Stories by Elinor's Children
As taken from Dinah Overlien's Blog (dinahoverlien.com) Elinor's daughter..
My parents were married on February 23, 1946. World War II had just ended and my dad was desperately trying to get released so he could take the next train home and marry his girl. My mother was working in Madison, Wisconsin, waiting for her sailor to come ashore.
This is from one of my dad’s letters to his parents, dated Feb. 8, 1946.
“I’ll be home Thursday, Feb. 14th for a 31 day leave in Wisconsin!! Thirty one days in Wisconsin — it will be perfectly grand. If it is possible, I think Elinor and I will want to be married — that is, if it can be worked out okay. Thirty one days is plenty of time — a week or so to get ready for the wedding, then a honeymoon and a week or so at each home. I tell you truthfully that Elinor and I want very much to be married. Thirty one days is a long time — we are very much in love.”
I guess Grandpa and Grandma agreed, because the wedding took place 15 days later.
Here’s to love!
Dinah's Recollections of Grandpa & Grandma Bradley
I am the youngest of Frank and Jeannette’s grandchildren. My memories of them are scant and foggy, at best, since I was only six years old by the time they both had passed. Yet there are a few vivid pictures in my mind from the trips to Somers to see Grandpa and Grandma Bradley.
By the time I came along in 1959, Frank and Jeannette had moved off the “Farm on 38” and resided in Somers. I remember snippets of things: drinking chocolate milk that was delivered to their porch; Pepper, the dog, who drank water out of the toilet; horehound candy. The bedroom where I slept had roses on the wallpaper. There was a little gold music box on a chain that played “I Love You Truly”, which I still have today. I remember watching “Tom Terrific” cartoons while sitting on the horsehair love seat. And train whistles. I still love the sound of a train rumbling down a track in the night.
Because I was so much younger than all my cousins I didn’t have anyone to play with when we went to Somers. During State Fair week, my brothers and sister were having a grand time showing cattle and eating cream puffs while I was visiting all the relatives with my mother. Somers seemed like another world to me, where everyone was old — Eunice and Marjorie, Elizabeth and Aunt Carrie, Charlie and Dorothy, Aunt Alma, Isabel and Will.
Grandpa and Grandma Bradley lived with us at Livingston for a short time when they needed more care in their older years. I recall riding around in Grandma’s wheelchair while she took her afternoon naps. She was always irritated by the Regulator clock that hung above our fireplace. The loud tick-tock kept her awake, so my mother would stop the pendulum each afternoon. I remember needing to be very quiet. I have a memory of my mother standing in the kitchen making stewed prunes for Grandma, something that looked revolting to me.
I have no memory of my grandparents laughing or even smiling. I don’t remember ever sitting on their laps or giving them a hug. There is no recollection of having a memorable conversation with either of them (but then, I was only 5 or 6). Perhaps that’s why it meant so much to me to come across one of Grandma Bradley’s notebooks. Toward the end of her life, she tried desperately to record the family history. She would start with John Morris in Trowbridge, England and attempt to write the facts. A few pages in, she would seem to get confused and trail off. On the next page she would start again with John Morris in Trowbridge, England.
On one fresh page, she had a moment of clarity. It was dated November 1st and she wrote, “November 1st, Dinah’s birthday. Poor little Dinah, she came so long after all the rest.”
In her foggy memory she had remembered my birthday! And she had compassion on the little girl who would always be last on the list of grandchildren.
Memories of Grampa (Frank) and Gramma (Jeannette) Bradley by Robin
The Farm on 38 was sold in 1955, when I was 5 years old. So I have vague memories of the farm. It was a very large house, so big that a little girl could easily get lost in it. I remember being scolded for ascending a stairway which I imagined led to a special secret place. But it was the way to the apartment on the top floor where my Uncle Morris and Aunt Phyllis lived, and I was not allowed to go there. To this little girl, the staircase and fireplace were grand, almost Cinderella-castle-like. (Years later when I visited the farmhouse as an adult, I realized that the stairs weren’t so grand, and the fireplace wasn’t so large.) I also remember a back entryway and the kitchen where Gramma always could be found. Gramma almost always wore a long bib-style apron, and she always had Chocolate Marshmallow Cookies ready for us, whether at the farm or the house in Somers. (I have the recipe and made them when our girls were young.) Chocolate cookies, half a marshmallow on top, then completely covered with chocolate frosting.
We did not experience bunches of kisses and hugs and fun and games with Gramma and Grampa. I was actually kind of scared of Grampa. He was a tall man, and his hands were so big – I did not want to be the recipient of a spanking by those hands! He was rather stern and didn’t say much, at least not to us younger ones. But I sensed that he was a strong man with strong values and a strong faith. He sang for many years in his church, and when they lived with us in Livingston, he sang in our church choir. His voice was as big as he was. One time when they arrived late in the day for a visit at Livingston, Grampa peeked in the window of our utility/laundry room where I happened to be. He knocked at the window, which scared me to death because it was dark outside. Then I saw his face with a big grin on it. I had never seen him smile at me like that before, and don’t think I ever saw him grin like that again. During his visits, he would do carpentry and handiwork projects in the house for Mom…..he enjoyed working with his hands.
Gramma was a small lady, hunched over from arthritis and hard work. Old family stories say that my mom (Elinor) became quite efficient at various household tasks because Gramma’s arthritis was so bad. She was a gentle woman with a warm smile. Despite her age, I always thought she was a pretty woman. When they visited us, she would darn our socks. She worked on a big afghan project, weaving yarn into little squares which would then be stitched together to make an afghan. Mom and I (and my little sister Dinah, I think) helped weave those endless squares. The unfinished project resides in a box high on a shelf in my sewing room. During one of their visits, Gramma got the basement door mixed up with the bathroom door ---- I will never forget the terrible thump, bump-bump, thump sound of Gramma falling down the basement steps! At the Somers house, I remember her sitting at the dining room table plucking out her chin hairs with a tweezers, aided by a magnifying glass and mirror; I wondered why on earth she would do such a thing. (Now, I always think of her when I find a stray “whisker” on my chin and pull it out with a tweezers!) I believe she developed dementia, and there was a day when the grownups had to take her to the hospital, as she was yelling and was extremely uncooperative. I was witness to this, but I was just told that she was sick and had to go to the hospital; I have no other information about that day, and still I wonder about it.
I have more memories about the Somers house than the farmhouse. We would stay for several days when we visited. We always looked forward to walking to the general store in town (near the railroad tracks) to buy candy. We visited many relatives who also lived in or near Somers – they were all “old” and expected good behavior, which meant speak when spoken to and otherwise be quiet. I slept in one of two bedrooms -- a big bedroom with flowered wallpaper and lace curtains or in a very small windowless bedroom at the top of the steep stairs. We could hear the train whistle at night – a lonely sound in the dark of night. To this day, a train whistle takes me back to the big bedroom in the Somers house. Grampa had a workshop of sorts in a building behind the house – I remember a big stone wheel that he used to sharpen things. There was a round gray footstool in the living room that I loved to turn on its side and roll from one side of the room to the other, while watching cartoons on tv. I loved the bookcases in the living room – the glass doors were hinged at the top – and I have always been drawn to that style of bookcase. I played with a little silver hinged teapot and matching cup, which now sits on a shelf in my home. When my father came along to visit these relatives, I think he might have been just a little bit uncomfortable…..I can still see him standing in the doorway of Aunt Carrie’s house with his hands in his pockets, jingling the coins in his pockets. I think this irritated my mother a bit, as I remember her gently chastising him about the noisy jingling of coins. (I was interested in how coins were in those pant pockets!)
Grampa and Gramma traveled in a white and yellow Dodge. I don’t remember any other car that they owned. They always took their dog Pepper with them. Pepper lived a long time, and gradually became heavier, slower, grayer, and lower to the ground. I do not remember anything in particular about their funerals, but I know that Grampa died not long after Gramma’s death. I think he was terribly lonely and didn’t know what to do with himself. My mom did her best to attend to him, even though it was about a 4 hour drive between Somers and Livingston.
All these memories make me wonder……how well do our grandchildren know us? How close do we let them get to us? Frank and Jeannette lived and loved, experienced highs and lows as all couples do, and had much to offer each of us. But much of it seems lost to me. I don’t feel like I really knew them. Yet, I believe they enjoyed life, because when their 3 children Franklin, Morris, and Elinor got together, there was much laughter.
Story By Brad Biddick
I was born September 15 ,1947 to Roger Biddick and Elinor Margaret Bradley. This is a story about the Bradley’s and what I remember about them. I was a first born and the first grandchild of Elmer & Ada Biddick (grandparents), so I received a lot of attention. Also when we traveled to the Farm on 38, it was a homecoming of sorts for my mother and her children. So, again, there was attention.
Let’s start however with the farm I grew up on. It was a seed farm and was a marvelous place to play. Nooks and crannies, corn cob piles, warehouses piled high with seed bags, tools, machines and many hired men. Dad worked outside with the men and inside on the business side. I got to see work up close. Now the farm of 38 was an incredible extension of our farm and so naturally was considered to be a playground too. Huge barns, hay mows, a 3 story house, trees, tractors and a big yard to play on. It had the same exploratory intrigue only different, like another country.
The trip to Racine county, however, was no small matter. In 1953, I was 5-6 years old, all roads were two lane and they went through every town at 25 MPH. It took all day to make the trip. There were no videos, rock and roll, air conditioning, electric windows or fast food. We took sandwiches. On arrival the trip was forgotten and fun began.
Grandpa Bradley and Grandma Bradley were very different people. Grandpa Bradley was a very big man. Quiet, always working it seemed and was a true farmer. He was in command and you knew it. I remember his big hands and deep voice. Grandma Bradley, on the other hand, was small and hunched over from the time I knew her. Always smiling, talking, cooking in her small kitchen. Always with an apron and a cookie. When we came I believe Grandma and my mother had good visits.
Usually our visit coensided with a holiday, so there were cousins, uncles, aunts, and relatives of all sorts. Big dinners and a house full of people made for a warm memory. I remember playing football in the front yard. It was then I realized that running fast as a receiver and then running faster after catching the ball, was necessary to avoid middle linebackers like Jerry. It was a very short time and soon the farm was sold and we went to Somers to visit Grandpa and Grandma.
In Somers the smaller two story house was in town and so we got to experience what living in town was like. There was a general store with goodies. The trains went through all the time and blew their whistles. Relatives would stop in. Grandpa Bradley had a big garden in the back and he had a shop. This was my first experience of what a shop really was. A place to create whatever you could with the skills and tools you had. To this day a train blowing its horn and a shop are special to me. Grandpa Bradley made a table saw for me from scratch. It is a farmer-built 2’x6’ table made with 2x8’s, 4x4 legs and a spindle circular saw blade driven by an electric motor. It was amazing. He never talked to me about it, just gave it to me. I still have it.
There was another feature about Somers that made it special, television. I do remember watching the 1958 NFL Championship game between the New York Giants and the Baltimore Colts. Alan Ameche gave Wisconsinites a special connection to the black and white, fuzzy presentation. A day gone by.
Well, Grandpa Bradley studied the map to find a shorter way to Livingston. They visited rarely. Later, though, they came to live with us as Grandma Bradley developed dementia. It was stressful, but we got through it. One night she opened the wrong door and walked into the stairway to the basement. She fell down those dark, wooden steps. We all stopped breathing. When we turned on the lights, she dusted herself off and decided to tour the basement, since she had never seen it. How she fell head-first down those heavy wooden steps and missed the post at the bottom, we will never know.
What I learned about my Somer’s Grandparents since their passing is more than I learned during their lifetime. This is the reason we need to tell interesting stories ourselves to those who will listen. Time gives us the chance, but we need to do it.
Story by Daniel Biddick
I do not recollect any memories from the farm on 38. My memories started in Somers. I remember the old white two story house. We would drive in the driveway and stop at the sidewalk and walk into the indoor porch that led into the kitchen. Oh the smells of that kitchen!! I remember the dining room and the large table. And then beyond this was the living room. It had stand up book shelves that had glass doors that opened like an overhead garage door for each shelf. There was a huge black and white tv with rabbit ears on top. We would listen to Jack Brickhouse and watch all the Cubs games on WGN-TV. We also watched some hilarious comedy movies. I remember Joey Brown. Man he was the funniest guy in the world. I loved the three stooges. Grandpa had his chair in the living room. Every night he would sit in his chair. On his lap would be his dog Pepper. A wonderful old dog. Grandpa was a huge huge man. But his heart was as soft as cotton balls. He had a wonderful smile. I never felt too close to Grandpa Bradley. He had such a tall intimidating physical presence. I remember he had a push reel lawn mower. He would mow that front yard with a couple large trees spaced. There was an old shop like building beside the house. It was full of wood and tools and some equipment I believe. But I never really saw Grandpa Bradley make anything of all that wood. I don’t ever remembering seeing a piece of furniture he might of made. I remember his car. I believe it was a Dodge or Nash…maybe a Nash. It had push buttons for start and drive and reverse. We would walk down to the only store in Somers. I don’t remember the name of that old store. But I do remember buying model wood airplanes and putting them together and flying them around outside in the yard. We would be going to bed, lying there in upstair’s bedrooms, smelling clean sheets and pillows and blankets, and the train whistle would blow and we would listen real hard, almost counting the cars as they sped through Somers. I believe I remember how Grandpa Bradley really liked the train. He had books and magazines about trains. It was fun to page through and make believe and imagine. When we walked down to the store, we would pass by a relative’s house. Marjorie?? Maybe and she had an elderly lady living with her, maybe her mother?? We would at least visit once or twice there when visiting Grandpa and Grandma Bradley. Real quiet place and Marjorie had a cat or two I believe. Then there was another relative near the edge of town. I can’t think of her name, but I sure remember her. She was super educated and worked at a university or college. She had parakeets in cages in the house and beautiful gardens in the yard. Flowers and flowers and flowers everywhere. She loved to talk I believe. She seemed to always have a lot to talk about. I remember the church Grandpa and Grandma attended was new, just built. I remember their funerals there, I believe. It was on the west edge of town. It had a gravel parking lot. I don’t remember the Bradley’s as very religious people, but rather people of deep, deep values. I never saw Grandpa Bradley smoke a cigarette or have a beer. I never heard him swear. I never saw him upset or throw a tantrum. He seemed to be a quiet man, almost a reverence about him. He loved Pepper. Pepper was his dog and everywhere that Grandpa went Pepper was sure to go. I especially remember Grandpa sitting in his chair at night in the living room. Pepper would always be lying on his lap. Grandpa’s huge hands would pet and hold that dog. They would fall asleep together.
Grandpa and Grandma Bradley came to live with us as they got older. Grandma had dementia really bad. She would sit in her wheelchair and recite poetry from her school days. She could remember far away, but not yesterday. This was quite sad and very hard on my mother I believe, although I never saw her let her guard down and let her feelings of sadness come cascading. Grandpa and Grandma took over the master bedroom. Dad and Mother slept in the living room. This was an odd arrangement and very stressful as I remember, but I didn’t pay attention to it as I was quite young. Grandpa would wash the dishes after every meal. We kids would take turns drying the dishes. Grandpa would splash the dishwater all over…I mean all over the kitchen. We would be sopping wet standing there next to him. We would all laugh but not as to let Grandpa see us. I do not remember how and where Grandma passed. I do remember that afterward Grandpa would sit out in our front yard and cry and cry his eyes out. I remember him saying one day, with tears flowing, “What’s the matter with me?” As I recall he died shortly after Grandma passed. He died of a broken heart. He really missed her.
I remember going to Uncle Franklin’s at Evansville or Uncle Morse’s at Fort Atkinson for Thanksgiving and Christmas. Huge holiday dinners with all the trimmings, beautiful times and such happiness. The cousins would go outside after Thanksgiving dinner and play football. God, I got beat up so bad during those games. Everyone was bigger than me. We would play tackle football without pads, none of this flag football stuff. I would come away from those games with bumps, bruises, bloody noses…I got the shit kicked out of me in those games. I would hurt for weeks. Much latter I remember going to Platteville one beautiful fall Saturday to watch the UW Platteville Pioneers play the UW Whitewater Warhawks. Jerry was a Warhawk. I remember how Mother was so proud of him. She loved sports.
I remember we were driving home from Somers one day. Mother was driving and I was in the front seat. We were traveling north on I-94. It must have been when it was under construction, just being built. I remember looking up and seeing a sign and I read it out loud, “Freedom ends.” Everyone burst out laughing. I thought it was tragic..wait a minute “My freedom ends?” The sign really said “Freeway ends.” I had misread it.
I remember Kathy’s wedding. The reception was out in the front yard of Uncle Franklin’s farm. The Uncles and cousins got together and we stole the bride and took her up the road to a farm on US Highway 14 and locked her in an empty corn crib. This was quite funny at the time and actually funnier now that I think about it.
Franklin and Ardith and Dad and Mother had an ongoing game they would play. I am not sure how this got started but there was a little glass/ceramic dog, "Blaze" was its name. The game was to find it after a visit and then at the next visit hide it again. No one knew who had the dog and where it was. I remember Mother would find that dog in the oddest places and sit and laugh and begin planning her next move.
I remember going to Uncle Morris’s farm. I remember seeing all the rocks and boulders in the fence rows. I remember thinking to myself, “Gee, Uncle Morris sure does like rocks.”