Coatesville: Part 6

There were numerous places for leisure in 1950s/1960s Coatesville. Foremost among them were the gasoline stations, colloquially called "fillin' stations". Not only did the attendant fill the tank at that time, but they checked the oil and if requested, even the tire pressure and radiator water level. Many quarts of oil were sold because of this free service. These things don't exist today!

My former wife had a low tire one day. She stopped at the Marathon Fillin' Station. Someone there, presumably a teenage worker, told her that she needed new air in the tire, and that old stale air is what made it lose it's pressure. He changed her tire air for her and she came home and shared this new information with me. That was a good joke on her, but it paled compared to the number of "mud valves" women were tricked into believing the problem to be.

"Mud valves" are a non-existent creation of fertile young minds. Gullible people were often told "It's the mud valve gone bad!" That invisible valve was located somewhere and maybe everywhere under the hood. It was in a straight line from the pointing finger. They never had a replacement, but it was always the problem. It made squealing noises and thumps. Sometimes it just caused silent trouble and the mud valve was always elusive!

The mud valve was the fillin' station version of "Snipe Hunting". Snipes are much like mud valves. They too are elusive, but snipe hunting is always done after dark and in a distant woods. Most teenage boys are introduced to snipe hunting at about thirteen and girls at sixteen. I remember that Colby Johnson took Sandi Beaman snipe hunting. I don't know if she caught one, using a burlap bag, but she caught a red face! No one had ever actually caught the elusive snipe. They are of the same genre as mud valves; a non-existent creation of fertile young minds!

What was there to do at fillin' stations? It was a meeting place for camaraderie. It's where men met for companionship and a few of the less cautious girls came for attention. When I think of gas stations, I think of Ratchet. (Behind his back he was called Ratsh__... and some did it to his face). Being amicable, those types of comments only encouraged him. Ratchet is Ronnie Walters. Gas stations were where "everyone knew his name"! Ratchet somehow was always at all gas stations. He must have had an itinerary. Of course the Cities Service was the place he ought to be, because his dad owned it: Jim Walters. Ratchet worked there some as well. later on Everett Smith took it over.

Ratchet was an unusual person. He was sort of on the wild side, and somewhat crude, but when Billy Graham had a televised revival, Ratchet rushed home. He really liked Billy Graham and Ratchet needed the grace which Billy proffered in God's behalf.

I remember one time when I was at the Cities Service Station when I was 13. I remember that a young man came swerving in almost hitting the pumps. He opened the door of his car and stumbled into the station, possibly to buy cigarettes. I don't recall him pumping gasoline. His trip back he was virtually carried by two of his adult "friends" who put him in the car, turned the steering wheel to the right for a full u-turn, pressed his foot down on the accelerator as they shut his door, and off he went on Milton Street toward Reno.  He was obviously quite inebriated and this made a profound effect on me not being a consumer of alcoholic beverages. Why so?

Not long after everybody rushed off toward Reno. I learned later that this young man had hit a tree north of town at high speed and was killed instantly! I went later, I forget exactly where, but somewhere on Waters St.,, to where the wreck was stored (there was a garage there), and saw his bloody loose shoe still in the car. I believe that my alcohol free life was due to his alcohol related death. I never ever believed that I had to try things to be against things! That's why any type of illicit use of drugs or alcohol is not for me and never was!

I also learned that friends protect you, not neglect you! I'm sure that those who abetted this outcome had no evil intentions, but a catastrophe happened regardless. "Friends don't let friends drive drunk!" is more than a cliche.  Friends have "got your back", not be lax!

Over the years I have had much grief because even though I like the taste of hard liquor, although I hate the taste of beer, I have no desire to burn automobile fuel in my brain! You see, whether we know it or not, where we grow up effects our destiny. As people ridiculed me often, especially since many business dealings were in lounges, I often told them this incident. Coatesville was with me in Detroit, Ontario, Indianapolis and wherever I went. Thank you, Coatesville.

Many happy things happened at gas stations, though. We sat around, most of us smoking, and just being friends. Oops! I guess smoking was a vice too! Maybe I should not have frequented gas stations so much! Regardless, many friendships were lived out there and many the reputation of descent women were surely as well!

In those days young boys most often did not have sex. They just said they did. You see, they got the glory without the girly. The girl kept her virginity, but lost her reputation.  That was the system. It was unfair, but that's how things worked then. On the whole, other than us all being liars, most youngsters were pretty good people. There were instances where innocence were lost, but it would be unfair to mention names at this late date.

There was one place where parents worked and things happened. I was there at 12 and was shocked! I had learned about life from Colby Johnson when I was eight. Colby told me how I got here; not in Coatesville, but how I was conceived. I told him "My parents would never do anything like that!" "Colby must b pulling my leg!" I thought! I found out for sure when I was 12 that Colby was a straight shooter. His version of how I was conceived was presented as evidence to this kid. My innocence was lost. Coatesville stole my innocence and it was never the same again. I became just another brain damaged teen boy who spent eighteen hours a day fantasizing. What's more the virus of fantasy is incurable without regard to what Dr. Robert Heavin would say! (Of course, he was one of us only smarter and more isolated.) Coatesville, you see, bred successful kids as well as the "not so successful". The community should be proud of Dr. Heavin!

Let me resume my seat now back at the Cities Service. The time has changed now. It's when Everett had it if I remember right or maybe an owner in between. Well, anyway, we had made a boxing ring out of the lift bay. We had someone's boxing gloves and I had the tar knocked out of me. I learned right then and there, that I had more sense than let a kid twice my size knock me up side the head. They continued on, I watched. I really don't remember who hit me so hard, but I remember the blow!

After a couple of years the "action" for us boys moved to the Marathon beside the grain elevator. Patty Fishel reminded me that her grandfather Alden McCloud owned the Marathon. She is the daughter of Dorothy McCloud and Ray Runnells. Gary McCloud is the son of Alden.

Some things happen even among friends. The Delp family had always been friends of mine. Billy Delp had been a close friend. Well, for some reason in high school I must have looked at Jim Delp's girlfriend with too much of a sparkle in  my eye and we got into it there at the Marathon.

Jim was one year younger, but taller and more muscular. I was very skinny to put it mildly, but very strong from hard work and putting up hay. Normally I was an extremely peaceful person, but Jim kept egging me on. He hit a nerve, I grabbed a coke bottle like a crazy man, broke it on the floor and took after him. Before I got to my target, my mind sprung back into it's vacancy and I laid the bottle down. If I had not, no telling how badly this larger and stronger guy would have demolished me! Sometimes God watches over us fools.

Jim and I weren't as close after that, but we remained casual friends until I went off to college. I get reports that Jim has his own very successful business and a fine family. I still value the friendship and good times we had and as I sometimes still find a 7 ounce coke I reflect on that day!

Later on the fillin' station in vogue was Bill Stanton's. He didn't tolerate what others would. Bill was a great and sincere man and we loved that guy! His was the Standard Station on Milton and Main.

His Dad, Roy, I believe, hung around the station quite a bit. I believe the Stanton's were Kentuckians or maybe from West Virginia, but at any rate they were fellow hill people. Well, Roy did a hill thing for me!

I had a wart on my big knuckle on my right hand for six years. I tried everything to no avail. At Cascade I even eye dropped full strength sulfuric acid on that big old wart. It ran down the wart and burned me severely. I had to use baking soda at home to neutralize the acid (I had learned a little chemistry from this) because the pain was horrible. When the fire went out, I learned that the skin around the wart was burnt up, but the wart lived on!

Well, that's where Roy comes in. He said "Let me 'look' that wart away."This is some mountain heeby- jeebies",  I thought, because there are many superstitions in the hills. Well, old Roy took my hand, rubbed that wart and said "It will be gone in two weeks." I laughed, but thought little more about it. However, a week and a half later, after six years and numerous treatments which all failed, my wart was totally gone! Roy Stanton had "looked my wart away".

Upon investigation years later some authority told me what happened. It appears from what I'm told that some people have an oil in their skin which kills the virus that causes the wart. I don't know the truth of that, but it's more reasonable than Roy "looking it away". Perhaps Roy could show Dr. Ellett a thing or two at that time.

Fillin' stations were a part of our life, teen and adults, in Coatesville. That's where teens became adults. Children got their sex education there and it wasn't the best. Lying makes a good story and many lies were told at the Cities Service, Marathon and Standard Oil. I still have a proclivity for things oil. As I rummage flea markets there is a strong pull for those old memoirs on the shelves of stores which at one time were on the racks of gas stations.

One of our own; one of the gas station buddies lost his life in 1962. My brother remembers him well because he worked on that nice Chrysler for him. He died in the prime of life.  The Greencastle newspaper said it so short: "Gene Brock age 28 Feb 19, 1962 car accident". He is buried in Clayton Cemetery where all my family members are buried.  RIP Gene.

Yes, there are good and bad memories in Coatesville, but remembering the bad helps us all to create more good. Each person who lived then had his own fillin' station story. Mine are a few of many. Those were our second homes and the people there were our second families. The smell of gas to many of us is just a inducement to remember the past.

I wish I could tell other stories because it's those which may harm which come to mind. Because of living family members many secret stories shall remain secret. With that said, let's move on with our village people!

I remember James Allen "Jack" Bottorff and his wife Clara Belle Starr Bottorff. She was born in 1875 and he in 1883. Jack was from Clark County, Indiana and married Clara Belle in 1911 Marion County where they lived until at least 1940. They were in Coatesville when we moved there in 1957. Just about all memories of them were of them sitting on their front porch. Clara was quite an elderly woman by that time being 84 when we moved there.  She passed away in 1971. He died in 1976. Jack lied about his age probably to conceal that Clara was so much older. He told me before his death that he was 99 years old.

They lived north of Poff's on Milton Street. They would always wave as us kids passed by. After Clara Belle died, Jack lived with my parents who by that time lived next to the auction across from the cemetery. Jack was urinating with the bathroom door open. Mom passed by and jumped all over him. His excuse was "I thought we were just one big family!" Mom set him straight fast. They kept him for a year or two and I lost track of him. Likely he ended up in a nursing home before he died.

I told Jack that I was an engineer. He replied "I am too!" with glee. I then asked "What kind of engineer were you?" He shouted "There are only two kinds; stationary and locomotive and I was stationary!" I would suppose that he operated a steam boiler probably at Power and Light in Indianapolis where he lived until he retired. Of course he never realized that there were many kinds of engineers and that the definition had changed in modern times!

Albert Buffo lived next to us and across from Jack. He was a brother to George Boffo, Mike's and Pat's dad who lived on North Milton Street. When asked why his name was different Albert replied "Boffo sounded too proud." He was probably alluding to "boffo" meaning "successful".

He ran a small appliance store located between our home and his. By the time we moved there he was virtually retired. Albert was born in 1901 and his wife was Edith.  In 1965 there was a tragedy. Albert got breast cancer. That's not too common in men, but it does happen. At that time the prognosis was dire and death a painful one. Albert spared himself and Edith pain by taking his own life in 1965. Edith lived on there alone until 1980 when she passed.

Albert was always friendly to us because as a good neighbor his yard was our yard and his business was us kids business. Albert was out often tending his barn and one or two calves. Bobbi Runnells says that he had several ponies, Shetlands and horses; and built a pony cart. After being prompted, I do remember them! We used his yard for croquet at times because it was much smoother than ours and Bobbi Runnells and us kids would pitch ball and play in Albert's yard. Thank you belatedly Mr. Buffo for us kids ruining your privacy, but he was always gracious to us!

Beside Albert to the north was the widower Harmon Hathaway who owned Hathaway Printing on the corner of Milton and Main St. The paper was named The Coatesville Herald and according to Davidson, it was started by Harmons's father. Any news we had was given to Harmon. If I stayed all night with another kid, it would be in the weekly paper. The news in Coatesville seldom challenged the mind, but allowed us all to know our far away neighbors on North Milton much better!  There was little crime on which to report, but mostly pleasant and useful things. If one read the paper it was easily discovered why Coatesville was a dead little town!

In fact I would venture to say that little of wrong ever appeared in the paper. Good people exercise discretion, and I'm sure many well-known violations went unreported to save embarrassment to good families.

Harmon Halliday Hathaway was born in 1897 in Delaware County, Indiana and died in 1978. He was married to Grace Walton who died in 1976 after being hospitalized in Madison, Indiana. His father was Horace Hathaway. Grace's dad was John Walton. Pete Walton, who later became marshal, was Doris Runnells' cousin. Harmon was a thinned haired man, almost bald with a full face and nose. He wore wire rimmed glasses and seemed to have an air of business about him continually His attire was always a dark green uniform. . He was a friendly person, taking time out to give us kids attention. Herb Hathaway was his son. He was called "Mugs", but I remember little about him.

Doris was Harmon's daughter and was divorced from Robert Runnells to whom was born a daughter Roberta (duh, 2 + 2 does equal 4!). I called her Roberta until high school when she took on the name Bobbi long before that. Her sister was Joanna Runnells and was a few years older than Bobbi.

Bobbi was a close friend from day one and still is. She married Pete Kelley and still lives in Coatesville. Many hours were spent playing boy games with Bobbi, she willingly being a tomboy.

Doris and Mom visited quite often. The most prominent thing I remember about Doris is that she loved her cigarettes. (Since I too was a smoker, it's fair to tell on others as well!). In those days in Coatesville women smoking was rare. That's why I remember it. Women may have smoked, but in secret. Doris smoked in public. It may seem strange that I mention this to you many women smoking, but yes "you've come a long way baby!" and all of it isn't so good.

Like all our neighbors these people are good people. Doris died in 1973. Her memory is still alive right here! Joanna got married and lived on the corner of Heavin Street and IN-75.

As for men, most men smoked. Many smoked cigars and some chewed. Tom Underwood's father did both. I remember him well. He was part of the grapevine at the gas stations. Andrew was born in 1905 and was from Marion County, His wife was Ruth.  Andy died in 1990. He was really a nice guy. He was a large man of noble girth, unlike Tom whose Indiana State Police vocation kept him lean, but not mean!

We all loved Andy. He was a good man. Likewise, if a person would ask me who was the most respected man in Coatesville, I would say Joe Davidson. If they asked "In the county?" I would say Tom Underwood. He lived outside town with his family more south of Amo, but he was always considered a part of Coatesville. It's great to see that he is still active!

Herrin's often got in trouble with the law. It was usually car related, but Tom always treated is fairly. On a couple occasions he offered our family good advice.  Police were respected in the mid 1960s. They don't get the respect they're due today. They risk their lives even sitting in the comfort of their own home!

Tom had a brother, Jerry Underwood. He was with IBM and had moved to Pennsylvania where he died at the young age of 47. Tom and Jerry (I need some ice cream for some reason) had a sister named Peggy.

There are many stories in Coatesville. I wish I could remember them all. Dad would sit with Joe Davidson, his good friend, and talk history and genealogy quite often. Joe had a mind like a steel trap. Because he was one of the older men, and most intelligent, he was virtually a walking history book. Just as Joe did before me as a mentor in school and as a neighbor, I will do the same in Bowling Green and Franklin, Kentucky; I always take note of changes and speak of what "was there" and who "formerly lived there".  Because Joe trapped it in his mind, it reappeared in his Brief History of Coatesville. For those who have not read it the link is:Brief History of Coatesville. This is the revised version by Jerri Bryant Wingler. I think you will enjoy it!