Memories of Bill - 2015

Apple has a nice feature on my iMac. It's called Memory. It randomly selects photos and videos I've taken and chooses a theme and presents these compilations to me occasionally. A few days ago they presented to me several Memory videos of the years I was taking Bill to his various doctors' appointments and caring for him. The years range from 2015 to 2019 with the exception of the year 2017 which I wasn't able to transfer over other my You Tube account. Occasionally I will be posting these Memory compilation videos to this blog in memory of Bill. 

I don't think there is a day that has gone by since Bill died early Saturday morning February 22, 2024 that I haven't thought of him and missed him terribly. The initial shock of grief has lessened somewhat overtime but I know now this grief over not having Bill in your life will never leave me as long as I am alive on this earth in this lifetime. By posting these videos I honor and keep his memory alive.  

Waterfalls Over The Years

 

Every now and then the Memory feature on my iMac pops up with a nice compilation of photos and videos. This morning was one of those times.

By the way, I have my right hand main finger and thumb bandaged up so I can type this. Remember my cat scratch injury of Sunday? I'm having trouble healing because I use those digits and it hurts. I put some band aids on this morning and it seems to help. At least it's not hurting as much when I use that main finger and thumb. Damn cat!

Anyway, this compilation of my visits over the years to different waterfalls is a nice palate cleanser from my several recent negative posts. 

The one "waterfall" that really impressed me was Niagara Falls. I had heard so much about Niagara Falls that I wasn't ready to be impressed but I was!

The first time I visited Niagara Falls was early on when I moved in with Bill and we took a road trip through Canada. I think that was in 1965 of 1966. 

The last time I was at Niagara Falls was with Pat about ten years ago. I was just as impressed the second time as I was the first time. Pat wasn't impressed though and wanted to leave. I want to go back and spend some more time there, perhaps take that Maid of the Mist ride down below. However, I have no urge to go over the falls in a barrel. 

The other falls pictures are from Toccoa Falls in Georgia, Bill's hometown of Toccoa Georgia. Also quite an impressive falls. Bill liked it too.

Few things impress me but nature always does.

7 Milestones In A Boy's Life (one light in the loafers)

Washington Avenue, Downingtown PA 1954.My family lived on the second floor front if that three story apartment building in the left. The rent was $22.50 a month. We kids used to play on the sidewalk in front of that building. That was our playground. No complaints, everybody was poor so we didn't know what we were missing. This picture was taken about eight years after the Bucking Bronco fun times.

I took this picture of the apartment building I used to live in on the second floor fronting 2002. Fifty some years later it was still in the White Trash section of town. Nothing much had changed except the rent payments. 

I've posted this picture many times before on my blog. This is me holding something up in my finger. Pictured with me is my late brother John (to my left) and my brother Isaac (in the front) and our playmates Johnny Johnson, Patty Robinson, and Sissy. One thing about living in town, I had a lot of playmates. I was about nine years old when this picture was taken. My family lived in that apartment building for ten years, from the time I was two years old until I was twelve years old. I wish I had more pictures from this time period but we were just too poor. My Mother had a Kodak Brownie camera and took some pictures. I didn't get my first camera until I was twelve years old and had already moved from this apartment building. 

 1) First time you knew you were different.

My Uncle Bruce, who was a teenager when he used to babysit me, had a friend called Earl. They were both about thirteen or fourteen years of age. I was about four. I lived in the poor white trash section of town.  Only one demographic group was lower than my hillbilly white trash and that they were "the coloreds" (as we used to call blacks back in the Forties and early Fifties). My family lived I'm a second floor apartment building on Washington Avenue. "The Coloreds" lived an alley behind us called Cox Alley. Even though we were all poor as shit I had a lot of playmates. Both little boys and girls. We always looked forward to my Uncle Bruce coming by (I think he lived with us for a while because he was still going to school, both his parents had died (my paternal grandparents) and both he and his younger brother my Uncle Sam (we used to sleep I'm the same bed for a couple years until he graduated from high school, I was eight years old and he sixteen years old). Anyway, long story short, when my Uncle Bruce came around Earl wasn't far behind. I don't know how it started but Earl would get down on all fours and play "Bucking Bronco", trying to buck us off of his back. We kids would take turns jumping on his back, while he was down on the ground on all fours, and he would try and buck us off. We all had so much fun with this. But then at one point I noticed I was "enjoying" my turn a little bit more than my friends Patty, Pee Wee, Johnny, Sissy, and Franny. I didn't know what it was (I was only four years old) but I did know that what I was "enjoying" was "different." Oh did I know. But this was my little secret. 

Interesting to look back on it now but I think the "enjoyment" part was early sexual arousal. Hard to believe at four years old but I definitely knew I was getting a lot more out of "Bucking Bronco Earl" than my playmates. 

Many years later, probably about fifty years later, I was attending my Uncle Bruce's funeral. One of the men who offered a eulogy looked very familiar. While he was giving his eulogy,  and while I was looking at him, trying to remember where I knew him from, we made eye contact. When we did, he immediately broke eye contact. After his eulogy I tried to find him in the crowd but I couldn't. I think he purposely avoided me. Which was a shame because I did so want to thank him for those bronco rides. But then I remembered him. He was "Earl", my uncle Bruce's friend. Now I don't know if my Uncle Bruce was gay but I do know that my father had ten brothers. Uncle Bruce was the only one who never had children. He was married once, for a short period of time. I even babysit his step daughter once when I was seventeen years old. Sharon was her name. She was a little brat. I do remember that. I was never a brat. I was a Good Little Boy. In fact one time my Uncle Bruce was baby sitting me in an earlier place were we lived, I crawled out on the second floor window, rolled down the porch roof, and fell on my head on the driveway below. My Mother said I was unconscious when they took me to the hospital. I think I was about a year old, just a baby. My Uncle Bruce was very upset of course because he was supposed to be babysitting me. I don't remember (of course) or why I crawled out of the window but I've always been curious. Anyway, at the hospital they told my Mother I probably had a brain cushion. They weren't sure I survived or even regain consciousness. But I did and here I am today. Just one of my many nine lives.

My Uncle Sam Tipton (far left) and my Uncles Bruce (standing with Navy hat to the right) and my Uncle "Tip" Tipton (kneeling with a dog. The little boy and girl are their Baker kids friends. All three of my uncles were orphaned when their parents died in 1939 and 1944. My Uncle Sam and Uncle Bruce lived with us for awhile until they finished school. I don't know where Uncle Tip lived but the Tipton family took care of its own. 

My Uncle Bruce Tipton. Like all Tipton's, he joined the service after school. This is what low income whites did in the last century, provide fodder for whatever war was going on at that time. No family paid college education for the Tiptons to major in Liberal Arts and Political Science. 

NOTE:

Never, not one time, during my childhood was I ever sexually molested. Nothing even close. Which somewhat surprises me because you hear all these stories about kids being molested. Thank God I didn't have one of those childhoods. But I was a cute kid. OH well. 

Another NOTE here. I got this idea for a blog posting from my friend Spo of Spo Reflections. His post was much longer than mine. Since I'm wordy, I can only post one subject at a time. 

My next post will be "The moment you knew you had to monitor yourself, someone picked up on your mannerism to shame you."

Memories Of The Past

 

A couple of weeks ago I ordered these alphabetic blocks to help me with my daily Wordle game.

Using these colored blocks reminded me of how much I loved playing with blocks as a kid. I didn't have my playbacks for long. They probably disappeared before I went to first grade when I was five years old. 

These days as I approaching the end to this life (I've had many lives, perhaps hundreds if not thousands) I often check out some fond memories in my Memory Bank. Ah, what an innocent time that was, when I first started to attend classes at the Downingtown, East Ward Elementary school. Some of my fondest memories are the smells. The smell of crayola crayons. The smell of overripe bananas from my fellow class members lunch boxes when we ate lunch in the basement of the big stone building (since torn down) of our school building. 

I understand that after we die, on of the first things we do is have a review of our life. Not judgmental, just a review. Perhaps what kind of life we would have had if we had taken a different fork in on of the many crossroads we encounter in our lives.

I look forward to that day.

Another Time, Another Place -1978

This is a video that I had secretly set up of me visiting one weekend with my friends Bob McCamley and Ed Cage. Both Bob and Ed have passed on many years ago. Even Bob's black Lab Bonnie, who you can see in this video, has passed. Only I have survived. In not too many years I will be joining them in Heaven. Heaven, where Bob and Ed (just friends, not lovers) are living now. 

Bob was my best friend since my Army days (March of 1960). I've know Ed since my high school days 1957. I miss their friendship. Oh how often during the ten or more years since they have died I wish I could have shared some of my experiences with them. They left this earthly live but I have continued to live and learn. 

These days I have two new best friends. Glenn and Pat. Both met via this blog. 

One day all of us will be together. 

I wrote this blog today because I wanted to refresh my day with pleasant memories from my past. I wanted to take a break from the present political climate in our country. 

Fence Removal

You know folks, it's always something.

This morning while I was relaxing in my bedroom, staying out of the oppressive heat and humidity that is hovering over southern coastal Delaware today, I hear my doorbell ring.

"Oh who is it now? Another salesman?" 

Alas no, the person ringing my Ring doorbell was a very attractive redhead (not Pat) in a orange construction helmet and Day-Glo lime green T-shirt.

He identified himself from a local tree service company called Asplunh. He was here to remove Bill's white PVC fence from around our transformer. 

I knew this was coming.

For the past year there have been rumblings about too many homes here in paradise i. e. Sussex County, Delaware, hiding their transformers with shrubbery and the like. 

We've been warned to REMOVED ALL OBSTACLES but of course I've been ignoring the warnings because Bill put in that fence. It's part of my memory with Bill. Actually, I was against putting in the fence, I wanted to keep access unobstructed to the transformer but Bill insisted. He said the transformer was "ugly."

Bill and our neighbor Bob leveling off the fence

Over the years I've had many colorful and beautiful displays of flowers including a magnificent display of light lavender clematis. The past several years I've been the talk of the neighborhood with my blazing red display of salvia flowers. That is no more after today.

Poor Bill, he would be turning over in his grave if he was in a grave. Actually his ashes are in a beautiful box in his bedroom downstairs.

After the guys from Asplundh left I put a call into GOT-JUNK! to remove the fence. They want a minimum of $398 to take it away (quarter tuck). Instead I posted "FREE WHITE PVC FENCE" on my NextDoor app and got an immediate response within five minutes. It's 12:30 PM now. "Jared" said he would be over at 1:30 PM.

I feel bad for my salvia plants that just took hold and my long time clematis but it is what it is. 

Another piece of Bill's history gone. 

Flashback 1964

 

Me, 1964 Pennsauken, New Jersey

Oh those days of yesteryear!

This is a photograph of me that Bill took of me at his apartment in Pennsauken New Jersey. The year was 1964. I had just met Bill in July. 

I used to spend my weekends with him at his apartment, which was much nicer than my two room efficiency apartment in Coatesville, Pennsylvania.

I came across this picture while I was scrolling through my thousands of photos and videos I have on my iMac. Just think, all of these photos and videos will disappear once I am gone from the scene.

Another time, another place. I was another person too at that time. 

A Trip Down Memory Lane and Thoughts Of The Future

 

Time for another trip down Memory Lane.

Hard to believe but this photo was taken twenty years ago on February 2, 2005.

In the photo are my friends from left to right Jim Donahue, Bob McCamley, Bart Rhoades and yours truly. It was taken February 2, 2005.

As is almost aways the case now these friends of mine has passed on to the Great Beyond. 

I am confident that I will see them again as I will Bill and my beloved five Pomeranian pups.

I don't remember what restaurant this photo was taken but I remember the occasion. I was housesitting for about a month at the house of two women who were golfing in Florida. 

That was the first time I got a taste of what it was like to live in southern Delaware. This was during the time I decided to move to Delaware permanently. 

During one of my daily outings I found a model house by Ryan Homes behind the local Lowe's. It was the perfect house for me. Then and there I decided to make my Last Move.

Thus began my nightmare of selling our home in Pennsylvania and build our new house in Delaware. 

The following November, Bill and I moved into our new house in Delaware. 

So much has happened since that date twenty years ago. 

Most of my friends of that time have died as has Bill.  I've made some new friends. 

I am alone now adjusting to my new life without Bill.

I'm still waiting for Pat's K-1 VISA approval. Hopefully we'll be married this summer, June preferably. 

I'll probably still be living alone. 

These past two weeks, I've been ensconced in my, a hostage of the snow and cold. This has given me time to think about the last chapter of my life. 

I have come to the conclusion that now is the time to prepare for my Last Exit. Yes folks, my time has come. 

I'm in the process of disposing of a lot of times I've accumulated over the last eighty-three years of my life. Not everything but a lot. Much I will continue to keep because those memories give me comfort. And comfort is what I am after at this time of my life. I just do not get around like I used to.

This morning I went out for the first time in several days in spite of the bitter cold. I just had to get out of the house. I love Casa Tipton-Kelly but I cannot stay here all the time. I get cabin fever. 

This morning I made a run to Food Lion, the Post Office and the local Ace Hardware. During those pit stops I ran into a lady who I know casually from other friends. This is her picture that I took from the Ace Hardware parking lot. She would like to go to lunch occasionally but I'm not doing that these days. I told her that. She said "When you're ready, let me know."

With the recent rise in inflation and my reduced income circumstances I just can't afford it. I like her so I'll have to figure out something else instead of spending $45 and up for a lunch that I don't even like the food. I make the best lunches for my self and I prefer to eat alone anyway unless I'm having lunch with Pat. And even those restaurant visits, Pat and I will have to cut back on. Our income just isn't keeping pace with the $15 minimum wage that restaurant workers get paid now. Gone are the days when I could eat out all the time. I'm caught in the crunch of inflation and my fixed income which has been reduced almost in half since I stopped working and Bill's Social Security income isn't coming into Casa Tipton-Kelly. 

We all have crossroads in our lives where we have to make adjustments. I have arrived at another crossroad. This past year, I have proven to myself that I can live alone both emotionally and economically without Bill. Oh I still miss him terrible and probably will the rest of my life. I can hardly get through a day without choking up when something triggers a fond memory of Bill. After all, his ashes are still downstairs in his bedroom along with hearing aids (still on the charger likes he's coming back). I leave the lights on for him just in case he comes back.

Speaking of which, he did contact me again this morning. That Bill, he is so clever in finding ways to contact me.

I don't know if I told you but my "suitcase" (a USPS mailing box) arrived at my friend's home in Cathedral City (Palm Sprigs) California. A couple more weeks and I'm off to WARM WEATHER. 

I cannot wait!

Have a great day everyone!

Violet and Carmen

Me at 120 Washington Avenue, Downingtown, PA August 8, 2010

 Since the death of Bill I've been revisiting significant episodes of my life. 

I've been reading a lot about near death experiences and how when your soul departs from your body your life is reviewed with a "Board of Elders". This is not judgement but rather a video review of  your life. How you treated others in your life both from your aspect and their aspect, how you made them feel. I haven't died but I have been having dreams, both at night and during the day of reviews of my life and those episodes.

One episode that has always stuck with me my whole life was the Mystery of Carmen and Violet. 

From 1943 to 1954 I lived with my family at 120 Washington Avenue in Downingtown, Pennsylvania.

That little kid with the fat ass would be me running up the stairs to our apartment on the second floor. The two adults are my mom and my father. This photo take around 1946, the time of the "Carmen and Violet Mystery"

 We lived in a second floor two bedroom apartment that rented for $22.50 a month (I will always remember that rent because my Mother often had problems coming up with that amount monthly). 

120 Washington Avenue, Downingtown, Pa 
September 10, 2004

Other member of my Tipton family also lived in that apartment building, which is stills standing today. And interestingly it is still in the white trash section of Downingtown. Yes, our family was white trash, another word for POOR.  My father was an uneducated hillbilly from North Carolina who came with his eight brothers and mother and father in 1929 from the mountains of western North Carolina to southern Chester County to work as cheap farm labor at his uncle Don Byrd's fruit and vegetable farm in Unionville, Pennsylvania. My Mother was descended from a poor Quaker families who had immigrated to Pennsylvania in the late 1600's. Her mother died before she was two years old. Her father was a philanderer and physically and mentally abused her as the youngest of her family. She ran off and got married at sixteen years of age when she met my father on a double date (she switched dates with her girlfriend when she saw my father and his drop dead hillbilly looks for the first time.

My father at 21 years of age. He met my Mother when he was 18 years old. My Mother knew what she wanted and she went after it! Shortly before she died she told me "Your father was the only man I was ever with."

My father was originally her girlfriend's date but when my father drove up in his car with a rumble seat in the back my Mother told her friend Edie "You get in the back with Hank, I'm sitting up front with HIM!" 

I found this picture of my parents in his wallet after he died. He carried it all those years (60) that they were married.

Now that I have set the background to my story of the "Mystery of Carmen and Violet." 

Carmen and Violet lived in the neighboring apartment on the second floor where we lived. 

They had a little girl whose name I don't remember now but I do remember the names "Carmen and Violet." I also remember that evening December 11th, 1946 when something very serious happened. 

I had just turned five years old. I had just started first grade. I was awakened by a lot of muffled voices and shuffling around. I got up and went into the small hallway separating our apartments (it was very small, I guess that's why my parents were so friendly with Carmen and Violet, they were also about the same age). The police were there with flash lights. They entered Carmen and Violet's apartment in the dark with their flashlights dancing about the small room looking for Carmen and Violet's little girl. Their little girl was between a year and two years old. She was in the apartment by herself and was still groggy from being awakened. I asked my Mother what was going on. She told me to go back to bed. Of course I couldn't, I was born nosey. She eventually told me that Carmen and Violet had been in an accident and they had to take the little girl (I wish I could remember her name) away. I've forgotten a lot in my life but that is one episode that I never forget. The confused look on that little girl's face as the police carried her out of that darkened apartment. Later, much later I found out that Carmen and Violet, along with another couple were killed in a head on crash with an oncoming truck on Route 322 returning from West Chester after purchasing paint. My Mother told me the details of the story about Carmen and Violet about 2005 after I asked her during one of the trips I often took her to visit her relatives. She was now forthcoming with the information on Carmen and Violet.  I told her that I often remembered that night the police came into our cockroach infested apartment building and searched out for Carmen and Violet's little girl who no longer had parents. That was the first time in my life I know SOMETHING WAS WRONG even though no one would tell me what happened.

It's a funny think this story has stuck in my head all these years, often coming back. A few years ago a "Remember Downingtown" group formed on Facebook. I joined it because I had memories to share. Someone else posted their memory about that accident that Carmen and Violet were in. A head on crash with the four of them in their car rounding a turn on Rt. 322 returning from the nearby town of West Chester after buying paint. Four people dead. Lives cut short. A little girl an orphan.

I've often wondered over the years what happened to that little girl. I think one of the reasons I've always remembered this story and that night was because of the exotic name "Carmen and Violet." I don't remember what they looked like but I do remember what their little girl looked like and that their apartment was small. Eventually my Uncle Dude Tipton and Aunt Jeanne Tipton moved in that little apartment with their four little girls. My Uncle Henry and his wife Margaret lived in the apartment above us. 

Why do I bring this story up now? This morning I searching for high school records on Ancestry.com and I came across a link for an Edward Thompson. The reason the "Thompson" link showed up on my Ancestry.com account was because my cousin Jane Tipton (daughter of the aforementioned Henry and Margaret Tipton) eventually married John Thompson, a relative of Edward Thompson. Does  your head hurt now? So what does Edward Thompson have to do with Carmen and Violet? Edward Thompson was the father of Violet. 

What came up on Ancestry.com? Carmen and Violet's death certificate. 

Carmen Marino's death certificate

Violet Thompson Marino's death certificate

I pay a lot for my annual membership of Ancestry.com. the past five years I've rarely used it what with my quarterly holidays with Pat and the last three years taking care of Bill. This year I was considering cutting back on my full membership for a cheaper price but now I have changed my mind. Ancestry.com has opened up so much to me that was previously lost to history. I love this kind of information. Looking at Carmen and Violet's death certificates I now know the date and time of their accident and deaths. 

I hope I haven't bored anyone to death with post on this serendipitous discover. I am fascinated with this kind of history especially from my past.

I am convinced when I die I will find out ALL THE ANSWERS. I am so looking forward not only to reuniting with Bill, which I know will happen but also meeting all my relatives again. I'm also looking forward to that review of my life and know what former lives I have lived. Do I sound crazy? I'm not I assure you. I never did subscribe to this man made religion (Organized Religion). Never made sense to me. But what does make sense to me is that our souls or spirit inhabits our physical bodies during this earthly learning experience. I don't fear death. Our real life is our spirit and when we die we really do go Home. Maybe I'll see Carmen and Violet. 

Ron Has Company!

My company of the past three days has left this morning.

Their visit was wonderful therapy for me in addition to having a reunion with old friends. 

Jack and Judy were our witnesses to our wedding eleven years ago. 

Last night we went out to dinner with their friends Margaret and Laura at The Touch of Italy in Rehoboth Beach. Wonderful dinner with old friends and new friends, this is the first time I have met Margaret and Laura. Laura is Margaret's daughter-in-law.

Jack and Judy, who arrived Wednesday afternoon, were the perfect antidote to preventing me from slipping into another bout depression over the loss of my Bill. 

Hey folks, it looks there will be a life for me after all after losing Bill. Bill even sent us another signal. On Thursday night, as Judy and I were talking with each other in my living room, the overhead lights on the kitchen counter blinked on and off. They have never blinked on or off before. Never. Judy noticed. Another signal from Bill was as I was taking Judy for a tour of my Memory Room in my finished basement, the music that came on my Bose speaker (which I had turned on earlier, which was unusual because I almost never turn on the Bose speakers but I was showing off) planed "The Third Man Theme" as Judy and I were exiting the room. "The Third Man Theme" was literally Bill's favorite music selection. He LOVED that music! What are the odds. That to me, call me crazy, was Bill sending me (us) another signal that he is all right and still looking after me. 

The reason Bill loved "The Third Man Theme" was because it reminded him the time he was stationed in Germany right after World War II during his Army enlistment. He visited Vienna and saw that giant Ferris Wheel. We he saw the 1949 Orson Wells and Joseph Cotten movie it brought back all those fond memories of Bill's time in Germany during those same years. Bill had a cassette tape of that music that he would play occasionally to bring back those memories. Only rarely have I heard "The Third Man Theme" play on my Pandora radio station but when I did as I was exiting my "Memory (junk) Room" with Judy yesterday, there it was. Bill sending me a message again about he was watching us and being with me and getting a kick our of me showing that room again. I will never believe otherwise folks. I so comforted knowing that Bill stops by here at Casa Tipton-Kelly to let me know he still with me.

Also, this morning I found this on my Facebook page from a former co-worker of mine. It talks about the loss of a spouse. It is so true. I will never be the same but I will survive. And especially now knowing that Bill will continue to be with me, albeit in a different form for the rest of my life. 

I am so fortunate to have had Bill in my life all the years we were together and now to have such friends who are helping me. 

Have a great day everyone!

Christmas 56 Years Ago

 

Me, Christmas 1967 Philadelphia, PA

This picture was taken in 1967 at our apartment at Cheswick Square in Roxborough (Philadelphia) Pennsylvania. 

I think it was me and Bill's third Christmas together. I was really into the whole Christmas gig then. Presents under the tree, tinsel on the tree.

At that time this picture was taken I was working at Girard Bank in Philadelphia in the Trust Operations Department. I was a remittance clerk. I sent out the checks and statements for trust beneficiary customers, of which I was not. I started that job at $70.00 a week. Our rent on that two bedroom apartment was $145 a month. There was also a pool in the apartment complex. All may life I wanted to live in a place with a pool. I got to enjoy that pool for two seasons until it was taken over by the kiddies. The frustrating thing about the kiddies taking over the pool was that most of them didn't even live at Cheswick Square, they were "invited guests." Growing up I always dreamed of swimming in a real pool. I'm still dreaming that dreams. Briefly, when Pat and I were seriously considering moving to Palm Springs California, I thought "Now a pool!" But I've changed my mind, I'm staying at Casa Tipton-Kelly here in southern Delaware. The taxes are low, and I have a wonderful almost an acre back year. Some of my neighbors have a pool but I never see anyone using those pools. I probably wouldn't either, the "pool season" is so short here in southern Delaware 

We only stayed at Cheswick for two years. When it came time to sign a new yearly lease, the apartment rental went up to $165 a month. I had always wanted to live in a real house, and preferably center city Philadelphia so I could walk to work and the bars. 

We found a nice row house on the edge of center city Philly for $27,000 which I thought was SO EXPENSIVE. We put $5,000 down and had a twenty year mortgage for $119 a month. For the first two weeks after signing the purchase agreement I was sick to my stomach, think I had made the biggest mistake of my life. Of course I didn't. We lived at 24th and Naudain Street for eleven years, selling our house for $98,000. We built at new house in Downingtown on seven acres of land. We purchased the land for $25,000 and built the house for $100,000. We lived there for twenty-five years until we could no longer afford Pennsylvania's conficcatory school real estate taxes and sold the house for $500,000 in 2006. By the way, that cute little row house in center city Philly is now worth over $800,000

When we lived there we were on the edge of black Philadelphia. Now the whole area is gentrified. Million dollar abodes all over that area now, we couldn't afford to live there now. Delaware will always be my home until I depart this dear life.

As you can tell by this wordy post, I don't have anything on TV now. The coverage is all retrospectives of what went on last year. I KNOW WHAT WENT ON LAST YEAR.

Have a good evening everyone. I'm going to try and find a movie on Netflix that doesn't open with one of those kitchen counter sex scenes.

Let's Do It Again

 

Little "Ronnie Tipton", 1st Grade 1946

Do you believe in reincarnation? I do.

I think I'm about to repeat my life cycle again. This picture, which I have posted several times before on this blog, is my first grade elementary school photo. The year was 1946. I was five years old.

I remember clearly when I was four years old, before I started first grade, that I was beginning my journey again. 

Now that I am approaching the end of this life cycle (and believe me, I feel the end coming soon), I am actually looking forward to what awaits me.

Of course I don't believe in the conventional wisdom of Heaven and Hell. That's all man made up propaganda to keep the Great Unwashed Masses under control. Please don't take offense to those of you who find comfort in your religion but this is my belief. The only thing that makes sense to me. 

I do believe this body we posses is only an "overcoat". We wear it until it wears out or is accidentally destroyed then the spirit or soul or whatever you want to call it that inhabits this frame of a body is set loose to the endless ends of the universe and beyond. I hate to burst anyone's bubble but there is no old man with a white beard clothed in a white toga (a la Charleton Heston) awaiting us at St. Peter's Gate to pass judgement on us. Again, all man made myth to control the masses.

What I do know is that I have had quite a journey in this life cycle. In a few weeks I'll be 82 years old. Way past my Sell By Date. Most of my friends and relatives that I knew are long gone. Bill and I survive but once Bill goes (he's 95 now and not long to go for him either), I will feel tremendously alone. 

These days I do a lot of thinking about my past memories. So many good memories. So many good things that happened to me. Me, of no particular talent or intelligence but I do on occasion have a knack for endearing myself to some people. 

Of course I've had a few unpleasant memories but nothing of any consequence. Lots of close calls. So lucky. 

One of the main things I will remember about my life is the kindness often shown to me by so many in my path through this iteration of life. I will never forget them. I am so appreciative of them, especially now knowing the positive role they played in my life.

I was triggered to do this post this morning but a Facebook post of an acquaintance who challenged her readers to remember their fifth grade teacher. I remember all my teachers folks. ALL OF THEM. 

I REMEMBER EVERYBODY.

I have had the question asked "Do you have any regrets?"

Absolutely!

I sure do wish I could have a Do Over on a lot of choices I made but then again, that is what life is about isn't it? Always learning and trying to do better. 

So the day will come when I close my eyes, never to open them again in this body. This body which is increasingly failing me. The one thing I always had was walking. The last year or so I find that I am losing that ability to walk normally, like I did for the past eighty or so years.

I am so thankful that I haven't lost my vision like Bill. That I can still swallow my food unlike Bill who chokes on every swallow of liquified oatmeal and egg custard that is his only food intake now. 

My brain is still working reasonably well but I am definitely more forgetful, misplacing things. Forgetting names (but not my elementary school teachers)!

"Another One Bites The Dust" is playing right now on my playlist that I use to accompany me when I write these blog posts. How appropriate! 

I'm ready. 

Miss Ezrah And Other Memories Of A Ten Year Old

 

Me, third row in the back far right with my finger (?) in my mouth.

This morning while I perusing my Facebook page I came upon this picture of my third grade elementary school class taken in 1951.

Looking at this picture invoked such sweet and comforting memories for me. Our teacher at that time was "Miss Ezrah". And that is what we all called her. 

Miss Ezrah was much loved by everyone. I do not remember one single person who disliked Miss Ezrah, which unfortunately I cannot say for some of my other elementary school teachers (hear that Mrs. Warren)? 

Ah yes, 1951 was such an innocent time. The only thing we had to worry about then was an A-bomb dropped on us, which we had drills for by diving under our wooden desks with the metal legs screwed on the wooden floor. Even then my ten year old brain surmised ("How is this desk going to protect me from an A bomb blast?" but I digress) Back then in The Fifties you did what you were told to do especially if you were a dumb ass very insecure poor kid. Hey! We were all poor, check out the pants on my classmates in the front row. But one thing I will always remember is Miss Ezrah's classes. I learned a lot when I was in her class. 

Interesting thing about this picture, which is mine by the way. I remember each and every one of my fellow classmates and their names. I'm not the sharpest knife in the drawer but I do have a knack for remembering names. A useless talent for sure but all the same, something that I (sometimes) excel at. Lately I haven't been too good with names but I'm well into my eighth decade now.

I have an interesting story about Miss Ezrah. Back in 2004 I was mentioned to one of my fellow classmates who I am still friendly with and who is still alive (as I am) how much I liked Miss Ezrah. If you're curious my former fellow classmate I was talking too is pictured fourth from the left in the front row ("Billy B.")

He told me "Oh Miss Ezrah is still alive! She lives at Simpson Meadows" which is where my friend's mother also lived (that's how he knew). I told him "She must be 120 years old because she was old when she was our third grade teacher in 1951. In actuality she was only 45 years old (born in 1906). Of course to a ten year old back in The Fifties forty-five years years old was OLD. 

I asked Bill B. how was she doing? He said she was find and still even walked to do her grocery shopping. WHAT? I called Simpson Meadows and made arrangements to visit her which I did on March 2, 2004. 

Me and Miss Ezrah, my former third grade school teacher 2004 at Simpson Meadows, Downingtown

I visited her with another fellow classmate Larry M.

Me, Miss Ezrah and Larry M. at Simpson Meadows, March 2, 2004

 She remembered both of us! I tested her because I thought she was just being kind. She taught forty- one years, how could she possibly remember us? But she did! We tested her and she nailed it. Both Larry and I were, of course, very insecure goofy ten year olds. She remembered a book report I did which "my friend" Larry promptly pointed out I plagiarized from a Scrooge McDuck comic book story. Hey, I didn't even know the word "plagiarized" then let along that I "stole" the story. This even is how I met Larry and became good friends with him over the years. Larry is still alive but unable to talk now because he is in the advanced stages of ALS, which he has had for the last eight years. Larry told me that he was afraid I was going "to beat him up" at recess because he "told on me." To the contrary, when I approached him at recess I said "You have Scrooge McDuck comic books?" Sounds like me, always hustling. Turns out he had a LOT of comic books as I did and we began trading comic books from that date on. By the way, Larry is pictured in the third row in the back second from the left standing directly in front of Miss Ezrah.

At the time we visited Miss Ezrah she was ninety-eight years old. She died in 2012 at the age of one hundred and six. Talk about a life well lived. 

She never married and never learned to drive a car but she left thousands of boys and girls with wonderful memories of their elementary school days.

Hunky Guy At The Jersey Shore 1965

Me, 1965 at "The Jersey Shore" (Ocean City, New Jersey)

This picture posted on my Facebook account. When I first saw it my first reaction was "Who is this hunky guy?" Then I realized "IT'S ME!" And indeed it was.

This picture brings back memories of the first and only time I visited the New Jersey beaches. Growing up my family never took me and my brothers to "the shore." The best they could do was a local murky stream up the road from our house on Boot Road. It wasn't so bad, especially on those hot muggy summer August days. In fact me and my brothers LOVED it as did our dog "Sam."

Me and my brothers Isaac and John and our dog Sam at the local waterhole 1956

When I moved in with Bill in 1965 on of the first things I wanted to do was to go "to the shore." Of course he granted my wish (as he has always done) and we headed to the Ocean City New Jersey shore. 

I was so excited! Finally, I was going to experience the ultimate summer experience, the Jersey Shore!

Well, it didn't turn out as I expected. Every time I ventured out in the water the lifeguard blew his whistle. 

I didn't go out that far, I wanted to go at least to my waist high. The lifeguard wouldn't let me do it. Blowing on that damn whistle of his. I couldn't go out more than knee length. WTF? 

I looked up at him in frustration after the fourth whistle blow and saw him on his high white stand, slouched on his back; red trunks, tan, sunglasses and whistle drooping in his mouth like a cigarette. WTF? 

I asked him "Why"? He dismissively said "DON'T GO OUT PAST THE JETTYS!" I went to the end of the stone jetty and the water was only up to my knees.

I left the beach and walked on the sun backed hot sand to where Bill was reclining on the beach under a beach umbrella. I told him what happened and said "Let's go home." We left and I have never returned to the Jersey shore again.

In the years since I've been on beaches but only where there are no slouchy lazy lifeguards playing the role. Of course these days which my reoccurring regular visits to my dermatologist to burn off the latest pre cancerous skin lesions (actinide keratosis) I only look at the beach from the boardwalk. Ironically I don't even visit in the summertime here in Rehoboth Beach because of the hordes of summertime tourists. Only if Pat comes down to visit, which he may next month, will I go. Otherwise I restrict my beach visits to walks on the boardwalk in the fall and mild days in the winter. 

Seeing this blurry picture of me in my youth brought back both fond memories of when my body was young and healthy and it didn't ache like it does now. Unfortunately it also brings back that bad memory of how New Jersey "the shore" sucked.  

 

John Lee Tipton With Brothers Ike, Jr and Ron

What to do on these hot and muggy days of the summer of 2023? Make a video compilation of old photos and videos of me and my two younger brothers John and Isaac Tipton, Sr. John passed away September of last year. This video compilation of our past times together will keep his memory alive forever.

My Heroes - Part One - My Mother

 

Me with my Mother about 1980

At this time of my life (the end or my "Final Act") I have been doing a lot of reflection of my past eighty-one years of life. I've decided to write about those who have had a positive influence in my life. I was considering writing about those bad people who have not had a positive influence but decided against going that route. They are best forgotten, fading in the mists of time. But those kind folks who helped me in my life, I want them remember forever. So here goes. 

There have been many people who have been kind and helpful to me in my life but there is a handful who have profoundly influenced me and also, by their kind and caring actions, help to provide me with the wonderful life I have had.....so far. I plan to live a few more years but if I should die tomorrow, at least I will have recorded for history these fine people who saw the good and potential in me and helped me towards leading the right path. This will have to be a multiple series of blog posts, one for each hero.

First and foremost in my life was, of course, my Mother. 

My Mother wasn't perfect but to me and my two younger brothers we will always remained convinced that we literally had the Best Mother In The World. I remember how shocked I was when in my twenties I was talking with one of my friends in a gay bar and he brought up how awful his mother was. At first I couldn't process what he was saying. I just assumed everyone had a great mother like my brothers and I had. Apparently not. That was the first time I realized how blessed my brothers and I were to have a mother such as we had. 

Our Mother didn't have an easy time growing up. Her mother died in childbirth before my Mother was two years old. She was the youngest of five children. She had a "Cinderella" childhood, wicked step-mother and all. Philandering and abusive father. The whole package. She married my father when she was only sixteen to "get away from that mess" as my father said to her when he proposed to her. She was still in high school. They ran off to Elkton Maryland to get married one weekend. The following Monday she returned to her classes at school. She was a senior in high school. Her father found out she got married over the weekend and, of course, beat her. She gathered up her meager belongings and she and my father moved to a rented small house in the country. No running water, indoor plumbing or electricity. But she was away from "that mess" as my father called it. 

Betty Hadfield - 1939 - high school student

My Mother, although she had not the most desirable childhood growing up experience, always managed to project a happy demeanor. She never wore much makeup, she didn't need to because she had a natural beauty. People always remarked on her smile. "What a beautiful smile Betty has!" My Mother also had a beautiful head of hair which was always remarked upon. I like to think I inherited both her smile and lush brown hair. My father was blond as were both of my younger brothers. Of course I was my Mom's favorite although she would never admit that fact. She always said she loved "all her boys equally" which actually she did. But everyone knew I was the FAV. 

Me with my Mother and two younger brothers Towerville,, PA about 1949

She actually wanted a girl. She even had a name picked out, "Louise", her middle name. She told me she wanted to give a little girl a good childhood, not the one she had. Of course she had three boys. Hey, do you think that's why I'm gay? Because she wished she had a girl? Oh well, we'll never know will we? All I know is from my earliest memory I was attracted to men in a "special way", more so than women but that's My Story and this is all about my Mother. 

You know when I began this blog post I was going to write about all my heroes then I realized that writing about my Mother would take up a big blog post, in fact I could write a book about my Mother. 

My father carried these two pictures in his wallet his whole life. I only came into possession of them after he died. He loved her his whole life even though he strayed a bit when he was younger. She kept our family together. Never once did I ever hear him raise his voice with her or become angry with her. He worshiped her. The jalopy pictured at the bottom was the car she met him in. She was on a double date with her friend Edie Lemon. My father was actually Edie's date. My Mother's date was Charlie Hanck. But It was my father's car. But when my Mother saw my father drive up she told her girlfriend Edie "You get in the back with Charlies, I'm riding up front with HIM!" And Edit did and the rest is history. She knew she met her Match for Life. The year was 1940.

My parents' first home. Down a dirt road in Mineral Springs, PA. No electricity, indoor plumbing or running water (pump outside). Rent ten dollars a month. That is my Mom standing in the road pregnant with me. She was finally away from "that mess" of her childhood home. Little did she know she was going to enter a whole new "mess" of poverty with three little boys under five years old with a husband who was a cross country truck driver during the war. She often told me that she didn't have enough food for us or the multiple dogs my father was keeping. Finally she had to turn the dogs into the pound because she didn't have enough food to feed them. 

My very first picture. I do not remember being here! Looks like I was riding high. 

My father with my pregnant (with me) Mother during one of his layovers from his World War II cross country truck driving job. My father wasn't in the service during the war because he was classified a "4-F" because of a head injury during his childhood. When he was nine years old he and his brothers were chopping wood with an ax at their then home in the mountain hills of western North Carolina (hillbilly country, which my father was his hole life, a hillbilly) and the ax blade flew off and became imbedded in the back of his head. He was rushed to the Johnson City Hospital in the back of a donkey cart (no cars in those mountains then in 1927). He survived but had permanent brain injury. He was healthy enough to contribute to the war effort though by driving a truck during the war cross country to deliver supplies. During those trips he had "encounters." I probably have half brothers and sisters that I've never met. But that's another whole story. Real life is always more interesting than made up Hollywood drivel. 

Then came that day in November of 1941 that yours truly made his grand entrance into this world. See that look on my face? It's almost saying "What am I doing here?" Thus I began another one of my lives. Oh yes, I believe in reincarnation. Only thing that makes sense to me. Especially now that I'm coming to the end of this existence on this planet. Maybe I'll be reborn on another planet the next time. Again, a subject for another blog. 

Mom's "handful" of three boys, each a year apart. Two little blond boys who took after their father and one little dark haired boy (me) who took after my Mother. We were affectionately known as "The Three Terrors".  Of course I was the ringleader. Sadly my youngest brother died this past year. He's waiting for me in Heaven. At least that's what he told me before he left (he was a pastor). 

We never had much materially growing up but we did have something that is immeasurable, the selfless love our Mother. Her first priority was always my father but we were close behind. She raised us to respect authority (something that I question now) and to always be honest (we didn't let her down, not even close). She also forced me to take typing which I will be forever grateful but at the time I didn't want to take Typing in high school because "only girls" took Typing class. I'll always remember what she told me "You're not going to waste your time in Study Hall (she went to the same school I went to), you're going to learn a skill that you can use the rest of your life". I fought it the first year of Typing (got a D) but my second year of Typing I excelled eventually getting an award as "The Best Typist" of my class (72 WPM on a manual typewriter). She was right, I've used my typing skills (including now) the rest of my life. I only wish she had forced me to take piano lessons. I would have loved to known how to play a piano. Again a subject for another blog post. 

Another really beneficial thing she did was get me a paperboy job when I was ten years old. Of course I didn't want that job, I wanted to hang out at the local drug store like my peers but she said "You're getting a job!" That job, that I had for five years, was perhaps the best job I've ever had in my life. It not only sought me responsibility but gave me an opportunity to earn my own money. I never received one penny in allowance from my parents while many of my peers received 25 cents a week. At that time I felt "cheated" but now I realize what she did by getting me that paperboy job was so much more valuable to me than an easy 25 cents a week allowance. I delivered papers seven days a week. Five days after school and on the weekend Saturday in the afternoon and Sunday (the worst) in the morning (the papers were so heavy, sometimes I had to make two trips). All kinds of weather of course. Toughened me up. She knew what she was doing.

Me (seated) with my Mother and brother Isaac (standing). I'm devouring a hoagie (25 cents each then!) at our rent free apartment on Boot Road. My Mother was more of a mother to me and Isaac, she was our best friend. She was one of the gang. She also wanted us to be educated. Checkout that encyclopedia set behind us. She couldn't afford to send us to college (although I wanted to go very badly), she couldn't even afford that encyclopedia set but she got it anyway from one of those traveling encyclopedia salesmen on a monthly payment billing. Those curtains? Plastic. What we lacked in material possessions we had in love and security. My Mother more than made up for my father's indifference to his children. I don't think he ever wanted children. He didn't like me, I think that was because I was my Mother's favorite and he was always very jealous of her. Again, another whole story for another blog post. Life is so complicated isn't it?

My mother and father 1986 Hibernia Park, Coatesville, PA

My mother and father were married sixty years. He died in 2000 from lung cancer. He smoked his whole life. He was told to stop smoking but he didn't. He was stubborn. 

My Mother died ten years later in 2010. She was never the same after my father, her husband died. 

During her lifetime, as I mentioned earlier, her husband was always her first priority. Always. I tested her at times but she never wavered. Nor should she. She took care of him, even when he couldn't work anymore when he was fifty-two years old. She got a job at Pepperridge Farms with her sister-in-law Mabel (my father's brother's wife). She got that job to support our family. I will always remember that after a long day at work in the layer cake frozen food conveyor belt line (a "Lucy and Ethel" job), she would come home and prepare a sit-down dinner for her husband and three sons. At that time I didn't think about it, it just was the way it was. The woman always made the meals. Now I realize she went over and above. 

Mom receiving her 25 year award from Pepperridge Farms

When my Mother worked at Pepperridge Farms we always had a ready supply of layer cakes and other Pepperridge Farm products. Strudel was her favorite. I wonder if they even make that apple strudel now.

She and my Aunt Mable were best friends and had so much "fun" working at Pepperridge Farms. The picture below is from my Mother's retirement party which Aunt Mable surprised her. 

I miss both of them so much. My Aunt Mable was also a very happy person. In fact I took her with me when I won a trip to DisneyWorld in 2000. Both of them are gone now and the world is a little less cheerful because of that fact. 

After my father died, my Mother went downhill.

Mom at 85 years old in 2008

It was almost like she had no purpose to live any more. She lived at the family home with my divorced brother Isaac for several years but eventually she needed more care so we moved her to my other brother's home in South Carolina. She didn't want to go but he had a mother-in-law apartment which his mother-in-law lived in for 29 years. He was a care pastor so he knew all about caring for an elderly parent. 

She didn't smile as often now. I will always remember the last time I saw her. It was about six months before she died in 2010. Bill and I visited my brother and his family in Greenville, South Carolina, where she had her own apartment. They took good care of her but she wanted to go to her own home. She was mad at me. When I went in to see her she was lying on her bed softly crying. She had her little suitcase packed, ready to leave with me and Bill to go back north to Pennsylvania. We couldn't take her. I was going to say "Goodbye" to her but didn't want to disturb her even more so I left quietly without saying anything. She died six months later. She was eighty-seven years old. 

I am sorry she died sad but she had a good life. She was the best mom that me and my brothers could ever have had. 

She was my first hero. 

I will never forget my beautiful Mom as long as I live.  

"Pop" with the love of his life, my Mom