Today marks one year, that my mom finally was re-united with my dad, so I decided to go through some of the many little papers of anecdotes that she wrote, which gives me a glimpse into days long gone.
[My mother was born Jan. 24, 1914, and her early days were spent on Morris St. Her next-door neighbor was Mrs. Shirley, the last of the freed slaves who moved to Fond du Lac after the civil war. Mom's playmate when she was little, was Mrs. Shirley's grandson.]
Here is a little piece that she wrote about her early childhood:
Thoughts about my Mother
By Emma Berghandler Reinhardt
Seems more difficult to recall things about my mother
than my father, as he seemed to dominate my childhood more than she did.
Perhaps the word dominate isn’t appropriate. Let’s say he impressed me more by
the things he did when he was at home after work and on weekends and Holidays,
not that he engaged in activities that included me and my younger brothers. I
was more like a bystander, watching and learning and admiring things that he
did. A small part of my memories of my mother dwells on her hard work, our
kitchen floor in the house on Morris Street was of hardwood boards, laid by my
dad, but my mother it was who scrubbed the varnish off of those boards, till
they finally shone white. She was 34 years old when I was born, and 39 when
brother Herb was born, he being the last in the family. As brother Bill
(William Otto) was born in 1907, our mother bore 8 children in 12 years. The
reason I remember her scolding when we tracked up her clean floor is very clear
to me now.
However, my first memories of her, which I’ve related in another
paper, were of her standing in our parlor with Dr. Waldschmidt. I was standing
on the table being wrapped in bandages from head to toe, so it seemed, after I’d
been burned by scalding hot coffee. I must have been just 3 years old, as it
was wintertime and my birthday is in January. I remember our kitchen in the
Morris street house very well, and I’ve been told the story by others, so I can
picture how the accident happened, but the only clear picture I have is my
concerned mother, the doctor and me.
Our property went back to the Chicago and
Northwestern railroad, and there was a deep ditch running alongside the tracks
over which dad had put planks for a footbridge so we could get up onto the tracks.
The summertimes when I was 4 to 7 years old seem to be easy to remember, as
sisters and brothers were home from Franklin school, and there was always
something going on. There was a pond
across the tracks kitty-corner from our
place, and south of a huge stock pavilion, where cattle sales were held at
times. There was a long side track spur
running for about a half a mile, and when the circus came to town the wagons
and animals were unloaded there. This was always a great treat. People came
from all over just to watch the elephants pull the circus wagons off the
railroad cars, sometimes going long into the night. There were lanterns on
poles to light the way as the men worked. Sometimes the living-quarters cars
were shunted on that siding later on, and we would see the circus people come
and go. Of course there was the huge informal parade to the Fairgrounds. I
remember a lot of horses and costumed ladies, but we were cautioned and kept
from mixing with the roust-a-bout circus workers. I never remember going to the
circus in the tent; I’m sure we couldn’t afford that luxury. Brother Bill may
have crept under the tent to see the shows, but it was always a grand and exciting
time for us.
The pond was a drawing spot for me especially, with its pollywogs
and minnows, no big fish as I remember. Another pastime was watching the trains
go by while dangling our feet from the plank bridge over the ditch, then
walking out the tracks with a pail to pick up lumps of coal thrown off the coal
cars by the momentum of the train. My mother as well as some of our neighbors
picked coal, and thus saved on fuel bills. On special days Irma, Frieda and I
would cross the fields and journey over to Grandma’s house on Military Road.
Her place was just opposite Seymour Street. The entire plot that she and
Grandpa Keilberg bought was just over ten acres, which were divided into home
plots, and Uncle Paul built 3 homes, one on Military St., just opposite Seymour
St., which is where Grandma lived in the upstairs apartment, she went in by the
front door and up the stairs. Slaters lived downstairs. I especially remember
the beautiful buffet and the grand piano, which was a duplicate of the one we had. Needless to say, they took up a lot of room; later on, when I was a teenager, dad dismantled ours and made a library table
with the mahogany wood.
Mom meets dad and other notes
My parents’ home, ether I grew up, was on a 2 acre plot at
the edge of the city, on Military Road. The Milwaukee St. Paul Railroad track
ran south on the edge of the property. My father, a carpenter, was very
industrious, and always busy improving the place. I guess I took after him, raking
the lawn each spring, while he made a large mounded flower bed, with a tall
caster bean plant in the center. He planted sweet peas along the chicken yard
fence. My older brother Bill, and sisters left home at an early age, so I
became special, and tried to do my best to help out at home, helping with my
three younger brothers. As a teenager, in the summertime I often hiked a mile
out the tracks, climbed onto a haystack, and read my book!
A near neighbor, Margery Hill and I, became fast friends; I
joined her dancing class. Our teacher was Helen Fagan. Classes were held in the
Moose Building on Forest Ave. We learned tap and toe dancing. Our group of nine
girls performed at the theater twice a year with Arch Adrian’s band. We even
put on a show at a Beaver Dam Theater one year. We were always competing with
Cleo Smith’s dance studio. At that time, KFIZ was only on the air for 1 hour,
with their studio in the Haber Print Shop building. After the news, Ev.
Williams played the piano. One afternoon he had Marge Hill and I harmonize 2
songs on his show “Drifting and Dreaming” and “Dream Train”.
I planned to attend the Rural Normal School for teachers,
but the school was closed the year I graduated from High school. I went to work
at the Bonita Candy Factory on East First St. I became one of a group of young
people who went to dances and roller rinks, where I met Neil, the love of my
life. After he bought the South Side Dairy business from Walt Sievert, we
married in 1936. I continued to work; the milk-bottling business was all hard
work, long hours, little money. When we heard of an opportunity to go farming
in the town of Springvale, we took it. We had 2 foster babies at the time, and (because)
I was expecting our own first baby, they
were placed elsewhere. I still remember
those two babies.
We ran Allie and Eva Stearns farm for two years, but came
back to this area after Neil’s dad died suddenly. Neil’s mother moved to town, and Neil ran the
farm. His brother Jim stayed with us. The
subject of the Army came up, and Bob R. said something. Neil decided to move
out. After farming at two places (Varings and Kelroys) we settled on the
Mullins farm, which we bought 5 years later.
Here is another little piece written about the farm that I grew up on, and she starts it off in her usual way....with a poem
As you’ve been digging into long-ago days, here is something
I must have written a while back:
There’s Blessings left for me
Of days that used to be
I live in memory
Of days on Reinhardt Road
An old unpainted barn
That kept the cattle warm
A corn-crib that told the reason
Full or empty you’d know the season
Water pipes below the frost line
Kept water-cups filled for thirsty cows
High on a pole an automatic yard light
Kept wild critters away through the night
The granary was a two-story building
The upper floor was reached by a stairs
Whose wooden steps hugged the outer side
Beneath was the hen-house, kept in fresh straw
Tracy drove the pick-up truck full of grain [she did not…it
was Peggy]
From the combine to the granary to be emptied
By dad, into grain bins.
The granary was the place where gunny bags were filled
with grain to be ground for cattle feed. This job needed two people. The girls
helped willingly. [we did?] The boys were too young to help as yet. When dad
came in with a load of corn to be fed into the belt of the silo-filling machine,
the girls kept the boys on the porch, away from that area. In all of our
farming years the only accident was when Dick stuck his finger into some moving
part. He cried a lot, so we took him to Doc. Thiesen; it was bruised but not
broken. A good record for few mishaps, which were mostly whooping cough,
chicken pox, mumps or measles. Am I just remembering the good times???? We
worked together, getting all the farm chores done, sharing the driving kids to
St. Joes school in Fond du Lac. The brooder-house in the grove near the house
got a lot of attention in the spring. The baby chicks had to be closely watched
for diseases, the house kept warm and clean, and kept supplied with water and
chick mash. There was a huge old blossoming Black Locust tree in the grove near
the house, which perfumed the air.
Melrose school, near Pier cemetery, was 2 miles from the farm, so we
drove them the last extra mile to town to St. Joes Grade School.
