I was born in Pampa, Texas—located in the Panhandle, just outside of Amarillo, Texas to my parents, Gene & Rosemary Baker. As I recall, my parents followed my mother’s older sister Phyllis and her husband Don, to Texas. My Dad got a job at a grain elevator. I remember my parents talking about my dad being thrown from a heavy piece of machinery and breaking his back on the job. I presume his accident may have contributed to them moving back to Fremont, Nebraska where both of their extended families lived. I was three-year’s-old when my parents moved back to Fremont, where they had originally met and married, February 14, 1955. (The slightly blurry picture above was taken at my Aunt Dee & Uncle Eddie’s Home. Eddie was my mother’s older brother). I’m guessing this picture was taken shortly after my parents moved back to Fremont.
My Father, Gene Baker, worked for the Nebraska Natural Gas Company for thirty-one years as a Service Man. My Mother worked as well at a myriad of odd jobs to help make ends meet. When I was very young she took in ironing for people, which was common back in the 1960’s. I remember her keeping clothes in the freezer to iron because when she ironed them, they would come out pressed to perfection. She had a bottle of water, (similar to a large Perrier Bottle with holes in the cap), that she used to dampen the clothes as she was ironing. Obviously spray bottles were not a thing back then. (Of course neither were steam irons). My earliest recollection after my mom’s ironing jobs, was her working at the Hinky Dinky Grocery Store in the Meat Department, followed by our neighbor’s second hand store—the Bargain Store—the Medicine Cabinet, Miller’s Pharmacy, and two convenience stores— Qwik Shop and 7-11, and not all in that order. I’m sure there were others that I don’t remember. Quite honestly, she changed jobs like some people change shoes!
My mom was a people person. It’s safe to say she’d never met a stranger! And everyone, and I mean everyone that met her, loved her. She treated each person she met as if they were the CAT’S PAJAMAS! (That’s cliche for making them feel like they were the most important person in room in that moment). Mom just had a special way with people. She was kind and respectful to everyone she met no matter what walk of life. It didn’t matter if they were homeless, rich or poor. Even skin color did not deter my mother from striking up conversations while we were out and about in our small town of Fremont. (She taught me to do the same). She read a lot of Dale Carnegie books. The two I still have are, HOW TO WIN FRIENDS AND INFLUENCE PEOPLE and HOW TO STOP WORRYING AND START LIVING. I’m sure there were others, but I know these two had to have impacted and influenced her tremendously.
Mom registered me for Kindergarten at Northside Elementary in our home town, Fremont, Nebraska. I still remember crying as my new Kindergarten teacher, Charlotte Oberg walked me to my new classroom. And with anguish that only a first-time mama knows and tears in her eyes, a piece of my mama’s heart was ripped out as she watched me disappear down the hall and around the corner walking hand in hand with my teacher. I distinctly remember right after all of my own tears, Charlotte putting me on her lap and consoling me tenderly. (No doubt, I wasn’t the first teary-eyed student entering kindergarten with a mother that struggled to break away from her small son or daughter). What a wonderful nurturer! Mrs. Oberg was so very kind and caring! My Mom always told me I was Charlotte Oberg’s “teacher’s pet.” The same went for my third grade teacher, Mrs. Mord, when I was in school at Grant Elementary. My Mom found me a beautiful Black & White Buffalo Plaid Winter Coat that had a darling matching hat. Mrs. Mord absolutely flipped out over it! What a wonderful experience in my early school years to be loved and adored by two of my teachers. I attended Grant elementary from the first to the fourth grade. At the end of 4th Grade, my parents took me out of Grant, and transferred me to a private school: St. Patrick’s Catholic School. I attended St. Pats until I graduated from High school in 1976.
To be honest, I don’t remember what the circumstances were surrounding their decision to remove me from the public school system and enroll me at St. Pats. My mother was very protective of me, even to a fault. Perhaps she felt it best for me not to be exposed to the large number of kids in the public school system, verses the smaller, private school setting and the smaller student/teacher ration. I know she didn’t want me to go through the things she did as a child and she tried in vain to shield me from pain in any measure.
As a young girl, I longed for my Mom to be home, like many of my friend’s Mom’s I went to school with. As I look back I realize what a sacrifice it must have been for my parents to put me in a private school. Even then, I’m sure tuition was expensive. All I know is, my Mom had to work outside of the home out of necessity to help put food on the table and make ends meet.
Naturally, those I attended school with came from wealthier families. I found myself continually comparing myself to them. As I look back, I now realize how horribly defeating that was. (Comparison, they say, is the thief of JOY)! Anyway, it explained why many of my friends mothers were stay-at-home moms. I grew up with a horrible inferiority complex due to the difference in incomes. Sadly, I always felt less than those I went to school with. In my opinion, their homes were nicer, their clothes were nicer and the cars they drove were newer models.
Both my younger brother Gene and I were latch-key kids. I remember coming home from school and cleaning the house for my mom, not because it was required, but because I knew it would make her happy. As I look back, I realize what a weight it must have lifted from my mom’s shoulders. No parent likes working all day, being exhausted, and coming home to a messy home.
My parents were literally loved by everyone. My Dad would often be on call on the weekends and through the night, at the Gas Company. It wasn’t uncommon for him to get called in the middle of the night during a grizzly midwestern winter to go out and light someone’s furnace. There were times these calls came from young, single mama’s who didn’t have the money to pay for a service call. I remember him saying sometimes he didn’t charge them. He was more concerned with their well being and keeping the family warm, than a little bit of money, even though it wasn’t his to give. He had a great, compassionate heart and was spoken well of at work amongst his coworkers.
For a short stint my dad worked on the Police Reserves in Fremont as a cop. I remember being so proud of him in his police uniform! It wasn’t uncommon for him to see someone breaking the law while in his plain clothes, and take out after them in a high speed chase to pull them over and then flipping out his badge when he gave them a warning. I distinctly remember driving home with him when a gentleman pulling a camper on the busy street we lived on, clipped a young boys bike that he was walking on the side of the highway and dragging it several blocks up the road. My Dad took out after that guy like a bat out of hell and pulled him over. I’ll have to say, for the small town of Fremont, Nebraska, that was a tad exhilarating! Aside from that, my dad was a hard worker, and I don’t remember him ever missing a day of work, except for the family vacations we took.
My Mom was a writer and I remember her taking a correspondence course at the Famous Writer’s School and finishing with honors. (I still have those books up in my library)! She was a very gifted published author! She was published in Family Circle, Grit, the Catholic Digest, True Confessions and True Romance to name a few. In High School she was voted the Classmate that would author a book, entitled “Twenty-Thousand Leagues Under the Sea!” Of course, due to her early death, she didn’t get to write a book, but regardless, I was proud of her writing skills and would beam with pride reading her pieces and holding the magazines in my own hands that she was published in. I remember her royalty checks coming in the mail and how excited she would be, just like a kid in a candy store! Though I use to have many of the magazines of her published pieces, at some point she asked for them back and I never saw them after that.
The majority of all of my girlfriends called my Mom, “Mom!” It wasn’t uncommon for them to ride their bikes over to see my mom even when I wasn’t home. (For that matter, other children from family friends did the same). They adored my mom and would receive the affirmation from her that they often did not receive from their own parents. She was easy to talk to, and would gladly answer any question they had that they didn’t feel comfortable asking their own moms. I had several slumber parties growing up and I distinctly remember one of my friends asking about menstrual cycles. My mom got out a book, and we all sat around her while she explained the whole process. There was nothing that they, or even I, couldn’t ask her.
She was so popular, she was asked to chaperone the cheerleaders from my High School at their Cheerleading camp. Mind you, I wasn’t a cheerleader. Instead, I was on the High School Drill Team, so I obviously didn’t go. I beamed with pride that they all loved and adored my mom, but I must admit… I was a tiny bit jealous. After all, she was MY MOM, not theirs!
One of her very favorite things to do, she later confided in me, was taking her turn in picking up my girlfriends and I after one of our high school football or basketball games and giving them all a ride home. She was enamored by the laughing and giggling and teenaged antics that we all participated in, yelling things out the windows and doing chinese fire drills around the car at stop lights. (For those of you who may not know, a Chinese fire drill was when we all jumped out of the car and ran around it a couple of times when the traffic light was red and then all hopped back in the car and off we’d go). As I think back, I’m sure we were all a breath of fresh air to her). No wonder she loved it so much!
I’m sure it was just the daily dose of light-heartedness she needed from her periodic ‘bouts with depression. That dark cloud that hovered over her was tangible. Tangible to a fault.
