Mobile Otto

Hello,
It appears blogger is allowing my presence, once again. Sorry about the past few days.
Today I escaped a tag by Melissa and others. I had plans on writing on the subject of the “Monsters” we create, but that will have to wait.

Teri posted an article that truly captured my attention and brought forth many suppressed feelings. “Marvel” has touched her life to such a degree; I could feel it through her words. It is for this reason; my post for today shall be dedicated to Otto, my grandfather.

Born to a fully Irish home, Otto lived a true frontiersman’s life. Otto’s first day on this fantastic planet was witnessed (as he would have said) “in the year of our Lord, 19 hun-derd”. Before the age of ten, Otto was a wagon train scout, for the family’s westward migration. You see, they did not have open roads at this time and the automobile was not the transportation of choice, when the relocation journey called. He would ride ahead of the train in search of water, rough terrain, and places to bed down for the night. Always a true horseman, Otto could train the wildest of animals with a simple touch of his gentle spirit. He had this way of becoming one with any of “God’s” creatures.

He would sit me on his lap and describe his childhood. Not the usual “walk two miles, up hill, in the snow, to school, and thankful” tales would he illustrate. He told me of those “good ole fashioned gun fights”. As a child of an old western town, he was the boy, depicted in the movies whose mother was “yellin” for him to return to the house. He would find someplace safe, to watch. I would laugh as he described these battles. They never ended up in shooting each other. “Nobody wanted to be the first to draw”, as the two men stood in the street yelling at each other. The next thing you would know, “they’d be in a fist fight, ‘cause nobody wanted to draw their gun”. He did describe a couple of “accidental” shootings that ended up with the local Sheriff escorting the individual down the middle of the street. You see, back then, he said, “We were good God fear in folk”.

Otto witnessed the introduction of farm equipment and said, “I would’nt trade my team for any of those new fangled things”. He would be awake, fed, and in the fields before the dew could evaporate from the morning sun. Otto knew the feeling of a “hard days work”, and I miss his stories.

In the years of his life experiencing forties, Otto was drafted to “this here, World War Two”! However, before his days of leaving the farm and heading off to Basic Training, he told me, “That dog-gone Hitler heard this Irishman was-a-comin”, he continued, “An done killed himself”! As I laughed, I asked him, “So what did you do next”? He said, “The next morning I planted corn. Gotta feed the family!”

In the 1930’s, Otto and his wife separated, as her life had taken her into a drastically different direction than their “little house on the prairie”. Otto found himself the opportunity to remarry, and he took it. This is where my family tree begins. Viola, a young farm girl, daughter to the “C” clan, hailed from Scotland. Her blood line brought the Irish-Scottish-German genes to three daughters. A very loving family, who lived on the farmlands of Nebraska; they maintained “relations” with “perdy much the whole town”.

The 1950’s brought the “F” clan to California. Two of the three farm girls, transported from the fields to the beach, sun, surf, and- boys. Now this was a time for Otto! Everything was going in so many directions, but he held tight to his “moral fortitude”. The family did well and prospered in both, love and money. The seemed to grow closer, and Otto and Viola were happy.

Otto met this gentleman, who was to have a Television show. He and this gentleman held many common denominators through their life’s experiences. Thus with a Russian/German accent, Lawrence Welk offered Otto a job. Otto’s abilities to work with his hands and animals, he worked at Mr. Welk’s resort.

Well, I am beginning to think this is long enough, so,
Have a great weekend, all

Reach