By Ellen Stevenson

I haven’t felt like I had much to contribute to our family remembrances, since I’m the youngest and hang on every word of stories told by my older siblings. But perhaps I do have a unique perspective being raised so late in our parent’s life. Rather than experiencing things first hand, I had the privilege of getting Mother’s “looking back” versions. I recall thinking at the time of her telling me these stories, how she had told them over and over again. But they were always relevant to some life experience I was either going through or would go through. When she passed away, I so longed to hear those stories again from her. And I kicked myself for not being more attentive as she told them, because they were a help through my own life’s experiences.

One thing I have been amazed about in my later years of life, is what a trooper Mother was, and how adventurous. She left the comforts of Eugene, Oregon, where they had indoor toilets, and went to Wyoming as a young wife with a little baby girl. There on the ranch in Wyoming, there were no such indoor luxuries. She had to carry water, wash by hand, and bake all their own bread.  There was no going down the sporting goods store, which I think she mentioned Grandfather had at one time. Dad took his little wife back in time and away from civilization, even for those days.

It was very interesting to me that Dad was apparently a very shy, robust boy and Mother was the one who had to make the first move as far as dating. (I wonder if Dad even dated anyone else). Dad told me one time of his first meeting Mom. His eyes twinkled as he recalled the story. He had been boarding with Uncle Rod at college, but then apparently made other living arrangements. One day he went over to visit his old roommate at Grandmother and Grandfather’s house. Grandmother Bernice let him in and they talked, since Rod was not there. Then Janet came back from a horseback ride. There in the kitchen, she hopped up on the counter and swung her legs as they all visited. (Dad’s eyes really twinkled as he envisioned this “cute little gal”). Later Mom called Dad and asked him to a sorority dance. I thought girls asking boys out for a date was unheard of back then, but if Mother hadn’t made the first move there, no move may have been made.

Mom had clerked for Grandfather in the Legislature. When they got to Wyoming, she got a check for that work, but they were several miles from town. (I remember the number of 17 miles, whether that was one way or round trip, I’m not certain. I thought she said it was that far to town). I think she perhaps had to sign this check in front of a Notary Public. Dad took care of baby Jean that day and Mom kicked her horse up into a trot so she could travel that distance to get her money and get back before dark.

Those are probably stories already recorded, but in more recent history, I was reminded of hearing about when I was a baby.  At some point before I was born, Dad got lip cancer. This turned out to be a life struggle lasting several years, because I remember him having to “eat” through a glass straw even when I was quite little. This was due to a “lip shave” to get rid of the cancer.  Mom filled me in on the rest of the story years later:

Dad had quite a struggle with that lip cancer; there were lip shaves and radiation treatments. The radiation made it worse. Dad thought he was going to die of cancer, so he instructed Mom of how she and Mac were to run the place when he was gone. This had to be quite disconcerting for Mom with little children.

It must have been at this time that Mom was taking Tim and James to Sunday school in Haines, and probably teaching it too. Dad, however, started doing some searching on his own. He got into “positive thinking,” and was leaning hard toward the Christian Science faith.  Medical things were not working on the cancer, so he was looking elsewhere.  He apparently became very serious about it, and Mom said she “had to quit taking Tim and James to Sunday school, and they liked it,” she said.  Dad must have really been adhering to the “mind over matter,” and “Magic of Believing” concept, to the point that Mom had to be sneaky about getting baby Ellen’s shots.  She carefully tried to conceal it from Dad until one day while giving me a bath; Dad came and noticed where I had been given a shot.  Mom couldn't hide it just then and was very relieved when his only comment was, “Well no wonder she has been so fussy!”

When Dad had his 80^th birthday, he told me, “I’ve reached my goal.”

“What’s that,” I asked?

“When I had cancer,” he said, “I remember sitting down the hill, on the porch of our house looking up at the mountains, and praying to God that I would live to be 80 years old.”

Dad was nearly 87 when he finally let go. (I say it that way, because Dad didn’t just die. He had to “let go” of this life, and world, and go on to the next. He looked forward to seeing Mother again, and took comfort in knowing his body would rest beside hers in the Rock Creek Cemetery. He had finally decided not to “stick around to see how this old world would turn out,” because his body was a “worn out piece of machinery that needed to be parked in a corner.” He amazed me though how he hung on and even rallied until satisfied to “let go.” The last thing he had to do was see his daughter Jean, and then it was OK, and he was ready to go on.)

To go on from there, I must say that Dad was a determined individual, not to be bossed around (even by death). Cigarettes were no doubt one of the contributing factors to his lip cancer, but that was something he decided was “bossing him around,” so he threw his last pack “as far as he could throw it,” and quit. In his own words “I got tired of being bossed around by the darn things. They were always telling me ‘have one, have another one.’ So I got mad and threw 'em as far as I could.” He said, “That’s how you have to quit tobacco. You just have to get mad at the old stuff.” (Dad gritted his teeth and looked pretty scary as he told this.)

Dad beat cancer, pneumonia, phlebitis, colitis, bursitis, diabetes, bladder infections, infections that spread through his whole body from a toe that was nearly amputated, a ruptured appendix, and having his "gizzard" (gall bladder) taken out when it was the size of a baseball in his old age.  He had broken ribs from a horse falling on him, (then stepping on his chin).  He was thrown over the fence by a cow, got a finger cut off by a fan belt, and lived much of his later life with an irregular heart beat.

As for the story of being thrown over the fence by a cow: I came home from school one day and Mom was mending Dad’s coat. It was a fairly new one but had a very long rip in it. When I inquired about the rip, Mom simply said, “Oh, a cow threw Tom over the fence today.”

Then there was the cow that drug Dad. That day I came home to another matter of fact story. (That was the way Mom told them to me. No real emotional excitement, except on my own part.) Mother said that she and Dad had gone out to pull a calf. Dad must have snuck up on the cow as he used to do.  Big as he was, he would hunker down and sneak up behind the cow taking advantage of her contractions as a distraction, until he was on his belly behind her putting the chains on the calf’s feet. This particular time, he wrapped the chain around his wrist to get more leverage, and the cow jumped up and took off.

     "What did you do?" I asked Mom.

“Oh I walked around and picked up sticks,” she calmly replied.

“How could you do that?” I said in disbelief.

“Well, the cow was in labor,” she explained, “she wasn’t going to go very far. When the cow stopped, Tom got up and pulled the calf. What else could I do.”

Dad had a way of wiggling his fingers, that made me know when he was getting impatient. I knew when that started happening, that it was time to get whatever was going on accomplished. This might involve cows or some kind of tractor driving, but it was definitely time to get your act together. Interestingly enough, Timmy and Brent say they now find themselves doing the same thing.

The struggles of life must have gotten to Dad sometimes. Mom said that once he was so mad he picked up a chair and as he set it down he broke it

A story Mom used to tell about Grandfather McCornack: She said he got his health back taking care of sheep. Apparently, he had a nervous breakdown due to life’s pressures. He was the executor of two family estates and perhaps the sporting goods store was not doing well. Apparently he would wake up at night in a cold sweat. Somehow going back to the simple basic things of life, like caring for sheep helped him get life back in order.