A Tribute To CHD

     CHD are the initials for my Dad's name, Carl Henry Diederich. He was born on January 17, 1896 which would have been 115 years ago. My Dad died in 1982 at the age of almost 87.


     CHD, as he liked to sign his name, lived all his life in Garrett, Indiana--except for his first nine years. He was born in Mellonhagen, Germany in the Province of Mecklenburg. This Province is the farthest north and the farthest east of modern day Germany, right next to Poland. Its northern border is the Baltic Sea. When CHD was 9 years old in 1905 he came with his parents, three brothers and two sisters to America. Older relatives had already come and were leading financially rewarding lives working for the B&O Railroad in Indiana.


     Here is the earliest picture I have of my Dad. It is of his school in Mellonhagen dated 1902. He is in the light suit in middle of the the first row 3rd from the right and left. (I note the boy with the dog and wondered about why old world school masters are purported to be stern.)

     This next picture is of CHD on his confirmation day; he is a young teenager. Shortly after that, his father showed up at school and made him quit (age 14) to go to work in the railroad shops. This is where they repaired the railroad engines and passenger cars among other things. He worked there until in his early 20's when he took the exams to become one of the train crews. In 1917 he met my mother, Rosa. They married and started a family, two sons (one died shortly after birth) and three daughters; I am the youngest. Here's a picture of Rosa and Carl shortly before they were married in 1917.

     I loved my Dad. I thought he was as handsome as any movie star. Especially when he was in his conductor uniform or dressed up in his overcoat, Fedora on his head, and smoking a fat cigar. Favorite outings were with him and my mother going to the movies, then stopping at the ice cream shop afterwards. Or riding with them on the Tilt-A-Whirl at the DeKalb County Fair. He won a big stuffed Lassie collie for me playing Bingo at the fair. He sang "Oh Tannenbaum" every Christmas and dressed up as Santa. I remember some of the stories he told of his memories of Germany and have told them publicly. Here's my favorite picture of the two of us together; I'm somewhere between 1 and 2 and he's in his Conductor's uniform.

      
     I'm happy to say that life circumstances allowed me to be geographically close to my Dad the last two years of his life. He volunteered to move to a Seniors home and to our great surprise truly enjoyed it. He sang in their choir, befriended a young mentally challenged resident, was a substitute grandfather to a visiting lad from the local school,  produced a resident's newsletter, and flirted with the female staff. Here's a photo of him in his 80's.

     My one regret about my Dad is that I haven't been able to say "Happy Birthday" more than 87 times. Happy Birthday, Dad, wherever you are.

Nostalgic Christmas Presents

     What does the recording of The Nutcracker Suite, a toy machine gun, and oversized red mittens have in common? They are all gifts I remember from my childhood that I received at Christmas time.

      I think The Nutcracker Suite was my favorite. My brother-in-law, Bud, worked on the B&O Railroad in Garrett, Indiana where I grew up. He loved to go shopping on Maxwell Street in Chicago when he had to lay over there on his trips as a fireman on the steam engine. Laying over meant he shoveled coal into the engine's furnace all the way from Garrett to Chicago; then the rules prevented him from turning right around and riding an engine back to Garrett. He would go to a boarding house, bathe, eat, and rest and then wait until his assigned engine made the trip back to Garrett. Maxwell Street was an infamous city street where great discounts and sales could be found, both inside the stores and outside on the streets. Bud loved to get a bargain.

     One year when I was about 8 he brought home an early Christmas present for me. It was a small  electric turntable in a brightly colored case that had a small record with it--The Nutcracker Suite. I had never heard music like that before, and immediately fell in love with Tchaikovsky. I'm sure I wore that record to grooves and scratches. I have no idea what happened to it or the turntable, but I still have the memory of Bud and his present whenever I hear "The Dance Of The Sugar Plum Fairies," and all the other compositions.

     I grew up during the Second World War. I was 7 when it started and 11 when it ended. These were my "tomboy" years. The street on which I lived, Second Street, was full of kids my age, eleven if I count everyone from a little older than I and a little younger. Some people called us "The East End Kids." We loved to play War although all of us played American soldiers, and the Nazis and Japs we killed were all imaginary. One neighbor had a beautiful bing cherry tree with one low branch that made an ideal airplane, and we were excellent marksmen as we bounced on it up and down. Amazingly, it lasted a couple summers before it finally broke.

     Another battleground we created was in the large empty lot next to my house. My brother, who was eight years older than I, had found a discarded telephone pole, erected it in the field, and put a basketball hoop on it. However, when he joined the Navy at age 18 and left home, my Dad took the pole down. This left a large hole where the pole had been which became a perfect foxhole. We knew about these military things because many of the movies we saw had battles and war themes.

     In keeping with my Army spirit, even though I felt loyal to the Navy because of my brother, I wanted a toy machine gun that made a eh-eh-eh-eh-eh-eh-eh clicking noise that would make our games more realistic. I don't think I still believed in Santa anymore, but I could still make out Santa wish lists, usually based on the Sears, Roebuck Christmas catalog. I put a toy automatic machine gun on my list, and amazingly, I got one! Fortunately, it didn't shoot bb's or I might have put my eye out!

     The third memorable Christmas present was more of a lesson than the machine gun had been. I was a young teenager and both my parents and I were shopping in The Boston Store in my little hometown. It was unusual for the three of us to be shopping together because my Dad worked for the B& O also, and his work schedule was erratic since he went to Chicago also when certain trains went. The Boston Store had a little bit of everything in the way of clothing for babies, children, juniors, women, and men. We were easing around the aisles picking up and unfolding things, feeling material, appraising and generally shopping. Then I saw the most amusing item. Bright red fuzzy, and oversized, mittens. They must have been a good 12 inches long, sticking out way past the end of my fingers when I tried them on. We all laughed when I waved them in the air. "Do you like those?" my Dad asked. "Yeah!"

     But honestly I did not like them well enough to be my major Christmas present that year! But they were, and I wore them and at first had fun when my friends saw them.  But the fun and the novelty soon wore off, and then I was stuck with bright red fuzzy oversized mittens for the rest of the winter. I learned to be careful what I enthused about on future shopping trips.

     These are lovely memories that let me know now that I was loved. Happy Christmas presents to you all!   Mimi