| Married on Mary 28, 1971 in Hazelwood, Mo. |
Christopher J. Morgan and Karen Sue Brunnert
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Christopher John Morgan, being the last of eleven to have left his mother’s womb, has been guided more than all the others by her strong
will. This, more than anything else, is what has made me what I have become. For one to know where to start telling the tales of one’s life, it
takes memory. Memories that are long lasting do not become a permanent part of one’s life until after the age of three. OK, I am living proof
of that since the loss of my father occurred for me at that age and I was left with nothing. ME, I was left with absolutely zero, not a word, not a
phrase, not a sound, neither in a dream nor in the hard substance of a written word or other memento. ME! Yes, this chapter is about ME!
I had no father or grandparents to grow up with. The most time spent with an elder relative was with one unusual uncle who liked to pinch
hard and then act like he was invisible. I stayed clear of him as his blowing nasty cigar smoke in my face made him laugh. On the positive
side there was Dad’s sister Aunt Edna, whose visits always meant a smile and a hug, followed by the gift of a dollar. My mother’s sister, my
Aunt Mary, and her husband Uncle Joe, were two opposites that attracted. His visits meant we might go for a wild ride and hang on in the
backseat. Those were the days before there were seatbelts in cars. They were good people who helped Mom. Uncle Joe gave me my first
pet after I took a bus ride to his shop, Alco Awning, and came back home with a live rabbit in a small cage. I was often taken on the bus by
Mother, and I walked with her everywhere and learned my way around the city. Aunt Mary’s home was a regular destination as those sisters
loved to visit. I would stare at Aunt Mary’s collection of salt and pepper shakers as I ate away at cookies. For some reason we were mostly
out of there before Uncle Joe came home. I liked all the things he had in the shed when he was there, and it seemed like he was always
busy and in a hurry.
We occasionally were able to visit Mother’s brothers and sisters who lived on farms in Illinois. It always made Mom happy to see her sister
Theresa and husband Leonard, or her brother Joe and his wife Toots. All of their kids were older than me, but they were still cousins. I
remember cousin Roger was always happy to see me and his Dad had plenty of stuff for us to get into. Once I remember being taken on my
first hunting trip on the farm. I was just a kid. The men all carried guns. They told me to put on this over-sized strange vest, and they told me
that I would be bringing back the rabbits. It did not take long to figure out that meant dead, skinned, bloody, and gutted ones. Hey, what did I
know? I was the City kid and they were letting me tag along. I remember that day very well. The group was large with uncles and cousins and
even a brother as I recollect. When the dead rabbits began weighing me down someone took the vest from me and let me carry a cousin’s
gun; not just any gun, but an old 12 gage shotgun, until I stumbled and ran the barrel into the mud by accident. Everything came to a halt so
the barrel could be cleaned to make it safe to fire again. That mistake was corrected by allowing me, this eager kid, to fire one shot not
knowing that the shotgun had a kick like a mule and might dislocate my shoulder. I remember the words that followed from a cousin as
everyone laughed: “You will learn to respect guns.” He was right as I never wanted to go hunting again.
The only dog that I ever had was taken away from me against my will one day, just to be taken hunting. It was a baby beagle named
“Puddles,” but I was told it was going to be called “Sam” because you don’t yell out “Puddles!” when you are out hunting in the woods. I was
promised: “I’ll bring him back, but a Beagle needs to run in the woods as it is in its blood.” It was my city puppy that brother-in-law Jack gave
me as part of a temporary extension from repossessing some poor sucker’s car. I guess it wasn’t a very good hunting dog, though, because
it never came back home from that hunting trip. Maybe it didn’t understand that its name had been changed to “Sam,” or maybe it just ran
away from the loud noise made by the guns. Hunting never appealed to me as I aged, even though I tried it a few times.
will. This, more than anything else, is what has made me what I have become. For one to know where to start telling the tales of one’s life, it
takes memory. Memories that are long lasting do not become a permanent part of one’s life until after the age of three. OK, I am living proof
of that since the loss of my father occurred for me at that age and I was left with nothing. ME, I was left with absolutely zero, not a word, not a
phrase, not a sound, neither in a dream nor in the hard substance of a written word or other memento. ME! Yes, this chapter is about ME!
I had no father or grandparents to grow up with. The most time spent with an elder relative was with one unusual uncle who liked to pinch
hard and then act like he was invisible. I stayed clear of him as his blowing nasty cigar smoke in my face made him laugh. On the positive
side there was Dad’s sister Aunt Edna, whose visits always meant a smile and a hug, followed by the gift of a dollar. My mother’s sister, my
Aunt Mary, and her husband Uncle Joe, were two opposites that attracted. His visits meant we might go for a wild ride and hang on in the
backseat. Those were the days before there were seatbelts in cars. They were good people who helped Mom. Uncle Joe gave me my first
pet after I took a bus ride to his shop, Alco Awning, and came back home with a live rabbit in a small cage. I was often taken on the bus by
Mother, and I walked with her everywhere and learned my way around the city. Aunt Mary’s home was a regular destination as those sisters
loved to visit. I would stare at Aunt Mary’s collection of salt and pepper shakers as I ate away at cookies. For some reason we were mostly
out of there before Uncle Joe came home. I liked all the things he had in the shed when he was there, and it seemed like he was always
busy and in a hurry.
We occasionally were able to visit Mother’s brothers and sisters who lived on farms in Illinois. It always made Mom happy to see her sister
Theresa and husband Leonard, or her brother Joe and his wife Toots. All of their kids were older than me, but they were still cousins. I
remember cousin Roger was always happy to see me and his Dad had plenty of stuff for us to get into. Once I remember being taken on my
first hunting trip on the farm. I was just a kid. The men all carried guns. They told me to put on this over-sized strange vest, and they told me
that I would be bringing back the rabbits. It did not take long to figure out that meant dead, skinned, bloody, and gutted ones. Hey, what did I
know? I was the City kid and they were letting me tag along. I remember that day very well. The group was large with uncles and cousins and
even a brother as I recollect. When the dead rabbits began weighing me down someone took the vest from me and let me carry a cousin’s
gun; not just any gun, but an old 12 gage shotgun, until I stumbled and ran the barrel into the mud by accident. Everything came to a halt so
the barrel could be cleaned to make it safe to fire again. That mistake was corrected by allowing me, this eager kid, to fire one shot not
knowing that the shotgun had a kick like a mule and might dislocate my shoulder. I remember the words that followed from a cousin as
everyone laughed: “You will learn to respect guns.” He was right as I never wanted to go hunting again.
The only dog that I ever had was taken away from me against my will one day, just to be taken hunting. It was a baby beagle named
“Puddles,” but I was told it was going to be called “Sam” because you don’t yell out “Puddles!” when you are out hunting in the woods. I was
promised: “I’ll bring him back, but a Beagle needs to run in the woods as it is in its blood.” It was my city puppy that brother-in-law Jack gave
me as part of a temporary extension from repossessing some poor sucker’s car. I guess it wasn’t a very good hunting dog, though, because
it never came back home from that hunting trip. Maybe it didn’t understand that its name had been changed to “Sam,” or maybe it just ran
away from the loud noise made by the guns. Hunting never appealed to me as I aged, even though I tried it a few times.
Sorry to jump ahead of myself. I’m trying not to over communicate, as my pages are a bit limited. Are
you ready to understand “Chrissie”? By the way, that’s a nickname I hated. Growing up in a large
family I was like the bottom rung, the end of the line, without vote, the one to be told, snitched,
belittled, but YES also loved. And no matter how old I became I was always referred to as “the baby of
the family”. Jump ahead 40 years with Mom in the nursing home as I held her hand with my grey
beard. She would smile as she told anyone and everyone: “This is my baby, youngest of eleven”.
you ready to understand “Chrissie”? By the way, that’s a nickname I hated. Growing up in a large
family I was like the bottom rung, the end of the line, without vote, the one to be told, snitched,
belittled, but YES also loved. And no matter how old I became I was always referred to as “the baby of
the family”. Jump ahead 40 years with Mom in the nursing home as I held her hand with my grey
beard. She would smile as she told anyone and everyone: “This is my baby, youngest of eleven”.
Yes I was protected sometimes way too much, by sisters who held me under their
wings. I remember sometimes being used as a deterrent on dates, so that the older
boys would leave my sisters alone. If I was being used, I liked it, as it took me places I
otherwise could not have gone. I saw my first “Drive-In” movie on one of my sister’s
dates. I was only nine years old at the time but I still remember the movie was called
“Five Gates to Hell” and it was full of killing. I was the shadow on many trips downtown
on the bus with my sister Berni, and a few times with my sister Kay. These trips were
much better than the ones when I went with mother.
wings. I remember sometimes being used as a deterrent on dates, so that the older
boys would leave my sisters alone. If I was being used, I liked it, as it took me places I
otherwise could not have gone. I saw my first “Drive-In” movie on one of my sister’s
dates. I was only nine years old at the time but I still remember the movie was called
“Five Gates to Hell” and it was full of killing. I was the shadow on many trips downtown
on the bus with my sister Berni, and a few times with my sister Kay. These trips were
much better than the ones when I went with mother.
Being the youngest of seven brothers had its drawbacks as a kid. I was pushed, shoved, talked down too, threatened, scared by ghost stories, and
even by food stories right at the dinner table when Mom was out of ear shot. Big brothers could turn your stomach quick, and the sisters would yell
“that’s disgusting” and leave the table. Food was always special in the house and in the early days there was a certain pecking order. Mom thought
the oldest sons were number one so that is where the bowls of beautifully prepared food started. By the time it reached the full loop around the table,
to that last chair, only a chicken wing was left with a spoonful of mashed potatoes, but somehow the BEANS in large quantities always ended up on
my plate. I grew up learning about the poor people who went without, and learning to save any penny I had for the missions. But the worst lesson of
all was being taught to “clean your plate and count your blessings.” This rule in our home was also the rule at school.
My mother worked in the school cafeteria when I was in kindergarten. In those days kindergarten was only a half day. Students went either in the
morning or in the afternoon. That rule did not apply to me since mother worked in the kitchen. She was a single mother and that must have given
the nuns the go ahead to discipline me. I lost many a recess at school, and play time at home, because of my refusal to eat the cold nasty beans on
my plate. As time went by I became pretty good at destroying the evidence while everyone else was busy. One would be amazed at the places I
could hide a bean. But the main lesson I learned about eating as a youth was that I would never force my own kids to eat everything on their plates!
Maybe I would tell them to at least try it first, and if they did not like it then they would not have to eat it. However, guess what? I was just as bad if not
worse to my kids than my mother was to me.
Because I have no memory of my first three years of life, once I became married I over protected my children and grandchildren until they were past
those initial three years. It is so much better these days with technology allowing you to record and video almost everything. I missed my father and
even with a big family there was a void that no one else could fill, even if some tried. Mother had a great memory but she could be wrong as with so
many kids her stories ran together. She told me when and how I was born and how much trouble she got for having another baby. She swore she
carried me for ten months and I was the only child she did not nurse. She also informed me that I was delivered on Friday, the 13th of April, 1950. I
grew up believing I was born on Friday the 13th so why be surprised at a few bumps in life? Unbelievably to me, when computers first came out, the
South Town Famous store had a display model with the sign: “Enter date and year to see on what day of the week you were born.” I did and was
shocked; the day of my birth was in reality on a Thursday! I was in heaven knowing I could prove to Mother she was wrong about my birth date. But
guess what? She always had to have the last word and turned right back around and said: “The nurse must have changed the date on the paper.”
Mother said I was definitely born on a Friday.
By the way, I hated my name as a youngster mainly because the girls who were given the name Christine were often called by the nicknames “Chris”
or “Chrissie.” Christine was one of the most popular girl’s name back in 1950. Naturally it seemed to me that I was surrounded by girls named
Christine, in the same class, and we all went by the nickname Chris. The sorry thing about it was the Sisters of St. Joseph insisted you print your
entire name on each paper. For years I printed all 21 letters of my name. One would think that those mean little nuns could at least respect the
name they made me write. NO, they always called on “Chris” to answer the next question. “Chris!” Were they referring to me or to a Christine? Who
knew? I figured they just wanted to see me wiggle out of my desk with an unprepared answer to the question, with my hormones being in overdrive
from daydreaming, when luckily one of the Christines would start responding? I grew up proud of my whole given name, and I guess that explains
why I always sign everything Christopher J. Morgan.
even by food stories right at the dinner table when Mom was out of ear shot. Big brothers could turn your stomach quick, and the sisters would yell
“that’s disgusting” and leave the table. Food was always special in the house and in the early days there was a certain pecking order. Mom thought
the oldest sons were number one so that is where the bowls of beautifully prepared food started. By the time it reached the full loop around the table,
to that last chair, only a chicken wing was left with a spoonful of mashed potatoes, but somehow the BEANS in large quantities always ended up on
my plate. I grew up learning about the poor people who went without, and learning to save any penny I had for the missions. But the worst lesson of
all was being taught to “clean your plate and count your blessings.” This rule in our home was also the rule at school.
My mother worked in the school cafeteria when I was in kindergarten. In those days kindergarten was only a half day. Students went either in the
morning or in the afternoon. That rule did not apply to me since mother worked in the kitchen. She was a single mother and that must have given
the nuns the go ahead to discipline me. I lost many a recess at school, and play time at home, because of my refusal to eat the cold nasty beans on
my plate. As time went by I became pretty good at destroying the evidence while everyone else was busy. One would be amazed at the places I
could hide a bean. But the main lesson I learned about eating as a youth was that I would never force my own kids to eat everything on their plates!
Maybe I would tell them to at least try it first, and if they did not like it then they would not have to eat it. However, guess what? I was just as bad if not
worse to my kids than my mother was to me.
Because I have no memory of my first three years of life, once I became married I over protected my children and grandchildren until they were past
those initial three years. It is so much better these days with technology allowing you to record and video almost everything. I missed my father and
even with a big family there was a void that no one else could fill, even if some tried. Mother had a great memory but she could be wrong as with so
many kids her stories ran together. She told me when and how I was born and how much trouble she got for having another baby. She swore she
carried me for ten months and I was the only child she did not nurse. She also informed me that I was delivered on Friday, the 13th of April, 1950. I
grew up believing I was born on Friday the 13th so why be surprised at a few bumps in life? Unbelievably to me, when computers first came out, the
South Town Famous store had a display model with the sign: “Enter date and year to see on what day of the week you were born.” I did and was
shocked; the day of my birth was in reality on a Thursday! I was in heaven knowing I could prove to Mother she was wrong about my birth date. But
guess what? She always had to have the last word and turned right back around and said: “The nurse must have changed the date on the paper.”
Mother said I was definitely born on a Friday.
By the way, I hated my name as a youngster mainly because the girls who were given the name Christine were often called by the nicknames “Chris”
or “Chrissie.” Christine was one of the most popular girl’s name back in 1950. Naturally it seemed to me that I was surrounded by girls named
Christine, in the same class, and we all went by the nickname Chris. The sorry thing about it was the Sisters of St. Joseph insisted you print your
entire name on each paper. For years I printed all 21 letters of my name. One would think that those mean little nuns could at least respect the
name they made me write. NO, they always called on “Chris” to answer the next question. “Chris!” Were they referring to me or to a Christine? Who
knew? I figured they just wanted to see me wiggle out of my desk with an unprepared answer to the question, with my hormones being in overdrive
from daydreaming, when luckily one of the Christines would start responding? I grew up proud of my whole given name, and I guess that explains
why I always sign everything Christopher J. Morgan.
Since the age span in our family of eleven children was so wide, I became
an uncle by the age of three. Invitations to stay with sisters in a confined
suburban life was not as exciting to me as the freedom to explore the city.
As time went on there were more nephews, and being the oldest, and an
uncle at that, I would take the lead in plotting our fun when they visited.
Outside of the family, not having a father left you with the stigma of being a
“trouble-maker” with some parents in the neighborhood. Not having much
money, or not having a young mother, kind of left me in a state all my own.
I vividly recall one of my buddies saying: “Hey, let’s go to your house and
see if your old lady has any cookies.” I now realize that “old lady” was just
a slang term, but at the time I did not stop to think of that as I started
wailing on him in defense of my mother.
an uncle by the age of three. Invitations to stay with sisters in a confined
suburban life was not as exciting to me as the freedom to explore the city.
As time went on there were more nephews, and being the oldest, and an
uncle at that, I would take the lead in plotting our fun when they visited.
Outside of the family, not having a father left you with the stigma of being a
“trouble-maker” with some parents in the neighborhood. Not having much
money, or not having a young mother, kind of left me in a state all my own.
I vividly recall one of my buddies saying: “Hey, let’s go to your house and
see if your old lady has any cookies.” I now realize that “old lady” was just
a slang term, but at the time I did not stop to think of that as I started
wailing on him in defense of my mother.
If you are staying with me on this memory ride you better hang on as I
finished the fourth page already and really haven’t said very much. I tend to
over communicate at times. How else could I grow up? I spent the most
time of anyone with Mother? She read to me articles she found interesting
and thank God she would make me read out loud to her. I would make up
parts to see if she was listening from time to time. She also tried to help
me with spelling, as misspelling has been my worst downfall through life.
That and that my teeth, and a short tongue, gave me problems with saying
“TH” words? This has also been a life long problem that has caused me a
lot of frustration. I hid this fact mostly by talking fast to the point that people
say I mumble. That handicap has never stopped me, though, even to the
extent that as a sailor I was a Petty Officer in charge of the watch on the
mighty aircraft carrier John F. Kennedy CVA-67. At the young age of
nineteen I blew the historic Boatswains pipe over the intercom system to
alert and wake up over 5,000 sailors. Later in life as a river Lockmaster
manager and supervisor I gave talks behind podiums at large conferences
for the Government, addressing navigational problems. But never far from
my mind was Mother’s voice telling me to squeeze the tip of my tongue
down on closed teeth prior to saying “TH” words. The memory of my dental
work as a kid was mother dragging me into the dental school to be used
as a learning tool for a want-to-be dentist. Now let’s go back in time, now
that cat is out of the bag!
finished the fourth page already and really haven’t said very much. I tend to
over communicate at times. How else could I grow up? I spent the most
time of anyone with Mother? She read to me articles she found interesting
and thank God she would make me read out loud to her. I would make up
parts to see if she was listening from time to time. She also tried to help
me with spelling, as misspelling has been my worst downfall through life.
That and that my teeth, and a short tongue, gave me problems with saying
“TH” words? This has also been a life long problem that has caused me a
lot of frustration. I hid this fact mostly by talking fast to the point that people
say I mumble. That handicap has never stopped me, though, even to the
extent that as a sailor I was a Petty Officer in charge of the watch on the
mighty aircraft carrier John F. Kennedy CVA-67. At the young age of
nineteen I blew the historic Boatswains pipe over the intercom system to
alert and wake up over 5,000 sailors. Later in life as a river Lockmaster
manager and supervisor I gave talks behind podiums at large conferences
for the Government, addressing navigational problems. But never far from
my mind was Mother’s voice telling me to squeeze the tip of my tongue
down on closed teeth prior to saying “TH” words. The memory of my dental
work as a kid was mother dragging me into the dental school to be used
as a learning tool for a want-to-be dentist. Now let’s go back in time, now
that cat is out of the bag!
School for me was great until we moved from Grace Street. I started at the new school, Mary Magdalene, and it seemed my old school,
Resurrection, may have been at a different pace. The crucial change came as early as third grade, being put back a year and only finding out when
the Nun called out everyone’s name one at a time to go to the next classroom for 4th grade, leaving me and my two friends looking at each other
as she smiled and said you’re not going anywhere! It was then that I realized this sucks and life is about more then education. Wow was I ever
wrong, as I spent the rest of my adult life trying to correct that stupid idea.
Work of any kind made a dollar and if I saved what I could in a cigar box without others knowing I could buy THINGS! So that started this Morgan
on the road to success, one buck at a time. Raking leaves, shoveling snow, pushing the old hand propelled lawn mower door to door. I had
regular customers. It gave me the power to buy that YO YO at the local hobby shop. I learned valuable lessons at a young age. Once I worked my
tail off for this old lady, Mrs. Brady, cleaning out her gutters on a two story house. Her son was there to help by moving the ladder for me,
NOTHING else, as I would climb up and down the ladder between a narrow gangway cleaning out slimy dirty leaves. I cleaned up the mess
afterward only to be rewarded with a clean white envelope with my payment inside. As I walked my dirty, tired, worn-out body around the corner to
the ash pit I slowly opened up the envelope to find a crisp, clean, twenty dollar bill. I could not believe my eyes. I was filled with excitement. I ran
straight to the hobby store and spent all but six dollars. My joy quickly turned to horror when I arrived home to find my mother waiting for me. She
said I had to return to Mrs. Brady’s house, for she had given me the wrong envelope. I cried, begged, refused, but mother made me do the right
thing. She scraped up all the money she had and I returned a dirty envelope full of dollars and change to make up for the twenty I had already
spent. Mrs. Brady thanked me and said: “Sorry, you had my son’s envelope. Here is yours.” I walked around the corner and opened the envelope
to find five dollars. Needless to say that was the last job I worked for old lady Brady.
Work for the family sometimes was beneficial. How many notes of paper did I carry to the small corner store, to return with that big brown paper
bag from Tommy Tuckers Confectionary? I had no idea what was in that box, only that it had something to do with a certain time of the month for
one of my sisters. If I knew I could make a quarter just by making a run down the block I would. Who could forget the almost nightly run for pints of
ice cream that cost 30 cents a pint. I would be given a list as everyone had their favorite, and God help me if I got it wrong. Yes those were the days
when taking back an empty pop bottle meant penny candy at your fingertips. Plastic money in the way of MILLS, be they green or red, a half cent or
a forth of a cent, they could help you buy the candy behind that glass case.
Mother made certain I would eat right, but whatever she read in the St. Louis Review became factual and regardless if she could afford it she
refused to let my bones fail or my hair dry out. Forcing me to take Knox’s gelatin or cod liver oil was her passion. Maybe there is a benefit to being
the youngest, as my knees are in great shape!! At a young age I knew not to complain of a stomach ache as she would declare you needed an
enema and start whipping up the Ivory soap mixture. Yes, she was a miracle worker and a self proclaimed nurse who did not let you stay home
without regrets. Once I thought it a good idea to go without wearing underwear, just for a day, but as I hurried to get back outside I inadvertently
caught my zipper on some raw flesh. An uncontrolled scream followed. She banged on the bathroom door, insisting to see what was wrong.
MOST EMBARASSING child moment ever, and I never went without briefs again.
I could refuse her demands, or even overpower her if I wanted, but that would summon the boys. A few times I got out of hand and the boys were
summoned. Of course they did not bother to see if the other one had already set me straight? It was all right, though. I could take it, and soon
realized I could also dish it out. Don’t mess with a JD (juvenile delinquent) who stops being afraid of being bullied by a big brother. Once I
planned an escape route before laying a trap for my brother Pete at the bottom of the steps in our house on Murdoch. I was going to even the
score once and for all for those times I was minding my own business and Pete would come inside and go straight to the TV I was watching and
flip the channel to sports. That was it! I was going to take him down. So maybe he was eight years older and twice the size! As his foot hit the
landing around the corner I spun with both hands together in a fist and slammed them into his gut. I darted into the bathroom as he fell, flipped
the skeleton key and scurried out the window and down the gangway for freedom. It was a perfect plan till the street lights came on and I had to go
home. I never really liked sports, and I never had an opportunity to play outside the limits of street or alley ball games. But still to this day when
Pete drops in for a visit I will smile when turning off my TV set. Of course it turns out that I have become a TV news junky, and now I am accused of
being the one to dominate what’s on the television set.
Working hard at small jobs just for candy or to buy something from the hobby shop soon grew into passion for girls and wanting to show off at the
pin ball hangout. That would take real funds so I needed cash to market myself as a doer and someone unafraid of anything; well except maybe a
ghost story or things that go bump in the night. I held my own for the most part, standing up for myself as necessary. I tried to have good
character, as my Mother wanted, and follow the rules by going to mass on Sunday. Of course sometimes I would just stop by the church on my
way home from being with friends, as I needed to pick up a bulletin as proof I had gone to church on Sunday. Joining in the family rosary was
required, after dinner, before I could run around the neighborhood looking for my friends in the little time available before the street lights came on.
I would actually yell their names as loud as I could to see if my friends could come out to play. Nowadays kids have cell phones! Back then kids
did not use phones. In fact, the parents did not want you to bother them by ringing the door bell, so you just stood on their door stoop yelling “OH
BILLY” or “OH RICKY”, etc. Strange but true, but it gave me lungs for yelling in the neighborhood on my first paper route. It may sound even
stranger but some parents summoned their kids home by screaming their names, or whistling real loud. One guy would even do bird calls to
signal his kid home. It was strange indeed to hear the sound of a monstrous bird, knowing this kid was going to be in deep doo doo. The street
lights were just fine with me as the signal to get home, as I could use my judgment of the sun and my quickness to make it back in time.
Back when St. Louis had two daily newspapers, boys like me would go to an old garage where characters hung out stuffing newspapers with
advertisements before loading them into heavy wooden wagons with metal wheels. We boys would then go on our routes, up and down the
streets, yelling out as loud as we could with that all familiar sound breaking the early evening air: “POST AND GLOBE PAAAAPER”. No kidding,
that was a great job, selling the St. Louis Post Dispatch and the Globe Democrat newspapers. It was hard yet rewarding work as you started to
know the regulars and learned who tipped the best. Someone would stick his head out of a four family flat and yell “Hey kid!” as he waved a dollar
bill and off you would go leaving the newspaper wagon at the curb. That was what it was all about, making a buck before the street lights came
on. CURFEW is home by dusk, the golden rule. No one knows how far I would travel; hitchhiking was my favorite mode of travel at the time,
always using my thumb and hoping I could get a ride before a bus came by.
Resurrection, may have been at a different pace. The crucial change came as early as third grade, being put back a year and only finding out when
the Nun called out everyone’s name one at a time to go to the next classroom for 4th grade, leaving me and my two friends looking at each other
as she smiled and said you’re not going anywhere! It was then that I realized this sucks and life is about more then education. Wow was I ever
wrong, as I spent the rest of my adult life trying to correct that stupid idea.
Work of any kind made a dollar and if I saved what I could in a cigar box without others knowing I could buy THINGS! So that started this Morgan
on the road to success, one buck at a time. Raking leaves, shoveling snow, pushing the old hand propelled lawn mower door to door. I had
regular customers. It gave me the power to buy that YO YO at the local hobby shop. I learned valuable lessons at a young age. Once I worked my
tail off for this old lady, Mrs. Brady, cleaning out her gutters on a two story house. Her son was there to help by moving the ladder for me,
NOTHING else, as I would climb up and down the ladder between a narrow gangway cleaning out slimy dirty leaves. I cleaned up the mess
afterward only to be rewarded with a clean white envelope with my payment inside. As I walked my dirty, tired, worn-out body around the corner to
the ash pit I slowly opened up the envelope to find a crisp, clean, twenty dollar bill. I could not believe my eyes. I was filled with excitement. I ran
straight to the hobby store and spent all but six dollars. My joy quickly turned to horror when I arrived home to find my mother waiting for me. She
said I had to return to Mrs. Brady’s house, for she had given me the wrong envelope. I cried, begged, refused, but mother made me do the right
thing. She scraped up all the money she had and I returned a dirty envelope full of dollars and change to make up for the twenty I had already
spent. Mrs. Brady thanked me and said: “Sorry, you had my son’s envelope. Here is yours.” I walked around the corner and opened the envelope
to find five dollars. Needless to say that was the last job I worked for old lady Brady.
Work for the family sometimes was beneficial. How many notes of paper did I carry to the small corner store, to return with that big brown paper
bag from Tommy Tuckers Confectionary? I had no idea what was in that box, only that it had something to do with a certain time of the month for
one of my sisters. If I knew I could make a quarter just by making a run down the block I would. Who could forget the almost nightly run for pints of
ice cream that cost 30 cents a pint. I would be given a list as everyone had their favorite, and God help me if I got it wrong. Yes those were the days
when taking back an empty pop bottle meant penny candy at your fingertips. Plastic money in the way of MILLS, be they green or red, a half cent or
a forth of a cent, they could help you buy the candy behind that glass case.
Mother made certain I would eat right, but whatever she read in the St. Louis Review became factual and regardless if she could afford it she
refused to let my bones fail or my hair dry out. Forcing me to take Knox’s gelatin or cod liver oil was her passion. Maybe there is a benefit to being
the youngest, as my knees are in great shape!! At a young age I knew not to complain of a stomach ache as she would declare you needed an
enema and start whipping up the Ivory soap mixture. Yes, she was a miracle worker and a self proclaimed nurse who did not let you stay home
without regrets. Once I thought it a good idea to go without wearing underwear, just for a day, but as I hurried to get back outside I inadvertently
caught my zipper on some raw flesh. An uncontrolled scream followed. She banged on the bathroom door, insisting to see what was wrong.
MOST EMBARASSING child moment ever, and I never went without briefs again.
I could refuse her demands, or even overpower her if I wanted, but that would summon the boys. A few times I got out of hand and the boys were
summoned. Of course they did not bother to see if the other one had already set me straight? It was all right, though. I could take it, and soon
realized I could also dish it out. Don’t mess with a JD (juvenile delinquent) who stops being afraid of being bullied by a big brother. Once I
planned an escape route before laying a trap for my brother Pete at the bottom of the steps in our house on Murdoch. I was going to even the
score once and for all for those times I was minding my own business and Pete would come inside and go straight to the TV I was watching and
flip the channel to sports. That was it! I was going to take him down. So maybe he was eight years older and twice the size! As his foot hit the
landing around the corner I spun with both hands together in a fist and slammed them into his gut. I darted into the bathroom as he fell, flipped
the skeleton key and scurried out the window and down the gangway for freedom. It was a perfect plan till the street lights came on and I had to go
home. I never really liked sports, and I never had an opportunity to play outside the limits of street or alley ball games. But still to this day when
Pete drops in for a visit I will smile when turning off my TV set. Of course it turns out that I have become a TV news junky, and now I am accused of
being the one to dominate what’s on the television set.
Working hard at small jobs just for candy or to buy something from the hobby shop soon grew into passion for girls and wanting to show off at the
pin ball hangout. That would take real funds so I needed cash to market myself as a doer and someone unafraid of anything; well except maybe a
ghost story or things that go bump in the night. I held my own for the most part, standing up for myself as necessary. I tried to have good
character, as my Mother wanted, and follow the rules by going to mass on Sunday. Of course sometimes I would just stop by the church on my
way home from being with friends, as I needed to pick up a bulletin as proof I had gone to church on Sunday. Joining in the family rosary was
required, after dinner, before I could run around the neighborhood looking for my friends in the little time available before the street lights came on.
I would actually yell their names as loud as I could to see if my friends could come out to play. Nowadays kids have cell phones! Back then kids
did not use phones. In fact, the parents did not want you to bother them by ringing the door bell, so you just stood on their door stoop yelling “OH
BILLY” or “OH RICKY”, etc. Strange but true, but it gave me lungs for yelling in the neighborhood on my first paper route. It may sound even
stranger but some parents summoned their kids home by screaming their names, or whistling real loud. One guy would even do bird calls to
signal his kid home. It was strange indeed to hear the sound of a monstrous bird, knowing this kid was going to be in deep doo doo. The street
lights were just fine with me as the signal to get home, as I could use my judgment of the sun and my quickness to make it back in time.
Back when St. Louis had two daily newspapers, boys like me would go to an old garage where characters hung out stuffing newspapers with
advertisements before loading them into heavy wooden wagons with metal wheels. We boys would then go on our routes, up and down the
streets, yelling out as loud as we could with that all familiar sound breaking the early evening air: “POST AND GLOBE PAAAAPER”. No kidding,
that was a great job, selling the St. Louis Post Dispatch and the Globe Democrat newspapers. It was hard yet rewarding work as you started to
know the regulars and learned who tipped the best. Someone would stick his head out of a four family flat and yell “Hey kid!” as he waved a dollar
bill and off you would go leaving the newspaper wagon at the curb. That was what it was all about, making a buck before the street lights came
on. CURFEW is home by dusk, the golden rule. No one knows how far I would travel; hitchhiking was my favorite mode of travel at the time,
always using my thumb and hoping I could get a ride before a bus came by.
When I got promoted to my first street corner newspaper stand it meant I made a
place for myself on OLD GORMON’S sector. Gorman was the old man with the run
down green car who dropped off papers and picked up money. He would honk as
you left your barrel fire warming your hands and take the cloth bag of coins to give to
him. I would make just a few pennies on each paper, but that could add up if you
hustled. Our work ethic came from need and want, not just for ourselves, but for
mother, and that was a good thing. Giving some or most of your earnings to mother
was a God-send to her, and she smiled and praised the Lord. Having a paper
corner led to throwing papers from the back of a truck, as you hung on and grinded
the paper wrapper with its cotton string so you could out-throw other kids and have
the paper land right at the door. My next big job was to follow Brother Jim’s footsteps
as a bicycle delivery boy for a local pharmacy. Physical stature in younger life was
lean and mean. Little did I know back then that by 8th grade I had stopped growing
and my twenty-nine-inch inseam would never grow as I reached my height in life?
That was alright as I could handle myself and peddle that big bike with its oversized
basket delivering cases of bottled beer along with medicine to the old folks in the
neighborhood. Working in a drug store had its merits as the back room storage area
had stuff where you could have a soda and sneak a peek in an adult magazine. That
was better then National Geographic any day.
place for myself on OLD GORMON’S sector. Gorman was the old man with the run
down green car who dropped off papers and picked up money. He would honk as
you left your barrel fire warming your hands and take the cloth bag of coins to give to
him. I would make just a few pennies on each paper, but that could add up if you
hustled. Our work ethic came from need and want, not just for ourselves, but for
mother, and that was a good thing. Giving some or most of your earnings to mother
was a God-send to her, and she smiled and praised the Lord. Having a paper
corner led to throwing papers from the back of a truck, as you hung on and grinded
the paper wrapper with its cotton string so you could out-throw other kids and have
the paper land right at the door. My next big job was to follow Brother Jim’s footsteps
as a bicycle delivery boy for a local pharmacy. Physical stature in younger life was
lean and mean. Little did I know back then that by 8th grade I had stopped growing
and my twenty-nine-inch inseam would never grow as I reached my height in life?
That was alright as I could handle myself and peddle that big bike with its oversized
basket delivering cases of bottled beer along with medicine to the old folks in the
neighborhood. Working in a drug store had its merits as the back room storage area
had stuff where you could have a soda and sneak a peek in an adult magazine. That
was better then National Geographic any day.
Yes my hormones were growing by leaps and bounds. And I was full of myself and had a love for women, not just silly girls anymore. As a
kid who wanted free reins, that darn streetlight control over me had to end. It did, as Mom always said you can do this or that when you are
Jim’s age. That worked for her for years till I finally figured out I would never catch up to him and be his age. In fact she tried to get him to take
me along when he went out. There was too much age difference, so he would ditch me quick as I was not up to his level of know- how. Once
he and his friends hid from me up in trees and then yelled “now” as streams of urine came down along the path as I fled. Who needs that!
But Jim was one to look up to as he had that thing, like the “Fonz” on TV, that others always looked up to. Just saying he was my brother
protected me a few times. As he stopped growing and I started to fill out as a young man, girls would mistake me for him and honk and flirt.
This is what I’m talking about. An over zealous friend with money, that Jim did not care to hang out with, had me take Jim’s place. This guy,
Bruce, had a hot convertible and he took me anywhere. Springdale or Rivera pool was a popular stop to pick up girls, which I had a knack for
and he needed me more then me him wherever we went. As I started hanging out with older groups I began savoring the moment of seeing
the “Treasure Chest.” Evelyn West just happened to be at the Grand Burlesque on Broadway. Sights to behold, and the best slapstick
vaudeville type comedy. I was lucky to have a trace of a mustache, which enabled me to bluff my way into places and do risky things at a
young age.
kid who wanted free reins, that darn streetlight control over me had to end. It did, as Mom always said you can do this or that when you are
Jim’s age. That worked for her for years till I finally figured out I would never catch up to him and be his age. In fact she tried to get him to take
me along when he went out. There was too much age difference, so he would ditch me quick as I was not up to his level of know- how. Once
he and his friends hid from me up in trees and then yelled “now” as streams of urine came down along the path as I fled. Who needs that!
But Jim was one to look up to as he had that thing, like the “Fonz” on TV, that others always looked up to. Just saying he was my brother
protected me a few times. As he stopped growing and I started to fill out as a young man, girls would mistake me for him and honk and flirt.
This is what I’m talking about. An over zealous friend with money, that Jim did not care to hang out with, had me take Jim’s place. This guy,
Bruce, had a hot convertible and he took me anywhere. Springdale or Rivera pool was a popular stop to pick up girls, which I had a knack for
and he needed me more then me him wherever we went. As I started hanging out with older groups I began savoring the moment of seeing
the “Treasure Chest.” Evelyn West just happened to be at the Grand Burlesque on Broadway. Sights to behold, and the best slapstick
vaudeville type comedy. I was lucky to have a trace of a mustache, which enabled me to bluff my way into places and do risky things at a
young age.
My older siblings had no idea how I grew up pretty much on my own. Mom always knew I would
be home for her when she needed me. The more money I could earn by working more hours
made it acceptable for me to be gone more hours. That started me in the restaurant business.
I needed a better job and since I grew up taking buses and transferring around town I set off
one day convinced I would not come home till I found a full-time job. After plenty of “No, Beat It”
type responses, I traveled all the way up Chippewa to the 6600 block and landed a job at
SAROS SUNNY ITALY restaurant as a busboy. This is where I worked full time from 8th grade
till the day I dropped out of school for good in my junior year to join the Navy. They were great
people and it was a great way to grow up. My new stomping ground was “The Hill,” as the
Italians took this German-Irish kid into the fold. I did everything from busboy, dishwasher, pizza
maker, short order cook, waiter, bartender, to fulltime cook. On school nights I worked till
closing time and hitched a ride or took a bus all those miles home. Working full-time allowed
me to make payments on a new motorcycle. Brother-in-law Mick gave me my first dirt bike, but
now I moved up in size to a street 160 CC Honda. That made getting around so much better,
until Jim loaned me his 56 Chevy and Tom gave me a Nash Rambler. My freedom to work and
travel was on the upswing.
I always tried to take home a bag of treats “to-go” from the restaurant for Mom. Work and its
rewards made me more independent and forthcoming. From the age of three Mother received
social security money to help her to raise me. My job was growing and my boss understood
and worked with me so I could work year-round. Some of my coworkers back when I was a kid
became big in St. Louis in the restaurant business. Charlie Gitto and Steve Marciano both own
several restaurants, along with others guys who all started out working with me.
be home for her when she needed me. The more money I could earn by working more hours
made it acceptable for me to be gone more hours. That started me in the restaurant business.
I needed a better job and since I grew up taking buses and transferring around town I set off
one day convinced I would not come home till I found a full-time job. After plenty of “No, Beat It”
type responses, I traveled all the way up Chippewa to the 6600 block and landed a job at
SAROS SUNNY ITALY restaurant as a busboy. This is where I worked full time from 8th grade
till the day I dropped out of school for good in my junior year to join the Navy. They were great
people and it was a great way to grow up. My new stomping ground was “The Hill,” as the
Italians took this German-Irish kid into the fold. I did everything from busboy, dishwasher, pizza
maker, short order cook, waiter, bartender, to fulltime cook. On school nights I worked till
closing time and hitched a ride or took a bus all those miles home. Working full-time allowed
me to make payments on a new motorcycle. Brother-in-law Mick gave me my first dirt bike, but
now I moved up in size to a street 160 CC Honda. That made getting around so much better,
until Jim loaned me his 56 Chevy and Tom gave me a Nash Rambler. My freedom to work and
travel was on the upswing.
I always tried to take home a bag of treats “to-go” from the restaurant for Mom. Work and its
rewards made me more independent and forthcoming. From the age of three Mother received
social security money to help her to raise me. My job was growing and my boss understood
and worked with me so I could work year-round. Some of my coworkers back when I was a kid
became big in St. Louis in the restaurant business. Charlie Gitto and Steve Marciano both own
several restaurants, along with others guys who all started out working with me.
Mother’s Love has made me one of the most sensitive and caring of guys! For some reason I would always tear-up when seeing others
experiencing happiness. Any function, for any person, which I see as a happy event will bring tears. Also seeing the American Flag, or seeing any
tribute to our country and its military, will cause me to well-up with tears. Also, I stopped trying to hide the fact that I cry easily during an emotional
movie, as I know it is alright to shed a tear for joy or for Love for others.
So much happened during my life as a kid. For example, there was the scare of the cold war and what might happen if it ended in a nuclear war.
Then there was seeing the effects first hand of the death of JFK, as all were in shock at work. I grew up when discipline by nuns in school meant
a ruler on the backside of the hand and a bar of soap in the mouth if a vulgar word was uttered. Yes, it was an age to learn respect and to learn
fear over what could happen. It was definitely an age of observing and participating in major changes. Washing machines went from having hand-
turned wringers hanging off the edge of wash drums, sometimes painfully catching mother’s fingers, to fully automatic machines. Cooking went
from using matches for lighting the pilot light on the old Roper Griddle to the use of modern microwave ovens. Medicine went from having your
tonsils taken out as a precaution, which meant being held down as the sour smell of ether on a cloth put you under, to modern medicine where
surgery is often non-invasive. I grew up in an age that saw the ending of WWII but the beginning of the war in Korea, with more lives lost, and then
saw me reporting to boot camp at age eighteen, and then two days later saw the Chicago riots brake out in 1968 over the Vietnam War. That
brings us to nowadays with history seemingly repeating itself in Iraq, Afghanistan, and Korea. So much change in such a short time . . . it is hard
to comprehend how everything was back then and where everything may go in the future. The ages between us in this large family, separated
over seventeen years by more than seventeen circumstances, means that not two of us grew up exactly the same. Thank goodness!
As I have come to understand myself I know I am proud, and sometimes cold-blooded and fierce, with a terrible temper that when crossed could
bite off the head of a nail. I know I am loyal to “trusting fate” and what is meant by “God’s WILL be done”. Things happen for a reason, and no
matter what we do we cannot escape. Choices in life are mostly learned, and I have made both good and bad ones. And most of them have
made me a better person. My weakest point is I am way too honest, which can be hurtful to others as I expect them to suck it up and do what they
are suppose to do. Having that attitude at work as a supervisor caused conflict, as the dynamics of the work force is constantly changing. I know
how to get things done and how to be cost effective in the process. But that no longer seems to be enough. The world expects more for less, and
everyone wants to know what else you can do for them. All my life I tried to please the boss by doing my very best. But when I became a boss the
tide turned. Suddenly everyone needed to have more input in decisions, and key words like brain-storming and team-work characterized what
was going to be our future. It is true that no one wants a boss, or to be told what to do by someone else. But the other side of the coin is that
responsibility and productivity come at a cost. As an example, look at the schools today. The teaching Nuns are mostly gone now, along with their
strict punishments for infractions, and the students seem to be running amuck. As another example, look at how our congress seems
stalemated on most issues. No one wants to stand up and take the blame. Everyone wants to be politically correct.
experiencing happiness. Any function, for any person, which I see as a happy event will bring tears. Also seeing the American Flag, or seeing any
tribute to our country and its military, will cause me to well-up with tears. Also, I stopped trying to hide the fact that I cry easily during an emotional
movie, as I know it is alright to shed a tear for joy or for Love for others.
So much happened during my life as a kid. For example, there was the scare of the cold war and what might happen if it ended in a nuclear war.
Then there was seeing the effects first hand of the death of JFK, as all were in shock at work. I grew up when discipline by nuns in school meant
a ruler on the backside of the hand and a bar of soap in the mouth if a vulgar word was uttered. Yes, it was an age to learn respect and to learn
fear over what could happen. It was definitely an age of observing and participating in major changes. Washing machines went from having hand-
turned wringers hanging off the edge of wash drums, sometimes painfully catching mother’s fingers, to fully automatic machines. Cooking went
from using matches for lighting the pilot light on the old Roper Griddle to the use of modern microwave ovens. Medicine went from having your
tonsils taken out as a precaution, which meant being held down as the sour smell of ether on a cloth put you under, to modern medicine where
surgery is often non-invasive. I grew up in an age that saw the ending of WWII but the beginning of the war in Korea, with more lives lost, and then
saw me reporting to boot camp at age eighteen, and then two days later saw the Chicago riots brake out in 1968 over the Vietnam War. That
brings us to nowadays with history seemingly repeating itself in Iraq, Afghanistan, and Korea. So much change in such a short time . . . it is hard
to comprehend how everything was back then and where everything may go in the future. The ages between us in this large family, separated
over seventeen years by more than seventeen circumstances, means that not two of us grew up exactly the same. Thank goodness!
As I have come to understand myself I know I am proud, and sometimes cold-blooded and fierce, with a terrible temper that when crossed could
bite off the head of a nail. I know I am loyal to “trusting fate” and what is meant by “God’s WILL be done”. Things happen for a reason, and no
matter what we do we cannot escape. Choices in life are mostly learned, and I have made both good and bad ones. And most of them have
made me a better person. My weakest point is I am way too honest, which can be hurtful to others as I expect them to suck it up and do what they
are suppose to do. Having that attitude at work as a supervisor caused conflict, as the dynamics of the work force is constantly changing. I know
how to get things done and how to be cost effective in the process. But that no longer seems to be enough. The world expects more for less, and
everyone wants to know what else you can do for them. All my life I tried to please the boss by doing my very best. But when I became a boss the
tide turned. Suddenly everyone needed to have more input in decisions, and key words like brain-storming and team-work characterized what
was going to be our future. It is true that no one wants a boss, or to be told what to do by someone else. But the other side of the coin is that
responsibility and productivity come at a cost. As an example, look at the schools today. The teaching Nuns are mostly gone now, along with their
strict punishments for infractions, and the students seem to be running amuck. As another example, look at how our congress seems
stalemated on most issues. No one wants to stand up and take the blame. Everyone wants to be politically correct.
I was able to retire after over thirty-seven years of Government service. But
before I retired I decided to give up my office, and give up being home
every night in a clean warm bed, to volunteer to go to Iraq to oversee the
work of contractors trying to restore Iraqi oil. While there, at a Christmas
show for the military, I met Robin Williams. Back in 1969 Bob Hope was
on my ship to help our morale because of our being away from home.
After a short return from my tour in Iraq I volunteered to serve in
Afghanistan to oversee contracts to build barracks for a new national
army. Helping those in need gave me great satisfaction. I love this country.
I beat the system, which has taken care of me since I was three years old.
The ongoing work force and future ones can only dream about retiring
early.
before I retired I decided to give up my office, and give up being home
every night in a clean warm bed, to volunteer to go to Iraq to oversee the
work of contractors trying to restore Iraqi oil. While there, at a Christmas
show for the military, I met Robin Williams. Back in 1969 Bob Hope was
on my ship to help our morale because of our being away from home.
After a short return from my tour in Iraq I volunteered to serve in
Afghanistan to oversee contracts to build barracks for a new national
army. Helping those in need gave me great satisfaction. I love this country.
I beat the system, which has taken care of me since I was three years old.
The ongoing work force and future ones can only dream about retiring
early.
#1 REGRET – My biggest regret was striking that match and throwing it inside the highboy
dresser downstairs in the house on Michigan Ave., when I was just four years of age.
CORRECTIVE ACTION - I closed that drawer. (The miracle was that no one got hurt,
including my own butt.)
#2 REGRET - Telling Mother, in anger, “I wish you were dead instead of my father!”
CORRECTIVE ACTION - I did as much as possible to respect her, and I devoted as much
time as possible to making her smile.
#3 REGRET - Giving up in school and just filling a space there for years until I reached the
legal age for non-compulsory attendance.
CORRECTIVE ACTION - I joined the Navy and worked for my GED right away. Then I used
my GI bill as long as I could to take courses at Florissant Valley Community College, not just
to learn more but to improve my resume and work applications.
#4 REGRET – Thinking I would not get caught taking things from a store, and being arrested
for shoplifting at the tender age of twelve. (Mother was sick with grief when she had me
released from jail on Hampton Avenue.)
CORRECTIVE ACTION - I learned my lesson, for the rest of my life, never to steal anything. I
vowed to never make Mom disappointed in me again as I strove for success.
#5 REGRET - Being prejudiced and drawing imaginary lines in neighborhoods where the
lower class belonged and thinking I was better then others.
CORRECTIVE ACTION - Growing up and being realistic as I learned what life was all about,
especially during my active and reserve military travel throughout the world.
#6 REGRET – Starting to smoke when I was around ten years old, thinking it was cool. (So
much wasted money, too, yet I was hooked by the pleasure of smoking cigarettes in spite of
the health warnings.)
CORRECTIVE ACTION – After 45 years of smoking I stopped cold turkey, once retired and
with Karen’s help. (I pray I clear my lungs.)
#7 REGRET – Working for money and not for fun, as supervisor’s duties and
responsibilities grew, seeking one promotion after another till reaching the top.
CORRECTIVE ACTION – I took early retirement, knowing it was time to quit as more money
was no longer the most important thing to me, and knowing the important thing was sharing
happiness with loved ones. (Lucky for me the old system was still in place long enough for
me to be eligible for early retirement.)
#8 REGRET – Not listening to older brothers about taking advantage of extra travel while in
the Navy.
CORRECTIVE ACTION - After I left the Navy my Civil Service job allowed me to travel all over
the country for special training. (I am most grateful that I could take temporary positions
during my last year of work to help the people in Iraq and Afghanistan. Now that I am retired
I plan to turn dreams of travel into reality for as long as possible.)
#9 REGRET – Witnessing some young soldiers dying right in front of me in Iraq, knowing
they might have been fathers leaving their children behind without a dad.
CORRECTIVE ACTION - I was able of serve my country, doing a job in a war zone that had to
be done, so another person with younger family members could stay home. But most of all
learning cultural differences and bringing hope and trust to those who need it. (I was able to
return home safely from such poor countries, having seen the daily miseries and struggles
of their people, knowing how truly blessed we are to have so much.)
#10 REGRET – Absolutely hating funerals of any kind.
After my Father died my Mother told me that, when she took me into a flower shop, I asked if
my Father was there. Obviously I associated the smell of the flowers in the shop with that of
all the floral arrangements around his casket in the funeral parlor.
dresser downstairs in the house on Michigan Ave., when I was just four years of age.
CORRECTIVE ACTION - I closed that drawer. (The miracle was that no one got hurt,
including my own butt.)
#2 REGRET - Telling Mother, in anger, “I wish you were dead instead of my father!”
CORRECTIVE ACTION - I did as much as possible to respect her, and I devoted as much
time as possible to making her smile.
#3 REGRET - Giving up in school and just filling a space there for years until I reached the
legal age for non-compulsory attendance.
CORRECTIVE ACTION - I joined the Navy and worked for my GED right away. Then I used
my GI bill as long as I could to take courses at Florissant Valley Community College, not just
to learn more but to improve my resume and work applications.
#4 REGRET – Thinking I would not get caught taking things from a store, and being arrested
for shoplifting at the tender age of twelve. (Mother was sick with grief when she had me
released from jail on Hampton Avenue.)
CORRECTIVE ACTION - I learned my lesson, for the rest of my life, never to steal anything. I
vowed to never make Mom disappointed in me again as I strove for success.
#5 REGRET - Being prejudiced and drawing imaginary lines in neighborhoods where the
lower class belonged and thinking I was better then others.
CORRECTIVE ACTION - Growing up and being realistic as I learned what life was all about,
especially during my active and reserve military travel throughout the world.
#6 REGRET – Starting to smoke when I was around ten years old, thinking it was cool. (So
much wasted money, too, yet I was hooked by the pleasure of smoking cigarettes in spite of
the health warnings.)
CORRECTIVE ACTION – After 45 years of smoking I stopped cold turkey, once retired and
with Karen’s help. (I pray I clear my lungs.)
#7 REGRET – Working for money and not for fun, as supervisor’s duties and
responsibilities grew, seeking one promotion after another till reaching the top.
CORRECTIVE ACTION – I took early retirement, knowing it was time to quit as more money
was no longer the most important thing to me, and knowing the important thing was sharing
happiness with loved ones. (Lucky for me the old system was still in place long enough for
me to be eligible for early retirement.)
#8 REGRET – Not listening to older brothers about taking advantage of extra travel while in
the Navy.
CORRECTIVE ACTION - After I left the Navy my Civil Service job allowed me to travel all over
the country for special training. (I am most grateful that I could take temporary positions
during my last year of work to help the people in Iraq and Afghanistan. Now that I am retired
I plan to turn dreams of travel into reality for as long as possible.)
#9 REGRET – Witnessing some young soldiers dying right in front of me in Iraq, knowing
they might have been fathers leaving their children behind without a dad.
CORRECTIVE ACTION - I was able of serve my country, doing a job in a war zone that had to
be done, so another person with younger family members could stay home. But most of all
learning cultural differences and bringing hope and trust to those who need it. (I was able to
return home safely from such poor countries, having seen the daily miseries and struggles
of their people, knowing how truly blessed we are to have so much.)
#10 REGRET – Absolutely hating funerals of any kind.
After my Father died my Mother told me that, when she took me into a flower shop, I asked if
my Father was there. Obviously I associated the smell of the flowers in the shop with that of
all the floral arrangements around his casket in the funeral parlor.
CONCLUDING WITH SOME PRECIOUS MEMORIES OF LOVE
I can not leave you with the impression that my journey through life was not sheer fate. Fate is chance. Regardless of whether it is a slim chance
or a fat chance, fate brings things to all of us, and the slightest change in our direction swings the tide along the shore of destiny. I grew up with
a strong interest in older women during my youth. Who would have thought that I would fall in love with a kid younger then me? When I first met
Karen she was just another kid in a group of families on a camping outing my brother Frank took me on. The next time we met was when Frank
arranged for me to go on a double date with her brother. The date was with a young girl in his parish who would have missed attending her
senior prom if he had not conned me into being her escort. OK, so he paid for everything and gave me the use of his car. Even so, it was a
terrible night in general for me, being out of my element with a strange unknown group of kids. But there were those few minutes at the
beginning of that night, while I was inside that unknown home, when I saw that skinny girl who I barley remembered from that camping trip. She
had now blossomed into a shapely young teen.
Time passed and I was starting to become a world traveler as a sailor, and life was good with so much of the world to explore. Then one day
out of the blue I received a letter from that young girl asking if it would be alright to become pen pals. Was this big brother Frank up to his old
tricks once again, interfering with his little brother’s life? Lucky for me Karen included in that very first letter some pictures as bait to intrigue my
interest. In those days, when letters came to military stationed on an Aircraft Carrier deployed in the Mediterranean Sea, it was truly snail mail.
So I had to ask myself what it would hurt to write back to this little known person, especially as it would be months before our ship’s return to the
USA. It would mean I was gone from home for over a year before going back for a visit. When I did get back, I would only be home for a few
days. Yes, I decided it would be a good idea to write back to this chick to get to know her better.
I can not leave you with the impression that my journey through life was not sheer fate. Fate is chance. Regardless of whether it is a slim chance
or a fat chance, fate brings things to all of us, and the slightest change in our direction swings the tide along the shore of destiny. I grew up with
a strong interest in older women during my youth. Who would have thought that I would fall in love with a kid younger then me? When I first met
Karen she was just another kid in a group of families on a camping outing my brother Frank took me on. The next time we met was when Frank
arranged for me to go on a double date with her brother. The date was with a young girl in his parish who would have missed attending her
senior prom if he had not conned me into being her escort. OK, so he paid for everything and gave me the use of his car. Even so, it was a
terrible night in general for me, being out of my element with a strange unknown group of kids. But there were those few minutes at the
beginning of that night, while I was inside that unknown home, when I saw that skinny girl who I barley remembered from that camping trip. She
had now blossomed into a shapely young teen.
Time passed and I was starting to become a world traveler as a sailor, and life was good with so much of the world to explore. Then one day
out of the blue I received a letter from that young girl asking if it would be alright to become pen pals. Was this big brother Frank up to his old
tricks once again, interfering with his little brother’s life? Lucky for me Karen included in that very first letter some pictures as bait to intrigue my
interest. In those days, when letters came to military stationed on an Aircraft Carrier deployed in the Mediterranean Sea, it was truly snail mail.
So I had to ask myself what it would hurt to write back to this little known person, especially as it would be months before our ship’s return to the
USA. It would mean I was gone from home for over a year before going back for a visit. When I did get back, I would only be home for a few
days. Yes, I decided it would be a good idea to write back to this chick to get to know her better.
I had to borrow a car from my brother Pete and drive out to North County, back to the area where so long ago I had meet Karen. Be nice to her, I
thought, and hopefully get her out of the house quick. Then find something to do that was close to her home so I would not get lost. The weather that
night was turning bad with snow already accumulating on the ground. It was a cold and lonely walk up to her door. Her older brother, who I had
double dated with the night of the prom, was now in Vietnam. That left a younger brother and two younger sisters, along with Karen and her parents, to
welcome me into their home.
That first date was just that, a first date, but it was full of fun as we wanted to do nothing except talk and talk, learning about each other. She was so
beautiful, with the cutest nose. And that kid that I remembered was in reality only two years younger then me. She was small yet shapely, with a perfect
complexion using hardly any makeup. But more than anything her ears were tuned into me, and mine into her, as we were wanting to know everything
there was to know about each other. Hours went by like minutes and soon I found myself standing at her door saying good night and promising I
would call her again. I told her I had a few commitments the next day but I was hoping to see her again soon. The kiss good bye was just a peck, but it
hit me like a bulldozer.
On my drive back to the city I found myself going over and over what had just happened and trying to figure out how I would handle the rest of my stay at
home. I did party the next night and had a good time, but the “been there, done that” feeling came over me. I was intrigued by this new Tigress and
knew I needed to take advantage of the short amount of leave time I had. My next call to her was the best possible one for me, finding that she wanted
to spend more time with me and that her parents understood I was home from the service and had no car to use, so they loaned me one. Little did
anyone know that we would spend every waking moment together from that point on? Our long distant relationship grew daily, and yes, absence truly
does make the heart grow fonder.
Days turned into weeks that led to months of separation. Yet we would steal a second of time any way we could. Her parents brought the family to see
the ship during an independent cruise, just so we could be together. I had a friend who lived in Marshall, MO, just south of Kansas City, who also was
in love, and one weekend we drove the wheels off his car on a round trip from Virginia to see our girls for only a day and a half. Yes we were in Love,
and once again I had to deploy over seas for almost a year due to the Jordan Crisis. The time apart just made our love grow, and somehow this guy
who did not know how a husband should act proposed to that beautiful soul mate with whom I had fallen in love. I had just enough money in saving
bonds to buy a wedding ring. I was afraid of the commitment, but knew somehow things would work out. Love is indeed blind.
The wedding date was set. We had hopes and dreams of pulling this off, with me being gone away in the Navy and only able to come home just days
before saying “I DO” at the altar. So as a brash 21 year-old young man I married this beautiful 19 year-old princess, this Barbie Doll who knocked my
socks off with her tenderness. With an old car as a wedding present, and with all our possessions in the back seat, we set off for my duty station in
Virginia. All the time we knew that in a few months I would once again have to leave her for my last cruise to the Mediterranean. Child birth was out of
the question for us as we had nothing to prepare us for raising a child. Then we thought through our options, and maybe even rationalized a little. One
option was to wait another year, till I was out of the service and could find a job where we would have health care benefits to help pay for the delivery of
a baby. That was if we were lucky enough to be able to have a child? The only other option, as we saw it, was to hurry and hope for the best as we
had just enough time for Karen to conceive and deliver a baby while I was still insured by the Navy. Lovers do not wait and our mission was to launch
a pregnancy before I set sail. The seed was planted, and not just in the mind. The rest is history.
Snail mail brought pictures of my petite young bride in her ever changing form. She was literally transforming herself in front of the camera. It seemed
like she was gaining another ten pounds each time a picture arrived. Her stomach kept growing and growing until she gained about 40 lbs, almost
half of her original weight. I couldn’t help but think that my dad, who fathered eleven of us Morgans, gave me the power to be a baby maker? Time
passed and I was lost without communication, knowing that the next time I heard anything it would be by a WESTERN UNION TELEGRAM. It finally
came! In the middle of the night I was awakened and told to go to the communication center. The telegram said: “You are the proud father of Kelly
Marie Morgan, born March 24th 1972, at 8 lbs 3.5 ounces.”
I was so excited, but also so lost not being able to be there, and it was going to be another three months before I came home. I missed her and her
mother so much that when I arrived back in the US at a ship yard in Philadelphia, PA, I decided not to wait until the following week when I would be
officially discharged. I could not stand the thought of being so close, and yet so far, so I flew home to St. Louis on a standby ticket and surprised Karen
when I arrived at her parent’s home unannounced. We all cried and hugged our precious little Kelly. I never wanted to be separated from them again
for so long. We left the next morning in our old car back to Philadelphia, so I could be officially discharged from the service. Lucky for me that brother
Larry lived near by and put us up in his home. That same old car, the wedding gift that took us to Virginia as we started our life together, once again
held all of our possessions, including our precious Kelly in the back seat in her baby bed. We did not know what was coming next, only that we could
handle anything.
Once back in St. Louis, while living with parents, I went job hunting with Navy skills more likely needed in a coastal area. But I had the drive and energy
to find a job as quickly as possible because I had a family now and I also had that MORGAN PRIDE. I was going to go right back into the service if I
had to, but first I had to try and sell myself to a different employer. I succeeded in that the very first day when I met with some unknown man at the
unemployment office. He set me up with an interview the very next day with the city of St. Louis street department, for a job as a heavy equipment
operator. Who knows, that could have meant starting out with a shovel in my hand. I would have taken anything, of course, to be able to take care of
my loved ones. That same night this unknown man took it upon himself to chase me down by calling my mother’s phone number asking for me. He
convinced her to make certain I that I skip the interview with the city and instead report first thing in the morning to the Corps of Engineers’
headquarters.
Thanks to the guy in the unemployment office, who took it upon himself to help this unknown young kid, I was offered a job on board the DREDGE
KENNEDY working on the Mississippi River starting right away. I had just finished serving for four years on the largest ship in the Navy at the time, the
John F. Kennedy, named after one of our greatest presidents, and here I was being offered a job onboard a dredge boat with the same name. I told
the man in the personnel office that it was probably a great job, and that I thought the coincidence of the Kennedy name was fantastic, but that I was
wishing for a job where I could go home at nights, being a new father and all. He looked puzzled but yet understood and said I may have a slim chance
at a job at their service base on the river at the foot of Arsenal street below Bush brewery. He sent me down there for an interview with the head man, a
guy who turned out to be a hard noised ex-marine. He hired me on the spot for a temporary three-month probationary appointment at $3.80 cents and
hour. I was walking on air. I had three months to prove myself.
Those three months went by quickly and I started my career with benefits and with the opportunity to advance over time. That old jarhead ex- marine
encouraged me to use my GI bill and get to a junior college because advancement takes knowledge. As our lives became more stable we moved into
an apartment in the city, ready once again to take on the world. Kelly was the most beautiful little girl in the world and as smart as a whip. With her
coal black hair, together with her mother’s nose, she was just like a real life princess. I became a bit upset once when Karen took a part-time job and I
heard Kelly call her baby-sitting grandma “Mom.” Karen has held many part-time jobs since then, and was still able to be a full-time mom, but that
time I encouraged her to sacrifice the job in order to stay home with Kelly. It was a wonderful home for me to come home to. I was spoiled and always
came right home. There was no place I would rather be after a long day at work. I wanted to be the best husband and father I could be, and we agreed
it was time to hopefully give Kelly a playmate. Having insurance means everything when raising children and we were blessed never to have had
serious medical problems.
I was receiving small pay increases at the time and after a few years of renting apartments we started looking for a home. My hands were shaking
when signing the papers for our first home, located in Florissant, MO, not far from Karen’s childhood home, and costing us $19,700.00. It needed
work but it was our home for the next fifteen years. Karen was pregnant, and we decided the time was right. This time I was going to be there. I was
there at the natural childbirth classes. I was there when the birthing process began. I was there in my doctor’s smock, and I played the part to the hilt.
Back then birthing took place with all precautions taken, with paper masks, paper covers for shoes, etc. Again Karen gained an extreme amount of
weight, and the doctor thought she might be carrying twins? But after testing he said no, it was just one healthy baby wanting to get out into the world.
On September 17th 1974, almost two and a half years after Kelly was born, Karen delivered a perfect sister who would grow up to be Kelly’s best
friend. We welcomed into our world Kimberly Rae Morgan, weighing in at 8 lbs. 15 ounces. Just like her sister before her, little Kimberly was born with
a full head of hair.
thought, and hopefully get her out of the house quick. Then find something to do that was close to her home so I would not get lost. The weather that
night was turning bad with snow already accumulating on the ground. It was a cold and lonely walk up to her door. Her older brother, who I had
double dated with the night of the prom, was now in Vietnam. That left a younger brother and two younger sisters, along with Karen and her parents, to
welcome me into their home.
That first date was just that, a first date, but it was full of fun as we wanted to do nothing except talk and talk, learning about each other. She was so
beautiful, with the cutest nose. And that kid that I remembered was in reality only two years younger then me. She was small yet shapely, with a perfect
complexion using hardly any makeup. But more than anything her ears were tuned into me, and mine into her, as we were wanting to know everything
there was to know about each other. Hours went by like minutes and soon I found myself standing at her door saying good night and promising I
would call her again. I told her I had a few commitments the next day but I was hoping to see her again soon. The kiss good bye was just a peck, but it
hit me like a bulldozer.
On my drive back to the city I found myself going over and over what had just happened and trying to figure out how I would handle the rest of my stay at
home. I did party the next night and had a good time, but the “been there, done that” feeling came over me. I was intrigued by this new Tigress and
knew I needed to take advantage of the short amount of leave time I had. My next call to her was the best possible one for me, finding that she wanted
to spend more time with me and that her parents understood I was home from the service and had no car to use, so they loaned me one. Little did
anyone know that we would spend every waking moment together from that point on? Our long distant relationship grew daily, and yes, absence truly
does make the heart grow fonder.
Days turned into weeks that led to months of separation. Yet we would steal a second of time any way we could. Her parents brought the family to see
the ship during an independent cruise, just so we could be together. I had a friend who lived in Marshall, MO, just south of Kansas City, who also was
in love, and one weekend we drove the wheels off his car on a round trip from Virginia to see our girls for only a day and a half. Yes we were in Love,
and once again I had to deploy over seas for almost a year due to the Jordan Crisis. The time apart just made our love grow, and somehow this guy
who did not know how a husband should act proposed to that beautiful soul mate with whom I had fallen in love. I had just enough money in saving
bonds to buy a wedding ring. I was afraid of the commitment, but knew somehow things would work out. Love is indeed blind.
The wedding date was set. We had hopes and dreams of pulling this off, with me being gone away in the Navy and only able to come home just days
before saying “I DO” at the altar. So as a brash 21 year-old young man I married this beautiful 19 year-old princess, this Barbie Doll who knocked my
socks off with her tenderness. With an old car as a wedding present, and with all our possessions in the back seat, we set off for my duty station in
Virginia. All the time we knew that in a few months I would once again have to leave her for my last cruise to the Mediterranean. Child birth was out of
the question for us as we had nothing to prepare us for raising a child. Then we thought through our options, and maybe even rationalized a little. One
option was to wait another year, till I was out of the service and could find a job where we would have health care benefits to help pay for the delivery of
a baby. That was if we were lucky enough to be able to have a child? The only other option, as we saw it, was to hurry and hope for the best as we
had just enough time for Karen to conceive and deliver a baby while I was still insured by the Navy. Lovers do not wait and our mission was to launch
a pregnancy before I set sail. The seed was planted, and not just in the mind. The rest is history.
Snail mail brought pictures of my petite young bride in her ever changing form. She was literally transforming herself in front of the camera. It seemed
like she was gaining another ten pounds each time a picture arrived. Her stomach kept growing and growing until she gained about 40 lbs, almost
half of her original weight. I couldn’t help but think that my dad, who fathered eleven of us Morgans, gave me the power to be a baby maker? Time
passed and I was lost without communication, knowing that the next time I heard anything it would be by a WESTERN UNION TELEGRAM. It finally
came! In the middle of the night I was awakened and told to go to the communication center. The telegram said: “You are the proud father of Kelly
Marie Morgan, born March 24th 1972, at 8 lbs 3.5 ounces.”
I was so excited, but also so lost not being able to be there, and it was going to be another three months before I came home. I missed her and her
mother so much that when I arrived back in the US at a ship yard in Philadelphia, PA, I decided not to wait until the following week when I would be
officially discharged. I could not stand the thought of being so close, and yet so far, so I flew home to St. Louis on a standby ticket and surprised Karen
when I arrived at her parent’s home unannounced. We all cried and hugged our precious little Kelly. I never wanted to be separated from them again
for so long. We left the next morning in our old car back to Philadelphia, so I could be officially discharged from the service. Lucky for me that brother
Larry lived near by and put us up in his home. That same old car, the wedding gift that took us to Virginia as we started our life together, once again
held all of our possessions, including our precious Kelly in the back seat in her baby bed. We did not know what was coming next, only that we could
handle anything.
Once back in St. Louis, while living with parents, I went job hunting with Navy skills more likely needed in a coastal area. But I had the drive and energy
to find a job as quickly as possible because I had a family now and I also had that MORGAN PRIDE. I was going to go right back into the service if I
had to, but first I had to try and sell myself to a different employer. I succeeded in that the very first day when I met with some unknown man at the
unemployment office. He set me up with an interview the very next day with the city of St. Louis street department, for a job as a heavy equipment
operator. Who knows, that could have meant starting out with a shovel in my hand. I would have taken anything, of course, to be able to take care of
my loved ones. That same night this unknown man took it upon himself to chase me down by calling my mother’s phone number asking for me. He
convinced her to make certain I that I skip the interview with the city and instead report first thing in the morning to the Corps of Engineers’
headquarters.
Thanks to the guy in the unemployment office, who took it upon himself to help this unknown young kid, I was offered a job on board the DREDGE
KENNEDY working on the Mississippi River starting right away. I had just finished serving for four years on the largest ship in the Navy at the time, the
John F. Kennedy, named after one of our greatest presidents, and here I was being offered a job onboard a dredge boat with the same name. I told
the man in the personnel office that it was probably a great job, and that I thought the coincidence of the Kennedy name was fantastic, but that I was
wishing for a job where I could go home at nights, being a new father and all. He looked puzzled but yet understood and said I may have a slim chance
at a job at their service base on the river at the foot of Arsenal street below Bush brewery. He sent me down there for an interview with the head man, a
guy who turned out to be a hard noised ex-marine. He hired me on the spot for a temporary three-month probationary appointment at $3.80 cents and
hour. I was walking on air. I had three months to prove myself.
Those three months went by quickly and I started my career with benefits and with the opportunity to advance over time. That old jarhead ex- marine
encouraged me to use my GI bill and get to a junior college because advancement takes knowledge. As our lives became more stable we moved into
an apartment in the city, ready once again to take on the world. Kelly was the most beautiful little girl in the world and as smart as a whip. With her
coal black hair, together with her mother’s nose, she was just like a real life princess. I became a bit upset once when Karen took a part-time job and I
heard Kelly call her baby-sitting grandma “Mom.” Karen has held many part-time jobs since then, and was still able to be a full-time mom, but that
time I encouraged her to sacrifice the job in order to stay home with Kelly. It was a wonderful home for me to come home to. I was spoiled and always
came right home. There was no place I would rather be after a long day at work. I wanted to be the best husband and father I could be, and we agreed
it was time to hopefully give Kelly a playmate. Having insurance means everything when raising children and we were blessed never to have had
serious medical problems.
I was receiving small pay increases at the time and after a few years of renting apartments we started looking for a home. My hands were shaking
when signing the papers for our first home, located in Florissant, MO, not far from Karen’s childhood home, and costing us $19,700.00. It needed
work but it was our home for the next fifteen years. Karen was pregnant, and we decided the time was right. This time I was going to be there. I was
there at the natural childbirth classes. I was there when the birthing process began. I was there in my doctor’s smock, and I played the part to the hilt.
Back then birthing took place with all precautions taken, with paper masks, paper covers for shoes, etc. Again Karen gained an extreme amount of
weight, and the doctor thought she might be carrying twins? But after testing he said no, it was just one healthy baby wanting to get out into the world.
On September 17th 1974, almost two and a half years after Kelly was born, Karen delivered a perfect sister who would grow up to be Kelly’s best
friend. We welcomed into our world Kimberly Rae Morgan, weighing in at 8 lbs. 15 ounces. Just like her sister before her, little Kimberly was born with
a full head of hair.
With each letter our interest in each other grew. The mail that once
meant hardly anything to me became very important, and soon perfume
was in the scent of the paper. I was introduced to TIGRESS by Faberge.
So what happened, you may ask? Was it that first campsite glance, that
blind date audience or that surprise letter that was able to build with
time? If any thing different occurred to alter our introduction to each
other I am certain we would have both ended up on different life
journeys. What we now call the old days had its merits. Words on
paper meant very much and would be read and reread. I had time to
smell the roses. Her perfume became addictive. It came from so far
away. Pictures, even those of low quality compared to ones produced
today, meant everything to a sailor at sea who could enter a world of
wonder staring at beautiful images. Well I made it home and almost
forgot about my pen pal during my first night out and about. I run into my
old friends and right away made a date with an old flame. I knew I had
to fulfill my commitment to meet the girl with the Tigress perfume who
was sending me all those letters. I promised her. I told my old friends
that I had something I had to do the next day, but set a date with that hot
number for the following night.
meant hardly anything to me became very important, and soon perfume
was in the scent of the paper. I was introduced to TIGRESS by Faberge.
So what happened, you may ask? Was it that first campsite glance, that
blind date audience or that surprise letter that was able to build with
time? If any thing different occurred to alter our introduction to each
other I am certain we would have both ended up on different life
journeys. What we now call the old days had its merits. Words on
paper meant very much and would be read and reread. I had time to
smell the roses. Her perfume became addictive. It came from so far
away. Pictures, even those of low quality compared to ones produced
today, meant everything to a sailor at sea who could enter a world of
wonder staring at beautiful images. Well I made it home and almost
forgot about my pen pal during my first night out and about. I run into my
old friends and right away made a date with an old flame. I knew I had
to fulfill my commitment to meet the girl with the Tigress perfume who
was sending me all those letters. I promised her. I told my old friends
that I had something I had to do the next day, but set a date with that hot
number for the following night.
Wow! What a lucky dad I was now, with two beautiful daughters to
spoil. Spoiling them was exactly what I tried to do. We counted our
blessings, knowing how many children go to bed without the love
they need, and knowing how lucky we were that God allowed us to
deliver such wonderfully healthy children. I never needed that boy
who would pass down the Morgan name. My girls, even when
losing their maiden name, would always be Morgan girls because
they had strong wills and were independent thinkers.
My girls were wonderful growing up, giving us more pleasure then
we deserved. They had such beauty as children, and they have
grown into beautiful women. They would take turns testing their
father to see if he would recognize the voice on the phone, as they
loved to tease me. They made us proud over and over again
because each became her own special person. Kelly, like her Dad,
spent four years in the Navy and also loved to travel. She used her
limited GI bill to continue her education, reaching for her teacher’s
degree. She is now a full-time teacher and mother of four wonderful
children. Kim has worked many different jobs, never afraid of trying
something new to improve her abilities. She is the proud mother of
three wonderful children and gave me my first grandson. She
somehow continues to take courses when possible, while working
a full-time job taking promotions along with responsibilities, and all
along being a home maker who keeps her children active in sports.
spoil. Spoiling them was exactly what I tried to do. We counted our
blessings, knowing how many children go to bed without the love
they need, and knowing how lucky we were that God allowed us to
deliver such wonderfully healthy children. I never needed that boy
who would pass down the Morgan name. My girls, even when
losing their maiden name, would always be Morgan girls because
they had strong wills and were independent thinkers.
My girls were wonderful growing up, giving us more pleasure then
we deserved. They had such beauty as children, and they have
grown into beautiful women. They would take turns testing their
father to see if he would recognize the voice on the phone, as they
loved to tease me. They made us proud over and over again
because each became her own special person. Kelly, like her Dad,
spent four years in the Navy and also loved to travel. She used her
limited GI bill to continue her education, reaching for her teacher’s
degree. She is now a full-time teacher and mother of four wonderful
children. Kim has worked many different jobs, never afraid of trying
something new to improve her abilities. She is the proud mother of
three wonderful children and gave me my first grandson. She
somehow continues to take courses when possible, while working
a full-time job taking promotions along with responsibilities, and all
along being a home maker who keeps her children active in sports.
More important than anything else I can say about them individually, both
girls are good people who care for others and who are sensitive to
others’ needs. We decided we did not need to have more children
ourselves, but later we took in foster children to fill a void for a while. We
also opened our home to the foreign exchange program so the girls
could share what they had with others. You might wonder why the
youngest of eleven children feels content with a small family? The
answer is simple. I learned that size is not as important as the lessons
of life felt and passed on to others. I have always tried to bring smiles to
my girls’ faces and now to the faces of their children. I am so privileged
that they allow me to share myself with those wonderful children. The
word “Grandpa” coming from a child’s lips is precious, and music to my
ears. As each one was born I have written something for them to
remember me by, and put aside for each one of them a package from
me. They will not be able to say they did not know their grandpa.
The youngest of the seven grandchildren is just now two years old. My
retirement gift to myself is watching through his two-year-old eyes the
true wonders of life as they are first explored. It is the simple things that
are priceless. Also priceless is reflecting on the lessons I have learned,
and accepting that I can only do what I can, and that it is good to be
humble and yet be the richest Man in the World as long as my Karen
believes in me.
girls are good people who care for others and who are sensitive to
others’ needs. We decided we did not need to have more children
ourselves, but later we took in foster children to fill a void for a while. We
also opened our home to the foreign exchange program so the girls
could share what they had with others. You might wonder why the
youngest of eleven children feels content with a small family? The
answer is simple. I learned that size is not as important as the lessons
of life felt and passed on to others. I have always tried to bring smiles to
my girls’ faces and now to the faces of their children. I am so privileged
that they allow me to share myself with those wonderful children. The
word “Grandpa” coming from a child’s lips is precious, and music to my
ears. As each one was born I have written something for them to
remember me by, and put aside for each one of them a package from
me. They will not be able to say they did not know their grandpa.
The youngest of the seven grandchildren is just now two years old. My
retirement gift to myself is watching through his two-year-old eyes the
true wonders of life as they are first explored. It is the simple things that
are priceless. Also priceless is reflecting on the lessons I have learned,
and accepting that I can only do what I can, and that it is good to be
humble and yet be the richest Man in the World as long as my Karen
believes in me.
Someone gave us a set of drums, and there was a guitar around the house, and I grew up
hearing the elder’s music, be it wonderful musicals from Frank, or rock-n-roll from Kay, or
soul music from Jim. I had absolutely ZERO rhythm and a terrible voice to carry a tune. But
how I loved to see others with talent, and do until this day. I used to dream about West Side
Story and think I was a Jet – “Be cool BOY!”
With all of mother’s restrictions while I was growing up, by playing my cards right, I learned a
lot from the TV shows. They were my guide through childhood. I remember some of our bad
television sets and, yes, holding the antenna for big brothers so they could see the picture
better. But how I loved TV as it took me away, but mostly wised me up for good and bad.
“Father Knows Best” was the TV program that showed me what it would be like if I had a
dad. I joined the Boy Scouts only to be kicked out on the first camping trip. The scout leaders
elected to make it a father and son outing, so in frustration I began playing with the stick
matches at the campsite. This became a big thing when I accidentally burned them all up
before they could be used for the big bonfire they were planning. “The Little Rascals” TV
show taught me almost everything, until the “Bowery Boys” came along. Between shows like
“Leave it to Beaver” and “Lassie” I quickly knew the merits of the lessons learned by Eddie,
and yes even Timmy, on how to sucker and sweet talk Mom into my adventures.
hearing the elder’s music, be it wonderful musicals from Frank, or rock-n-roll from Kay, or
soul music from Jim. I had absolutely ZERO rhythm and a terrible voice to carry a tune. But
how I loved to see others with talent, and do until this day. I used to dream about West Side
Story and think I was a Jet – “Be cool BOY!”
With all of mother’s restrictions while I was growing up, by playing my cards right, I learned a
lot from the TV shows. They were my guide through childhood. I remember some of our bad
television sets and, yes, holding the antenna for big brothers so they could see the picture
better. But how I loved TV as it took me away, but mostly wised me up for good and bad.
“Father Knows Best” was the TV program that showed me what it would be like if I had a
dad. I joined the Boy Scouts only to be kicked out on the first camping trip. The scout leaders
elected to make it a father and son outing, so in frustration I began playing with the stick
matches at the campsite. This became a big thing when I accidentally burned them all up
before they could be used for the big bonfire they were planning. “The Little Rascals” TV
show taught me almost everything, until the “Bowery Boys” came along. Between shows like
“Leave it to Beaver” and “Lassie” I quickly knew the merits of the lessons learned by Eddie,
and yes even Timmy, on how to sucker and sweet talk Mom into my adventures.
She loved to tell stories and I was there for the most part. I grew up knowing what she liked and disliked, as we all did I guess. You could fire
her up so quickly or you could have her melt in your arms as she was a spirited loving person who was so PROUD. She hated certain things,
like the goatee on Mitch Miller, the sing along guy, because she thought it made him look like the Devil. But she loved Lawrence Welk. She hated
anything in print that showed a woman’s cleavage, even in store ads, but she loved the diocesan newspaper, the St. Louis Review. This Catholic
newspaper, by the way, dictated to her what she would allow me to watch on TV. That did not apply to the other brothers. I was too young for
certain programs and so I was the only one who had to go to the bedroom when they came on. I could have been a drummer, but she wouldn’t
let me watch the famous drummer Gene Krupa when he was on TV. She read something negative about his life and I guess she thought
watching him play the drums would be too racy for my virgin eyes. Wipe out big time!
her up so quickly or you could have her melt in your arms as she was a spirited loving person who was so PROUD. She hated certain things,
like the goatee on Mitch Miller, the sing along guy, because she thought it made him look like the Devil. But she loved Lawrence Welk. She hated
anything in print that showed a woman’s cleavage, even in store ads, but she loved the diocesan newspaper, the St. Louis Review. This Catholic
newspaper, by the way, dictated to her what she would allow me to watch on TV. That did not apply to the other brothers. I was too young for
certain programs and so I was the only one who had to go to the bedroom when they came on. I could have been a drummer, but she wouldn’t
let me watch the famous drummer Gene Krupa when he was on TV. She read something negative about his life and I guess she thought
watching him play the drums would be too racy for my virgin eyes. Wipe out big time!
I need to wrap this up soon, yet so much has been left out. To think about having unknown
family descendents read what I am writing seems strange, especially if I expect them to come
away from the reading as if they knew me. So I am going to finish by listing my REGRETS in
life and the CORRECTIVE ACTIONS I’ve taken that make me who I really am. I do not ask to be
judged by anyone, as that does not matter to me. I am strong-willed and stand by how and
what I do with my life. After all of this I made a pretty good Father, as I am told by my two
daughters, and perhaps more importantly I have made a great Grandpa to seven wonderful
grandkids. I would like to be a better Husband and also a better Father-in-law.
family descendents read what I am writing seems strange, especially if I expect them to come
away from the reading as if they knew me. So I am going to finish by listing my REGRETS in
life and the CORRECTIVE ACTIONS I’ve taken that make me who I really am. I do not ask to be
judged by anyone, as that does not matter to me. I am strong-willed and stand by how and
what I do with my life. After all of this I made a pretty good Father, as I am told by my two
daughters, and perhaps more importantly I have made a great Grandpa to seven wonderful
grandkids. I would like to be a better Husband and also a better Father-in-law.
My next encounter with death was when my best friend in grade school, Danny Foshage, died at a young age due to diabetes. We shared
every thought as he also was from a big family and we had so many other things in common. We shared secrets only boys at that age
could share, being best friends. This tough buddy would give himself his own insulin shots daily, and laugh. Mother did not think about
that when she treated us one day with cinnamon toast when we took a play break. He went into the hospital that night and it was a scare
for everyone. Mom felt so bad and guilty as we prayed together through that night. We both knew better but, caught up in the moment, we
ate that sugary snack. Danny pulled out of that shock and came back home as good as new.
Everything was back to normal and we played daily, and there was no more sweet food for me when he was around our home. It was
only a few weeks later that I said goodbye to him as I had to get going home as the street lights were coming on. The next time I went
over to his house, I yelled “OH DANNY” over and over again! His brother finally came to the door, crying, and told me my best friend was
gone. Danny died of a stroke, and no one knew what caused it. I was at such a loss and no one could say anything to ease the pain, as
words were so empty and meant nothing at the time. I was one of his pallbearers who helped carry the casket when he was moved out
of church at Mary Magdalene as all his school mates cried.
CORRECTIVE ACTION – I have come to understand it is all right if I have my own closure and not add to anyone else’s trauma when loss
is suffered. I do not believe a body in a casket is the person that I have known. In my case the gift of donation of the body to a school of
medicine would only be right as my body has been around and future doctors need this opportunity for they may learn to help others. I do
not want a funeral or ever plan to attend a funeral again. I want my last memories of my loved ones to be the best as they can be of our
last visit. Go in peace and peace be with you.
every thought as he also was from a big family and we had so many other things in common. We shared secrets only boys at that age
could share, being best friends. This tough buddy would give himself his own insulin shots daily, and laugh. Mother did not think about
that when she treated us one day with cinnamon toast when we took a play break. He went into the hospital that night and it was a scare
for everyone. Mom felt so bad and guilty as we prayed together through that night. We both knew better but, caught up in the moment, we
ate that sugary snack. Danny pulled out of that shock and came back home as good as new.
Everything was back to normal and we played daily, and there was no more sweet food for me when he was around our home. It was
only a few weeks later that I said goodbye to him as I had to get going home as the street lights were coming on. The next time I went
over to his house, I yelled “OH DANNY” over and over again! His brother finally came to the door, crying, and told me my best friend was
gone. Danny died of a stroke, and no one knew what caused it. I was at such a loss and no one could say anything to ease the pain, as
words were so empty and meant nothing at the time. I was one of his pallbearers who helped carry the casket when he was moved out
of church at Mary Magdalene as all his school mates cried.
CORRECTIVE ACTION – I have come to understand it is all right if I have my own closure and not add to anyone else’s trauma when loss
is suffered. I do not believe a body in a casket is the person that I have known. In my case the gift of donation of the body to a school of
medicine would only be right as my body has been around and future doctors need this opportunity for they may learn to help others. I do
not want a funeral or ever plan to attend a funeral again. I want my last memories of my loved ones to be the best as they can be of our
last visit. Go in peace and peace be with you.
In conclusion I must say that the Morgan family is made up of independent strong-willed
survivors. We are Morgans through and through.
All of our hard work and strength comes from our roots.
With this, I, Christopher J. Morgan, bid you well on this Friday the Thirteenth of October, 2006.
survivors. We are Morgans through and through.
All of our hard work and strength comes from our roots.
With this, I, Christopher J. Morgan, bid you well on this Friday the Thirteenth of October, 2006.
Kody (top center), Brendan (2nd
row left), Kaden (in blue shirt),
Blayne (2nd row right), Kasey (1st
row left), Brook (center), Karley (1st
row right)
row left), Kaden (in blue shirt),
Blayne (2nd row right), Kasey (1st
row left), Brook (center), Karley (1st
row right)
Kelly
Kim
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