Today is Pop's Birthday

November 12th ... that was Dad's birthday. Pop's birthday.

Dad (to Gus, Betsy, Jim, Clellie) was Frank R. Philpott. He seldom told anyone his middle name. Because our middle names are not the same, I'm not a "Jr." 

Pop was born November 12, 1900 in Clifton Forge, Va., and he died in May 1962 in University City, Mo.

This photo may have been taken in about 1955-56. He was in the insurance business, as both a salesman and a manager. In the mid-1950s he was self-employed broker and had an old rolltop desk at home, where lots of papers made their way into the pigeon holes and drawers. Remember, those were the days before computers. Sure wish I'd kept that Underwood typewriter.

He taught me to ride horses, and he himself rode in the Black Horse Troop of the Shrine in St. Louis. El Jebel, as I recall.

Mom and Dad had a farm in Chesterfield. Well, we called it the "farm". It was 60 acres of hills. 

Growing up I knew there was one business that I was not going to end up in. The insurance business. And so what happened? In 1965 I became an agent of The Penn Mutual Life Insurance Company, in one of the five downtown agencies in Chicago. That was the start of my business life.

Years later, and after I had changed jobs several times, I was having dinner with a group at The Fort in Morrison, Colorado. I was telling a colleague about how my dad used to hunt quail on horseback. George asked how those little quail could ride horseback, making a sign with his fingers like a quail hanging onto the horse's back. I told him that, until that night, I had never realized what a good shot my dad had been. Never once did Dad hit the horse!

Because Mom died when I was 21 and Dad died when I was 23, I missed the growing-up-with-aging-parents adventure. 

What was Dad's middle name and why wouldn't he tell anyone? OK, here's the secret. He was Frank Roosevelt Philpott. He stopped telling people his middle name because they'd ask, "Aftet FDR?"

Of course not, since Dad was born in 1900. He was named after Teddy Roosevelt (1858-1919), the Rough Rider, who became U.S. President (1901-1909).

Today is also my granddaughter's birthday. Abbie Bowman is 23 today. She was graduated from Johns Hopkins University this year and is in the process of choosing a medical school. Go, Abbie!!!

Christmas Ribs

Yesterday (and today) I celebrated with my favorite meal - RIBS. With a side of baked beans.

And not even cooked in a BBQ pit or on a grill. For the second time in 2019 I bought Kingsford fully-cooked ribs right off the shelf of the grocery store. They are delicious.

I was attracted to the brand because of their charcoal. Kingsford was my choice when I used a Weber kettle back in Illinois. The kettle didn't fit in the car when I moved from Woodstock to Columbia, S.C. in 2014, and it found a new home there.

I highly recommend these ribs. Ripping open the packaging is a lot faster than skinning a slab of ribs and then nursing them over a bed of coals and slapping on the sauce generously while they are cooking.

There were instructions somewhere on the packaging for heating them in the oven, but this year I couldn't wait, so I enjoyed them cold.

We Philpott kids were required to "shine the bone", before we could have the next one. And I do that to this day. It looks pretty strange to others at the table, especially in a restaurant, when I sit there, sleeves rolled up, bib on, and scrape my teeth on the bone until it is c-l-e-a-n.

Dad had a three-sided brick pit, and he'd start the fire hours ahead of time, so that the wood could burn down to a bed of coals. Then he'd cook the ribs slowly for 3-4 hours, dabbing on Mom's special BBQ sauce. There was no such thing as a basting brush. I don't remember how he made it, but it was something like strips of cloth tied to a short round handle.

Every once in a while a side of ribs would get away from him, when he was flipping it over. Dad would just brush off the dirt, throw the ribs back on the grill, and brush on more sauce. No one ever knew the difference.

I doubt I'll ever return to cooking ribs over an open fire. These Kingsford ribs are just too good. And easy.

About our sister, Clellie

Today would have been Clellie's 89th birthday. She was born December 16, 1930.

I often think about the family home at 550 Warder Avenue in University City, Mo. It was a 3-bedroom, 1½-bath, brick house, and it was home to Mom, Dad and us four kids. Mom and Dad had their room; Clellie had hers; and Betsy, Jim and I had the bigger bedroom that opened onto a two-story screened porch.

This photo was taken in 2017, when I was in U. City for my 50th high-school reunion. The ol' house looks a little different now. The screened porch is no longer two-story enclosed.

Clellie had a Jeep and loved to tear about Clayton  She was strong and independent. Lots of good memories about her.

For years we exchanged a "money" gift envelope at Christmas. She gave it to me in 1951, and I saved it and gave it back to her in 1952. And then she gave it back to me in 1953. And back and forth it went every year, without interruption. We exchanged it right through December 2017.

Clellie went on her way on August 15, 2018. I just looked th. rough a box of picture that came my way after the memorial service. So glad to have them. I miss you, Clellie.

Nov. 12, 1900

Dad was born in Clifton Forge, Va. on November 12, 1900. So, every November 12 I count the years. And the number of years since he died in 1962.

 As a kid, I heard Dad tell stories about Henry County, Va. and Philpott Lake, Va., although I don't think I heard but one story about Clifton Forge.

That was Dad's contribution to WW I. As a teenager he had a part-time job as a railroad telegraph operator or night clerk. A military train came through, and his orders were to send them down a siding and tell them to stay there until they were told to continue. Dad did that, finished his shift and went home.

As the story goes, about three days later a soldier walked up the tracks of the siding and asked when they'd be able to go on their way. Dad had apparently neglected to tell anyone he had sent the train down the tracks before going home!

Dad was Frank Roosevelt Philpott, but he'd never tell anyone his middle name. I'm Frank Richey Philpott, so I'm not a Junior. Dad got tired of telling people that he was not named after FDR.

Where did "Richey" come from? Dad's sister, Thelma, married Clint Richey, and Mom and Dad liked Clint a lot; hence, my middle name.

I still have Dad's old Colt .38-.40 six-shot "cowboy" revolver. At least, I think that's the caliber. It's unsafe to shoot, and I suspect any ammo would have to be hand-loaded. Modern ammo would probably break it apart. Dad always said it was the gun that killed Jesse James - along with about 10,000 just like it. It belongs in a shadow box, hanging on the wall. Maybe .... one of these days ...

Dad made sure that I learned to ride horses and that I learned to swim. He never made me learn to play handball. He was 38 when I was born, and I was 23 when he died. Sure wish I'd known him for many more years.

Memories of Clellie

Age 80. Not bad, eh?

I'm sitting here this afternoon and remembering our older sister,
Clellie. Here I am with my favorite hat. Recognize it? Jack's golf hat.

The first story I thought of was the hot day, when I was a kid, and I mowed her lawn at the little house in St. Ann, Mo. It was h-o-t. I was thirsty and went into the kitchen for some cold water. When I opened the refrigerator door, I spied the "polio jar". That was the jar of cold water that everyone just drank directly from. I chugged down the whole quart of cold water. Clellie asked if I knew I would get sick by doing that and told me I should only drink cool water that fast. So I filled the bottle with tap water and drank that down. And then jumped up and down. Didn't get sick, either.

Then there was the day Al opened the refrigerator to get a glass of milk. He placed his glass on the open door and reached for the milk jug. After he poured milk into his glass, he put the jug back on the shelf. He must have forgotten the glass on the door, because he back-handed the door to close it. And then he remembered the glass of milk. Too late!

Al salted everything before he tasted anything. One day Clellie bought a Virginia ham. When it was on the dinner table, Al sliced it. Then he proceeded to salt it heavily before tasting the first bite. Clellie made him eat the whole slice!

Clellie loved her Jeep, and she went all over U. City and Clayton. Sides off. Top off. (The Jeep's top.) Everybody knew Clel.

Later Clellie had a Ford and took it into the Ford dealership in Clayton one day for service. When she picked it up, she was wearing her office-job clothes and was wearing her white office gloves. The service people did not bring her car up to the front, and she had to go to the back lot and get it. When she drove it up to the front, she had grease from the steering wheel all over her gloves. As I heard the story, she said in a loud voice, she held her hands out and asked, "DID YOU PUT ANY GREASE UNDER THE CAR?"

Al had a '56 T-Bird and was working on the engine. He sent Clellie to the Ford dealership to borrow a cylinder hone. They normally didn't loan tools, but Clellie never took "No" for an answer. The tool was dirty and greasy and they wrapped it up in a dirty shop towel. When she returned it the next morning, it was clean, wrapped in a clean shop towel and in a shoe box. After that, she could borrow any tool at any time!

OK, who else has some Clellie stories?

Gus' Sept.-Oct. Travels

In September I went to St. Louis for high school and Flynn Park reunions on Labor Day week-end. I took the "scenic route" and avoided interstate highways as much as possible. Usually I just blast right through and would have driven to St. Louis (770 miles) in one day. On that trip, however, I took three days and saw beautiful parts of the country I would have missed on the superslab.  I also took advantage of CouchSurfing.com and met two wonderful families who opened their homes to me.

Have you read Blue Highways, by William Least Heat-Moon. He left Columbia, Mo. in an old van (early 1980s, I think) and traveled throughout the country. He could drive from U. City to Chesterfield and write ten chapters about all the people he met and things he saw. Blue highways are the old blue-lined highways on maps; two-lane roads, country roads. It's a book to read slowly and enjoy.

Then I drove to Woodstock, Ill. to visit Joey (now 29) for a couple of days and then over to the Wilbur Wright Birthplace & Museum northeast of Millville, Ind. (Hagerstown is its mailing address but is seven miles away.) I even considered moving there! I tried to get the Board of Directors to hire me as Executive Director, so I could "save" the place before they run it into the ground. The Board is composed of nice people, but who are mostly ignorant (meaning "unaware") of the proper ways to run a not-for-profit organization. I think I had too many "big-city" ideas for them, even though I considered them simple, required procedures to stay out of hot water with the Indiana Secretary of State, IRS, County Health Dept., Bank, etc.

Since I was a volunteer, I decided I could be anything I wanted. After I found a flight simulator in a closed-up room, I dusted it off and got it working. Then I invited all museum visitors to "go flying". I never knew that my flying experience (300 hours, 40 years ago!) would come in so handy.

I got back to Columbia, S.C. on Oct. 30, did laundry and am ready to leave again!

Granddaughter Abbie finished high school (S.C. Governor's School) and has started at Johns Hopkins U. Grandson Josh is a senior at The Citadel in Charleston, S.C. He is now considering training in military intelligence (I know - an oxymoron) and may go to Aberdeen, Md. after graduation. He is in the Army Reserve and apparently, per the terms of his 3-year scholarship, cannot go into the Regular Army. Stephanie is doing fine with her clinical therapy practice and has a growing component of equine-assisted therapy. Several years ago I sent her a copy of It's Not About the Horse, by Wyatt Webb. After reading it, she added the equine-assisted therapy to her practice. 

I stopped at Jim's on the way home and also enjoyed a nice dinner with Russell and his family. Jim told me about a great book. Joshua Slocum's book, Sailing Alone Around the World. It's about his round-the-world, solo sailing voyage in 1895-97. I really enjoyed it. What a deal for 99¢!!!

High School Graduation Day 2017

On Saturday, May 27, Gus's granddaughter, Abbie Grace Bowman, 18,
graduated from the South Carolina Governor's School for Science and Mathematics, in Hartsville, S.C.

About a week before, I was in Hartsville to hear Abbie's presentation of her senior research project: "Using C. elegans to model the effects of Cystic Fibrosis."

I heard every word she said. I wish I could say that I understood at least some of it!

Abbie will enter Johns Hopkins University this fall.

I'm very proud of her.