Author: michaeldexterhankins

I’ve been blessed throughout my life in having good friends. Most all possess a keen sense of humor. Perhaps at the top of my list is Mary Ostendorf. Mary’s quick wit is the cream of the crop. She’s a pro at keeping jokes going!

Several years ago I attended a sexual harassment class at work. It was required. A co-worker of mine Dee Linton went along. Lo and behold on the morning of the seminar we bumped into Mary. We knew immediately the meeting was going to be a hoot.

There were mostly middle-management employees attending although a few upper-management supervisors were there as well.

When break time rolled around Mary and others walked to the coffee pot with Styrofoam cups in hand. Dee, seeing her headed that direction called out for all to hear,

“Mary – would you fetch me a cup?”

There was a scripted non-use of the word please on Dee’s part. Fetch was also inserted for effect. The room went deathly silent with all eyes focused on my friend. From the distinct tightness on several employees’ lips, I sensed they eagerly awaited Mary’s response.

“Yes Dee”, she playfully responded. “Would you like one lump on your head or two?”

The room erupted in laughter for all but a few. Our instructor even chuckled. One gal with utter disgust on her face remained smugly quiet. Mary took things in stride. She was not offended in the least.

On another occasion Dee and I were on the south of town where Mary worked. There was a little coffee shack a few blocks away from her office. Going through the drive-thru we grabbed raspberry mochas for ourselves as well as her. Taking Mary’s beverage inside the building a receptionist asked if she could help.

“Coffee delivery for Mary Ostendorf.”, I responded with a straight face.

Anticipating that such an unusual statement would prompt the woman’s curiosity I eagerly waited for her reply. Looking confused the gal inquired if delivery was a free service. I informed her that delivery cost five bucks. By now others in the room took notice.

“A ten dollar cup of coffee?”, she countered.

“Yes mam…. nine dollars and fifty cents.”

Pointing me towards Mary’s cubicle I walked through a maze of desks before handing her the drink. Whispering to Mary what was going on, she kept the gig going. To this day I believe co-workers believe the woman had a serious caffeine addiction.

Last on my list of Ostendorf java tales is an unusual one. It was never intended to be funny yet turned into humorous drama.

There was a coffee supplier in Juneau that was trying to break into the Alaska market. Dark Horse had one store in Anchorage plus a few kiosks at various locations. One place in particular was located at The Red Apple Restaurant on Boniface and Tudor. All kiosks were independently owned including this one.

My pal Dee Linton came in possession of ‘free latte’ coupons from someone working at Dark Horse. From what he was told, a coupon presented to any business selling their brew would garner a free 12-ounce drink.

Dee and I took our coupons to Red Apple Restaurant handing them to the manager who was also part owner. She went into a tirade complaining about how the coffee company was slow on refunding money.

“I’ll go out of business!”, the woman whined.

We were granted our coffees with two lumps of seething anger. Making sure to tip the woman Dee whispered,

“Never again!” as we walked out.

There was one solitary coupon remaining in Dee’s wallet. Seeing Mary Ostendorf later that day my pal presented it to her. Mary thanked him and said she’d stop in at Red Apple and snag a cup.

Dee and I looked at each other, before quickly deciding to drive across the street and see if she scored. We had a perfect view from parking lot into the front window. The restaurant cash register could clearly be seen including latte machine. Mary stood there a bit while the owner rang up several patrons.

We watched as she handed the woman her coupon. Within milliseconds the restaurant owner went ballistic. All we could see were arms flailing and head bobbing. We couldn’t hear words yet knew the woman’s language was not nice. After several minutes the incensed restaurant owner abruptly walked away.

When our friend Mary came out empty handed we drove up asking what happened. She was ready to kill us at that point, thinking it was an intentional prank.

“Why’d you guys do that to me?”

Dee and I couldn’t stop laughing. Mary began doing the same. Dee partially made it up to her by delivering a 20-ounce raspberry mocha the next week. I still owe her the same.

The best coffee in Lake Havasu City is at The Human Bean. There’ll always be a 20-ounce raspberry mocha there with Mary Ostendorf’s name on it. Same goes for Dee Linton.

All they have to do is come get it!

On a side note: Red Apple Restaurant’s coffee kiosk was yanked soon after Mary’s incident. Within a year the business folded for obvious reasons.

For close to 10 years I drove past an intriguing garage and junk yard on I-40 in eastern Arizona always wanting to stop. The dilapidated building and trailer with vintage cars, trucks, and buses is located 25 miles east of Holbrook in Apache County. Being an antique car nut, the sight of rusted sheet metal becomes candy to my eyes. I needed a closer look!

On each journey I repeatedly looked for a turnoff yet never found one. The shuttered business is separated from busy interstate traffic via wire fence. On a recent trip to Colorado sufficient time was granted by my wife Joleen to find access.  Discovering the entrance went faster than I thought. Exit 303 was the secret key. This exit either takes you to the ghost town of Adamana, or down a stretch of Route 66 few people know about, directly to the old repair facility.

Turning left off Adamana Road onto infamous Route 66 I drove east for 5 miles. ‘The Mother Road’ as Route 66 is often called led me straight to the garage’s locked gate. A sunbaked metal sign showed it to be Rocky’s Old Stage Station. Such an unusual name! Wrecker service and used cars were advertised, along with business license numbers crudely hand-painted on a top section. Before continuing my story let me take you back in time.

                                                ***********************

“The year was 1956. Dad was in the Air Force and had been notified his next assignment was George A.F.B. in California. Loading up a black 1949 Mercury along with small trailer home, our family departed Vernon, Alabama headed west to Victorville, CA. My brother Jim and I rode in the back seat. I would’ve been 2 at the time so my recollection of events is extremely limited. Dad, mom, and Jim provided me with the following details:

Entering Arizona via Route 66, a blazing July sun made things unbearably hot inside our car. The vehicle had no air conditioner. Being painted a dark color clearly amplified intense sweltering heat. Jim and I quickly became drowsy and unresponsive. Pulling into a gas station on the outskirts of Holbrook, an employee told mom she’d best cool her kids down or they wouldn’t survive the trip.

The man sold my folks a block of ice including tin pan to hold things. Placing this crude cooling device on the floorboard Jim and I made the remainder of our journey hovered over it. That pump attendant probably saved our lives by advising such. For many years now I’ve often wondered if this gas station still exists.”

                                             ************************

Rolling up to a locked compound gate I stayed inside my truck long enough to survey all surroundings. The first thing noticed was a NO TRESPASSING sign. I intended to honor it. A couple of classic 1950’s school buses quickly caught my eye. Their once bright yellow paint was now subdued with rusty brown patina. One bus was missing its front fenders, hood, and grille while another was sans differential.

Vintage cars of all make and model dotted the grounds. One appeared to be a 1947 Chevrolet while another was a 1940’s Dodge. I stepped outside the safety of my truck to snap a few photos. That’s when a humongous black rat disappeared into a pile of brush. I jumped back instinctively. Rocky’s Old Stage Station gave me the creeps.

Quickly snapping several more pictures, I started to reenter my vehicle before noticing a small sign on the compound fence. It warned of the area being a Hantavirus Site. I knew immediately what that meant having read of the disease.

To simplify complicated medical terminology: Hantavirus spores originate from rat or mouse droppings. They can be found in common dirt or dust. Breathing such can be fatal to people much like anthrax. I made sure to brush dirt from both shoes before reentering my Dodge.

On the ride back to Exit 303 there was a fellow with a metal detector prospecting around a concrete building foundation. This was about 2 miles west of Rocky’s Old Stage Station. Out of curiosity I stopped to see what was up. The young man’s name was Matt and he was from the UK. Matt was visiting this country to experience specific areas of Route 66. He informed me the spot he currently explored was an old petrol station.

“You don’t say!” was my excited response.

Matt went on to explain that the defunct garage I’d been looking at further down the road had been a Butterfield stagecoach stop in the 1800’s. That explained the unusual name. Matt said it’d been a thriving auto repair and wrecker service for Nyal “Rocky” Rockwell until I-40 was built. For whatever reason, our government in rerouting the highway left limited access for Rocky’s customers which totally annihilated his business. Such was interesting to hear but my mind remained focused on the gas station. Could this have been the place my folks stopped in 1956?

Back home, I initiated internet research on the site eventually finding a rare 1946 picture postcard. The establishment had been a Shell station owned by Harry C. Osborn. Texaco was Dad’s gasoline of choice. My research showed no Texaco stations in the immediate area other than one a few miles west at Painted Desert Trading Post. Mom later confirmed that this was the station where Dad stopped.

What I do know about Harry C. Osborn’s business it that it’s no longer an entity except for crumbling remains. The majority of customers having patronized there are long gone. Much like a melting block of ice, time was a giant eraser before I finally discovered this road less traveled.

Years ago I had no idea what the initials AARP stood for. I’d heard the term countless times from my parents. They were always talking about AARP discounts. My friend Jeff told me what AARP means,

“Aging Adults Requiring Pills.”

That sounded plausible. I wasn’t sure if his answer was right or wrong. I knew it had something to do with old people!

Now that I’m considered ancient by the grandkids, I’m well aware of the AARP definition. Jeff was correct. Aging adults requiring pills fits things to a capital T. The pill business is alive and well in Seniorville!

I can’t watch a television show these days without being introduced to some new pill. They have heart pills, kidney pills, migraine pills, memory pills, back pills, constipation pills, with the list going on and on. Never mind that some advertisements mention death as a possible side effect. That’s a small anomaly in comparison to the benefits these medicines offer.

I’ve got my own regiment of pills to swallow. The majority of them are tablets Dr. Joleen prescribed. My spouse is not a licensed physician or anything. I call her doc for grins. I’m on a strict regimen of Dr. Joleen’s vitamins designed to keep me healthy.

Saw Palmetto Extract is supposed to keep my prostate happy. I wash down a vitamin C tablet each day to ward off colds, zinc to keep me in sync, and something called D-3 for I assume my knees. I grudgingly take the stuff to keep her satisfied. Sometimes I feel like these supplement pills are solely designed, to separate health-seekers from their hard earned cash.

I can’t say vitamins have done me any good. At this point I don’t know for sure? I’ve heard a few people claim after using them their lives changed drastically. I take those folks’ testimonials with a grain of salt. Generally speaking a month or so later they come down with the same ills as before.

Bad backs and knees are the most popular ailments amongst the Geritol crowd. If you don’t know what Geritol is then you’re definitely not of the baby boomer generation. Geritol is a tonic from the ‘50’s supposedly fixing tired or iron poor blood. Sounds like the perfect elixir for several people I worked with. Looking up the ingredients I was amazed.

There are 15 items making up Geritol. The 3 sticking out most are sugar, sodium hydroxide, and alcohol. I’m not a drug expert but that sounds like a speedball mix minus the cocaine and heroin. I remember sniffing Geritol as a child. A friend’s parents had some in their medicine cabinet. The strong aroma still permeates my senses.

I suppose 12% alcohol and sugar is what jump started users. Add a little caffeine (coffee) to this mixture and off to work they’d go. In one vintage commercial an office worker keeps a bottle in her desk drawer. How convenient. It’s a good thing the woman wasn’t forced to take a breathalyzer test.

We get a newsletter called “AARP – The Magazine”. It’s complimentary for all AARP members. Both of us being card carrying participants of AARP has its advantages, or at least that’s what the magazine says. The $8.00 a year membership fee covers the cost of this worthless publication.

Walking up to a young cashier at a local restaurant I placed my AARP card in front of her. Instantly I saw confusion on the gal’s face. She politely informed me,

“I’m sorry sir but we only take Visa and Master Card.”

Wanting to tell her what AARP stood for and the excellent benefits it offered I stopped short. I’d be wasting good breath.

“Do you give senior discounts?”, I inquired.

Smiling at me she replied,

“Yes sir we do. I’ve already taken it off your bill.”

Evidently because of highly visible creases and lines I automatically qualified. Thinking about this incident for several weeks a thought popped into my head,

“Why doesn’t someone make anti-aging pills?

I immediately looked on the internet. Lo and behold there’s a product called TELOSC that does just that. For a mere $196.71 you can purchase a 3 month supply. We’re talking $800.00 a year. Chump change if it really works.

This pill claims to make you smart, strong, and sexy at 100. With an IQ of at least 74 I have the smart part. The other 2 items would be nice in lifting heavy grandchildren, and modeling hip-clothing like jumper suits and overalls with suspenders. Sadly the TELOSC sales office didn’t offer AARP discounts. What’s with that? The advertisement did say they gladly accept Visa and Master Card.

“I bet they do!”

If you’re wondering what TELOSC stands for the answer is simple,

“Take Every Living Old Senior’s Cash.“

Jeff didn’t tell me that. I made it up myself!

Thankfully I never stole a car or motorcycle.  I’ve never had reason to. That bit of info needed to be shared before telling the rest of this story.

Kids growing up in the 1960’s should remember “V-RROOM MOTOR”.  A V-RROOM MOTOR is a plastic replica of a motorcycle engine made by Mattel Toy Corporation.  The motor fit between the frames of bicycles.  Children lucky enough to have one were big stuff back then.

 The device had a battery-powered motor inside, emitting a roaring sound equivalent to that of a Harley-Davidson. At least that’s what Mattel claimed!  It required a special key to operate.  A couple of older kids at school had bikes with V-RROOM MOTOR’s.  They parked them in a bicycle rack outside my classroom window.

 One day at lunch a group of us boys were standing around listening to the machines.  It was a guy thing.  I asked to fire one up and was told,

“No!”

I’ve always had a problem with the no word.

During our VRROOM demonstration I’d taken notice that the special key didn’t look so special.  A lightbulb immediately went on. The next day I brought a pair of mom’s nail clippers to school.  I suppose a student these days would be arrested for such.

 Before lunch ended, I walked over and tried inserting the swivel file from the nail clippers into bike ignition.  It fit perfectly.  Turning switch to ‘ON’ position, the motor roared to life.  In panic I yanked the clippers out and dropped them.

The V-RROOM continued to roar as I hustled back to my classroom.  Thankfully the boy owning the bicycle was in a different section of the building.  For the next hour I heard the motor running and not missing a beat. Unfortunately before school let out, the batteries took a dive.

The following day my teacher held up mom’s clippers.  She wanted to know if anyone lost them.  I was smart enough to know what the woman was up to.  Thankfully no one raised their hand. They would’ve been nabbed had they done so.

Often times while in my garage I stop to ponder,

“Had there been Duracell lithium batteries back then, would that VRROOM MOTOR have made it to the last bell?”

If you lived in Anchorage, Alaska during the late 1960’s through early 1970’s more than likely you remember War Wagon. Actually there were 3 War Wagon’s in Alaska during that period.

War Wagon #1 was known throughout the United States and world. It appeared in a 1967 western movie by the same name starring John Wayne and Kirk Douglas. I saw this film at the Fireweed Theatre with my brother and some friends. In the movie, War Wagon was armor-plated and pulled by 6 powerful horses.

The wagon itself looked like a first-design Army tank. It was used to haul bullion bars from a local gold mine to the bank. A Gatling gun was mounted inside to dissuade potential robbers. John Wayne played the role of Taw Jackson. Taw was a good guy. Kirk Douglas appeared as “Lomax”, a bad hombre at the start before reversing his role. Taw Jackson and Lomax intended to ambush War Wagon. The gold on board came from Jackson’s land and he was determined to get it. Ed Ames performed the catchy theme song, which every so often, when no one’s around, I attempt to sing.

War Wagon #2 most likely derived its name from the film. I’m only assuming it did because I never asked anyone. It was a 1973 Chevrolet Vega racecar built by Tony Prockish and Steve Deptula. I watched this Chevy run the ¼ mile at Polar Raceway in Palmer several times. The Prockish & Deptula War Wagon was powered by a modified 454 Chevrolet Big Block engine. I’d estimate there were 650 ponies under the hood, perhaps more. The late Tony Prockish was an instructor of mine at Anchorage Community College. Steve Deptula started a successful auto parts store in Anchorage called High Performance Auto Supply.

War Wagon #3 is the one I’d like to talk about. I was associated with it for an exciting yet brief 3-year period of time. The car didn’t have a Gatling gun or 650 horses, but did possess unique charisma unmatched by any. It also holds several eclectic stories containing absolutely zero historical significance. There was no other War Wagon in Alaska like it and never will be!

My War Wagon was a 1954 Chevrolet station wagon. I shouldn’t say mine because it was jointly owned by me, Jeff Thimsen, and Ken Lucia. We purchased the classic machine in 1974 from a couple of wayward hippies. They’d driven to Alaska with plans on living in the vehicle while traveling around the state. We pooled our money and bought it for $225.00 after their adventure ended.

Seems they decided to fly home to California rather than once again drive the Al-Can Highway. Alaska at that time was filled to the gills with young Californians during summer months. Many of them worked the fish canneries while a good majority came to escape work, and peddle their waresif you know what I mean.

This young couple had spent most of their time and money in Homer and Seward while visiting the 49^th state. I’m not sure what they were up to each day, but the vehicle did possess a strange aroma. It’s been 45 years and I still remember the smell. Without going into scientific detail let’s say it was much like incense and Irish Spring soap blended together.

The owners were nice and personable people. He was a bit on the strange side where looks were concerned. There was something about those glassy eyes and slow speech. One thing I remember most was the gal being pretty. Although I didn’t do so at the time I wanted to ask, “What do you see in him?”

Jeff, Ken, and I bought the station wagon for weekend cruising and camping. In the beginning the car was minus a suitable name. After owning it for several days Jeff came up with War Wagon. It looked as though it’d been through WWIII. I liked Jeff’s association to a battle. Knowing Steve Deptula and Tony Prockish well enough, I knew they’d find our using their car name amusing and not insulting. Ken went along with War Wagon because it sounded cool.

A can of black Krylon paint was all Jeff needed to customize. The War Wagon lettering was not sprayed to perfection having sags and runs. Being ‘free canned’ as Ken called it gave the vehicle extra character. I added 454 on the hood for a personal touch. My birthdate is April 1954. After signage was complete we couldn’t take the Chevy anywhere without getting thumbs up, or suspicious stares from local police.

War Wagon often times did not start so a set of jumper cables was included in the purchase. If an incline or hill was available to park it on that eliminated having to jump the battery. We’d merely let her roll with ignition on then let out the clutch in second gear. It’d pop to life every time.

One night we cruised to Bob’s Big Boy for burgers. The restaurant was located on Northern Lights and C Street. Parking around back on a flat spot, Jeff, Ken, and I came out finding the battery dead. Generally there was always someone around we could bum a jump. That evening there wasn’t. In a desperate attempt to get her back on the road, Jeff scoped out a Ford or Mercury sitting directly in front of us. Finding the car’s hood had an outside latch he popped it.

Just as my sidekick was removing cables from the donor car, and with War Wagon’s engine now running, a man, his wife, plus 2 kids walked up. They were the vehicle owners. While simultaneously shutting both hoods Jeff didn’t know what to say other than, “Thank you!”

With him calmly sliding in the front passenger seat, I slowly backed up and drove away as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. Ken might’ve been in the back softly whistling but I can’t say for sure. To this day I still wonder if there’s a law in Alaska for theft of a jump.

War Wagon was a cop magnet. We were constantly pulled over. The officers generally wanted to see driver’s licenses, current registration, including proof of insurance. I’m sure they were checking for other things as well. We always came away squeaky clean.

One afternoon an Alaska State Trooper stopped me at a rest stop near Girdwood. I was asked about insurance. “Yes sir”, I politely replied, “State Farm.” Pushing things a bit too far, Ken from the back seat bellowed out, “Full coverage!” The trooper glancing at War Wagon’s smashed passenger door started to chuckle. He gave us a warning about mud obscuring the rear license plate before leaving.

On another occasion our friend Kevin Park decided to tag along after he’d gotten out of school. Kevin attended East Anchorage High like we had. He was 2 years younger than us and at that point a senior. His parents were doctors. The family lived in a somewhat upscale neighborhood on Wesleyan Drive. Picking him up in front of their house raised a few eyebrows.

Kevin enjoyed the attention our car got as much as we did. No matter who pulled up alongside they’d always look to see what was inside? On that afternoon Kevin exchanged glares with some old guy on Northern Lights Boulevard. For reasons unknown the man gave him the finger. Having a near empty soda can in hand and being a hockey player, Kevin instinctively tossed it out the window into the fellow’s lap. Sticky liquid went everywhere.

Deciding to hightail it we took off with the man in hot pursuit. Our Chevy would only go so fast.  I believe the chase never exceeded 45 mph. Jeff nervously kept looking in the rearview mirror not knowing what to expect. The irate gentleman eventually called off his pursuit, turning around somewhere near Northern Lights & Muldoon Road. It was a good thing because we were nearly out of fuel.

That was Kevin’s last ride in War Wagon. He went off to medical school soon afterwards, eventually becoming an emergency room physician at Providence Hospital. Sadly, Dr. Kevin Park was killed in an aircraft accident in 1994.

On several instances I was forced to use the car for transportation. Working at Proctor’s Grocery in Eagle River as a stocker, management instructed me to park my machine around back out of sight. They feared it might drive customers away.

My girlfriend at the time was on a 30-day trip to visit relatives in Kansas. Joleen Freeman didn’t know about my vehicle investment. When she flew home and waited for me outside a baggage claim area I pulled up in War Wagon. She rode home cowered down so no one would see her. A bit upset at me, Joleen cooled down when I mentioned it was her younger sister June putting me up to such. We were married a few years later and celebrated our 40th this past September.

Merely being seen with the car was more than enough to be stereotyped a stoner. After arriving in the town of Hope one afternoon to go hiking, Jeff and I were eating sandwiches with doors wide open. Some guy sporting long hair came walking up asking, “Hey man, do you have any weed?” I was primed for an answer. “No man, we have no need!” The fellow lingered for what seemed like several minutes trying to comprehend whether that meant yes or no. He eventually got the message before quietly leaving.

The demise of War Wagon was somewhat blunt and unexpected. During an attempt to slow down, Jeff downshifted at too high a speed for the umpteenth time. The clutch plate disintegrated. We initially towed it to Ken’s house but his folks said, “No!”

Jeff knew his parents wouldn’t be happy so we never approached them.

The carcass sat in a field across from my place for several months. Finding an impound notice stuck on the windshield I informed Jeff and Ken we needed to move it. Stripping what few salvageable parts there were, we towed it by rope to Alaska Towing & Wrecking late one night leaving it outside their gate. Both license plates including serial number tag had been removed for obvious reason. The only identifiable part of the car pointing our direction was War Wagon painted on each side.

I like to believe someone came along rescuing War Wagon, eventually restoring it to prime operating condition. Perhaps a country western band then purchased it, traveling the U.S. with musical instruments safely stored in back. Jeff on the other hand thinks it was crushed and the metal shipped to Japan. Reincarnated, it came back to America in the form of a Subaru Brat. Jeff’s analogy is probably right.

Neil Young wrote a song about one of his former vehicles titled, “Long May You Run”. Neil sang it at the 2010 Vancouver Olympics. Each time I hear the tune I think back to War Wagon and all the good times we had. Lyrics from Neil Young’s song perfectly sum things up,

“We’ve been through

Some things together

With trunks of memories

Still to come

We found things to do

In Stormy weather

Long may you run!”

One area of interest for me is collecting and researching old postcards. A fancy word for such is ‘ephemera’. I’m not as interested in the photos on front as I am the messages on back. Reading what people had to say one-hundred-years ago can be delightfully entertaining plus highly educational.

Recently I came across an unusual postcard. It’s made of wood and paper. This is the first of its kind I’ve owned. A penny stamp is still attached. The postmark reads October 1907.

The picture on front features a comical looking fellow. He’s an older gentleman sporting a straw hat, goatee, and purse. The card reads: JUST ARRIVED IN ______. The purchaser of this card had to fill in the blank. In this case it reads “ELGIN”.

My newly acquired 4 inch x 6 inch postcard was mailed to Miss Myrtle Holverson – Cedar Vale, Kansas. Something written upside down, underneath ‘Miss Myrtle’ immediately caught my eye. It appeared as if the sender was trying to disguise their message. Four lightly-penned words read, “Many here have heard.”

Wanting to know what they heard had my head spinning. The possibilities were endless. I decided to do some serious sleuthing.

Elgin is or was a city in Kansas. The place is now considered a ghost town. Cedar Vale is only 22-miles northwest of Elgin. Why would someone mail a postcard such a short distance? My first thought being it had to be Myrtle Holverson’s suitor, or as they’re now called, boyfriend.

I equated this to my sending letters across town to my girlfriend before we married. It seems the purchaser of this specially designed card was doing the same. He was letting his sweetheart know he was thinking of her.

I had no problem finding Miss Myrtle ‘Mary’ Holverson. She was born in Cedar Vale, Kansas on May 26, 1887. Her parents were Ole and Frances Holverson. Myrtle had 2 brothers; Herman and Frank. Herman was tragically killed at an early age in a farming accident.

Myrtle Holverson married Orval Younkman on December 31, 1907. This was 2-months after the postmark date. The sender of the card had to be Orval Younkman. His subtle upside-down-message most likely referenced their soon to be wedding.

Orval and Myrtle lived on Oakwood Farm near Cedar Vale until their deaths. Both are buried in the Blackwell Cemetery in Blackwell, Oklahoma. The couple had 2 children; Dolores and Bernadine.

I researched several lines of Holverson and Younkman kin. A good many remained in the Sunflower State.  I was hoping to find a descendant of Orval or Myrtle to pass this card on to. For this to have survived one-hundred and seventeen years tells me the previous owners truly cherished it. How the memento came to be on eBay is a sad mystery. Family heirlooms aren’t meant for such.

Without going into excruciating detail I was able to connect all the genealogical dots. I’m fairly positive I’ve found the gg-niece of Myrtle. This special card will be sent to her from my home in Arizona. Hopefully it’ll be placed once again in a special drawer or box. A most unique artifact of Holverson family history will hopefully be around for years to come!

• Update:I was successful in returning this family heirloom to the proper Holverson survivors. They were ecstatic to receive it in the mail. A local Kansas newspaper ran a featured story on it.

It’s a simple penny postcard.  I came across the memento on ebay while searching for relics of early Alaska.  It was one small item lurking amongst millions on the site.

The postcard was advertised for sale by a simple scanned picture.  Registered seller in Ypsilanti, Michigan evidently did not delve into card’s history or provenance.  A hand-tinted color photo on front was most intriguing.  It shows the J. Heubner drugstore in Douglas, Alaska with 3 employees standing at counter. In period attire they seem poised; ready to help.  Hard to read handwriting says:

“Juneau, Alaska – July 28, 1909 11 P.M. – Having a perfectly gorgeous time, and getting a lot-better. Have seen three glaciers, a big mine, four streams tumbling over a thousand feet – and been to two dances today / work. We own Alaska. Have never seen scenery till now to covet.  Yours, Fred Baker”

Two interesting things to me were the card’s sender Fred Baker, and his designated recipient including address, “Dr. R.L. Doig – Sefton Building – San Diego, Cal.”  The sender’s name Fred Baker rang a bell.  Initially I just couldn’t place why?  R.L. Doig drew a big blank.  I did some serious digging.

Records show R.L. stands for Robert Leeper.  Robert Leeper Doig was born March 16, 1855 in New Athens, Ohio.  His dad James Rolla Doig was a college professor including ordained Presbyterian minister.  James was a founding father of Monmouth College in Illinois.  Robert Doig attended Monmouth, transferring to Cedar Mills, Iowa for enhanced medical studies. By 1883 he was practicing in cow town Ellsworth, Kansas.

On June 12, 1883 Robert married Adaline Frances Jack from Cedar Mills.  Their first child Arthur Haldane Doig was born in Ellsworth December 11, 1884.  Daughter Nellie Elizabeth came along 3 1/2 years later on June 13, 1888.  The couple’s son Lt. Colonel Arthur Haldane Doig went on to a distinguished career in the Coast Guard Artillery.  He’s buried with honors in Arlington National Cemetery.

The family for 10 years called Ellsworth home. Unforeseen circumstances brought them further west to San Diego.  Brother John Doig played a big part in that move.

John Rankin Doig was born 11 years earlier than Robert.  He enlisted in 1862 to serve in the Civil War.  John was 16 at the time.  He mustered out in Selma, Alabama – October 1865 enduring some 3 years of combat.  John attended Washington College afterwards. He went on to study medicine at Iowa University and The College of Physicians and Surgeons in Chicago.

His first practice was in Williamsburg, Iowa.  Larger Des Moines was his next stop.  Records show he then worked in Newton, Kansas for short order before moving to Ellsworth in 1879.  He remained there 1879 – 1886.

In 1886 John and his wife Nell moved to San Diego because of bad health. The good doctor developed serious asthma problems while living amongst wind ravaged prairie.   1894 is the year Robert and his family joined them in California.  The 2 brothers worked out of the same office on 6^th Avenue. Both became prominent San Diego physicians.

Dr. Frederick “Fred” Baker and his wife Dr. Charlotte Johnson-Baker also had offices on 6^th.  They were located in the Sefton Building owned by local banking magnate Joseph W. Sefton Jr.

Fred and Charlotte are pillars of early San Diego history. Fred Baker was born in Norwalk, Ohio on January 29, 1854.  Charlotte Johnson was born March 30, 1855 in Newburyport, Massachusetts.  The 2 married in 1882 moving to San Diego in 1888.  They became the areas initial husband-and-wife medical team.

Dr. Charlotte Johnson-Baker was San Diego’s first female doctor.  Their combined list of medical and civic accomplishments is miles long.  San Diego was blessed to have them as residents.  Both worked out of St. Joseph’s Hospital (now Scripp’s Mercy Hospital).

Dr. Harry Wegeforth along with Dr. Fred Baker are key players in development of Scripps Institution of Oceanography. Fred Baker was a naturalist and amateur malacologist.  He traveled throughout the world collecting mollusks which include snails, slugs, clams, octopus and squid.  His remarkable collection was donated to San Diego Natural History Museum, the Scripps Institution of Oceanography, including Smithsonian Institutions.

Perhaps Dr. Fred Baker is best known for being co-founder of the San Diego Zoo.  Both Fred and Charlotte Baker were friends with publishing moguls Edward Willis Scripps and his half-sister Ellen Browning Scripps.  The Scripps’ money played a major part in making the zoo a success.

Other notable mentions for Dr. Fred Baker are his serving on the San Diego City Council.  He was president of San Diego City Schools. Mr. Baker was on board of trustees for State Normal College (now San Diego State University).  Baker Elementary School in San Diego is named for him.

Dr. Charlotte Johnson-Baker has her own outstanding merits. I’ll mention but a few:  Charlotte was first woman president of the San Diego County Medical Society. She led and was president of the Equal Suffrage Association. Co-founder of the San Diego Y.W.C.A. Mrs. Baker was president of Point Loma Assembly (woman’s club).

She was legislative chairman for League of Social Workers.  Charlotte was inducted into the San Diego Women’s Hall of Fame in 2009.  Her diaries and papers are kept in the San Diego History Center.  Both Dr. Fred Baker and Dr. Charlotte Johnson-Baker are buried in San Diego County. 

I believe it’s safe to say sometimes there’s more lurking in old picture postcards than what meets the eye.  Fred Baker proved such by mailing a simple penny postcard from Alaska to friend and colleague Dr. J.L. Doig in California almost 107 years ago.

I’m sure neither man had a clue back then, that a simple piece of correspondence sent from Alaska would still be making the rounds!

My late father-in-law Herman Freeman was an educator.  With a master’s degree in education he went on to become principal of numerous Kansas schools.  Before that he was a teacher for many years.  Herman gave up the teaching field when discipline was struck from the classroom.

One thing he talked about often was being schooled in a one-room school house.  My mother mentioned the same.  I remember seeing photos of her standing in front of an old wooden building somewhere near Vernon, Alabama.

Back in the day, reading, writing, and arithmetic were the main subjects.  They still are.  Getting a good grasp on those 3 academics is essential.  I wasn’t old enough to attend a one-room school.  My first grade class in Selma, Alabama was a fairly modern brick building containing several grades.  I suppose the thing I enjoyed most from 1^st grade up, besides recess, was reading.

In 5^th grade it got to the point I couldn’t put a book down.  I started falling asleep at my desk because I’d stay up late reading.  Eventually my teacher Mrs. Drake arranged a conference with my folks to see what was going on.  When they discovered “The Hardy Boys” mystery books were getting my undivided attention, a moratorium of sorts was placed on my reading them.

Only through help of a friend was I able to keep this addiction fed.  My pal checked the mystery books out then secretly slipped them to me. Using a flashlight at night I’d crawl under bed covers to get my fix. You could say I was hooked on the books!

I learned more street smarts from Frank and Joe Hardy than I ever did in class.  In seventh grade, a Daniel Boone biography gave me the recipe for making gunpowder. In this book, it showed that a slave named Monk Estill was the person responsible for teaching Daniel Boone how to make the explosive.

Unbeknownst to Monk, his simple instructions taught me the same 200 years later.  Interestingly enough I’ve never forgotten the man’s name. Monk Estill later became a Baptist minister in Shelbyville, Kentucky.

Living close to a drug store I was able to purchase sulfur and saltpeter to begin my experiment.  The granulated charcoal ingredient was obtained by taking Kingsford briquettes and pulverizing them into a fine dust.  It took some doing to get the mixture just right.

I filled a coffee can with my homemade gunpowder and was about to torch it off one chilly September evening. A friend’s mom quickly ran out of her house to stop me.  Had Mrs. Malone not done so I might not be telling this story. My can of gunpowder was confiscated by my mom and and disposed of.

In junior high I found our school library had a whole shelf of “Hot Rod” magazines.  They’d evidently been donated by a student’s parent.  Back then we had mandatory reading so each trip to the library found me grabbing a couple of issues.  The librarian came over to see what I found so interesting.  Seeing it was car magazines she advised me to read other material.  Evidently the woman saw no merit in the publication because all automotive magazines were pulled.

It’s funny but I’ve been a “Hot Rod” subscriber ever since thanks to her censorship.  I still love to read yet there’s one area of study I’ve failed miserably.  The book I need to spend more time with does not show me how to make gunpowder or modify car engines. It is chocked full of interesting stories and useful information.

I believe Monk Estill found this book to be his daily bread.  Just like the one-room school was a pillar in early day education, the Bible in my mind is the foremost manual on how to change life for the better.  I’ll be first to admit I need to pick mine up more often!

I believe in statistics.  Tell me about a great place to invest money and I’ll immediately ask to see numbers.  Same goes for medical advice.

My wife read the other day that green M&M’s are regarded as an aphrodisiac. The only thing M&M’s does for me is spike my blood sugar.

If someone informs me about a miracle health cure, I’ll insist on viewing the documented results first.  There are far too many people believing what they read on the internet.

I know how easy it is for a writer to put information on a hook in anticipation of catching a fish.  When I say fish I refer to the sucker variety. Usually those setting bait have a book they want to sell. I’ve had friends and relatives tell me about get rich quick schemes found on their computers.  They’ve also touted amazing health remedies available in a variety of expensive pills and liquids sold on the web.  When I hear such the old saying,

“If it sounds too good to be true it probably is” comes to mind.

My wife and I were in IHOP the other day for breakfast. We were seated behind 2 young gals.  One had a newborn baby.  The young mom was telling her friend she wasn’t going to immunize her child.  That grabbed my attention because I have friends and family that think along the same flawed lines.

This wiser than thou young woman mentioned the human body having an ability to heal itself of every disease and injury.  I’d wager the gal scraped that malarkey off the internet.  The body does have ability to self-heal but not everything.

The obviously clueless woman went on to discuss preservatives and toxins in foods.  We couldn’t hear the whole conservation yet I took in enough to form a logical conclusion. The gal was nuts.

This mother basically informed her friend that people were healthier before the days of immunization. That was toxic and misleading information.  I’m sure she’s one of those mislead souls proclaiming immunizations result in autism; a myth if there ever was one.

If this mom had merely checked life expectancy over the past 150 years she’d see gross error in her thinking.  In the year 1860 folks were eating grass fed beef with no added hormones.  Fruits and vegetables had no pesticides.  Babies were not immunized back then.  The average life expectancy in 1860 according to government and insurance statistics was 42.

Since food was nutritionally better in the good ole days how come folks died so young?  Jump to 2012 and the average life expectancy for men and women (combined) surges to 78.  Could it be children getting shots to protect against deadly diseases is beneficial to longer life?  The answer is undoubtedly yes.

This young lady with unproven philosophy was putting her child at risk by not immunizing. She’s not the only clueless person doing so. There are thousands.

Logical advice for any young mother is to heed the advice of their pediatrician instead of an internet expert.  In the long run the child will benefit from such. It makes me wonder if this gal even had a doctor for her baby?

I keep waiting for someone to compose a combination book on health and finance. The title would be, “Live Forever & Get Rich Quick!”

Should that manuscript ever come out, I bet the company selling itwould have an automated voice machine in their office.  Each time a gullible customer called with a credit card number, speakers would blast forth,

“Fish on!”

The older I get the easier I take it on my body.  Common sense dictates such. A veteran mechanic gave me advice years ago regarding things mechanical.

“Don’t push ‘Ole Betsy’ to the limit or she’ll blow!”

Just like the dangers of over revving a vintage car or truck engine, parts can fly apart in an aged human body as well.

For several years I rode bikes with an Alaskan friend.  Craig was a few years older but could waste me on endurance rides or climbing hills. We both entered a bicycle race up Arctic Valley Road to a popular Anchorage ski slope.

I took things easy maintaining a pace that didn’t kill me.  My friend burned to the top passing much younger riders along the way.  He took first in his age group and probably some others as well.  I was middle of the pack.  Craig was elated in his accomplishment and rightly so.  I was happy just to finish the race.

I see advertisements all the time about older people claiming to be as competitive in sports as they were at 21.  Generally these guys or gals are hawking some type of vitamin or health supplement.  I often wonder about such products.

When these athletes finally do explode from over exertion, we’ll never read or hear about it.  That type news doesn’t sell endurance elixirs. The company will find someone else to tout their product.

These performance boosters remind me of automotive gimmickry where oil additives are concerned. Certain companies manufacture fluids that claim to lengthen the life of an older engine along with increasing power. Suckers buy the stuff every day.

My goal is to live as long as I can and hopefully stay upright in doing so.  Most everyone tries for the same. While doing so I’d like to motor along without use of wheelchair or walker. I have no problem with canes.  To me canes are stately; very useful in fending off undesirables like thugs and Amway salesmen.

Because so many unknowns can unexpectedly happen during the golden years, my desire to continue walking without aid is much more difficult than it sounds.  I see seniors on a daily basis resorting to ‘help’ devices.  When I say help devices I mean wheelchairs, walkers, and canes. Most of these folks had a simple slip or fall before having to use such.

If I continue to be blessed with good health, one thing you’ll never find me doing is entering athletic competition of any kind. I’ll let others vie for ribbons and trophies. At this point in life I have nothing to prove to anyone including myself.

I’ll be more than content in my golden years, if I’m able to stroll along a country road; an old man simply walking.