Read an Excerpt
WOW, What a Day!
A Memoir
By Edgar Allen Moore
Abbott Press
Copyright © 2012 Edgar Allen Moore
All right reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4582-0456-1
Chapter One
Childhood Years
The formative years between the Depression and World War II set the stage for my exciting life.
I was born Edgar Allen Moore. You wouldn't believe how many times I've heard people repeat my name, but with a Poe, and then laugh. Looking back, I can't imagine growing up without the influence of my large extended family.
I let out my first infamous cry in the early morning hours of August 16, 1938. Kittanning was a fairly small western Pennsylvanian town nestled along the east bank of the Allegheny River. Located forty miles north of Pittsburgh, its shaft and strip coal mines and manufacturing plants contributed immensely to the growing war effort. The main manufacturing plants included Eljer Pottery, maker of vitreous china products that many rears have sat upon—also known as the commode; Pittsburgh Plate Glass Company, producer of pane glass windows, many of which provided the front windows to popular automobiles; and Linde Air Liquid Oxygen Plant, which provided a relatively new product to manufacturing plants in the area.
Kittanning was derived from the Iroquois Indian name of "Kit-han-ne," which meant "Place by the Great River." We always bragged about feeding the Ohio and the Mississippi Rivers their needed water supply. It was a satisfying living environment with a wide range of temperatures that enabled four distinct seasons of the year, including the cool, balmy breezes of a summer evening and the seven-foot-thick ice jams of a frigid Arctic winter. Kittanning was the county seat of Armstrong County, known for its location in the Allegheny Foothills of the Appalachian Mountains.
Dad was born Paul Daniel Moore, the fifth of eleven children, on September 16, 1912, and he died at age ninety-seven in November 2009. Mom was born Wilda Leora Myers, the fourth of ten children, on November 15, 1914, and died an early death at the age of thirty-eight on November 26, 1951.
Being born the second of three boys was symbolic of the new pre- and post-World War II births, introducing substantially smaller numbers of siblings in a family and a transferring from rural to more urban environments. Recently, a friend informed me that Granddad Moore had lost the homestead farm because of a $60 unpaid tax lien on the property. I wonder how many times that devastating experience of losing a home happened to other families.
As the middle boy between Dan and Sonny, I always had an incentive to try harder in whatever task to follow Dan's example or set one for Sonny. I followed thirteen months behind Dan and was thirty-two months ahead of Sonny. Affectionately we have always been referred to as the Three Moore Boys—Danny, Eddie, and Sonny Paul. One of my earliest childhood inquiries was about why the spelling on my brothers' names ended with a "y" while mine ended with an "ie." However, as you get older, you learn to put such trivialities on the back burner.
It was interesting in my early psychology courses to learn of particular characteristics of the second or middle child in a young family as compared (both favorably and unfavorably) to those of his siblings. It was fun at the time of first exposure and again many times later to adhere to such characteristics like the Avis rental car company's motto—being number two means we always try harder. Such endeavors were often encouraging and exciting, but they could sometimes be frustrating or frightening! For example, one of my earliest childhood memories involved revering my big brother's example; I always had him to look up to, whatever the episode. We were inseparable in many ways, but that competitive edge reared its ugly head every now and then. Our high school teachers quickly knew us well; on my first day in her class Mlle. Foulis said, "Not another Moore." If Danny had done it, Eddie would surely follow suit!
There must have been some early exceptions to that premise of Danny being the leader. On one occasion, my parents had put us to bed early one evening while they were entertaining friends. Our upstairs heating system had open convection air registers to the second floor. My brother and I were inquisitive enough—or plain daring enough—to pull the register out of its floor aperture to allow a clear view down to the first floor. This was natural for our three- to four-year-old inquisitive nature, right? Dan, being the oldest, went first but apparently sensed the danger of such a perpendicular drop, and he let me have a peek. I stretched as far forward and downward as I could until I had an early childhood experience that imprinted indelibly on my mind as flight. I had fallen through the spring-held register cover between floors to the living room below and fortuitously landed in a well-positioned stuffed chair that was unoccupied. As soon as my parents had checked my well-being, I was whisked back upstairs to bed without even an offer of refreshments. Danny and I felt it was unfair.
When Sonny was born, we three boys grew individually and as the unified "Moore Boys." We quickly experienced many bonding episodes in our daily family life. One such shared benefit was having the best domestic cook for a loving mom. We enjoyed developing a sweet tooth for desserts in those days, and we revived the memories years later in phenomenal recall!
The close proximity to the majority of Mom's family meant frequent drop-in visits and Sunday gatherings at my grandparents' home. It was a clapboard house of meager furnishings, but it was filled with much love and togetherness. The humble dwelling knew frequent tight seating around the dining room and kitchen tables during inclement weather and full-blown outside picnics during the spring and summer months. All gathered around in loving support when Granddad Myers died and Grandma became a true matriarch.
We older cousins took on the responsibility as babysitters for the younger set as they grew in number and size. The home had a big yard with a grape arbor and trees with a couple swings to fly high on and limbs to scale, but we sometimes needed the help of adults to get down. The only negative of those "back-home experiences" was being caught in the outhouse and pummeled with an endless barrage of crab apples.
One of our prized possessions was a life-size replica of Uncle Sam holding the pole that flew the American flag out front. When a visitor came up the path from the dirt road to the front porch, a gold star greeted him in the front window. Grandma had three sons serving in the US Army Corps and several spouses of other children in the navy and marines. Overseas experiences were often a topic of conversation, but the focus of every Sunday afternoon would eventually center on playing the competitive game of croquet, which sometimes would be laid out over the entire yard in a double schematic. Inclement weather would move the crowd to the dining room and kitchen tables for whatever game of cards was requested. If the group got loud, Grandma would be sure to get after them!
The food was always symbolic of Grandma's kitchen; it looked good, smelled good, and tasted good. We kids got a big laugh when somebody would have it even talk back to them one way or the other as a belch or a fart which Uncle Bud was quite skillful. Every mother would bring a side dish and relishes; Granddad and Grandma would generally try to furnish the meat or the frequent meatloaf. Dad occasionally brought a couple of roasts when he owned his store. The food was plentiful, the conversations were endless, and the solidarity of the long afternoon soon dwindled into twilight. When Saturday faded into Sunday, the majority of us attended the Sunday service at the home church, Union First Presbyterian Church of the Presbytery of the Kiskiminetas.
A frequent ending to such a festive Sunday or holiday would find those kids still awake all squeezed together on the long front porch swing. On several occasions, I stayed over and took a different bus to school in the morning. That was an initial experience to be away from home by myself. I enjoyed the change from Mom's ham sandwich with mayo that we usually took in our lunch buckets to Grandma's bologna sandwich with mustard. Grandma's Chandler's potato bread didn't quite equal mom's homemade rolls or bread. My, how life's little things can enhance variety in the spice of living!
This is a good point to delve into the character and personality of those individuals who comprised the Charles Robert Myers family. I do this to demonstrate the effects of being of Scotch-Irish stock. Like so many other American families, my maternal extended family pulled together to make ends meet during those years. Take note of some of the Christian names those loving parents gave their offspring.
The oldest child, Carrie Ida Minerva (1908–1984), married Louis Fester who worked his gas wells among other jobs. I went with him one Saturday to help dredge the water from the wells; he called it "bailing" them. They had one older boy and a younger girl, Louis, Jr. and Patricia. I was closer to Pat, and I strained our relationship when attending her junior class play. I hollered from the back of the balcony for her to look out for the villain behind her. It wasn't in the script, but the house roared; she eventually forgave me. Pat was the first grandchild to complete her baccalaureate degree from Wooster College, a small Presbyterian school in Ohio.
Aunt Helen Mae (1909–1991) liked to play the matriarch. She lived in the center of town across from Uncle George's store and the post office. She married John R. Davis, and they raised one daughter, Barbara. Since she was Dan's age, we were always more like brothers and sister than cousins. Uncle Jack did strip coal mining. Uncle Jack operated a steam shovel or drag line as they were then called. Instead of shoveling up coal with a forward movement, he pulled his large bucket backward and hauled a much larger load to the waiting truck. When he'd come home, he was black and had to wash out in the washhouse. Aunt Helen was a diabetic but guarded her full candy dish that we loved to get into!
Uncle Allen Charles (1911–1948) was the uncle from whom I received my middle name. He married Jane Williams and they had one son, Tommy. They lived in town, right beside the high school football field, so we visited frequently on Friday nights after the game. Uncle Allen also was a strip coal miner who drove a bulldozer. Uncle Allen was killed when his bulldozer overturned on him and broke his neck when Tommy was an infant.
Uncle George Edgar (1912-1993) was the uncle from whom I was named. He returned from the army and went to work from the army and went to work for the US Postal Service; he also sold Hoover vacuums. He performed his postmaster duties and was proprietor of a small grocery store in the heart of Cowansville. He married Virginia Coulter from rural Brick Church whom he met when she was one of Mom's helpers with us boys. She was a great cook and baker, which their five children—Allen, Randy, Dennis, Bill, and Connie—loved.
Mom was born two years after Uncle George and two before Uncle Dett. Grandma had planned to have a neighborhood friend help deliver the baby, but that evening the house burned to the ground. Grandma had to hurry to her mother's home at the Brick Yard for Mom's delivery. For unknown reasons, Mom stayed with her grandmother well into her toddler years. This special affinity lasted through the years and caused a sort of rift between Mom and her siblings.
Uncle Robert Burdett (1916–1973), known as Dett, also returned from the army, but he relocated to St. Louis for employment. We had visited when he was a patient at Walter Reed Army Hospital. Uncle Dett was seldom seen by family when he lived in St. Louis. I visited him once when crossing the country to California and met his wife, Aunt Dude.
Aunt Vadabelle (1918–1978), known as Betty, married Joseph Giacoletti from Ford City. They had one son, John Charles, whom we always called J.C. Uncle Joe was a leading salesman in the furniture department of several large Montgomery Ward retail stores. He taught us to truly love Italian spaghetti and to grate blue cheese as the proper topping! They moved early in our lives to answer the call of Florida.
Uncle Marion Casper (1920–1983) was always dubbed Bud. He came back from the army and brought his wife home with him from the ranks. Aunt Eula Belle Lafever was a real live gal from Oklahoma and was a bit different from the girls from Cowansville. He became a steeplejack and worked on a number of smokestacks and cooling towers for electric power plants over the years. Their children were Joyce Ann, Bobby and Janice.
Aunt Norma Jean (1923–06) married Donald R. Salsgiver who returned from the navy and became a certified steamfitter. They had the most children (three boys and three girls). Ronnie, Chucky, Donna, Judy, David and Elaine were always visited on Christmas Eve since they had so many toys to assemble. She too was a good cook.
Aunt Lois Gladene married Russell B. McGregor, a returning marine who became a career marine following the war. They had two children, Gerald and Sally. After his marine assignments, they eventually moved to Orange County, California. I lived with them during the summers of my college years.
Gertrude Rose was the baby. She married John Eugene Harmon, a returning army soldier who had been a boxing contender as part of his ancillary duties. He was from East Brady and worked his civilian job as a steelworker in neighboring Butler. Their children, Linda and Jack, were always like our kid sister and brother. Aunt Rose became a postal worker after the children were grown and always had to explain how her nephew was older than she was.
Dad was always a well-known leader in the community: class officer in high school, a thirty-year member of the school board, and a longstanding member of different bodies of Masonry, including a 33rd Degree Mason in Scottish Rite. He always felt badly for not being eligible to serve in military service because of his vision. He was known for giving his all on the home front. He was a top-notch student in high school and a prime candidate for college matriculation, but he did not have the necessary financial backing. He was employed soon after high school as a butcher at the A&P grocery. Because of his popularity and drive to succeed in town, he eventually bought and operated Moore's Meat Market for years on North Grant Avenue.
Let me introduce you to the Moore siblings who influenced Dad's early childhood and helped nurture him into adulthood. They were a close family in childhood, but they did not have the camaraderie that Mom's family did. When they lived on the farm, they operated a gas pump down along the Cowansville Road. In those days, full service was totally expected. I believe it was Uncle Bob and Uncle Howard who got into a scuffle; one ended up throwing scissors at the other. I'll bet the patron drove off in great haste! The Moore's were not distant by any means, but they were not as cohesive or tight as the Myers were (disregarding the scissors incident).
The oldest of the Moore siblings was Uncle Ralph Woods (1905–1995). He married Vernie Bolts, and they had one son, Eugene. Uncle Ralph was a resident of Cowansville and a member of Union First Presbyterian Church. He was always known as our Scout leader, but none of us attained the rank of Eagle Scout except his son, Gene.
Aunt Mabel Etta (1906–1995) married Frank Cunningham; they both worked at Eljer Pottery. They did not have children, but she played a significant mother role in our lives. Both were active in their respective churches—hers Baptist and his Methodist.
Uncle Howard Leroy (1907–1988) married Aunt Harriet Walter, and they had one daughter. She was an LPN and worked at the hospital in town while he worked as a brakeman on the Pennsylvania Railroad. His hobbies were fishing and growing prize gladiolas. They lived a stone's throw from their Moore childhood farm home.
Twin sons Warren and Willis died in infancy (1911).
Uncle Robert Earl (1915–1984), always called Bob, married Aunt Carrie Slagle. They had six children: Merna, Bobby, John, Frances, Owen, and Regis. Merna was also one of our surrogate sisters. Uncle Bob worked most of his life at Pittsburgh Plate Glass in neighboring Ford City. Aunt Carrie was a fantastic cook and baker; she was known and appreciated far beyond her own kitchen.
Uncle George Archer (1916–) married Aunt Eleanor Gibson and they had three children: Ron, Maureen, and Doug. Uncle George worked forty years as a line-o-type operator at the Washington Post. He lived in New Jersey. He was an avid member of the Elks and Veterans of Foreign Wars lodges.
Uncle Richard Fred (1918–1985), known better to all as Dick, married Mona Booher. They had three children: Jim, Deana, and Bill. He was always active with his boys and daughter; late in life, he loved to play his home organ. Uncle Dick worked at Linde Air Liquid Oxygen plant where he subsequently acquired and died of asbestos poisoning.
(Continues...)
Excerpted from WOW, What a Day! by Edgar Allen Moore Copyright © 2012 by Edgar Allen Moore. Excerpted by permission of Abbott Press. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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