Larry E Vaughn

Meeting Lea January 7, 2008

When I was a junior in Hannibal High School, I had made friends with a neighbor, George Miller, who lived three houses down from us on Grace Street. George was a senior that year, and he had been dating my younger sister, Jean. Jean Ann wanted to go to George’s graduation, and then go out to dinner afterwards, but she didn’t want to go alone. She asked me if I would get a date and go with her.

I had just broken up with the girl I had been going steady with for the past several months, and hadn’t paid attention to who might be available. I called several girls I knew and got some names from boy friends, but was unsuccessful in finding anyone who was available to go out on that night, just a week away.

Reporting this to Jean, she suggested that I call some of her friends. That idea didn’t appeal much to me. After all, we were talking about freshmen girls, two years younger than me! I didn’t know any freshmen, other than boys on the junior varsity football team. I thought of them as being quite a bit younger, and consequently had no friends in that age group.

But, after making more phone calls over the next couple of nights, and still not having any luck at finding a date, I decided to pursue finding a date with a freshman. After all, it was just for the one night, and George and Jean were really wanting me to double date with them. So, I went to Jean and asked her who she had in mind for me to call. She mentioned a couple of girls, one who lived just a block from us on Grace Street.

I knew the girl, from seeing her at the school bus stop, and passing by our house on the way to the neighborhood grocery store. Although she was cute, she was two years younger than me, so I had not paid much attention to her. But, I called to see if she would be interested in going out that night to attend the graduation and have dinner afterwards. Unfortunately, her family had conflicting plans, and she was unable to accept.

I asked Jean who else she thought I should call. She got her billfold out of her purse and started showing me classmate photos she carried of her friends. We sorted through the photos, eliminating those girls who were in relationships, and then I sorted them again, making a stack of girls, with my first choice on top. After calling each of these girls, and having no luck at getting a date, Jean and I returned to her wallet to see what pictures she had left that we didn’t pull out the first time through.

I looked at the photos again, and asked Jean what she knew about a couple of the girls, and decided against them. Then one photo caught my eye. It was a think little girl, in a simple blouse, who had a lovely smile. I asked who it was. Jean said that her name was Leona Tate, and though she didn’t know her very well, she seemed to be very nice. She went on to say that Leona was Jim Tate’s sister. I was surprised! I had known Jim a long time, and although we weren’t close friends in high school, I was surprised that he had a younger sister. The more I thought about it, the more I remembered all those kids in diapers I had seem at Jim’s house when we were in the fifth grade.

I finally decided to call Jim, and visit with him about asking his sister out on a date. When I called, a woman answered the phone. I learned later that it was Pauline, mother of Jim and grandmom, who answered the phone. Pauline was a very special woman, whom I was destined to dearly love during the forty years I knew her.

I visited with Jim for a few minutes to catch up on old times and what he was doing to occupy his time. When we got caught up, I told him that I was trying to find a date for the senior graduation, and wondered what he thought about me asking Leona to go. He said, “SIS? Oh, she’d probably think that was alright. You wanna talk to her?”

So, having renewed an old friendship, and feeling that Jim was comfortable with me dating his “Sis,” I was ready to ask her out. I don’t remember much detail about our specific conversation, but I recall that it was fairly brief. I told her that our plans were to double date with my sister, attend the graduation and go to dinner afterwards. We agreed upon a time for me to pick her up, but I don’t recall any other chatting. I was happy when she accepted, because my search for a date was ended, but I really didn’t expect much to come from the date, since she was so young. She was just someone to go out with for the evening, and that was all I was expecting.

We had two cars in the family at that time. Father had a white over red 1960 Chevrolet Impala Sports Coupe, while mother had a 1959 Ford Fairlane 4-door sedan in a turquoise color. It was the car I usually got to drive. It was a six cylinder with standard shift, with the shift lever on the column. I washed and polished the car the afternoon of the graduation, and drove George to the high school early, so he wouldn’t also have a car at the school, and we could leave directly from there ad hea to the restaurant.

Jean and I then headed to the Tate’s house at 905 Ely Street to pick up Leona. When we arrived, knocked oat the front door and were invited into the living room, there seemed to be an awful lot of people in the room . . . I didn’t realize how big the Tate family was . . . five boys, two girls, and mom and dad. And, they were all in the living room of that little four-room house, wanting to get a glimpse of the guy that was taking “Sis” out on a date!

I was a little overwhelmed, of course, but found that chatting with Jim eased things somewhat. After a few minutes the younger brothers and sister started leaving the room to do something, or anything, more interesting. Then I realized that Leona wasn’t in the room yet, and I began to wonder what she would be like. I felt some apprehension at that point, because I had never dated a girl as young as my sister, and mused that an evening of little or no consequence lay ahead.

Leona’s father, Roy Davis Tate, was a big brawny, deeply tanned man of over six feet in height. He stood quietly in one doorway of the room, listening intently to Jim and I visit. Leona’s mother, May Pauline Tate, was a short, dark haired woman with a face that glowed with warmth and kindness. She was coming and going from the room busy with running her household.

Then, Leona came into the room. She was dressed in a white islet party dress with full skirt that came to about mid-calf. It had narrow black ribbon at the hem, neck, and short sleeve, finished off with a black belt. She was very slender for a fifteen year-old girl, and couldn’t have weighed a hundred pounds. I later discovered that I could hold her wrist in my hand, and touch my middle finder to my thumb! She was hardly more than skin and bones!

Oh, but she had the face of an angel! Perfect complexion, curly dishwater blonde hair, bright blue eyes, slender straight nose, full, pink lips, and a smile that radiated like a beacon. The combination was quite enchanting. She talked excitedly to Jean about how much she had been looking forward to going out, and when Jena complimented her dress, she turned around in a circle, sending the full skirt sailing to its full length, floating above the floor like a cloud.

Then Jean introduced me to her, and she said that she knew me from seeing me at football practice when she had stayed after school to watch her brother Jim practice. A few more pleasantries were exchanged, and we said our goodbyes and headed for the ceremony at the high school. When it was concluded, we gathered up George and drove across the Mississippi River bridge to the restaurant located just on the other side in East Hannibal, Illinois.

Leona and I sat beside each other across from Jean and George in a booth table. During conversation at the dinner table I learned that this was Leona’s first date, and that she had never ordered from a menu before. I found her to be fascinating. She was very mature, having a great deal of responsibility at home taking care of her younger sister and brothers, preparing meals, doing laundry and many other chores that we didn’t have to do in our home. Since her family was so large, she had to help her mother keep things in order and the youngsters cared for on a daily basis.

Their four-room house had two bedrooms; one for mom and dad, and the other packed with bunk beds for the kids, the living room with a hide-a-bed couch, and the kitchen. Their new bathroom, recently built by her Uncle Charlie Leffert, Pauline’s brother, had only a toilet stool and small sink . . . no shower or bathtub. The bathroom wasn’t much bigger than a closet, and was located in the corner of mom and dad’s bedroom, just off the kitchen. Baths were taken in the kitchen in a #2 washtub . . . the same one used on laundry day to wash clothes!

I couldn’t ever remember not having a bathtub and shower at my house, and was simply captivated by the realization that this charming girl came from such a simple environment. It was so different from my own that my family was quite well off compared to hers. And, yet, there was a sense of pride and lover for her family that wove its way through her conversation, and that made me realize that they had something missing in my family’s home.

I learned that her dad was a railroad track laborer for CB&Q Railroad, later part of Burling Northern; that he didn’t know how to drive a car, and had never owned one. He did drive one once, however. He drove it into a ditch after losing control on a gravel road, and never drove again!

Leona was born on a houseboat, the rented family home, which had been pulled up onto the bank of Bear Creek, near Ely Street in Hannibal. Her dad had been born in a two-room house made from trees harvested from the woods surrounding the family farm near Taylor, Missouri, on the banks of the Fabius River. The house wasn’t a log cabin, but had a sturdy tin roofed wood frame made from small trees. Rough sawn lumber was applied to the exterior and cardboard was nailed to the uprights for interior walls. An exterior door and window in each of the two rooms made the home comfy enough

The cabin remained in the family, and was called the “Home Place” by Lea’s father. The family frequently went to the Home Place for the weekend, and I later spent many memorable weekends and vacations there when my own sons were little boys.

Needless to say, Leona captured my heart. I fell in love with her on that first date, though I didn’t know it until we had dated a few more times. We started going steady that summer, and became engaged on June 3, 1963, after I completed high school and returned from training at the Carolina School of Broadcasting in Charlotte, North Carolina.

The summer we first met, 1961, my family moved from Hannibal to Louisiana, Missouri. I attended Louisiana High School my senior year. And, although I owned a 1938 Chevrolet 2-door coupe, which father bought for me for $60, I didn’t trust it to make the trip to Hannibal. So, on weekends that I couldn’t borrow one of the family cars, I took the bus from Louisiana to Hannibal and back to see her.

I usually took a Saturday morning bus from Louisiana, and returned Sunday night, and would spend the night on the hide-a-bed in their living room. On those weekends I would spend all my time at their house, and loved visiting with her mom and dad about their memories, and marveled at the simple life they led, the hardships they experienced, and the love they had for their extended family.

Not long after we started dating, I told Leona that I didn’t like her name, couldn’t call her “Sis” like everyone, including her parents called her, and that “Sissy” didn’t seem to fit her, so I was going to call her Lee. She thought that would be okay, so she came “Lee.” Later, years after we were married, she changed the spelling to Lea, saying that she thought it was more feminine.

We were married February 8, 1964 in the Baptist Church in Louisiana, Missouri, by my Uncle Virgil Vaughn, who had also married my mother and father. It was a pretty simple wedding, attended by our families and a few invited friends, on a Saturday afternoon.

Our wedding night was spent at a motel in Bowling Green, Missouri, and the next morning we arose to a fresh snowfall that blanketed the countryside. We drove to my home, an apartment in Boonville, Missouri, which I had just recently rented. It was located on the second floor of a private residence at 1316 Main Street. Our life together started there in those simple furnishings, supported by the meager income I made as news director for the local radio station, KWRT.

Lea made a wonderful home for us. She learned how to cook for two people, instead of for her big family, and we grew up together. She was 18 and I was 19, and we had decided to wait a couple of years to have children, so we could be together and enjoy doing and learning new things. We had great fun on weekend trips, and she became dearer to me with each passing breath.

She taught me patience, real love, compassion, and so many other things that I can never express how very, very much she has meant to me. She left her family to raise me. To mold me into what I eventually became. She, ever so gently, coached, guided, and led me to strive for self-fulfillment, and is responsible for any success I ever achieved.

I loved her with a passion that knew no boundaries. I loved her, heart and soul. And, I thank God that the passion has never diminished, but, rather, has grown even deeper with each passing year. She has given me such a wonderful life long love, that she has been me greatest blessing. She taught me how to be a good father, and earn the love of my dear sons. She taught me how to be a good husband and friend. She taught me how to be a good person, and give back to my community.

She has overlooked my many shortcomings and held me up when I was weak. How can you ever repay someone who has always been there for you, never doubting, questioning, or belittling? I thank God for the wonderful gift of her love, and praise Him for the many blessings He has given me through her.

I will always hold dear the memories of her beautiful face, her supple body with its warm, comforting embraces, and her glowing personality. I am truly convinced that she is an angel, sent to bless my time here on earth. Thank you, God!  Amen

Baptist Temple January 7, 2008

The church was an important part of my youth, and after marrying and moving to a new state to pursue my career, we continued to be active in church activities. The church we belonged to was a traditional Baptist church with a very comfortable, if time worn, worship routine. My wife was baptized there in that church in November 1966, while nine months pregnant with our first child, Link. I had been baptized as an adolescent.

Shortly after our second son was born in 1969 we joined a newly established fundamental Baptist church that was meeting in a rented church building. The minister’s messages were thought provoking and rousing, his teaching style expository. All teaching was done directly from the scripture itself.

The young pastor, new to the community, had a very aggressive community outreach program, tirelessly reaching out to teens and youth to bring them into the church family. The music director was a reformed “bad apple” who barely skirted a stint in prison before getting his life straightened out and turning to a music ministry. Both had brought their young families to the community to establish a new church whose aim was to reach into new areas of ministry.

The charismatic pastor had a vision for building a grand church complex and grounds including a full service retirement community for elderly church faithful. The congregation was enthusiastic about the idea, and the community was surprisingly, and liberally, responsive. Fund raising efforts for the proposed Baptist Community exceeded expectations. The church seemed to be attaining its goals much more quickly than projected.

Donations of land suitable for a church complex, including a retirement home and hospital, were received. Vehicles were donated to help transport members and guests to church on Sundays. The number of volunteers, and the treasury, quickly swelled. The congregation grew dramatically.

It was a wonderful time to be involved in the Lord’s ministry. My wife and I were very heavily involved, working to increase membership and soliciting contributions to the church, hosting weekly bible study, and I even drove one of the church buses on its route.

I was seriously considering entering the church’s ministry on a full time basis. The pastor had talked to me several times about joining the team and devoting all my time to His service. It seemed to me that I was being led to make the decision. I didn’t really want to leave my employer at the time, but was almost ready to take the step. It seemed natural. My great-grandfather, grandfather and an uncle were Baptist ministers, and it seemed my ministry was going to be in church service, too.

Then, one morning, the pastor, his family, and his entire staff, disappeared. They couldn’t be found. The treasury was gone, too! Members’ phones were ringing off the hook as we attempted to figure out what was going on. It eventually was determined that the pastor had manipulated all donations to be put into his own name until formal church foundations could be established. So, he owned everything he took with him. And, he left the church flat broke, and its congregation broken and dejected.

I was emotionally devastated. I just simply could not believe that this had happened to our church! I couldn’t believe it had happened to me! I had been working hard to help the church meet its goals, and had become one of the leaders in reaching out into the community. I had personally solicited many of the donations that had been made, and I was too humiliated to overcome this blow to my ego.

My humiliation eventually turned to rejection. Rejection of organized religion. I was too proud to go back to the church we used to attend. I would have had to admit that it was wrong to move my family’s membership to the new church led by a false prophet. I let my pride get in the way. I allowed Satan to drive a wedge between me and God. I left the church, terribly disheartened, and vowed to worship by myself in the future, rather than taking a chance on supporting another false leader.

I firmly believe it is this decision to leave the church that led to severe biblical discipline I later received. Scripture teaches that you can’t become a Christian and then just live your life any way you want. You have an obligation to fulfill your life’s ministry, and your heavenly father takes that obligation seriously. You should, too.

View On Suffering January 7, 2008

Ah, Sunday, July 15, 2007. The Lord’s day. The day of the week set aside for rest, reflection and appreciation of all He has set before us. It’s a day of fellowship with friends and family, listening to His word with fellow believers, and giving praise for His glorious works. It is also the day for putting your life purpose in perspective.

As I sit at Lea’s hospital bedside day after day, standing ready to render what assistance I can to make her suffering more tolerable, I constantly remind myself to be open to the message God is sending. The message He is sending to me, and through me. Putting aside all other things to care for the most precious gift God has given me has taught me a lot about suffering.

Lance, my youngest son, wrote earlier this year, “Man! God sure is pouring it on, isn’t He?” I would have to say so. It breaks my heart to see Lea suffer so much. But, as we think about the significance of suffering in our lives, we have to recognize that everyone has suffering they are dealing with every single day.

We all know folks who seem to manage their problems well, while it seems other folks’ problems completely manage them. Just as a little boy who finally gathers the courage to stand up to the school yard bully, we learn and grow from confronting the challenges we face, and suffer through the battle to overcome them.

As I stated in my personal testimony, I walked through the valley of the Shadow of Death straight into Hell, and served a term there while Lea was hospitalized in Hartford Hospital. It was the most horrible thing I have ever experienced, and I certainly don’t want to ever have to go back there again. But, it was my Father’s way of getting my attention, disciplining me, and getting me back on track.

The important life lesson is not what challenges you are given, but rather, how you handle your suffering and any other trials that come. And, they definitely will come! I Peter, chapter 4, verse 12. “Don’t be surprised at the painful trials you are suffering as though something strange were happening to you.”

Sometimes something negative happens to us and we say, “Lord, this is so strange that this should happen to me! Why me Lord?” I asked that an awful lot in Hartford. But, you know what? Almost every single day of the suffering I was going through, I would receive emailed messages and testimonies from readers of the Hartford Letter dispatches that gave me just the right amount of support to lift me up and keep me going.

I learned through that to look around, and listen, to all the folks around me and understand that all those other folks around me were suffering through their own challenges. I often would thank God that I was not confronted with the problems others were facing.

I still do today; probably more frequently and openly than ever, uttering, “There, but for the grace of God, go I.”( John Bradford) This famous phase helps us understand that things could always be worse for us, and that we should suffer according to God’s will, commit ourselves to Him, and continue to do good. (I Peter, chapter 4, verse 17)

Although everyone suffers, not everyone is suffering according to God’s will. Peter talks about three kinds of suffering; Common Suffering, the kind we all experience because we live in a fallen world. This includes things like sickness, conflict, heartache. Christian and non-Christian alike, some suffering is common to all of us, and much of it can’t be avoided.

Secondly, Peter talks about Carnal Suffering. That is suffering that we bring on ourselves because we disobey the laws of God or the laws of man, which are derived from the laws of God. This kind of suffering you can largely avoid.

But, did you know that if you’re a true Christian, you’re going to suffer for it? This is the third kind of suffering Peter talks about; Christian Suffering. A lot of people think if they join a church and show up for worship service pretty regularly, they have a ticket to heaven, and life will be trouble free. That’s not the case!

God uses persecution in the Christian’s life to purify him, unite him with Christ, empower him, and to persuade others to believe. Christian suffering is a definite sign that we are walking with Christ and in direct opposition to Satan. When you oppose Satan he will attack you directly. That’s why Peter says not to be surprised when you suffer as you walk with Christ.

When you are doing what God wants you to do you are going to encounter criticism and other types of suffering, because this is how God matures you and equips you to be a soldier for Him. For most of us that equipping doesn’t come easily. We often resist Him, preferring to think we can run our own lives just fine.

His plan, however, is for us to become Christ like. He usually has to work on each of us individually to get us there, and He uses suffering to perfect and purify us.

In Romans 5:3, Paul said we can rejoice, too, when we run into problems and trials for we know they are good for us. They help us learn to be patient. And, patience develops strength of character in us and helps us trust God more each time we use it.

This is a part of Common Suffering. Trials come, divorce comes, heartaches come, financial reverses come, struggles come, disappointment comes, depression comes and God uses all of it. Suffering comes because God is perfecting us and we are not yet what God wants us to be.

God uses suffering to direct you in your walk with Him. This was the case for me in Hartford. I had strayed from the Church, and had to be brought back in line. Sometimes it takes a painful experience to make us change our ways. (Proverbs 20:30) Sometimes God has to get our attention forcefully. Sometimes He has to let us feel the heat.

I remember my grandfather, Reverend W.T. Vaughn saying that we Christians often don’t change our lives when we see the light; we change our lives when we begin to feel the heat! That was certainly true in my case. God had to let me see what it would be like to lose my precious wife to get my attention. I truly suffered, and suffering never leaves you where it found you. Where it leads you, however, depends on how you respond.

We learn more through suffering than we do through success, it seems. God uses problems to correct and direct us. We can submit to Him, and accept His will for our lives, or turn to Satan. You learn the true value of walking with God when you resist His will, and have to be corrected. God uses suffering to correct us. He uses suffering to direct us when we are going the wrong direction. He uses suffering to inspect and perfect us.

In Isaiah 48:10, the prophet talks about the testing of Israel to see what was in them. God, he said, put them in the fire like a refiner puts precious metal into the pot and turns up the heat until the impure metal becomes so hot it becomes liquid. Then all the impurities that keep the metal from being valuable and precious rise to the surface, so the refiner can skim them away. The refiner knows the metal is pure when the only thing he can see is the reflection of his own face.

The same is true in our lives as Christians. God will turn up the fire of suffering in our life until all impurity has been removed. He’ll know we’re ready when He looks into us and all He sees is the reflection of Jesus Christ. How ready are you to be inspected? I know I’m not ready, but I continue working on it, and just pray that if that inspection comes today He will forgive me of my shortcomings.

Thank You, Lord, for the blessing of being forgiven my sins of commission and my sins of omission. Thank You for the incredible sacrifice of Your son who died on the cross that I might be forgiven. Please keep Your hand in my life that I might serve Your will. Bless my loved ones that they might find peace and comfort in You. In Jesus’ righteous name I pray. Amen.

Eugene Field Ranger January 7, 2008

I don’t recall why Eugene Field School wasn’t part of the School Boy Safety Patrol, those students who served as crossing guards before and after school, but it may have been because of the cost of the metal badges the national program provided. Instead, out school started the “Field Rangers.” We performed crossing guard duty, each member being assigned a corner, and playground safety patrol. We wore the white canbas belt of the School Boy Patrol, but instead of having the badge, out shoulder strap had “Field Ranger” printed on it.

I was a Field Ranger from the fifth through ninth grades, and had pretty well worn my belt out by the time I went to high school. During those years, I worked at school crossings before and after school, during the lunch period, and spent most of my recesses patrolling playgrounds. In later years, though as I became involved in football and school plays, many of these duties had to be turned over to others, due to conflicts in my after school schedule.

I played football for Field School in the seventh, eighth and ninth grades, and later played for Hannibal High School. One of the other junior high activities I enjoyed was being in several of the school plays. Glee Club was fun, too, although I never was much of a singer. I made up for it by being loud!

In those days, Field School used to show cartoons during the lunch hour, and many of us children enjoyed the break in the day to enjoy some laughter, particularly in the winder, when it was too cold to be outside. The school also had dances during the lunch hour for the older children. Music was played on a record player hooked up to the sound system in the auditorium. Teachers were always available to teach some basic dance steps, and there were couples who danced, but I usually just watched. Coming from a strict Baptist family, dancing was frowned upon. So, I never felt comfortable on the dance floor. I did enjoy the music however, and the chance to check out the girls. : – )

KWRT Radio Days January 7, 2008

Lea and I were married February 8, 1964 in the Baptist Church in Louisiana, Missouri, by my Uncle Virgil Vaughn, who had also married my mother and father. It was a pretty simple wedding, attended by our families and a few invited friends, on a Saturday afternoon. Our wedding night was spent at a motel in Bowling Green, Missouri, and the next morning we arose to a fresh snowfall that blanketed the countryside. We drove to my home, an apartment in Boonville, Missouri, which I had just recently rented. It was located on the second floor of a private residence at 1316 Main Street. Our life together started there in those simple furnishings, supported by the meager income I made as news director for the local radio station, KWRT.

Lea made a wonderful home for us. She learned how to cook for two people, instead of for her big family, and we grew up together. She was 18 and I was 19, and we had decided to wait a couple of years to have children, so we could be together and enjoy doing and learning new things. We had great fun on weekend trips, and she became dearer to me with each passing breath.

She taught me patience, real love, compassion, and so many other things that I can never express how very, very much she has meant to me. She left her family to raise me. To mold me into what I eventually became. She, ever so gently, coached, guided, and led me to strive for self-fulfillment, and is responsible for any success I ever achieved.

I loved her with a passion that knew no boundaries. I loved her, heart and soul. And, I thank God that the passion has never diminished, but, rather, has grown even deeper with each passing year. She has given me such a wonderful life long love, that she has been me greatest blessing. She taught me how to be a good father, and earn the love of my dear sons. She taught me how to be a good husband and friend. She taught me how to be a good person, and give back to my community.

She has overlooked my many shortcomings and held me up when I was weak. How can you ever repay someone who has always been there for you, never doubting, questioning, or belittling? I thank God for the wonderful gift of her love, and praise Him for the many blessings He has given me through her.

I will always hold dear the memories of her beautiful face, her supple body with its warm, comforting embraces, and her glowing personality. I am truly convinced that she is an angel, sent to bless my time here on earth.

Thank you, God! Amen

Mother’s Recollections July 17, 2007

In a note handwritten to me by my mother on January 11, 1994, she gave me her recollections of the Vaughn side of the family in as much detail as she remembered:

When I met your father in August of 1942, your grandfather, William Thomas Vaughn, was a salesman for L.B. Price Merchantile Company and part time Baptist minister in Hannibal. I think it was at the Immanuel Baptist Church on St Marys Avenue. Also he was minister at a church located on 5th Street. I’m really not positive on that, as I seem to remember that the Hannibal Calvary Baptist Church, at one time, split apart and some of the people started the church your grandfather pastored. He also, at various times, pastored churches at Perry, Meadville, Braymer and Kahoka, Missouri (Baptist), where he and your grandmother lived in the parsonage home (a house provided by the church for their pastor). It seems to me he also part time, or filled in, for minister vacancies in Macon and Rush Hill, Missouri.

I’m sure there were many small communities where he pastored that I do not recall. Grandmother, Jessie Beulah (Phillips) Vaughn ran a sub station for the Hannibal post office at that time. *L.B. Price Merchantile Company was a business that sold bedroom linens, some dishes and kitchen cookware. I do not know how long he worked for them. Both the merchantile company and the postal station was located at, I think, 1724 Market Street (Hannibal, MO) and grandfather and grandmother lived upstairs. My family lived next door at 1722 upstairs above Neiman Grocery Store.

At the time your father was about 18 months or 2 years old they ran a grocery store in Marion, Illinois. They used to sit your dad in a wooden cracker box on the counter while grandmother ran the store. The store ws located on Chestnut Street in Marion. They were partners in the store. It was not successful.

Your dad, Ruth & Virgil attended Lincoln School in Marion, Illinois in 1928.

William Thomas was born in Creal Springs, Illinois to Lemuel Lafayette and Rebecca Ann (Snider) Vaughn. WT moved to Cartersville, Illinois where he met Jessie Beulah Phillips. They were married by a Reverend Wright in his home.

WT had a sister by the name of Nellie, who had several children. I don’t know her last name. I do remember your dad talking about Sammie, who he liked. Sammie was a son of Nellie.

WT went off to service in World War I to Camp Taylor at Louisville, Kentucky. The period of service I do not know. WT and Beulah had not been married long before he entered active service.

Prior to marrying Beulah, WT worked at #9 Company Store, which I belive was a miner’s store.

There is an old bible somewhere.

Grandmother’s maiden name was spelled Mac Annelly (sic). Her mother’s name was Leona. Bell was Leona’s sister. Grandmother’s brother Clyde was born on the family farm in Marion. They lived with Aunt Bell when Clyde was born.

Clyde married Jessie Hollis, and they had Harold and Eva.

Harry married Nellie Doane and they had Lee.

Arlie married Verna (1907)

Leona Mac Annelly’s sister married George Gilbert

Brother of William Thomas: John & Flo Vaughn & Jack, their only child, lived above a store they ran in St. Louis.

Alfred Phillips-Optometrist, had Lee, Eva, Harold

Your grandmother Vaughn at one time was a hat maker and a shirt maker. Ruth told me one time grandmother taught school, but Bonnie (Virgil’s wife) said, “No.”

Field Ranger July 16, 2007

I don’t recall why Eugene Field School wasn’t part of the School Boy Safety Patrol, those students who served as crossing guards before and after school, but it may have been because of the cost of the metal badges the national program provided.  Instead, out school started the “Field Rangers.” We performed crossing guard duty, each member being assigned a corner, and playground safety patrol. We wore the white canbas belt of the School Boy Patrol, but instead of having the badge, out shoulder strap had “Field Ranger” printed on it.

I was a Field Ranger from the fifth through ninth grades, and had pretty well worn my belt out by the time I went to high school. During those years, I worked at school crossings before and after school, during the lunch period, and spent most of my recesses patrolling playgrounds. In later years, though as I became involved in football and school plays, many of these duties had to be turned over to others, due to conflicts in my after school schedule.

I played football for Field School in the seventh, eighth and ninth grades, and later played for Hannibal High School. One of the other junior high activities I enjoyed was being in several of the school plays. Glee Club was fun, too, although I never was much of a singer. I made up for it by being loud!

In those days, Field School used to show cartoons during the lunch hour, and many of us children enjoyed the break in the day to enjoy some laughter, particularly in the winder, when it was too cold to be outside. The school also had dances during the lunch hour for the older children. Music was played on a record player hooked up to the sound system in the auditorium. Teachers were always available to teach some basic dance steps, and there were couples who danced, but I usually just watched. Coming from a strict Baptist family, dancing was frowned upon. So, I never felt comfortable on the dance floor. I did enjoy the music however, and the chance to check out the girls.  : – )

Sharing Discipline July 16, 2007

I recently spent 180 consecutive days in the hospital caring for my wife, who had been stricken by necrotizing pancreatitis during vacation, 1000 miles from home. Lea was in a drug induced coma that physically paralyzed her for 78 days, while doctors performed over 30 surgical procedures on her. Statistically, she had a 15% chance of survival. After clinically dying four times, and being revived, she eventually recovered and was released to begin the long road to recovery.

During her illness I was able to explore just how important she has been to me in so many ways, as wife, friend and lover, and I was led to share my thoughts by email with family and a growing list of friends as her ordeal unfolded. I also grew much closer to God, as I drew on His strength and sovereign power to guide me through the trials and despair of each tortuous day.

But, it wasn’t until after the hospital stay was over, and a very feeble Lea started recovery, that I began to fully understand the lessons I had been given.  When we returned to the Midwest, we were led to attend a church new to us. We had planned to visit the church years before, but just never seemed to make it. Now, I felt led to visit there. As soon as Lea was strong enough to sit up for an hour at a time, we made our way to the morning service.

The minister was teaching from Hebrews chapter 12, where God’s discipline for His children is discussed. Over the next several weeks, I felt the sermon was being directed specifically at me, as the work the Lord had done in my life over the past few months was being revealed, and I came to understand my obligation to share my testimony with all who would listen. That’s really what this web site is all about; sharing that testimony.

Scripture is very clear that you cannot accept Christ and then just live any way you please. And, God, our heavenly Father, takes our obligation to serve Him seriously. Like earthly fathers, He often has to take action to protect us from ourselves. Sometimes that disciplinary action is harsh. Often it hurts . . .  a lot.

We need to understand, though, that when we are disciplined by a loving heavenly father it is not to discourage us, it is to encourage us. It is ALWAYS corrective, never meaningless!  God uses discipline to help His children grow in grace, and knowledge of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ, that they might carry out their assigned personal ministries.

Proverbs 3:11-13 teaches: “My son, do not reject the discipline of the Lord, or loathe His reproof, for whom the Lord loves He reproves, even as a father, the son in whom he delights. How blessed is the man who finds wisdom, and the man who gains understanding.”

Even when we sense God’s disciplining hand upon us we should be encouraged by this, for it shows that God is at work in our lives. Therefore, we should not lose heart or faint when being disciplined. God will never go too far in His discipline.

Elkhart Trips July 16, 2007

I had several memories of my grandma and grandpa White’s house at 135 Pacific Street, Elkhart, Indiana. It seems to me that we made several trips to their house by car. All four of us kids sat in the back seat, with mother and father in the front.

It took us eight hours to drive from Hannibal to Elkhart, almost all of it on two lane highway. One of the highlights of the trip going to Elkhart, was a hamburger shop along the road in Springfield, Illinois that sold hamburgers for a dollar a dozen, and a two-pound sack of French fries for a dollar!

On nearly every trip we would stop, and father would buy one of these special treats for us. I don’t remember much about the hamburgers; I do recall the big, greasy, paper sack full of fries was particularly delicious.  On the return trips from Elkhart to Hannibal, father would stop in Springfield at the Dixie Crème shop for fresh, hot donuts of all flavors. What a treat!

One of the cars I remember us making this trip in was a 1954 Nash Statesman. It had a huge back seat in it, with deep, soft seatbacks that made it much more comfortable to make those long trips.

There weren’t many games suitable for use in a car back then, so we entertained ourselves by singing songs, reading Burma Shave signs along the road, and playing “I Spy” and the alphabet sign, where you looked for letters of the alphabet on road signs.

One of father’s favorite songs, which he liked to sing very fast, went:
Mares eat oats, and
Goats eat oats, and
Little lambs eat ivy.
A kid’ll eat ivy, too,
Wouldn’t you?

It took me a long time after I learned to sing the song to figure out the real words. At first I thought the song was:

Maresey doats, and
Goesey doats, and
Little lamsey divey.
A kiddle e-divy, too,
Wouldn’t you?

One of the neat things about that old Nash is that you could pull the front seats forward as far as it would go, drop the backs of the front seats all the way down, and they matched up with the front edge of the back seats, to make a very comfortable bed! Of course, that was in the days before cars had to have headrests or seat belts.

We traveled to Elkhart in that car two or three times, as I recall, and those were the most comfortable trips I can remember.

My grandma and grandpa’s house was a little four-room house that had two bedrooms added upstairs, and a great big bathroom with a very large closet. Almost all of the unused space in the house was converted to closets to hold the possessions of their big family.

My mother was the oldest child in the family, with Uncle Jack (Wallace Jr) next, followed by Jo Ann. Those three had already left the family to make their own way, but Helen, Betty, Charlotte, Pat, Don and Tim still remained in the early years. There were a lot of kids, and a lot of clothes to be stored out of the way, and yet, their home was neat and tidy.

There was a large electric clock that hung on their dining room wall that always fascinated me. The face of the clock had a clipper ship painted on it, with a lot of sails fully filled with wind. Each of the sails had painted on it the name of one of grandma and grandpa’s children. The clock was a gift to them from my father, who had hand painted it for them.  The clock disappeared after grandpa’s death, and no one seems to know what happened to it! What a sad loss! Wouldn’t it be wonderful to have it today?

My grandpa White was named Wallace Benjamin White.  Grandma was Nellie Frances (Teall) White. They are buried at Grandview Cemetery, Hannibal, Missouri.

Their house in Elkhart I remember as being gray. It had a screened in porch on the front of the house, with the entryway at the far end of it, which opened into the dining room, which was in the center of the house, with the living room on one side, and the kitchen on the other. The steps to the second story bedrooms were in the dining room. The big bathroom was off the kitchen, and there was a back porch, converted to a food pantry off to the other side.  There was also a back door in the kitchen that opened onto the driveway.

Their house was located in an old neighborhood that bordered Christiana Creek, which had flood control gates on it somewhere. When the gates were closed, the water was only ankle deep, and we could wade across to the city park on the other side. When the gates were open the water was too deep, and the current too swift to cross, so we would have to walk several blocks to reach a bridge to cross over. More than once we waded across to the park, but then would have to walk all the way around to get home!

There was a deep spot in the creek, not far from where we usually waded across, that was called the swimming hole. Neighborhood kids had made a swing with a rope and an old truck tire that you could ride from the bank and drop off into the deepest part of the water.

The creek also had some real good fishing holes, too, and my Uncle Don, who was nine months younger than me, would grab a couple of fishing poles, dig up a few worms, and we’d go fishing.

One evening we decided to go fishing for catfish, using dough balls made from slices of bread and a chicken liver. We were real lucky that night, and caught a stringer full of fish. But, we had stayed so late into the night, and had gotten so tired, we didn’t feel like cleaning the fish that night. So, we hung the stringer of fish on the clothesline to keep the fish away from animals for the night, and went to bed.

Well, by the time we got up the next day, the fish had been hanging in the sun long enough that they had spoiled. Whew! What an awful odor! We had a miserable time getting rid of the rotten fish, and it took a long time to get the odor off our hands, and out of our minds! Still, today, after all these years, I have a dislike for fish with a strong odor or “fishy” flavor!

Back in the days when I was a youngster, cigarette and cigar companies used to put advertising on radio and TV, in newspapers, and on billboards along the highway. The pads proclaimed the satisfaction of improved social standing if you smoked their brand. Lucky Strike and Camels targeted “real men” who wanted a full, rich smoke. Ads often showed men with a pack of Luckies rolled up in the sleeve of his white tee shirt. The ads all showed admiring girls with the guys with these smokes.

There were Winston, Pall Mall, Old Gold, Chesterfield, Raleigh, and others, who tried to appeal to men and women. Their ads talked more about flavor and satisfaction. The ads showed social situations where the smokers were being admired for their choice of the brand they were smoking.

The ads led a person to believe they would be more socially acceptable and admired by others if they were a smoker. It wasn’t until I was an adult that it was determined that smoking was harmful, and all advertising was controlled. First the ads disappeared from radio and TV, and the printed ads changed the tone of their messages to downplay the importance to social standing of smoking.

I remember as a nine or ten year old, sneaking a cigarette from mother of father’s pack, and going down into the basement to smoke it. I didn’t much like the taste, and the smoke burned my eyes, but after all, it was important in those days to be big enough to smoke!

On several of our family trips to Elkhart, Uncle Don and I would walk downtown to a cigar store and buy a Rum Soaked Crook cigar. They were two for five cents, so we’d get one apiece. They were pretty nasty tasting cigars, but the tip was soaked in a sweet dip, so they left a nice taste on the lips. We sure thought we were big, smoking cigars!

We never had enough cash to buy a pack of cigarettes . . . they cost nineteen cents. But, we could usually find enough empty pop bottles lying along the streets that we could turn them in and get a nickel to buy a cigar apiece. Those glass bottles had a return value of half a cent each, so once we had found then of them, we’d take them to a grocery store and get our nickel.

Our families never had much money, and I can remember that most Christmases were pretty sparse, with only a very few gifts for anyone. Sometimes there wasn’t enough money to buy new decorations for the tree, which often was a small fine found growing along the highway or railroad. There was always great discussion about which side of the tree to turn to the wall to get the best side facing the room. Then, limbs would be tied with thread to the trunk of the tree, to pull them up and fill in the holes.

Decorations were often strings of popped corn, some tinsel, and a few lights. I remember one year when my father dipped the light bulbs into blue paint, so we would have some color on the tree.

We usually got school clothes, some candy and nuts, and one toy each on Christmas morning. I remember one Christmas in Elkhart, when the only thing under the tree was a bushel of red apples. We counted the apples, decided how many each person would get, put them back under the tree, and spent the whole day going back to get an apple, spreading them out so they would last all day.

I can only imagine how sad my parents and grandparents were that they were not able to do anything more than that on Christmas, but I’m sure they felt some relief when we made a bit of a game of eating our apples one at a time, so they’d last the whole day.

Eugene Field School July 16, 2007

I attended elementary and junior high school at Eugene Field School. The school was located on Market Street, across from Levering Hospital, and diagonally from the district fire station. Playgrounds were located on two sides of the school, with a third playground across the street on the East. There was a residence between the school and that playground, and the house always seemed to be closed up. I don’t ever recall seeing a car in the driveway, nor anyone out in the yard tending flower gardens. I suppose the residents tried to find what privacy was available with all those noisy activities just behind their house. Grades 1 through 9 met at the school, so the playgrounds were always in use, it seems, with different age groups on different playgrounds.

When I was in Mrs Perry’s fourth grade class at Eugene Field School, I met and made friends with Jim Tate, older brother of the wonderful girl who would later become the love of my life. Jim was a friendly, outgoing boy with a great sense of humor and happy outlook that made him fun to know. His blonde hair and blue eyes made his suntanned skin look like fine leather. We played kick ball, dodge ball, and marbles together. He usually brought a sack lunch to school, while I usually bought a weekly lunch ticket to eat in the school cafeteria. We ate many lunches together, and often traded something from my food tray for a sandwich or dessert he had brought in his lunch sack.

On two or three occasions I remember going to his house after school, and that’s where I first met my future bride. Of course, she was two years younger than me, just a second grader, so I don’t even remember noticing her on those visits. I don’t remember much about the house they lived in. I don’t think young children pay much attention to that sort of thing, but I do recall that there seemed to be an awful lot of people in such a small house, and there seemed to be several running around still in diapers. Some of them, I discovered years later, were children Jim’s mother was babysitting.

Jim’s family moved to another part of town one summer, and he attended a different school after that. It was several years later, when we became Sophomores and entered Hannibal High School, that we met again and struck up our friendship anew, although Jim was always busy it seemed, as he had newspaper routes before and after school. He delivered the St Louis Post Dispatch in the mornings, and the Hannibal Courier Post in the evenings. During his last couple of years in high school he switched to a new job, working early mornings with Mr Flick, the milk man, who delivered milk, cream, and other dairy products to homes in Hannibal.