Real Meaning of Christmas

This post is the second in a series of posts written by my brother, Tom.  They will be posted throughout the month of December.

Elf from Shillito Window 

I was in the fall of my early grade school years when it was confirmed, about Santa Clause that is.  I had easily figured out the Tooth Fairy and the Easter Bunny but Santa was big step and after all, I wanted to believe!  But undeniable evidence came one afternoon walking home from school with two of my buddies.  Ted Middleburg and Tom Forte were two of the coolest guys in my class and they were talking about the new kid in school, they didn’t like him.  As they elevated their status by putting down the new kid it happened!  “He’s so stupid he still believes in Santa Clause”.  Ouch!  There it was independent confirmation.

As one of the oldest of 7 Jones kids, I had a sacred trust to keep this discovery top secret.  My older sister verified this fact and told me she had kept it from me not wishing to ruin my fun.  She had found Christmas presents in the attic a couple of years earlier and had filled in the blanks.  Was I the only one who had been so slow to realize? 

Crowd Outside of a Shillito Department Store Christmas Window, 1970

With five younger siblings, my sister and I doubled our effort to continue the childhood fantasy for them.  Like actors in a B movie, we took it upon ourselves to explain the multiple Santa Clause’s in the stores at Christmas.  We became experts in identifying the “real Santa” as opposed to his helpers.  “Is that the real Santa?”  my brothers would ask, no, that’s one of his helpers, the real Santa is in Candy Land at Shillitos I would explain.  We even went as far as pressing my father’s boot into the fireplace ashes on Christmas Eve in order to eagerly point to the footprints on Christmas morning.

Mark Jones and Santa

Years later while Christmas shopping with my young family my son Mark looked at me and announced “Dad, I know Santa is really you and Mom”.  I confirmed his suspicion and quickly cautioned him to keep it a secret so that he would not ruin it for his younger sister.  Something happened, Mark dropped his head and he lost the sparkle in his eyes, you see, right then he still wanted believe in Santa, he needed me to keep the dream alive just a little longer he was not quite ready to have dad put it to rest so quickly.  That night as I tucked him into bed, he looked at me and asked, “Dad is Jesus real?”  I was heartsick!  In a matter of moments I had ruined the childhood fantasy I worked so hard to keep alive in my siblings years earlier and caused my son to question the real meaning of Christmas, the Birth of the Savior. 

Mark is grown now and we both have become wiser.  We can walk through the mall at Christmas and identify the “real Santa” from his helpers.  And we know without a doubt that the angles were right when they announced to the shepherds 2000 years ago “Do not be afraid. I bring you good news of great joy that will be for all the people.  Today in the city of David a Savior has been born to you; he is Christ the Lord”.

Photo Credits:  The two pictures from the Shillito Christmas Windows were found using google images.  I could not establish copyright.

'Tis the Season - The Christmas Gift

Tom Jones
Guest Blogger

Let me introduce you to my brother, Tom. I think he is a "closet" blogger. He is the President of Bryan Equipment Co. here in Cincinnati, a distributor of Stihl Chain Saws and related products.

For the past decade, Tom has written a Christmas letter that has been published on the cover of the company newsletter reflecting on the meaning of Christmas. Of course I've been a fan as he often refers to memories I have of growing up in a special family.

From now until Christmas, Tom's annual letters will appear in this space. In a couple of cases I will take the liberty to insert pictures from Christmases past of the Jones Family.

So have a cup of hot chocolate and enjoy!

One Year in early adolescence, it happened!  I discovered where my parents hid the Christmas gifts that they had accumulated throughout the fall in anticipation of that great morning.  I was the second oldest of seven children and our suburban home was modest. There just weren’t any hiding places that “the kids” could not find, but somehow my parents managed to keep this place a secret.  I suspect dad set the location as he was an expert at this and other tricks; like hiding Easter baskets in impossible locations behind the shower curtain suspended from a clothes hanger up high, just for sheer orneriness.

For a few days I delighted in the knowledge of the hiding place and was very careful to distract the site from my younger brothers and sister as they still believed in Santa.  Of course I could not tell my older sister, because she would tell Mom and Dad.  Day after day I would peek just to be sure the gifts were still there and would be surprised to see that the stack had grown, almost magically.  I was on lookout now, like an Indian Scout, and it became clear that my parents had become experts at this scheme.
 

Photo Credit: boyscoutstore.com

In the irksome boredom of the days just before Christmas when youthful anxiety makes you feel like you could scream, I gave into temptation and carefully peeled back the tape on the shopping bags containing the gifts.  Before long, I had experienced my own Christmas morning beforehand alone in the attic room.  It sure felt hollow but there was one overwhelming satisfaction.  The Boy Scout ax, the good one with the sure fit handle, was there in my stack of gifts.  There was nothing else in the world I wanted more than that ax! 

Christmas Eve was a bit of a let down, the anticipation was gone.  Sure I was excited for my brothers and sisters, a lot of the gifts they had their hearts set on were going to arrive by sleigh but my surprise was over, or was it?  Christmas morning, we all flooded into mom and dad’s bedroom at the appointed time, not before 7:00 AM were our instructions.  As we ripped through the gifts, something was wrong.  The items that I had seen were there, the new sweater, shirt, socks, and pants were all there YUK! But were was that ax?  I couldn’t say anything yet I knew it was missing.  I scoured the empty boxes and wrapping paper in a panic, but could not find the missing treasure, it was gone.  Later that morning my father pulled me aside and explained “Tom, I know that you went through the gifts in the attic and your mother and I discussed it and decided to return the ax that we had purchased for you.  You have many other gifts that you should be happy with but we both felt that we needed to teach you a lesson.” 

It has been more than 40 years since that Christmas morning.  And I thank God for my parents and the integrity they instilled in me and all of my brothers and sisters really that was their greatest gift.  They also taught us the true meaning of Christmas that is the gift that God has given us in his Son.   I am also glad that the scripture tells us that “God's gifts and his call are irrevocable.” Romans 11:29

First Five Jones Kids:  Kath, Karen, Tim, Tom (the author) and Ted

The Flying 8 Balls - 44th Bomb Group

On Veterans' Day, I posted about the World War II service of my Dad and his two brothers.  It made me wonder what I really knew about his service.  I have the following items in my possession:

• His Notice of Induction dated October 5, 1942.
• His Diploma from the Air Forces Technical School dated January 23, 1943.  He completed training as an "Aircraft Armorer."
• A copy of a Christmas Card from the 44th Bombardment Group cryptically sent from "Somewhere in England."
• A few photos of him on the base, including one with his brother, Bob.

If you asked my Dad what he did during the war, he would say that he "loaded bombs on planes."  I called my brother Tim, our family's oral historian, to see what he recalled.  Tim said that Dad would always used to say that a lot of guys who belonged to organizations such as the V.F.W. wanted to "relive" the war.  He just wanted to move on from it. So we didn't know much.

With the few clues I had, I found out that the internet has far more information than what I was able to find a few years ago.  For one thing, there is a website devoted to the 44th Bomb Group.  It has a wealth of information including video clips, newsletters, photos and biographies.  The site includes a history of the unit with this important information:

On July 25,1942 the 44th was assigned to Will Rogers Field, OK in preparation for deployment to an overseas theatre of operations. At this time the 44th was manned by 77 officers and 900 enlisted men. The group consisted of four squadrons, Headquarters and headquarters squadron (506th), the 66th squadron, the 67th squadron and the 68th squadron. The stay at Will Rogers field was brief.

On August 25, 1942 the ground echelon left Will Rogers Field, by troop train, for Ft. Dix, NJ to prepare for overseas shipment. On September 4, 1942 the 44th ground echelon, consisting of 62 officers and 819 enlisted men boarded HMS Queen Mary for transport to Greenock, Scotland and duty in the United Kingdom for "the duration" of World War II. They disembarked on September 11. 1942.

Initially the ground echelon was housed at the British air base of Cheddington, Bucks.  On October 10 they moved to Shipdham, Norfolk.  This new "lend-lease" base, Officially AAF Station 115, was to be the home of the 44th until the end of the war in Europe.

You can even view a video clip which includes a segment with the ground support team attaching bombs to one of the B-24s, an interesting bomber that was able to carry heavier bombs than the more popular B-17. (Click on the clip labeled "Original Footage" and watch the first few minutes).

I was able to find a job description for an "Aircraft Armorer."

Source: http://forum.armyairforces.com/Description-and-Responsibilities-of-Various-Armorer-Rating-during-WWII-m197640.aspx

The more I read the more I realized what a critical role this group played in the war in Europe. You can read a summary of their major accomplishments here.  The link contains exerpts from a book that was written about the 44th Bomb Group.

I've already made contact with a woman whose father was a pilot with this group who was killed nine days before her birth.  The successes this group experienced did not come without cost.  Many planes, pilots and crew were lost following their many missions.  My new contact told me that I may be able to get specific information about Dad's service through the National Archives and/or members of this group.  I'm hooked -- so stay tuned.

Photo Credit:  nationalmuseum.af.mil

Sources:  http://www.8thafhs.org/bomber/44bg.htm

You're in the Right Place -- Changing the Blog Format

View of Cincinnati and Ohio River from Anderson Park

Yesterday I had the pleasure of working with some fellow genealogists who are creating their own blogs for the first time.  I've had trouble teaching them to use the new blogger template because Family Matters was designed with a template that was developed in 2004.  It had limitations.  I could not add "pages" to my blog using this template.  Those are the tabs at the top of the blog where I hope to add information not suitable for a post but that may be of interest to my family members over the long term. I also discovered that I was having difficulty posting in the old format if I was working in the new dashboard interface. I kept getting error messages I never used to get.

So I'm experimenting with a new format.  One of the BIG advantages is that I will be able to post extra-large pictures because I was able to make the width of the posts larger. I could not adjust the width in the old template. The flip side is that some of the careful formatting I used in earlier posts no longer works.  Things are not positioned where I would like them to be.

Having made the plunge, it will be easy to change it from this format to a different one should we decide we don't like it.  I'd be interested in your opinion of this format.

Kathy

Honoring the Jones Boys on Veterans' Day

I have written about the service of my Dad (Johnny) and his brothers, "Bud" and Bob, in earlier posts. Yesterday my brother, Ted, asked me to post the pictures I have in my collection of my grandmother and grandfather standing on the steps of their Eastern Ave. home as each of their sons left for World War II. I've written before that I cannot imagine what it would be like to send each of my three sons off to war. I don't know how they did it.

In honor of Veterans' Day, I decided to go through my picture library and create a collage for my Dad and uncles to honor their service. Since "Bud," Uncle Charlie to me, was the oldest son, here is his collage. Notice the banner in the window. It has three blue stars representing each of the sons who served.

Fred, "Bud", Norine and Peg

Bob was the second oldest brother. The picture on the front porch includes Bob, Margaret Ann, Norine and Fred. I'm amazed how many pictures in my library include my grandfather posing proudly smoking a cigar. I don't know how they did it.

Bob, Margaret Ann, Norine and Fred

Finally, I was surprised that I do not have a "traditional" picture of my Dad on the front porch on the day of departure. He served in England during the war loading bombs on the planes that later were dropped on the Germans. I wish I knew more about his service.

In the top picture, Dad (Johnny) is the third from the left.  The middle picture shows him on base playing with a couple of dogs.  I can't help but wonder if they were permanent residents of the base.

So thank you, Jones boys, for your service. You were definitely part of "The Greatest Generation."

How I Love Halloween (And Made My Mother Pay for It)!

Roland, Ian and Liz

As many of you know, I am the oldest of seven children.  When I think back on my childhood, it didn't get much better than Halloween!  FREE candy! Costumes! Laughter! Racing from neighbor to neighbor at night!

The Halloween I will never forget happened when I was six years old -- one of the best ages for trick or treating.  A day before the annual ritual, I came down with chicken pox.  (My grandchildren will have to google it).  I was miserable.  If you can believe it, MY VERY UNREASONABLE MOTHER WOULD NOT LET ME GO TRICK OR TREATING!  Are you kidding me?  Well, I'd show her -- I probably remember that Halloween not so much for what I didn't get to do, as much as what I did.  I don't remember EVER behaving so badly.  I threw a tantrum.  I kicked. I screamed.  I blamed my mother.  It was her fault, wasn't it?

Well, now I'm 62 years old.  I still like Halloween, but I wish I didn't have to get up and down from the chair every couple of minutes to give candy to children I don't know, hoping to have just enough candy so my husband and I won't eat the leftovers.  Some of the costumes were cute and a few of the kids took me back in time, but I feel a little bah-humbuggy.

My Urban Cowboy, Ian

Maybe it would be better if I lived closer to my daughter's family.  They've sent me pictures.  How can these not get you in the mood?



Ian and Preschool Friends

Well it's now 7:32 -- less than a half hour to go. There was a lot of traffic at first, and I sent my husband for more candy -- candy that it now appears we didn't need. I hope your Halloween was a happy one and that you made a wonderful childhood memory for some little kid. Anyone for a Reese's cup?

Sepia Saturday 98: Transportation in Cincinnati

A friend over at Attics and Old Lace has tried to convince me to take part in Sepia Saturday.  Sepia Saturday is a weekly meme which encourages bloggers to publish and share old images and photographs.  When I found out that this weeks topic was related to transportation, I was immediately "in." 

My grandfather, Charles "Fred" Jones, worked his entire life with the Cincinnati Street Railway (aka Cincinnati Transit and Cincinnati Metro).  He was the foreman of a "car barn" and loved streetcars.  He was not very happy when they were replaced with buses. I wrote about his impressive record with the "bus company" both here and here.

Photo Credit:  Rombach and Groene
Availabe for download from Cincinnati Metro site

I love this particular picture because it shows multiple modes of transportation in a time of transition in Cincinnati.  Not only is there a horse-drawn carriage and streetcar, but a bus is pictured in the background as well as the Price Hill incline.  At one time, Cincinnati had five different inclines enabling the growing city population to locate outside of the city basin and move to communities that lined Cincinnati's hilltops.

The same Cincinnati Metro site had a picture of an incline that was known as the Bellevue or Elm Street incline.

Bellevue Incline

Recently my blogger friend from Attics and Old Lace found a beautiful picture postcard that pictures the incline that connected downtown Cincinnati with Mt. Adams.  It has become the background for the Hamilton County (Ohio) Genealogical Society blog.



Mt. Adams Incline

All of these forms of transportation were no longer available at the time of my birth, with the exception of the buses.  The last incline stopped operating in 1948, one year before my birth.  I know my grandfather hated the demise of the streetcar.  I'm told that streetcar maintenance was much easier than the buses with their combustion engines.  I find it interesting that Cincinnatians are once again voting to decide whether or not streetcars should be a part of the Cincinnati landscape.  My grandfather would have loved it.

Camp Nelson near Lexington, Kentucky in the Civil War

Today I attended a session on how to prepare for the release of the 1940 Census scheduled for April 2012.  It was held at the Main Branch of the Cincinnati and Hamilton County Public Library.  While there, I scanned the shelves to see if there were any books that might provide additional insight about my Civil War ancestors.  One book immediately caught my eye because it was about Camp Nelson, Kentucky.   This camp, located near Lexington, Kentucky was an important recruiting and training camp for black soldiers who often abandoned their slave owners to sign up for service.

I was shocked to open the book to p. 105 and read this interaction between Col. John G. Eve and Lt. G.A. Hanaford:

U.S. Mil. Tel.
July 30th 1864
By Telegraph from Camp Burnside
To Lt. G.A. Hanaford

Some negroes in Govt employ here on last friday night got some arms & went out of Camp to rescue a negroe woman from her owner.  They did not find the woman or her owner & came back.  What shall I do with them.  Answer.

Camp Nelson
July 30 1864 Col. JG Eve
Camp Burnsides

If you have any balls and chains put them on the negroes and make work with them on the Severest labor you can put them at.  I do not know but it would be a good idea to (have) one of them court martialed and Shot. as an example to others.

By Order of Brig Gen SS Fry
Signed Geo A. Hanaford   Lt & A A A A G

I have nothing more to add to this post. 

Sears, Richard D.  Camp Nelson, Kentucky -- A Civil War History  Lexington, The University Press of Kentucky, 2002.

"Dying or Going on Vacation . . . "

My Dad used to say of his sister, Margaret Ann, that every time he talked to her she was either dying or going on vacation.  I don't know if that was an original phrase with him or one that had been part of a lexicon of expressions that he had heard growing up. 

My brother, Tim, and I were discussing that phrase shortly before I left on my trip for Europe.  I was telling him that if I found out I had cancer (the curse of our family), I would immediately try to assess my odds.  If I felt that it was incurable, I would book a vacation immediately as I have no intention of extending my life with "treatments" that might give me a few more unbearable months.  I want to LIVE the life I've been given.



Tim holding Dad's motor

Not long after my return from Europe, Tim came by the house with the results of his CT scan.  It showed a "solid appearing mass" in his left kidney that "should be considered a malignant lesion until proven otherwise."  He referred to our earlier conversation and asked if I didn't find it ironic that the last time we had spoken, it was about whether or not I would "go on vacation" if I got a cancer diagnosis.

Well, we could definitely agree that we needed more information before we could decide whether to schedule a vacation.  Thankfully, with everyone's prayers, support and concern behind him, Tim got the best possible news.  Additional tests verified that his lungs were clear and the "hot spots" in his back were arthritis -- what Tim calls the "Jones back."  His kidney was removed yesterday and, at this point, his surgeon doesn't think he will even need chemo.  The tumor appeared to be pretty intact.

Coincidentally, Steve Jobs (founder of Apple) died yesterday at the age of 56. You can't log on today without reading quotes from a commencement address he gave at Stanford in 2005.  The predominate theme seems to be one of encouraging each of us to identify what is important to us in our lives and go about achieving our dream -- not that of someone else.  Jobs, who had been diagnosed with pancreatic cancer, confronts his immortality head on.  It gives him focus.  One of my favorite quotes is this one:  "Remembering that I'll be dead soon is the most important tool I've ever encountered to help me make the big choices in life."

So I'm happy to report that Tim does not have to decide between dying and going on vacation -- at least not yet.  I know all of us have felt the love and support of everyone during this difficult time -- and Dad and Mom -- I certainly felt you.

Taking Stock -- Dad's 91st Birthday

It seems like every year on September 30th, I find myself "taking stock."  Where am I in my life now? What do I anticipate for the future?

My Dad died way too young at the age of 57.  I was pregnant with my daughter at the time.  He knew he was going to be a Grandfather again.  He also knew he would not live to see her. So let me see if I can get a few thoughts down on "paper."

Dear Dad,
This year I guess I'm in a more reflective mood than usual.  ALL of your children and grandchildren could benefit from your wisdom today.  I believe that it was on this date four years ago that my daughter had her pregnancy officially confirmed.  I saw it as a sign.  Her son, Ian, is now 3 years old and the love of his parents and six grandparents. 

Liz just confirmed for me that she and Roland are going to have a second son.  (I was hoping for a granddaughter for me and a daughter for her, but we couldn't be happier).  It looks as if we will have another beautiful grandchild sometime in February.  I'm taking it as a sign.

Your son, Tim, was just diagnosed with renal cancer.  He is going through his pre-op appointment today and a second bone scan tomorrow.  Surgery to remove the cancerous tumor is scheduled for next Wednesday.  I'm taking it as a sign.

All of us would love to have a conversation with you today.  You've walked the path before us and we could all use your advice today.

Thinking of you has made me get busy on my second blog.  For the past three years, I've told everyone that I would work on a blog that only discusses the Jones line, the Ohio River, and the boats that have been a part of our family.  I've finally started on it.  I'm calling it "A River Runs Through Us."  You can link to it here.

I'm sure you are aware that you now have 10 great-grandchildren with another on the way.  Perhaps they'll get to know you some day by reading these blogs.

Could you please get together with Mom and be with our family right now?  We want to keep Tim (AKA Karen's favorite brother) around to bug for a long time to come.  Besides he is the oral family historian and I need him.

We love and miss you.

Kath