On the Way to Camp Logan

Now that the Life in Botswana series is over, I am going to focus more of my posts on my maternal grandfather, Carl O. Ericke, and his life during the first World War. He recorded a few stories for my brother in his later years, so some of these stories are in his words. He also kept a diary, which I will transcribe for you... soon. My grandfather also put together a very beautiful scrapbook which I will post in articles and in it's entirety. I hope my cousins, who have never seen these images, will appreciate them here as much as I do. They are quite amazing.

War was declared and I wanted to enlist. My boss suggested I list in the National Guard that way he could replace me before I went overseas. So naturally, I agreed to this and I joined the First Cavalry in Illinois, National Guard. It didn’t work out the way I planned but it was interesting so I thought I would tell you a little about that.

Outstanding thing I have in my memory is the fact that I joined the cavalry because I liked horses. We went out for drill practice and it was very interesting. I remember we used to have parades and we did our stuff on Michigan Ave. My mother said she’d be in a certain hotel and would look for me. I was on horseback with my saber, parading along Michigan Ave. The captain said to present arms and we all drew our swords and held them at attention. It must’ve looked pretty good with all the swords flashing in the sun.

The thing I’ll never forget is when I got to the hotel where my mother was, watching for me. I had a sudden instinct to take a chance on getting into trouble, so I pulled in the reins on the horse and gave him my heels, which made him stand up on his rear legs. I then presented the sword by putting the heel of the sword on my chin, looking toward the hotel where my mother would be. That was something I’ll never forget and she didn’t either. I didn’t get put in jail or anything for doing that. Just a little incident I thought I would tell you.

A short time after this they sent us to Houston, Texas, for training our outfit because they didn’t need cavalry. It was the 122nd field artillery and they sent us here to learn about the French 75 guns. It was quite a thing and exciting. They put us on trains and, Colonel Foreman, who was quite a politician in Chicago, fixed it so his boys got to sleep in cars with upper and lower berths; so we went first class all the way down to Houston. 

When we got there I remember looking out the window and seeing a fellow on guard walking up and down and smacking his hand on his cheek every once in awhile. I figured there were a lot of bugs around that place and it wasn’t a very welcome sight. But we got off finally and rode out to this place that we were to train. It was quite a little difference from the cavalry!

We did a lot of walking and we had a few experiences down there. From then on, I walked instead of riding on a horse. And I walked and walked all the way over Texas, and later on in France.

They made us the first occupants of the camp down in Houston, for training. As a corporal I was made into a gunner. And that’s no small job when you think of all the training we went through. As a matter of fact, we had to learn how to dismantle the breech of the gun and put it back together again in the dark. That meant a lot of training and practice but we managed to cope with that. Finally we got settled down in camp and time began to drag a little bit. 

However it didn’t take long before there was some excitement in Houston! Rumors circulated that when soldiers were turning in their ammunition they would keep some it and then bury it under their tents. So sure enough, it wasn’t surprising when there was a fair in town and one of the soldiers shot a policeman. They immediately put in a martial law, and my unit was called in to take over for the rest of the camp.

We’d hardly been there for very long and we had to stop what might have been a mighty serious thing. Anyway, they called us together and issued each fellow one bullet for each .45 gun. And with one bullet we had to go into town and stop this trouble. We were all excited, and might say, somewhat afraid, as we drove in on trucks. We were the only outfit down there with our one battery. We stopped along the road and we all got out and they had us go through a field of grain, searching for all these soldiers who stampeded away from the fair.

There's a very interesting article, on the Texas State Historical Association website, if you're interested in reading the full history of the Houston Riot of 1917.

House Histories: Warwick Road, Detroit

A few weeks ago, I received an email from a man named Hubert, whose family has lived in my grandparent's house in Detroit since 1985. He found me by reading my earlier post, A Rosedale Park Christmas, where I talked a little bit about North Rosedale Park and this house, which my grandfather sold after my grandmother died.

I've collected many photos of homes that my extended family has lived in over the last century, most of which have are not identified. I think many have been torn down, especially those that were located in the now-downtown area of Pittsburgh. I will be sharing these photos and stories randomly over the next few months.

I promised Hubert I would post more about his childhood home – and my mother's! – on Warwick. I found this real estate listing from the late 1960's when my grandfather sold the house. Don't you love the punch-out system and the listing number placed on the front lawn? (click to enlarge photos)

Photo of the Day: Alfrida Stangeland

May is a busy birthday month for my family. Besides my two brothers, my maternal grandfather was born in May, as were both his parents, Charles Ericke and Emma Winterberg. And tomorrow, it is my paternal grandmother's birthday. Alfrida Stangeland was born on May 30, 1908 in Hetland, Norway. Her parents were Peder Stangeland and Kristine Hatleskog.

How It All Began...

The Nineteenth Hole

I have never known my mother to play golf. She understood golf, and would sometimes watch it on tv if it was pouring rain outside...and couldn't be in the garden...and my father had already turned it on. But I never knew she actually played the game. But by the way Nancy's clutching the cart, she probably enjoyed golf as much as she did sailing.

Isn't it weird how children only know their parents when they are older and often find it hard to picture them doing anything other than what they've personally witnessed them doing in their later years? Will I next find a photo of my younger mother skydiving, chasing tornadoes, or taming wild animals?

It also appears she's pregnant in this photo, and based on the timing, it's probably me in that little belly of hers, in the summer of 1958.

Life in Botswana: Time to Leave

The final installment of my parent's memoirs: Life in Botswana

As we prepare to leave Botswana we thought it fitting to sum up our experiences. Ed's work has continued well, and he is pleased that the advice and assistance he has provided has contributed to the development of TIPA's staff, which now is clearly stronger and more capable than before.

Other work high points have been:

• The creation and production by Bob Pearlman of Darien, a consultant, with Ed’s assistance, of a promotional brochure which won an award from the Advertising Council of New York.  This effort took almost two years from writing terms of reference for the consultancy to clearing customs at the Gaborone Airport for the 20,000 copies (of 70,000) which were air freighted from Mt. Vernon, NY. 
• Participation on the committee which drafted a new Tourism Policy Act and an Industrial Policy Act.
• Contributing to Botswana's seventh National Development Plan, which has just begun.
• Coordinating the approval, selection and funding process for a new publicity and investment promotion program for Botswana in the U.S.  

Both our social life and our activities have been limited by our trips and our preparations for them. Having all three children here this year was a tremendous treat and made up a bit for not getting home this year. We really feel we got to know our grandchildren even in such a short time because we were together constantly. The drawback is that we now know what we've been missing!

The amount of time and effort required of the position of commodore of the yacht club surprised Ed. Meetings, problems and activities took much time. A major happening was that because of no rain the water level of the dam dropped so low that our ferryboat was stuck in the mud. For a period of six weeks no one could get to our island. Then, as the water level kept dropping, the old road slowly reappeared and intrepid sailors first waded, then managed to get to their boats with 4-wheel vehicles (with many getting stuck). Eventually the road was high and dry, and we were able to drive to the club at all times, evenings too. This carried on for six months, then the floods came and in one 36-hour period the water rose two meters! Some boats floated away and had to be rescued. We were an island once again.

Ed organized the Guy Fawkes party and the Rugby Club/Yacht Club Raft Race. Both were well attended and lots of fun. Father Santa showed up by boat at our Christmas party at the clubhouse on the island and delivered gifts to all the kids. Santa gave Ed a small compass and a chart to help us find our way home the next time our car breaks down.

Nancy's time is still spent much the same way as before: shopping, paying bills, banking (mostly un-banking), reading, gardening and painting. More goods are now imported into Botswana so our food situation has improved. The down side is that we have to spend more time searching and standing in line to get them. The population of Gaborone is mushrooming, lines are longer everywhere. Automobile traffic has to be seen to be believed; most roads are one lane, even in the center of town, and though improvements are being made they can't keep up with the growth. Gaborone looks like one huge construction site.

Gardening continues to take much of Nancy's time and for most of the past year the yard has looked full of bloom. Unable to discard any living thing, Nancy planted outside our fence and the blossoms in spring and early summer this year brought many compliments from friends and passersby. We were surprised at the number of Batswana who stopped to admire.

In April of 1991 we lost our 24-hour guard service for a less expensive electronic alarm system. We appreciate the increased privacy (we never completely adjusted to having someone circle the house every half hour) but Nancy lost her gardening assistant. Ernest, the day guard, was paid extra to keep the garden watered and to rake and burn (yes!) the brush and clippings. He never assisted in the garden itself; in fact, Nancy often was mourning over his inadvertent destruction of a loved plant since Ernest was not what you would call light on his feet. The loss of Ernest plus our frequent travels have wreaked havoc on the yard.

Watering is essential here, almost every day, because of the sandy soil, heat, and lack of rain. To top it all the drought appears to have returned. A full year has passed with virtually no rain. Crops and animals have died (prices are going higher daily) and no one can predict an end to it. From mid-December until the first of March the temperature on our shady porch was over 95º and many days were hotter than that. We are still allowed to water because water evaporates so fast from the dam that it is better used to keep vegetation alive. Sadly, many of our plants died while we were away but the trees and bushes that Nancy planted will remain when we leave so all is not lost. 

Nancy is still taking painting lessons at least once a week and has recently completed a three day painting workshop. In addition she took a six session course in drawing. She still finds painting fun but challenging. The companionship of her fellow students and teacher plays a large part in the enjoyment and forms a solid support group. These new friends are very dissimilar, varying widely in nationality, age and background as well as talent and previous painting experience. The group has produced two exhibitions in the past year, elegant afternoon affairs complete with wine, fruit, cheese and a chamber music group and held at one of the American Embassy residences. Nancy sold several paintings at each of these which has helped defray a small portion of her investment.

The Gulf War ironically brought an improvement in our lives - CNN. We now are able to see the news twice each day for varying amounts of time. We find the views of the U.S., and the news, give us a feeling of keeping in touch with home. We can't imagine what the Batswana and, we suppose, peoples of many other foreign countries, find of interest in 90% of what is shown but we are grateful for it. Another welcome source of information is the International Herald Tribune which Ed brings home from the office each day.

Much of our past two years has been spent saying goodbye to the people we had gotten to know well. Most contracts are for two years and when you extend you don't realize how different your lives will all be when old friends leave and you must begin making new friends. The expatriate group has shrunk, partly because Botswana is in good financial shape (at least for Africa) and partly because aid from international donors is now being directed to new areas such as eastern Europe and the former USSR. We have hosted and attended a great many farewell parties.

Among the entertainment highlights in Gaborone this year were two terrific concerts, Paul Simon and Hugh Masekela. Big Doings in a small town like Gaborone! Simon's Born at the Right Time concert was the next-to-last one of his two year tour. It was held in a small exhibition hall with the same light and sound systems he used in New York. We were seated dead center in the fourth row, about 20 feet from him, and by the end of the 3+ hours we felt we were personal friends. Hugh Masekela held his concert outdoors behind our new Sheraton Hotel. The crowd was small because of a lack of publicity but we enjoyed seeing him - he is very famous here, having lived in Botswana for eight years as an exile from South Africa.

We have been fortunate to have met several times in the past years Derek and Beverly Joubert, who have made several films for National Geographic: The Stolen River, The Forgotten River, and their latest, Eternal Enemies. If you haven't seen them please watch them the next chance you get. They are beautiful and very informative, and they are filmed entirely in Botswana.

We feel very lucky to have had such wonderful experiences but look forward eagerly to coming home. We expect to be in Connecticut and Boston the last week in July.

My parents landed at Logan Airport the day my nephew, Whitney, was born, on July 17, 1992. I was lucky to be the one to tell them they had a new grandchild! It was a memorable day for all of us.

It was the end of a once-in-a-lifetime adventure, and the beginning of a life.

Photo of the Day: Swimsuit Season, 1961

The original photo is a little blurry, but I like it anyway. 

Farewell Martha's Vineyard

This weekend I said goodbye to the Vineyard home and garden. The house holds a lot of memories, but it's the garden that holds my heart. Scattered with rocks and shells my mother has collected over the years, and plants and shrubs we bought together on our many trips to the island nurseries, it's hard to survey the yard without thinking of of my mother.

Each time I would visit, my mother would be anxious to take me outside to walk the grounds and tell me what she just planted or moved to the right spot. Since it's still early spring on the Vineyard, the photos don't show the full beauty of the perennials – June is the best month for this garden!

A few years ago my mother planted a camellia plant in the backyard next to the porch/patio. Because it's sheltered from the wind, there would often be blooms nine months of the year. Though deer have stripped most of the flowers on the bottom half, this 8 ft. plant was in full bloom as early as March. I woke Sunday to find a large buck grazing outside the porch, just finishing his camellia breakfast.

I also wanted to plant something at the gravestone, but seeing as we're in a drought, and today was 90º, I was afraid to plant something without being there to water it. There's something sad about plantings that die in a cemetery. Already the soil is struggling with the bulbs I planted last year – you can see some daffodils just about to bloom.

But then, I had another idea...