Lakeside, Montana 1937 - 1938
Unique and picturesque as Burke was, it was still a rough mining town.
So Dad moved his family out of that environment and into that same wonderful cabin
on the shore of Flathead Lake in Montana.
He went back to Burke, took a room at the Beanery,
and toiled in that deep, dark, dangerous Hecla Mine.
He made the trip to Lakeside and back every two weekends
so he did get to enjoy a little time at the Lake.
So Dad moved his family out of that environment and into that same wonderful cabin
on the shore of Flathead Lake in Montana.
He went back to Burke, took a room at the Beanery,
and toiled in that deep, dark, dangerous Hecla Mine.
He made the trip to Lakeside and back every two weekends
so he did get to enjoy a little time at the Lake.
Donald, Helen and David on doorstep
Flathead Lake
Flathead Lake is the largest fresh water lake west of the Mississippi River.
When we lived there, I understood it was 50 miles long, and 17 miles wide at Lakeside,
the widest point, but the Web says 28 miles long, 15 miles wide, and 300 feet deep.
Road maps do show it to be 28 miles. When a dam was built at Polson at the south end of the lake
it was supposed to have increased the measurements of the lake.
Whatever, it’s one big, beautiful lake!
Flathead Lake is the largest fresh water lake west of the Mississippi River.
When we lived there, I understood it was 50 miles long, and 17 miles wide at Lakeside,
the widest point, but the Web says 28 miles long, 15 miles wide, and 300 feet deep.
Road maps do show it to be 28 miles. When a dam was built at Polson at the south end of the lake
it was supposed to have increased the measurements of the lake.
Whatever, it’s one big, beautiful lake!
Sunset over Flathead Lake
Flathead Lake’s beauty was simply breathtaking!
Lakeside, where we lived, is on the west side of the lake
in an area of some flat terrain among rolling hills.
Our view across the lake to the east was of the Mission mountain range.
Lakeside, where we lived, is on the west side of the lake
in an area of some flat terrain among rolling hills.
Our view across the lake to the east was of the Mission mountain range.
Mission Range from West Shore
It seemed whenever you looked, the scene changed -- from mirror smooth water to rolling whitecaps up to three feet high.
The mountains across the lake seemed constantly to change
from soft pastels to brilliant pinks, blues, and gold, purple, even black.
At night we’d go to sleep to the sound of waves lapping softly ashore.
In the morning it was the same soothing sound with bird chorus added.
I’d often go down and sit on a log on the beach just to take in the beauty of it.
I was so taken with the mountain color miracles I felt compelled to preserve them on paper.
Unfortunately, when finished, my Crayola “painting” of that magnificent scene seemed almost sacrilegious.
The mountains across the lake seemed constantly to change
from soft pastels to brilliant pinks, blues, and gold, purple, even black.
At night we’d go to sleep to the sound of waves lapping softly ashore.
In the morning it was the same soothing sound with bird chorus added.
I’d often go down and sit on a log on the beach just to take in the beauty of it.
I was so taken with the mountain color miracles I felt compelled to preserve them on paper.
Unfortunately, when finished, my Crayola “painting” of that magnificent scene seemed almost sacrilegious.
The Lake and surrounding landscape are still beautiful.
I've used past tense above because, unfortunately, that beauty is being spoiled by uncontrolled commercialization.
Beach access to residents has become limited by tourist accommodations,
and the noise level from speed boats and jet skis far surpasses that from row boats,
occasional motor boat, and sail boats during our stay there.
I've used past tense above because, unfortunately, that beauty is being spoiled by uncontrolled commercialization.
Beach access to residents has become limited by tourist accommodations,
and the noise level from speed boats and jet skis far surpasses that from row boats,
occasional motor boat, and sail boats during our stay there.
One night we heard music coming from out on the water.
There was a full moon making a lighted path across the water and, as we watched,
a canoe crossed the moon’s light path.
A woman in the canoe was singing 'Indian Love Call.' Special!
There was a full moon making a lighted path across the water and, as we watched,
a canoe crossed the moon’s light path.
A woman in the canoe was singing 'Indian Love Call.' Special!
Flathead Lake is fed by fresh mountain streams, which makes it a little cold for swimming, but we got used to that.
The lake had a wonderful aroma when you stood near or in the water.
It’s hard to describe -- a fresh, almost sweet smell.
In recent years I’ve enjoyed a few trips back for school reunions.
When I’d walk to the water’s edge, that wonderful aroma would take me right back to the eighth grade.
On one trip back after several years’ absence, when that magnificent lake loomed into view,
my first thought was, “Why did I wait so long to come back?”
The lake had a wonderful aroma when you stood near or in the water.
It’s hard to describe -- a fresh, almost sweet smell.
In recent years I’ve enjoyed a few trips back for school reunions.
When I’d walk to the water’s edge, that wonderful aroma would take me right back to the eighth grade.
On one trip back after several years’ absence, when that magnificent lake loomed into view,
my first thought was, “Why did I wait so long to come back?”
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Helen swims Flathead
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I can honestly say, our time there was the happiest of my life. I learned to swim and ride a bike there, discovered boys there, and lived in all that beauty. New bike
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Mama, Donald, David, and I often had breakfast on the beach with or without a bonfire, depending on the food.
I remember homemade applesauce and buttered toast. Umm.
Dad joined us whenever he made his weekend trips from Burke.
I remember homemade applesauce and buttered toast. Umm.
Dad joined us whenever he made his weekend trips from Burke.
Here conveniences were a combination.
We did have electricity for an overhead light with an on/off pull chain in the large main room,
which was our combination kitchen, dining, living, bed room.
The main bedroom was a large screened porch at the front of the house.
Overflow slept in the main room and, during cold weather, we all slept there.
There was a long, partially enclosed porch off the back door.
Mama grew hollyhocks and sweet peas along the back porch.
Memory is not clear on this, but I seem to recall that our landlords, the Young’s,
gave her some garden space to grow vegetables.
We did have electricity for an overhead light with an on/off pull chain in the large main room,
which was our combination kitchen, dining, living, bed room.
The main bedroom was a large screened porch at the front of the house.
Overflow slept in the main room and, during cold weather, we all slept there.
There was a long, partially enclosed porch off the back door.
Mama grew hollyhocks and sweet peas along the back porch.
Memory is not clear on this, but I seem to recall that our landlords, the Young’s,
gave her some garden space to grow vegetables.
Heat came from wood and coal in the kitchen range and a small, black potbellied stove.
Instead of a bathroom, it was back to the round tin tub and another two-holer.
I recall that one of my two little brothers dropped the flashlight down one of those holes and lighted up its “basement.”
Mr. Young, our landlord, helped retrieve it but I’m not sure anyone wanted to use it after that. I sure didn't!
In summer, we couldn't understand why Mama still made us take baths when we soaked in the lake every day.
I remember taking shampoo to the lake and washing my hair there.
Water for the house came through a pipe from the lake floor to a faucet on the outside of our landlords’ house.
We’d take a bucket to the faucet, fill it, and learned not to be surprised
when an occasional eel slithered out of the faucet into the pail.
I don’t know how far that pipe went out into the lake, but I hope it was far beyond the swimming area.
In cold weather the pipe froze and we’d have to take the bucket and a hatchet down to the lake
and break a hole through the ice to dip the pail in. Brrrr!
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One day the boys and I were playing by the back porch when a man from some neighboring tourist cabins
came over to the fence to “watch the little towheads” as if they were some sort of tourist attraction. He asked me if I was their mother. Hey, I was only 12! But that wasn't the only time I was taken for my brothers’ mother! Do you think this thing will float?
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Charles and Iva Young owned our cabin
and later built a row of slab tourist cabins on their property. Today, those are gone, replaced by more modern frame cabins. The Young’s lived in a big two-story house right next to our cabin, between us and the lake. I remember there was a path behind the Young’s house. That path was a direct route from our cabin to the beach. They said we could use that path. But Mama said, no, that out of respect for their privacy, we were to take the longer path around their front yard. It wasn't that much longer and a good lesson in respect for others. Oh shoot, they're invading our beach!
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Kitty
You know how cats love water. Not! But we had a cat that swam.
Mama would leave the oven door of the range open to let the heat escape and help keep the room warm.
The cat liked to climb up and sit on the warm oven door.
One day Mama banked up the fire in the range and shut the oven door preparing to bake bread.
Before long, we heard the cat meowing. It got louder and louder.
We couldn't figure out where it was coming from until someone thought to check the oven.
Earlier the cat had moved from the oven door to the warmer back of the oven
so Mama didn't see it when she closed the door.
When the oven door opened, that cat knew instinctively what to do and made a bee line for the lake.
After that, every now and then the cat would join us when we swam.
I guess it just remembered how good that water felt after coming so close to being roast cat.
You know how cats love water. Not! But we had a cat that swam.
Mama would leave the oven door of the range open to let the heat escape and help keep the room warm.
The cat liked to climb up and sit on the warm oven door.
One day Mama banked up the fire in the range and shut the oven door preparing to bake bread.
Before long, we heard the cat meowing. It got louder and louder.
We couldn't figure out where it was coming from until someone thought to check the oven.
Earlier the cat had moved from the oven door to the warmer back of the oven
so Mama didn't see it when she closed the door.
When the oven door opened, that cat knew instinctively what to do and made a bee line for the lake.
After that, every now and then the cat would join us when we swam.
I guess it just remembered how good that water felt after coming so close to being roast cat.
Kitty and kids
That kitty had another harrowing experience.
It was fast becoming a thorn in Mama’s side because it was not house broken.
Mama finally said, “If that cat leaves a mess in here one more time I’ll rub its nose in it, and I mean it!”
One night after we went to bed, we heard a sound that told us we hadn’t put the cat out,
followed by more, very suspicious sounds that said that cat was in big trouble.
Mama rolled out of bed and headed straight for the kitchen area where the cat was.
I was still in bed on the sleeping porch, but the sounds from the next room revealed a clear picture
in my mind of Mama with a grip on the nape of the cat’s neck,
mauling the animal around in its mess on the floor. I was feeling a little sick.
Finally she opened the back door and tossed the cat out. She came back in, and THEN turned on the light.
Silence. After a bit, she started laughing.
I climbed out of bed and investigated.
She’d completely missed the cat’s mess and had been mauling the poor animal around on the bare clean floor.
Well, I was greatly relieved and we both had a good laugh.
She may have missed the mark, but that mauling cured the cat.
Later we went to Kalispell and, while we were gone, somehow the cat ended up in the house.
Nature called and that cat did everything it could to get out.
Drapes and a few other things suffered from the cat attack. Someone heard the ruckus and let the cat out in time.
Kitty had kittens. We didn't know where she had them, but one day she brought them out of hiding.
Donald slept on a camp cot on the big sleeping porch. Here came kitty carrying one of her newborns by mouth, cat style.
She climbed up on Donald’s cot and deposited kitten.
Then she left and returned with the second kitten, and a third, etc.
After the first kitten we made another resting place for the litter and began moving them.
We’d move one kitten off the cot, and here would come Mama kitty with another which she’d place on the cot.
Kitty was determined she’d found the perfect nest for her brood and we had quite a time convincing her
she couldn't set up housekeeping on Donald’s bed.
It was fast becoming a thorn in Mama’s side because it was not house broken.
Mama finally said, “If that cat leaves a mess in here one more time I’ll rub its nose in it, and I mean it!”
One night after we went to bed, we heard a sound that told us we hadn’t put the cat out,
followed by more, very suspicious sounds that said that cat was in big trouble.
Mama rolled out of bed and headed straight for the kitchen area where the cat was.
I was still in bed on the sleeping porch, but the sounds from the next room revealed a clear picture
in my mind of Mama with a grip on the nape of the cat’s neck,
mauling the animal around in its mess on the floor. I was feeling a little sick.
Finally she opened the back door and tossed the cat out. She came back in, and THEN turned on the light.
Silence. After a bit, she started laughing.
I climbed out of bed and investigated.
She’d completely missed the cat’s mess and had been mauling the poor animal around on the bare clean floor.
Well, I was greatly relieved and we both had a good laugh.
She may have missed the mark, but that mauling cured the cat.
Later we went to Kalispell and, while we were gone, somehow the cat ended up in the house.
Nature called and that cat did everything it could to get out.
Drapes and a few other things suffered from the cat attack. Someone heard the ruckus and let the cat out in time.
Kitty had kittens. We didn't know where she had them, but one day she brought them out of hiding.
Donald slept on a camp cot on the big sleeping porch. Here came kitty carrying one of her newborns by mouth, cat style.
She climbed up on Donald’s cot and deposited kitten.
Then she left and returned with the second kitten, and a third, etc.
After the first kitten we made another resting place for the litter and began moving them.
We’d move one kitten off the cot, and here would come Mama kitty with another which she’d place on the cot.
Kitty was determined she’d found the perfect nest for her brood and we had quite a time convincing her
she couldn't set up housekeeping on Donald’s bed.
Schoolhouse
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Donald
started school in Lakeside I was in the
seventh grade |
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The schoolhouse was picturesque -- a two-room white frame structure with bell tower,
AND it was on the lake shore!
Only a narrow dirt road separated it from the beach.
AND it was on the lake shore!
Only a narrow dirt road separated it from the beach.
In later years it was painted red and became a restaurant and gift shop called the Little Red School House.
Today it’s been converted into a private residence, with bell tower intact.
Schoolteacher had to compete with this view across the road
Donald was schooled in the room that housed first through fourth grade.
I was in the other room that housed fifth through eighth grades.
That’s where I got to make up that grade I lost by starting first grade late.
I’d finish my seventh grade assignments, and then eavesdrop on the eighth graders.
The more I listened the more I felt I should be doing that level,
so I asked Mrs. Romasko, our teacher, about it.
She confessed she had been thinking about asking if I wanted to do that very thing! So I did.
I was in the other room that housed fifth through eighth grades.
That’s where I got to make up that grade I lost by starting first grade late.
I’d finish my seventh grade assignments, and then eavesdrop on the eighth graders.
The more I listened the more I felt I should be doing that level,
so I asked Mrs. Romasko, our teacher, about it.
She confessed she had been thinking about asking if I wanted to do that very thing! So I did.
Helen (middle) with eight grade graduation class
I graduated with the eighth grade class but was a little deficient in arithmetic. We didn't call it math then.
Mrs. Romasko had a big family, and some were also her students.
They lived in a big house on the lake shore a short distance north of the school.
That summer, once a week I would ride my bike up a steep incline on the highway,
then take a right angle onto a steep decline to their house on the beach at the bottom of the hill,
where Mrs. Romasko tutored me in arithmetic to achieve the eighth grade level.
Mama came to visit school one day. That evening she asked Donald how it felt to have her to visit.
First grader Donald didn't quite have a handle on his vocabulary yet and he told her it made him feel kind of jealous.
Mrs. Romasko had a big family, and some were also her students.
They lived in a big house on the lake shore a short distance north of the school.
That summer, once a week I would ride my bike up a steep incline on the highway,
then take a right angle onto a steep decline to their house on the beach at the bottom of the hill,
where Mrs. Romasko tutored me in arithmetic to achieve the eighth grade level.
Mama came to visit school one day. That evening she asked Donald how it felt to have her to visit.
First grader Donald didn't quite have a handle on his vocabulary yet and he told her it made him feel kind of jealous.
At one side of the school room for the upper grades there was a stage for school programs.
Church and Sunday school were held there.
We also had dances at the school at which time the partition between the two rooms
was opened to make one big room.
During one of those dances, that stage was where I got my first romantic kiss from a boy, Don Clothier.
We were sitting behind the stage back drop. It was a pretty awkward kiss.
Years later at a school reunion at Lakeside, Don and I were walking along the beach road reminiscing when he pointed to a big tree on the beach and said that was where he had his first kiss - me.
I told him it I remembered it was behind the stage and he must be thinking of one of his other girlfriends.
What I didn’t tell him was that the first boy who kissed me was actually his little brother, Eldon.
But that was kind of a fluke. The neighborhood kids were gathered at our favorite swimming location near an old dock.
I was sitting on the edge of the dock with some girlfriends. A few feet away Eldon and some other boys were having a small huddle which resulted in daring Eldon to kiss me.
Well he did, if you can call it that. He came up behind me, planted one between my shoulder blades, and ran.
Betty and Bob Walker were two of my school mates.
Their Grandma played piano for the dances. Boy, could she rip those keys!
Bob was in my eighth grade graduating class and we both took violin lessons.
He was a long, skinny, extremely limber kid who could wind himself into some outlandish positions.
One day during school we heard a plaintive “Mrs. Romasko” from the very back of the row of seats next to mine.
Bob was on the floor with his legs wrapped behind his neck.
He couldn’t get them unwrapped. That was our laugh for the day.
I’m sure even Mrs. Romasko had a hard time keeping a straight face while she untangled and reprimanded him.
Mrs. Romasko was a wonderful teacher but a stern disciplinarian.
She’d have been in big trouble today for her punishment of Don Clothier.
I don’t remember what he did but I’m certain it didn’t warrant the belt she used on him behind the stage.
Don never made a sound but we could hear that belt. It wasn’t fun!
One of the eighth grade girls, Jewell Prouty, had a crush on Mrs. Romasko’s son Harry, another eighth grader.
She wrote a love poem which Mrs. Romasko found and read aloud to the class to the deep embarrassment of poor Jewell, and Harry too I’m sure.
I just didn’t think it was necessary for her to humiliate the lovelorn poetess like that.
I had a crush on Harry for a while too, but I never wrote him any poems.
Church and Sunday school were held there.
We also had dances at the school at which time the partition between the two rooms
was opened to make one big room.
During one of those dances, that stage was where I got my first romantic kiss from a boy, Don Clothier.
We were sitting behind the stage back drop. It was a pretty awkward kiss.
Years later at a school reunion at Lakeside, Don and I were walking along the beach road reminiscing when he pointed to a big tree on the beach and said that was where he had his first kiss - me.
I told him it I remembered it was behind the stage and he must be thinking of one of his other girlfriends.
What I didn’t tell him was that the first boy who kissed me was actually his little brother, Eldon.
But that was kind of a fluke. The neighborhood kids were gathered at our favorite swimming location near an old dock.
I was sitting on the edge of the dock with some girlfriends. A few feet away Eldon and some other boys were having a small huddle which resulted in daring Eldon to kiss me.
Well he did, if you can call it that. He came up behind me, planted one between my shoulder blades, and ran.
Betty and Bob Walker were two of my school mates.
Their Grandma played piano for the dances. Boy, could she rip those keys!
Bob was in my eighth grade graduating class and we both took violin lessons.
He was a long, skinny, extremely limber kid who could wind himself into some outlandish positions.
One day during school we heard a plaintive “Mrs. Romasko” from the very back of the row of seats next to mine.
Bob was on the floor with his legs wrapped behind his neck.
He couldn’t get them unwrapped. That was our laugh for the day.
I’m sure even Mrs. Romasko had a hard time keeping a straight face while she untangled and reprimanded him.
Mrs. Romasko was a wonderful teacher but a stern disciplinarian.
She’d have been in big trouble today for her punishment of Don Clothier.
I don’t remember what he did but I’m certain it didn’t warrant the belt she used on him behind the stage.
Don never made a sound but we could hear that belt. It wasn’t fun!
One of the eighth grade girls, Jewell Prouty, had a crush on Mrs. Romasko’s son Harry, another eighth grader.
She wrote a love poem which Mrs. Romasko found and read aloud to the class to the deep embarrassment of poor Jewell, and Harry too I’m sure.
I just didn’t think it was necessary for her to humiliate the lovelorn poetess like that.
I had a crush on Harry for a while too, but I never wrote him any poems.
Summer in the Lake
Earlier I wrote about slapping little brother Donald once, and that David’s turn came later.
So we’re there now. David and I were playing on the floor.
I don’t remember what he did but it was aggravating me and I slapped the little guy.
He cried. I remember his nose running and dripping on the carpet. There I sat feeling like the big bully.
Earlier I wrote about slapping little brother Donald once, and that David’s turn came later.
So we’re there now. David and I were playing on the floor.
I don’t remember what he did but it was aggravating me and I slapped the little guy.
He cried. I remember his nose running and dripping on the carpet. There I sat feeling like the big bully.
David – abused child?
OK, so I slapped my little brother. But nobody else had better try that.
Usually the swimming gatherings at the old dock were just a lot of good fun.
But one day two neighborhood girls, David and I were the only ones there.
The two girls were becoming increasingly obnoxious.
I decided I’d had enough of them and headed home with David trailing behind me.
I turned to check on him just in time to see one of the girls reach out and hit him.
How dare she hit my little brother!
I was back there in no time flat, engaged in my only physical confrontation with another person.
I pummeled the daylights out of her.
Her friend kept saying, “Hit her back. Hit her back.”
And my target said, “I am.” But all she was doing was flailing her arms about.
I headed for home with little brother in protective tow, still mad but feeling somewhat embarrassed
by what I’d just done. I certainly wasn't going to tell Mama.
I forgot to faction David into that resolve. It was the first thing out of his mouth when we got in the door,
about how a bad girl hit him and Helen Mae beat up on her.
Well that got me, and I cried.
I don’t remember what Mama said, just that she tried to calm us both.
Usually the swimming gatherings at the old dock were just a lot of good fun.
But one day two neighborhood girls, David and I were the only ones there.
The two girls were becoming increasingly obnoxious.
I decided I’d had enough of them and headed home with David trailing behind me.
I turned to check on him just in time to see one of the girls reach out and hit him.
How dare she hit my little brother!
I was back there in no time flat, engaged in my only physical confrontation with another person.
I pummeled the daylights out of her.
Her friend kept saying, “Hit her back. Hit her back.”
And my target said, “I am.” But all she was doing was flailing her arms about.
I headed for home with little brother in protective tow, still mad but feeling somewhat embarrassed
by what I’d just done. I certainly wasn't going to tell Mama.
I forgot to faction David into that resolve. It was the first thing out of his mouth when we got in the door,
about how a bad girl hit him and Helen Mae beat up on her.
Well that got me, and I cried.
I don’t remember what Mama said, just that she tried to calm us both.
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David and Donald
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Swimming off the old dock was great fun. I learned to swim there, like a fish.
Make that almost literally like a fish.
Sometimes we’d stand on the end of the dock and watch for a school of fish to swim past.
Then we’d jump into the middle of the school with fish slithering all around to escape our intrusion.
Make that almost literally like a fish.
Sometimes we’d stand on the end of the dock and watch for a school of fish to swim past.
Then we’d jump into the middle of the school with fish slithering all around to escape our intrusion.
Flathead fish school
One snapshot shows me standing on my head in the Lake.
I liked to tell people that that was one of the best pictures I ever had taken
because all it showed was a pair of legs sticking up out of the water.
I liked to tell people that that was one of the best pictures I ever had taken
because all it showed was a pair of legs sticking up out of the water.
Often swimmers would ride the waves hanging by their arms onto a single plank of wood or, sometimes two planks crossed.
One day before Donald learned to swim, I looked out over the water and saw a little tow-headed six-year-old riding the waves on two crossed planks, w-a-a-y out in deep, deep water.
He was just having the time of his life, but I got that little sailor back to safe harbor fast!
One day before Donald learned to swim, I looked out over the water and saw a little tow-headed six-year-old riding the waves on two crossed planks, w-a-a-y out in deep, deep water.
He was just having the time of his life, but I got that little sailor back to safe harbor fast!
Lost at sea on flat board on Flathead - the original paddleboard
Safe harbor on flat rock in Flathead
There were frequent beach parties, sometimes planned, sometimes impromptu,
a gathering of neighborhood kids, grade-schoolers through high school, and beyond.
We’d pick a spot on the beach and build a camp fire.
Sometimes we’d have marshmallows and wieners to roast, at times no food,
just hanging around the fire, talking, joking, and playing catch, maybe singing,
or just enjoying the setting which was always awesome.
I don’t remember any drinking or inappropriate behavior -- just wonderful fun.
a gathering of neighborhood kids, grade-schoolers through high school, and beyond.
We’d pick a spot on the beach and build a camp fire.
Sometimes we’d have marshmallows and wieners to roast, at times no food,
just hanging around the fire, talking, joking, and playing catch, maybe singing,
or just enjoying the setting which was always awesome.
I don’t remember any drinking or inappropriate behavior -- just wonderful fun.
Winter
In winter the wide part of the lake near Lakeside never froze clear across but ice was still very thick nearer shore.
You could see fishermen spotted about on the ice each with a line through a hole in the ice.
Some moved little houses out on the ice for shelter and supplies. The houses were about the size and shape of a two-holer.
In winter the wide part of the lake near Lakeside never froze clear across but ice was still very thick nearer shore.
You could see fishermen spotted about on the ice each with a line through a hole in the ice.
Some moved little houses out on the ice for shelter and supplies. The houses were about the size and shape of a two-holer.
Frozen Flathead
Once we had a nice big fresh trout from the lake that created a little excitement.
I don’t know if Dad caught it or if someone else gave it to us. This fish was dead and resting in a big pan.
It suddenly jumped out of the pan on to the table, then the floor where it performed acrobatics all over that end of the house.
I understand some sort of post-mortem muscle reaction caused that, but we thought we were witnessing a miracle.
The dead fish had come back to life!
I don’t know if Dad caught it or if someone else gave it to us. This fish was dead and resting in a big pan.
It suddenly jumped out of the pan on to the table, then the floor where it performed acrobatics all over that end of the house.
I understand some sort of post-mortem muscle reaction caused that, but we thought we were witnessing a miracle.
The dead fish had come back to life!
Incredible as it seems, I distinctly recall a big bonfire being built once right on the ice.
The fire never burned though the ice. True, the ice was very thick, but fire, on ice?!
The fire never burned though the ice. True, the ice was very thick, but fire, on ice?!
Flathead on ice
Accidents
Lorraine Denton and Doreen Crawford were my best friends. They were in high school in Somers at the north end of the lake. Lorraine’s sister Frankie was in my class at school.
Doreen was Mr. and Mrs. Young’s niece. One evening some boys we knew from Somers came to Lakeside in a pickup truck.
We three girls piled into the truck box, and off we went up that steep highway incline north of Lakeside.
I don’t remember where we were headed, but we never made it.
The driver was smoking, dropped his cigarette, and tried to retrieve it from the truck floor.
Bad move! The truck went over the side and caught on a huge boulder near the top of the hill.
We three girls were thrown out and we rolled, slid, or flew down to the bottom of that steep hillside.
On the way down, my back must have made contact with the truck or perhaps that huge boulder.
I didn’t remember the actual impact but I hurt and couldn’t move.
I looked back up the hill and saw the truck balancing precariously on that boulder.
If the pickup hadn’t been stopped by that big rock, I think I’d have been sliced in two by the tailgate when it reached me. Lorraine was wandering around in a daze crying, “Where’s my shoe?”
I heard some time later that one of the guys had broken a collar bone,
but I don’t recall any other injuries except scratches and bruises.
Some people stopped, got me up the hill into their car and took me to the hospital in Kalispell.
Diagnosis: deep bruises. Years later, like many adults, I began having back problems.
The doctor looked at my x-rays and said somewhere along the way you had an extremely hard blow to your back.
The only one of those I was aware of was from that flight out of the pickup.
I got to go home the next day and Mama had the bed all made up for me.
It was absolute torture to move, but gradually got better.
While I was recuperating, lots of Lakesiders came to visit.
It was lilac season and many brought bouquets of them. The sleeping porch was always full of lilacs.
Even today, when I smell lilacs it brings back memories of that time. But I still love lilacs.
My violin was near or on the bed one day when a bunch of neighborhood kids were there.
One cardinal rule about care of the violin bow is that you don’t touch the hair because oil from your fingers affects the resin and the bow won’t play. Stanley Clothier didn’t know that.
He picked up my bow and playfully ran it across my nose, which was a lot oilier than my fingers.
I had a dickens of a time restoring that bow to playing condition.
There was another traffic accident involving family.
On one of Dad’s weekend visits, he, Mama, and David were returning from Kalispell after dark.
David was asleep on the back seat. As Dad rounded a curve near Somers, another car coming from the opposite direction crossed over the center line and slammed into the Auburn.
The Auburn got crunched but was still drivable, and no one was injured.
But little David, who had been dumped off the seat onto the floor wasn’t too happy about his rude awakening.
The rule then was that you don’t go swimming for an hour after eating although research has relaxed that theory now.
I used that hour to practice the violin.
The neighborhood kids knew that when I finished practicing, the hour would be up and we could all go swimming.
So, while I practiced, the sleeping porch steps were usually covered with a gathering of kids waiting to swim.
They suffered through my exercises and sawing.
Every now and then someone would ask, “Aren’t you about through, Helen”?
Several of us were playing a game that involved lying on your back on the grass with your knees drawn up.
Another kid would sit on your shoe soles, and you would straighten your legs to send the rider flying.
One little girl who also took violin lessons said, “Do me, Helen.” So I did.
She landed on the grass but slid and broke her bow wrist. It was a horrible looking break that made a bad crook in her arm.
While it healed, believe it or not, she continued her violin lessons. She did the fingering while her mother worked the bow.
Lorraine Denton and Doreen Crawford were my best friends. They were in high school in Somers at the north end of the lake. Lorraine’s sister Frankie was in my class at school.
Doreen was Mr. and Mrs. Young’s niece. One evening some boys we knew from Somers came to Lakeside in a pickup truck.
We three girls piled into the truck box, and off we went up that steep highway incline north of Lakeside.
I don’t remember where we were headed, but we never made it.
The driver was smoking, dropped his cigarette, and tried to retrieve it from the truck floor.
Bad move! The truck went over the side and caught on a huge boulder near the top of the hill.
We three girls were thrown out and we rolled, slid, or flew down to the bottom of that steep hillside.
On the way down, my back must have made contact with the truck or perhaps that huge boulder.
I didn’t remember the actual impact but I hurt and couldn’t move.
I looked back up the hill and saw the truck balancing precariously on that boulder.
If the pickup hadn’t been stopped by that big rock, I think I’d have been sliced in two by the tailgate when it reached me. Lorraine was wandering around in a daze crying, “Where’s my shoe?”
I heard some time later that one of the guys had broken a collar bone,
but I don’t recall any other injuries except scratches and bruises.
Some people stopped, got me up the hill into their car and took me to the hospital in Kalispell.
Diagnosis: deep bruises. Years later, like many adults, I began having back problems.
The doctor looked at my x-rays and said somewhere along the way you had an extremely hard blow to your back.
The only one of those I was aware of was from that flight out of the pickup.
I got to go home the next day and Mama had the bed all made up for me.
It was absolute torture to move, but gradually got better.
While I was recuperating, lots of Lakesiders came to visit.
It was lilac season and many brought bouquets of them. The sleeping porch was always full of lilacs.
Even today, when I smell lilacs it brings back memories of that time. But I still love lilacs.
My violin was near or on the bed one day when a bunch of neighborhood kids were there.
One cardinal rule about care of the violin bow is that you don’t touch the hair because oil from your fingers affects the resin and the bow won’t play. Stanley Clothier didn’t know that.
He picked up my bow and playfully ran it across my nose, which was a lot oilier than my fingers.
I had a dickens of a time restoring that bow to playing condition.
There was another traffic accident involving family.
On one of Dad’s weekend visits, he, Mama, and David were returning from Kalispell after dark.
David was asleep on the back seat. As Dad rounded a curve near Somers, another car coming from the opposite direction crossed over the center line and slammed into the Auburn.
The Auburn got crunched but was still drivable, and no one was injured.
But little David, who had been dumped off the seat onto the floor wasn’t too happy about his rude awakening.
The rule then was that you don’t go swimming for an hour after eating although research has relaxed that theory now.
I used that hour to practice the violin.
The neighborhood kids knew that when I finished practicing, the hour would be up and we could all go swimming.
So, while I practiced, the sleeping porch steps were usually covered with a gathering of kids waiting to swim.
They suffered through my exercises and sawing.
Every now and then someone would ask, “Aren’t you about through, Helen”?
Several of us were playing a game that involved lying on your back on the grass with your knees drawn up.
Another kid would sit on your shoe soles, and you would straighten your legs to send the rider flying.
One little girl who also took violin lessons said, “Do me, Helen.” So I did.
She landed on the grass but slid and broke her bow wrist. It was a horrible looking break that made a bad crook in her arm.
While it healed, believe it or not, she continued her violin lessons. She did the fingering while her mother worked the bow.
Oh, those Clothiers!
Writing of Lakeside would not be complete without more than just a mention of the Clothiers,
although this account extends beyond the time we actually lived in Lakeside.
Leah and Asa Clothier and their brood lived in a big house in the hills at the northwest corner of Lakeside.
Starting with the oldest, there were Kenny, Stanley, Don, Darrell, Eldon, Neil, and little sister Emma Lou.
They were a fun loving bunch of pranksters, always joking around and playing tricks on each other.
Asa was a strict task master and, for all their kidding around, I never knew them to do anything harmful to others or their property although they often got blamed.
If something went wrong in Lakeside, you’d hear, “Oh, those Clothiers!”
I spent time with the Clothiers in their home, on outings, or other occasions. It was always fun.
Leah played the piano, which made it even nicer.
They tried to teach me to shoot a rifle. The first attempt nearly grounded me, literally.
The second time, would you believe, I shot the postage stamp off a letter?
But then I wasn’t aiming for the stamp. It just happened to be on the ground where my bullet ended up.
I learned from someone that Leah hoped I would marry one of her sons. Mama was afraid I might.
She bought into the neighborhood’s “Oh, those Clothiers” label.
Except for short crushes on Harry Romasko and Norman Asbridge,
Don Clothier was considered my boyfriend while we lived there, but I had my eye on Stanley.
As it turned out, he would have been a good catch. Both Don and Stanley retained their good looks through the years,
but Stanley put himself through college and wound up with his own successful business.
There was a cousin, Del Clothier, I hadn’t met yet but who later married my friend Lorraine.
After we moved, I heard that Don married Posey.
While I was at the U. of Montana, Kenny married Faye, and Leah had asked me to come to Kalispell
and sing for their wedding. I did, to her accompaniment.
On another visit to Lakeside, Leah told me Stan had married a girl who looked like me, and showed me her picture. She did!
Before all the weddings, I went with both Don and Stan at different times.
I kept in touch with the family off and on, and wrote to some of the brothers during WWII.
While we still lived in Lakeside, Stanley was walking me home at dusk on that lake road.
Mama saw us coming.
When I got in the house, she asked, “Was he holding your hand?” in a tone of voice that said “I hope not!”
I said “No.” Well, he wasn’t. He had his arm around me.
Later when we lived in Kalispell, on a date with Don he kissed me and broke my glasses.
Well, I couldn’t tell Mama and Dad that, so I explained that Don backed into me getting out of the car.
Later, I heard that Posey tried to shoot Don but didn’t hear why. Hmm.
Maybe there was something about Those Clothiers I didn’t know.
Who knows what might have been?
Years later I went to work for EPA in Seattle and was looking through an employee directory.
There under C was a Wm. Clothier. One day he stopped by my desk to see my boss who was gone.
I told him of my acquaintance with the Lakeside Clothiers and he said he was their cousin.
Then I said, “There was a Del Clothier I never met.” He said, “I’m Del Clothier.”
He was Wm. Delbert and the Del got switched to Wm.
He was no longer married to Lorraine so she wasn’t in the area.
Emma Lou and husband moved to the Seattle area and a tragic event brought the Clothier clan out to be with her.
A relative of Emma Lou’s son-in-law had killed her daughter. I don’t know the circumstances.
Anyway they had learned from Del that I worked with him, and Don gave me a call to arrange a get together.
Most of the brothers and Del came to my desk.
My boss was gone again so we gathered around the nice big conference table in his office for a wonderful “old home week”
in spite of the tragic circumstances.
Leah Clothier was a dear little lady whose hair was usually askew, her slip often showed below the hem of her skirt,
and her hose were usually wrinkled around her ankles, possibly because she was so tiny.
But she became a real Grandma Moses, turning out wonderful oil paintings.
Emma Lou followed in her mother’s footsteps. Most of her paintings were of wildlife, Leah’s of landscapes.
I heard that Leah was interviewed on a well-known talk show about her paintings.
At one of the class reunions in Lakeside, Don told me a delightful story about, “Oh, those Clothiers.”
He was driving through Lakeside and spotted an elderly lady trying to repair her broken chain link fence.
He stopped to help her. She said someone in a white pickup truck had rammed the fence.
While Don worked, she made several references to “Oh, those Clothiers!”
When Don got ready to leave, she thanked him profusely and asked for his name.
He said, “Well, my name is Clothier and that’s my car. We don’t have a pickup.” So there, too!
Writing of Lakeside would not be complete without more than just a mention of the Clothiers,
although this account extends beyond the time we actually lived in Lakeside.
Leah and Asa Clothier and their brood lived in a big house in the hills at the northwest corner of Lakeside.
Starting with the oldest, there were Kenny, Stanley, Don, Darrell, Eldon, Neil, and little sister Emma Lou.
They were a fun loving bunch of pranksters, always joking around and playing tricks on each other.
Asa was a strict task master and, for all their kidding around, I never knew them to do anything harmful to others or their property although they often got blamed.
If something went wrong in Lakeside, you’d hear, “Oh, those Clothiers!”
I spent time with the Clothiers in their home, on outings, or other occasions. It was always fun.
Leah played the piano, which made it even nicer.
They tried to teach me to shoot a rifle. The first attempt nearly grounded me, literally.
The second time, would you believe, I shot the postage stamp off a letter?
But then I wasn’t aiming for the stamp. It just happened to be on the ground where my bullet ended up.
I learned from someone that Leah hoped I would marry one of her sons. Mama was afraid I might.
She bought into the neighborhood’s “Oh, those Clothiers” label.
Except for short crushes on Harry Romasko and Norman Asbridge,
Don Clothier was considered my boyfriend while we lived there, but I had my eye on Stanley.
As it turned out, he would have been a good catch. Both Don and Stanley retained their good looks through the years,
but Stanley put himself through college and wound up with his own successful business.
There was a cousin, Del Clothier, I hadn’t met yet but who later married my friend Lorraine.
After we moved, I heard that Don married Posey.
While I was at the U. of Montana, Kenny married Faye, and Leah had asked me to come to Kalispell
and sing for their wedding. I did, to her accompaniment.
On another visit to Lakeside, Leah told me Stan had married a girl who looked like me, and showed me her picture. She did!
Before all the weddings, I went with both Don and Stan at different times.
I kept in touch with the family off and on, and wrote to some of the brothers during WWII.
While we still lived in Lakeside, Stanley was walking me home at dusk on that lake road.
Mama saw us coming.
When I got in the house, she asked, “Was he holding your hand?” in a tone of voice that said “I hope not!”
I said “No.” Well, he wasn’t. He had his arm around me.
Later when we lived in Kalispell, on a date with Don he kissed me and broke my glasses.
Well, I couldn’t tell Mama and Dad that, so I explained that Don backed into me getting out of the car.
Later, I heard that Posey tried to shoot Don but didn’t hear why. Hmm.
Maybe there was something about Those Clothiers I didn’t know.
Who knows what might have been?
Years later I went to work for EPA in Seattle and was looking through an employee directory.
There under C was a Wm. Clothier. One day he stopped by my desk to see my boss who was gone.
I told him of my acquaintance with the Lakeside Clothiers and he said he was their cousin.
Then I said, “There was a Del Clothier I never met.” He said, “I’m Del Clothier.”
He was Wm. Delbert and the Del got switched to Wm.
He was no longer married to Lorraine so she wasn’t in the area.
Emma Lou and husband moved to the Seattle area and a tragic event brought the Clothier clan out to be with her.
A relative of Emma Lou’s son-in-law had killed her daughter. I don’t know the circumstances.
Anyway they had learned from Del that I worked with him, and Don gave me a call to arrange a get together.
Most of the brothers and Del came to my desk.
My boss was gone again so we gathered around the nice big conference table in his office for a wonderful “old home week”
in spite of the tragic circumstances.
Leah Clothier was a dear little lady whose hair was usually askew, her slip often showed below the hem of her skirt,
and her hose were usually wrinkled around her ankles, possibly because she was so tiny.
But she became a real Grandma Moses, turning out wonderful oil paintings.
Emma Lou followed in her mother’s footsteps. Most of her paintings were of wildlife, Leah’s of landscapes.
I heard that Leah was interviewed on a well-known talk show about her paintings.
At one of the class reunions in Lakeside, Don told me a delightful story about, “Oh, those Clothiers.”
He was driving through Lakeside and spotted an elderly lady trying to repair her broken chain link fence.
He stopped to help her. She said someone in a white pickup truck had rammed the fence.
While Don worked, she made several references to “Oh, those Clothiers!”
When Don got ready to leave, she thanked him profusely and asked for his name.
He said, “Well, my name is Clothier and that’s my car. We don’t have a pickup.” So there, too!
Don Clothier died April 6, 2008 at Lakeside, two months after Helen.
http://www.waymarking.com/waymarks/WMM4BF_Don_Clothier_Lakeside_Montana
The road to their house in Lakeside is now named "Clothier Lane."
http://www.waymarking.com/waymarks/WMM4BF_Don_Clothier_Lakeside_Montana
The road to their house in Lakeside is now named "Clothier Lane."
Flathead Lake from Lakeside Park - 2012