Carl's Eulogy, by Cecil Bethea

MOM’S TRIP TO SEE HER BABY BOY

Two to three months after I joined the Air Force, Mom came to visit me at Lowry, in Denver.  Not only was this my first time away, it was the first time her favorite son had left her.  Gary was still Lend-Lease. 

I took her to breakfast at the recreation center (a bowling alley).  As we were proceeding through the line, choosing from the offerings, Mom saw a dismaying sight, a kid, much like her own kid, had chosen glazed doughnuts and was carrying them around the neck of real cold bottle of beer.

I told her, that I was to be in a parade and where it was to be.  She went to the parade grounds, seeing an empty seat in a small bleacher section, she decided it had a nice view and sat down.  Just before the parade started, the section started to fill, she started to scoot over, but they insisted she remain.

So the seating order was squadron commander, adjutant, base commander (a Major General), Mom, another squadron commander and his aide.  When the troops passed in review, they stood.  Mom did too.

THE TRIP TO ELITCH’S

Soon after the first trip to Denver, Mom and Dad took their first family vacation.  They came to visit me at Lowry, in Denver.  Mom, Dad, Carol, Mary Jo, and Sandra stayed in a motel.

CONSPICUOUS CONSUMPTION

I took them to Elitch Gardens a Denver landmark (and amusement park).  Admission was minimal, $.10 or such, but the rides tickets were $.05 each and a ride required 2 – 9 tickets.

There dozens of rides.  Carol, a jaded 14, didn’t think much of it. Mary Jo and Sandra were prime targets for an amusement park 8 and 10-years old. 

The 5 cent tickets were going fast, and we were rationing them pretty severely.  Each ride required reconnoitering as to its ticket worthiness.  Then we came to a loop-o-plane that had riders in the upper cars but no one in line.  The ride operator recognized me as a fellow instructor at Lowry and saw my family – he beckoned us forth and installed everyone in the empty seats.  It was the usual gruesome ride (I don’t like amusement parks) but it was free.

A little while later Mary Jo came running with a several foot long strip of tickets.  When asked, she said, “Carl’s friend gave them to me!”  Mom, in an uncharacteristic gesture said, “In a town this big, someone knows you?”  She hugged me and rest of the evening was spent in spending free tickets.

OUR TRIP OVER THE PASS

Mom, Cecil, and I set out to see the wonders of Butte in 1975.  We went to the mining museum at the top of the hill (not the present museum).  There were some things of interest but not enough justify a trip all the way to Butte.  We walked through the parking lot to the east side and a took a gander at Butte, laid out in all of its splendor beneath us, the head frames and trucks were all going with great busyness.  I looked about discovered Mom had found something much more interesting, this was the site of the Butte landfill.  The trash and treasures of Butte were totally occupying her attention.

When I pried her away from the trash, I asked where else she would like to go.  She said, “over Shakalo Pass,” (between Butte and the Bitterroot Valley).  I asked, “If she hadn’t already been there, done that?”  She replied that this time she wanted to ride and see it. I asked what she had done on previous visits.  She replied, ”Carried a rock”.

It seems that was a narrow, steep road that the family was traveling to the Bitterroot to pick beans.  Mom’s and her sister Virginia’s job was to walk behind the wagon and each carry a rock to place behind the wheel when the horses needed a rest.

  

NOT “GOING TO THE SUN HIGHWAY”

Mom grew up in Montana but was not well traveled there.  Cecil and I offered to take her to and over the “Going to the Sun” highway.  She most strenuously declined, “That thing is dangerous, there are always cars falling off and killing people.”  I told her, that if that were the case, it would be full of cars by now and no great threat.  She was adamant and “would have no truck with such.

We had no more than returned to Denver than a letter arrived with the front page of the GREAT FALLS TRIBUNE featuring a lurid aerial shot of the Going to the Sun and the path to destruction of its latest two victims.

Mom never did see Glacier Park, but she did see Yellowstone on her honeymoon.  She, and her new husband, were accompanied by her mother – his new mother-in-law.

© 6 Mar 2006 

About the Author 

Although I have done other things, my fame now rests upon the durability of my partnership with Carl Shepherd; we have been together for forty-two years and nine months as of today, August 18th, 2012.

Although I was born in Macon, Georgia in 1928, I was raised in Birmingham during the Great Depression.  No doubt I still carry invisible scars caused by that era.  No matter we survived.  I am talking about my sister, brother, and I.  There are two things that set me apart from people.  From about the third grade I was a voracious reader of books on almost any subject.  Had I concentrated, I would have been an authority by now; but I didn’t with no regrets.

After the University of Alabama and the Air Force, I came to Denver.  Here I met Carl, who picked me up in Mary’s Bar.  Through our early life, we traveled extensively in the mountain West.  Carl is from Helena, Montana, and is a Blackfoot Indian.  Our being from nearly opposite ends of the country made “going to see the folks” a broadening experience.  We went so many times that we finally had “must see” places on each route like the Quilt Museum in Paducah, Kentucky and the polo games in Sheridan, Wyoming.  Now those happy travels are only memories.

I was amongst the first members of the memory writing class.  While it doesn’t offer criticism, it does offer feedback.  Also, just trying to improve your writing helps no end.