After Mother was stronger, we moved to Winslow where Dad went to work for the Santa Fe. Robert Francis was born in Winslow. Dad was transferred to Seligman with the Santa Fe. The twins were born the year we moved to Seligman. Bill was born five years later. All of us children went to the Seligman elementary school. I graduated from the eighth grade in 1938, at about the time that Dad was laid off from the rail road because he was the youngest man in seniority and the company was cutting back as a result of the great depression.  We moved to Flagstaff where Dad expected to get work with his brother Claude. This happened for a short time then Dad got work as a Game Warden during hunting season.

In our young days when I was 8 and younger: when we misbehaved during the day (to the point Mother deemed it serious) we were banished to a chair beside the back door to await Dad’s return from work. To add insult to injury we couldn’t go to meet Dad. Our usual practice was to walk to the Depot to meet Dad and walk home with him. Quite a picture that was! Ruth and Emily on either side, Gene and Bob holding close to his legs and Pat and Tom held in his arms, Bill was yet to come. When Dad came in the door he would take off his hat, give Mom a kiss, and look at the culprit on the chair with a greeting like: is this my Pard (for each of the boys) or my Mickey for Ruth, or Pinky for Pat, with a look that made you feel pretty sorry you had not behaved as you knew you should. Following that, Dad put his gun on the top shelf of his closet, washed his hands took his place in his chair and sent one of the kids to tell the person on the chair Dad wanted to see him/her. When the guilty one got to Dad he would bring them up close to the chair and sometimes put his arm about their waist, and ask: Do you want to tell me about it?” That would bring about a confession of the days misbehavior beyond what Mom knew! His response was to ask “How does your Mother feel about this?” And a make up with Mother followed.

  When we talked about someone in a negative manner, Dad who had already educated us with the Golden Rule would begin: “Remember, there is so much --- and we were to finish with : good in the worst of us and so much bad in the best of us that it hardly behooves any of us to talk about the rest of us.” That usually cut off complaining. However, both Mom and Dad always heard us out if we had a genuine complaint we needed to talk about. In the interim after his stint as game warden, Dad bid for a night watchman job to be back with the Santa Fe. He got the position at the Grand Canyon and moved his gang there. This was a time for Dad to get his family acquainted with the beauty and the wonders of nature from the Grand Canyon through the Painted Desert and Petrified Forest. As a young man, Dad had worked in these areas and knew a lot about the territory. Living at the Canyon was a wonderful time for us kids. Winter there was awesome with time for sledding and much fun in the snow. Ruth graduated from the eighth grade there as valedictorian (A class of two). The Canyon school was a typical country school with more than one or two grades to a room. At the Canyon, a Priest used to come once in a while to say Mass and minister to the people in that little community. He used the lobby of the El Tovar Hotel for his chapel. The altar and materials for Mass were stored in a room reserved for the Priest. Before Mass, he used to sit behind the Altar, put his hand to the side of his face, and listen to Confessions. Dad took the eldest of us with him on these mornings (about 6 am) to Mass.

Back to Seligman days for a moment:

During the Depression many men from across the country found their way out west to seek work. Most caught rides on freight trains rolling from Chicago to Los Angeles. Dads work included keeping the trains free of hobo riders, yet Dad knew these men were fine people for the most part and needed whatever help they could find. At the hobo camp, just outside the town, met shared information with each other about where they could get help, a meal, a place to clean themselves, etc. We children were instructed that if a man came to the front door we were not to open the door to him. If he came to the back door and asked if he could do some work for a bit of food we were to call Mother. She always could offer them some form of work as chopping wood for the kitchen stove, raking the yard and clearing out weeds. While the man was working Mother fixed a porcelain baby bathtub with hot sudsy water to be carried to the woodshed. A clean pair of sox, set of underwear, shirt and overalls were set beside the tub along with a towel and washcloth. The man was invited to clean up before coming to get the food. They also were invited to leave their dirty clothes so she could get them ready for the next man who came. This seemed to be very acceptable to the men and I used to be so surprised at how clean and improved the man seemed when he appeared at the back door for his meal. Usually, Mom brought them in to sit at the kitchen table and gave them whatever she could provide. With so many children to feed the meal was meager but nourishing. Word went through the Camp that our house was a good place to come. They must have included some information about how they were expected to behave because there never was any problem that I can remember and I was around most of that time.

The only time I remember hearing Dad sing was when we were driving in the country, usually following trails that he wanted to explore. As he drove sometimes he sang to Mother Let Me Call You Sweetheart and/or When Smoke Gets In Your Eyes. This was very special to me because of the loving comfort I took from it. 

Dad loved to explore places in the mountains, usually saying: “wonder where this trail leads?” We found such beautiful spots and often stayed long enough for a picnic. On picnics, when there was meat to cook, Dad did the cooking.  (He also cooked when Mother was in bed after childbirth. He taught me to cook oatmeal so it would not get gooey and sticky.) Dad became Special Officer on the Santa Fe at Winslow and moved his family there in time to begin the school year. It was in Winslow that Gene Scott was hit by a car on Friday, June 13, 1941 and died Sunday, June 15, Father’s Day. This was a major tragedy and we all have/had a variety of memories about the event and the summer that followed. As a consequence of the accident that took Gene’s life, there was compensation paid to Mom and Dad. To invest the money, Dad took Mom and went to Albuquerque, a larger place and one somewhat familiar to Dad. While there, Dad wanted to show Mom the place where he went to School with the Loretta Sisters. While riding the bus on their way to Bernallio, Dad saw a place that he thought looked familiar so they got off the bus and went to the door, rang the bell and were surprised to find a Sister who had a different habit than the one Dad remembered. It was indeed, a surprise to learn he had not even left the city yet and had come to the Academy where the Sisters of Charity of Cincinnati taught 1 through 12 grades. In the course of their visit here at the Academy, they showed off pictures of their ‘gang’ and told the story about Gene. A Sister asked if the children were in a Catholic school and invited Mom and Dad to send the girls to the Academy. Now, in a very unusual response, Mom said: “Yes, maybe the Nuns can make ladies of them!” The usual procedure would have been for them to discuss the pros and cons of this decision and make it together. The most unusual part was for Mom to have such a mind set!!! So Mom and Dad came home from that little trip with yards of materials to make uniforms for the three girls and in the Fall all three of us went off to Albuquerque to school. Later that year, Dad got transferred to Albuquerque and moved the family with him. For me, this was not the best year of my school life! However, God seemed to have capitalized on it.