Father’s Day with my Aunt Betty

I posted the following blog a year ago, when I spent Father’s Day in Kansas City with my dad’s last surviving sibling, his little sister, Aunt Betty. Since that time, she has passed away. I thought in honor and memory of her I would re-post it on this Father’s Day. Here goes, from last year:

Aunt Betty has just moved to a different nursing home, and is now surrounded in the nearby community by some of her long-time friends from her teaching career. She’s in a good place, and seems very happy.

At a delicious Father’s Day lunch at her home, we shared some memories of her father, my grandfather Boswell, Clarence Eugene (strong, old-school name. Met any babies named that lately? His wife, my grandmother Boswell, was Bessie Mae. Ditto on the beautiful old-school name from the late 19th century.)

Two stories stand out to Betty:

In the evenings during World War 2, she and her parents would sit on the front porch of their Pampa, Texas home. They would watch young boys bicycle past. They were from the Western Union office, delivering telegrams to families around town with news on their loved ones from the War. That news was usually, “wounded”, “missing in action”, or “killed in action.” Aunt Betty said that when she and her parents spied the bike riders coming down the street they would whisper under their breath, “Keep going, keep going…don’t stop here!” And they never did. My dad, Fred Sr., and his two brothers in the War, Virgil and James, all came home. They knew that not all families around town shared their relief. Tough times.

After the War, Betty’s father, who was commonly called “Big Casey” told her one day to get in the car and drive with him to Amarillo. He had heard that President Eisenhower would be arriving there by train. (My grandfather didn’t just “like Ike”, as the saying went. Betty said he “loved Ike.”) Sure enough, the train stopped, and President Eisenhower emerged on the platform. (Since last year, I found her written memoir on this, and Betty described how he and Mamie were in the final car, the presidential car. When my grandfather approached, the lone secret service agent sprang into action, but Ike motioned to him that it was alright, and he let him approach.) Big Casey went up to him, and said, “Mr. President, I wanted to thank you for bringing my sons home from the War.”

Imagine a simpler time in America, when the common citizen could go up to the President of the United States in public and engage in conversation and deliver a simple, personal message.

Special memories of her father shared with me on Father’s Day. In her twilight years and fading memory, it’s wonderful that these two continue to stand out, front and center.

And speaking of old-school names: to complement the name Virgil they also had a Homer among the siblings! I would have loved to have eaves-dropped on that naming process!