a young Sailor from the Philippine Islands
brought our meals from the ship’s galley. We found them delicious. I knew I wanted to ask for seconds but in our wardroom I never knew anyone to ask for seconds on any meal. Officers were charged for all of their meals.
Needless to say, nearly eight hours later while making an inspection of the ship before going to bed I thought I was going to starve to death. It was my first Thanksgiving Day away from home. (We were on Far East Time.) I knew that half a world away people in Maine would soon be enjoying their Thanksgiving Day feast. Also Deer hunting season would be ending soon and sometimes during the Month of November Dad would think of me and be waiting for the day we could once again go hunting together. He would have to wait three years for that to happen. In bed I thanked The Lord for many things. It was unforgettable day.

Through the years I have remembered other Thanksgiving days that are filled with special memories. On Thanksgiving Day 1957 and every Thanksgiving Day since 1947
I remembered to thank God for all of his love and care. Six decades have passed but somehow the clock seems to always turn back to that hour near midnight on Thanksgiving Day 1947. I’m sitting beside my Dad at the table in the little house. nibbling on a chicken bone, as Dad ate his warmed up Thanksgiving Day dinner. He told about shooting the deer in the wilderness and the hard time he had getting it back to the highway. I knew I was the happiest kid on Earth. Daddy was safely home, our family was together, and at that time and on every day of my life I have known that God loves me.

By: Dale C. Lincoln
Zephyrhills, Florida
November 14, 2007