Kith & Kin

Mom (Jan Skaggs) looking young, slim, and attractive. Late 1950s? As I go through the photos in this album and reproduce them here, I am so thankful she kept the album and labeled many of the photos with names and dates! Keith, Dad, and me on Dad’s Schwinn, June 1965. I remember riding the bike this way. It was always a treat to go riding with Dad—and a little scary, as I balanced on that bar. And uncomfortable too! We would ride to downtown Fredericksburg, crossing railroad tracks on the way — bumpity bumpity bump, hold on tight! I assume this is the Cleveland Airport, June 1965. No one was hijacking or blowing up planes yet, so security was quite lax. It was fun (and loud!) to watch them take off and land. L to R: Steve, Keith, Dad. My first cousin Jill Skaggs, daughter of Dad’s brother Leo and his wife, Bonnie. What a cutie! Two more first cousins, Eddie and Kathy, son and daughter of Dad’s brother Eddie and his wife, Shirley. I wish I could have known my Skaggs cousins better growi...

NOTE: This was published months ago . . . I thought. But I found it listed in my drafts, so here it is again. A while back my brother Eric scanned in over twenty pages from one of my mom ’ s scrapbooks. I ’ ll post some of them here and more in the future, along with my comments and memories. Brothers, cousins, and others, feel free to comment! Dad and me, 1961. Time to wake up! What a cute little booger I was! 1961. Great-Grandma Mabel Slutz holding me, 1961. Wendell Sidle and his sons, Doug and Mike (behind the swing). And that’s me and Dad on the right. July 1962. Mom and Wendell’s wife, Caroline, became friends when they worked in the office together at Rubbermaid. This was taken on the front porch of our house at the north end of Fredericksburg. I remember that swing. And I remember being friends with Doug growing up—he and I were lab partners in high school Biology. Doug died in 1989 at age 27. I think he died of a heart attack, but I do not remember for sure. Too young—very sad...

It seems that as I was growing up Christmas and Thanksgiving dinners were always held either at Grandma Swartz’s or Great-Aunt Mildred’s. That makes sense, since for years they were the matriarchs of our extended family—they were sisters and the last members of that older generation. I loved them both dearly. I was closer to my grandmother, of course, not only because she was Grandma but also because she lived in our town. Great-Aunt Mildred was Grandma’s elder sister, and she lived about forty-five minutes away in Ashland. (I shall refer to her hereafter as “Aunt Mildred,” which is what we called her—and by the way, in our family it’s pronounced “ant”; none of that hoity-toity “ahnt” stuff for us!) I never knew her husband, Uncle Herschel. He passed away in 1963, two years after I was born. Uncle Herschel and Aunt Mildred had one son, Andy. “Andy” was his given name, and for a long time I thought he had no middle name. His grave marker, dated 1940–1994, has only the name “Andy” on...