Written By
Dorothy Marie Matthews Wesson
When a person begins to think seriously about the past, even a specific area of that past, so many things come to mind. And when those memories are guided to Floyd H. Matthews, my father's only true brother, they require severe editing. Not only do Floyd and Roy come to mind, there's also their sister, Viola Slagle, Aunt Olie to us younger Matthews'.
After the Houston Matthews, Nannie Farris family, immediately one recalls Uncle John (and Aunt Jane), Aunt Virgie, Uncles Bill and Bob, and so many cousins. Yes, there also are all the Matthews I think of as the Waynesboro branch of the family. It doesn't stop, but it must as the request here is to remember Uncle Floyd. Some of the most exciting memories of my childhood in Loretto, Tennessee, came after a letter arrived from somewhere and my brother, sisters and I were told, “Uncle Floyd is coming.” Our father, Roy, could never suppress the delight that filled him when his beloved brother was to come. The long years of separation between visits during Uncle Floyd's naval career were put aside during the extent of these too brief visits.
My memories do not include a time before Uncle Floyd had a family: a dark-haired son about my age, then a younger blond-haired son, and finally the red-haired son. This family lived in such far-away places as Connecticut and California and their travels were the stuff tales are made of. I knew that Uncle Floyd was in the Navy and that his duty in the East had to do with teaching diving to younger sailors. I knew he'd met Aunt Nora in the East and I found her accent entrancing. The only outside accent I'd known at that time had been that of my mother's family from North Dakota. During these visits Aunt Jane and Uncle John would also show up as did the kid sister, Viola.
Dad would be in his element during these family occasions. There were picnics, fish fries, goat stews, etc., accompanied inevitably by the “little nip” that had to be partaken outside and in the company of men only. I remember the home-made ice cream, spring-cooled watermelons and cantaloupes. And who could forget the time Uncle John put mayonnaise, thinking it was butter, on his cake!
The most significant thing that comes to mind though when Uncle Floyd is mentioned is my father's intense pride in being piped aboard Uncle Floyd's ship in Norfolk, Virginia, during WWII. He literally glowed when he would tell of that event: the train ride, the salutes, the “Yes, Cap'n”, and being the Cap'n's brother. I wonder sometimes if that occasion may not have been one of Dad's very favorite memories.
Perhaps these words may give you, too, a pleasant moment.
After the Houston Matthews, Nannie Farris family, immediately one recalls Uncle John (and Aunt Jane), Aunt Virgie, Uncles Bill and Bob, and so many cousins. Yes, there also are all the Matthews I think of as the Waynesboro branch of the family. It doesn't stop, but it must as the request here is to remember Uncle Floyd. Some of the most exciting memories of my childhood in Loretto, Tennessee, came after a letter arrived from somewhere and my brother, sisters and I were told, “Uncle Floyd is coming.” Our father, Roy, could never suppress the delight that filled him when his beloved brother was to come. The long years of separation between visits during Uncle Floyd's naval career were put aside during the extent of these too brief visits.
My memories do not include a time before Uncle Floyd had a family: a dark-haired son about my age, then a younger blond-haired son, and finally the red-haired son. This family lived in such far-away places as Connecticut and California and their travels were the stuff tales are made of. I knew that Uncle Floyd was in the Navy and that his duty in the East had to do with teaching diving to younger sailors. I knew he'd met Aunt Nora in the East and I found her accent entrancing. The only outside accent I'd known at that time had been that of my mother's family from North Dakota. During these visits Aunt Jane and Uncle John would also show up as did the kid sister, Viola.
Dad would be in his element during these family occasions. There were picnics, fish fries, goat stews, etc., accompanied inevitably by the “little nip” that had to be partaken outside and in the company of men only. I remember the home-made ice cream, spring-cooled watermelons and cantaloupes. And who could forget the time Uncle John put mayonnaise, thinking it was butter, on his cake!
The most significant thing that comes to mind though when Uncle Floyd is mentioned is my father's intense pride in being piped aboard Uncle Floyd's ship in Norfolk, Virginia, during WWII. He literally glowed when he would tell of that event: the train ride, the salutes, the “Yes, Cap'n”, and being the Cap'n's brother. I wonder sometimes if that occasion may not have been one of Dad's very favorite memories.
Perhaps these words may give you, too, a pleasant moment.
Written by
William Mason (Bill) Matthews
Bill, Dutch, Jan on the deck at Bill's House
Most people don't have the advantage of being able to enjoy a parent for as many years as I have. By the time Dad turns 100 on February 3, 2002, it will be a full 65 years. Over those years, I've gained some precious memories.
Of course Dad was a career Navy man and in my early years he was an up and coming sailor. Because of his Navy career the family was spared the ravages of the Depression of the 1930s. While I'm sure the Matthews family still had to struggle, it would have in no way been as difficult as for his siblings, all still in and around Lawrence and Wayne counties of Tennessee, and most of them trying to make a living off the land.
One of my early memories is of him and the Navy. When I was about 4 we were living in Groton, Ct., where Dad was stationed and working with some of the early submarine diving research. Mother and I were at a movie and we were watching the news reel that preceded the movies in those days. Those of you old enough to remember those 5-minutes of so of national and international news will even remember the distinctive sound of the announcer's voice. That particular evening the news reel featured a submarine slowly steaming into a Navy yard with its crew lined up on the bow in proud fashion. The United States probably had just entered the war at that time since I would have been 4 in 1941. As the submarine moved closer into view the audience could see the individual sailors on deck. And there on the screen in front of me, I saw Dad. I yelled out loudly, everyone in the movie house certainly heard. “That's my daddy!”
Dad was stationed there in Groton, Ct. for a while working on the diving bell that was developed at the submarine base as a means to prevent divers from developing the “bends” from rising too fast to the top of the water when ascending from below. He must have made some great friends there because years later, when I was a teenager and we were living on the farm outside Loretto, we sometimes stopped in Groton for visits while on our way up to New Hampshire and Maine.
Dad found us a nice farmhouse to rent while he was stationed in Groton. It had weathered cedar shakes and in the back were a number of blueberry bushes.
Two hugely significant events occurred while Dad was in Groton. I shouldn't venture which was the more earthshaking. On the same infamous day, December 7, 1941, little redheaded Johnny Matthews was born in a New London hospital, just a few miles from Groton. And of course, the Japanese bombed Pearl Harbor and the United States entered the war. Dad and other military men and women left families behind and focused all their energies on winning the war. And Dad, who entered the Navy as a seaman recruit just before World War I ended, rose up the career ladder from enlisted man to warrant officer and during WWII earned a wartime commission and retired in about 1946 as a lieutenant commander.
There are many stories about Dad involving his Navy diving experience. Hopefully someone else who has better information will offer it. But one story I heard was about him appearing briefly in the movie, Life Boat, starring Tallulah Bankhead, I believe. It was truly a brief appearance he came up out of the water and was visible for a few seconds. He was stationed in Hawaii at the time and the movie was filmed there.
Dad served on ships that were based on both the Atlantic and Pacific coasts so Mom drove the family from coast to coast so we could be as close to him as possible. I vaguely remember us driving to Portland, Ore., so we could be there when his ship arrived at Astoria, on the coast downstream from Portland.
He and the family developed other friendships along the way. At one point, about when I was in the second or third grade, Dad was in the Philadelphia area, I believe to take command of a small ship (ATF-83?). The family spent two or three weeks in the little town of Millville, NJ, and we got to know the Clifford Wright family. Many years later, after Dad retired, we visited them on trips north and they came to visit us on the farm outside Loretto.
Because it was either win the war or else, Dad was fully absorbed in his Navy responsibilities. We saw him infrequently from 1941 until 1945 when the war was finally won.
I believe it would have been 1946 when Dad last served on active duty. He was commander of the US Navy Recruiting Office in New Orleans at that time, and proudly inducted his eldest son, Floyd, Jr., known to the family as Matt, into the Navy. A father inducting his son into the service was a rarity and it was local news event in New Orleans. He remained in the Reserves for a short time longer and retired with 30 years of Navy service.
Like so many of his generation, when the war was over he was ready to go home. So in 1947 Dad moved us to Loretto, to a 13-acre patch of rolling property a couple miles north of Loretto. He was coming home to a place only about 10 miles from where he grew up in the first decade and a half of the 20th century.
The house had no electricity, no telephone, no running water. It had two small bedrooms and a wood stove in the kitchen. I don't know how it was heated, because the wood stove he installed came later. But nevertheless, after 30 years in the Navy, working 18 hour days, living so close to death much of the time, rarely seeing his family, and certainly rarely able to share in the joyous events or help with the painful ones of kids growing up, Dad finally was home again. And do you know what he called this simple little farm? ‘Dun Worryin'. How fitting. The war was over, he was home, and he was dun Worryin'
The Loretto he came back to was a quaint, peaceful little town with virtually no industry unless you could count Loretto Feed Co. an industry. There were just two groups of people; I seem to remember the few business families, and the farmers. Of course our family fit neither category. Dad was still in his 40s and was retired.
Dad had developed some incredible personal traits and learned many valuable skills in the Navy. Among them were an exceptional sense of discipline, a willingness to read and research, and no fear in doing something a different way. So in a brief time he transformed that little patch of ground into a remarkable self-sustaining farm. He upgraded the house by adding a living room and a front porch, put up some fencing, improved the barn, had a pond constructed to help water the cows that he bought, and prepared one of the finest vegetable gardens in the county. The garden was remarkable. He read many farming magazines, unlike most of the neighboring farmers, and began trying out new fruits and vegetables. He planted an apple orchard and some grape vines and gave us probably the only raspberry patch in many miles. He planted a nice lawn at the front of the house as well as in the back where he set up a croquet court, which he lighted. A favorite memory of mine is the frequent croquet matches, especially with Matthew's relatives from Loretto.
During this time, while still living at Dun Worryin' he followed up on his interest in writing and journalism and completed a lengthy correspondence course in journalism. Also about this time, Dad had a serious problem with his back and had to have back surgery in Nashville. Looking back from 2002 can you imagine how primitive back surgery must have been in the late 1940s?
A don't know much about the reason for the Matthews love for Nash cars, but I do seem to remember hearing that Dad once had a Nash roadster. That would have been in the 30s. So Dad bought Nashes when we lived in Loretto. I don't know what he drove when we moved there but he did buy a 1950 Nash Ambassador, a huge black car with the sloping back. I think the next was a 1955 Nash which he bought after we moved to Loretto and lived on the old military road a few hundred yards south of the heart of town. I don't remember the reason, but it seems we thought about moving back to California and that beautiful Nash was our California car. Later Dad had at least one other Nash, a Nash Rambler.
Of course Dad was much too young to really retire when he moved back to Loretto after his Navy career. He invested much of his time helping start and helping grow the Loretto American Legion Club. In a short period of time it became one of the largest and most successful in all of Tennessee. And for a few years Dad was the manager of the club.
Veterans activities were dear to him for obvious reasons. Dad became a leader in the Veterans of Foreign Wars club in Lawrenceburg, which served the entire county, as well as in the Disabled American Veterans organization. In the 1950s, Dad was the only full-time staff person with the Tennessee Department of Veterans of Foreign Wars. His position as department quartermaster offered him a chance to write, and he wrote the articles, edited, and had published the monthly (I think) newspaper for VFW members in Tennessee. He lived in Nashville at the time, and traveled from Memphis to Bristol, attending local VFW club meetings and helping with membership and organizational issues.
These are a few of my memories. Dad has always been a remarkable man and a pacesetter in so many ways. And do you know any other 99 year old who continues to write a regular column for a national newsletter? Even today he contributes stories and his own recollections to the newsletter for the Navy fleet tug association.
I'll save some of my remaining memories for the update to this memory book that we'll assemble for his 105th birthday.
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Of course Dad was a career Navy man and in my early years he was an up and coming sailor. Because of his Navy career the family was spared the ravages of the Depression of the 1930s. While I'm sure the Matthews family still had to struggle, it would have in no way been as difficult as for his siblings, all still in and around Lawrence and Wayne counties of Tennessee, and most of them trying to make a living off the land.
One of my early memories is of him and the Navy. When I was about 4 we were living in Groton, Ct., where Dad was stationed and working with some of the early submarine diving research. Mother and I were at a movie and we were watching the news reel that preceded the movies in those days. Those of you old enough to remember those 5-minutes of so of national and international news will even remember the distinctive sound of the announcer's voice. That particular evening the news reel featured a submarine slowly steaming into a Navy yard with its crew lined up on the bow in proud fashion. The United States probably had just entered the war at that time since I would have been 4 in 1941. As the submarine moved closer into view the audience could see the individual sailors on deck. And there on the screen in front of me, I saw Dad. I yelled out loudly, everyone in the movie house certainly heard. “That's my daddy!”
Dad was stationed there in Groton, Ct. for a while working on the diving bell that was developed at the submarine base as a means to prevent divers from developing the “bends” from rising too fast to the top of the water when ascending from below. He must have made some great friends there because years later, when I was a teenager and we were living on the farm outside Loretto, we sometimes stopped in Groton for visits while on our way up to New Hampshire and Maine.
Dad found us a nice farmhouse to rent while he was stationed in Groton. It had weathered cedar shakes and in the back were a number of blueberry bushes.
Two hugely significant events occurred while Dad was in Groton. I shouldn't venture which was the more earthshaking. On the same infamous day, December 7, 1941, little redheaded Johnny Matthews was born in a New London hospital, just a few miles from Groton. And of course, the Japanese bombed Pearl Harbor and the United States entered the war. Dad and other military men and women left families behind and focused all their energies on winning the war. And Dad, who entered the Navy as a seaman recruit just before World War I ended, rose up the career ladder from enlisted man to warrant officer and during WWII earned a wartime commission and retired in about 1946 as a lieutenant commander.
There are many stories about Dad involving his Navy diving experience. Hopefully someone else who has better information will offer it. But one story I heard was about him appearing briefly in the movie, Life Boat, starring Tallulah Bankhead, I believe. It was truly a brief appearance he came up out of the water and was visible for a few seconds. He was stationed in Hawaii at the time and the movie was filmed there.
Dad served on ships that were based on both the Atlantic and Pacific coasts so Mom drove the family from coast to coast so we could be as close to him as possible. I vaguely remember us driving to Portland, Ore., so we could be there when his ship arrived at Astoria, on the coast downstream from Portland.
He and the family developed other friendships along the way. At one point, about when I was in the second or third grade, Dad was in the Philadelphia area, I believe to take command of a small ship (ATF-83?). The family spent two or three weeks in the little town of Millville, NJ, and we got to know the Clifford Wright family. Many years later, after Dad retired, we visited them on trips north and they came to visit us on the farm outside Loretto.
Because it was either win the war or else, Dad was fully absorbed in his Navy responsibilities. We saw him infrequently from 1941 until 1945 when the war was finally won.
I believe it would have been 1946 when Dad last served on active duty. He was commander of the US Navy Recruiting Office in New Orleans at that time, and proudly inducted his eldest son, Floyd, Jr., known to the family as Matt, into the Navy. A father inducting his son into the service was a rarity and it was local news event in New Orleans. He remained in the Reserves for a short time longer and retired with 30 years of Navy service.
Like so many of his generation, when the war was over he was ready to go home. So in 1947 Dad moved us to Loretto, to a 13-acre patch of rolling property a couple miles north of Loretto. He was coming home to a place only about 10 miles from where he grew up in the first decade and a half of the 20th century.
The house had no electricity, no telephone, no running water. It had two small bedrooms and a wood stove in the kitchen. I don't know how it was heated, because the wood stove he installed came later. But nevertheless, after 30 years in the Navy, working 18 hour days, living so close to death much of the time, rarely seeing his family, and certainly rarely able to share in the joyous events or help with the painful ones of kids growing up, Dad finally was home again. And do you know what he called this simple little farm? ‘Dun Worryin'. How fitting. The war was over, he was home, and he was dun Worryin'
The Loretto he came back to was a quaint, peaceful little town with virtually no industry unless you could count Loretto Feed Co. an industry. There were just two groups of people; I seem to remember the few business families, and the farmers. Of course our family fit neither category. Dad was still in his 40s and was retired.
Dad had developed some incredible personal traits and learned many valuable skills in the Navy. Among them were an exceptional sense of discipline, a willingness to read and research, and no fear in doing something a different way. So in a brief time he transformed that little patch of ground into a remarkable self-sustaining farm. He upgraded the house by adding a living room and a front porch, put up some fencing, improved the barn, had a pond constructed to help water the cows that he bought, and prepared one of the finest vegetable gardens in the county. The garden was remarkable. He read many farming magazines, unlike most of the neighboring farmers, and began trying out new fruits and vegetables. He planted an apple orchard and some grape vines and gave us probably the only raspberry patch in many miles. He planted a nice lawn at the front of the house as well as in the back where he set up a croquet court, which he lighted. A favorite memory of mine is the frequent croquet matches, especially with Matthew's relatives from Loretto.
During this time, while still living at Dun Worryin' he followed up on his interest in writing and journalism and completed a lengthy correspondence course in journalism. Also about this time, Dad had a serious problem with his back and had to have back surgery in Nashville. Looking back from 2002 can you imagine how primitive back surgery must have been in the late 1940s?
A don't know much about the reason for the Matthews love for Nash cars, but I do seem to remember hearing that Dad once had a Nash roadster. That would have been in the 30s. So Dad bought Nashes when we lived in Loretto. I don't know what he drove when we moved there but he did buy a 1950 Nash Ambassador, a huge black car with the sloping back. I think the next was a 1955 Nash which he bought after we moved to Loretto and lived on the old military road a few hundred yards south of the heart of town. I don't remember the reason, but it seems we thought about moving back to California and that beautiful Nash was our California car. Later Dad had at least one other Nash, a Nash Rambler.
Of course Dad was much too young to really retire when he moved back to Loretto after his Navy career. He invested much of his time helping start and helping grow the Loretto American Legion Club. In a short period of time it became one of the largest and most successful in all of Tennessee. And for a few years Dad was the manager of the club.
Veterans activities were dear to him for obvious reasons. Dad became a leader in the Veterans of Foreign Wars club in Lawrenceburg, which served the entire county, as well as in the Disabled American Veterans organization. In the 1950s, Dad was the only full-time staff person with the Tennessee Department of Veterans of Foreign Wars. His position as department quartermaster offered him a chance to write, and he wrote the articles, edited, and had published the monthly (I think) newspaper for VFW members in Tennessee. He lived in Nashville at the time, and traveled from Memphis to Bristol, attending local VFW club meetings and helping with membership and organizational issues.
These are a few of my memories. Dad has always been a remarkable man and a pacesetter in so many ways. And do you know any other 99 year old who continues to write a regular column for a national newsletter? Even today he contributes stories and his own recollections to the newsletter for the Navy fleet tug association.
I'll save some of my remaining memories for the update to this memory book that we'll assemble for his 105th birthday.
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Written By
Edith Rose Marie Matthews Neese
Edith Neese and Floyd Matthews
Years ago, when I was a little girl, Uncle Floyd believed in “Nash” cars. I remember their car pulling up in front of our old home place, down at the end of the road, and we were all so glad to see our kinfolk. Pops (Roy Matthews) family and Uncle's family sometimes drove out to visit Aunt Viola, Aunt Virgie and Aunt Jane and Uncle John. They all lived out in the country.
I remember we had to cross a creek going out to Aunt Virgie’s, and it wasn't very pleasant, especially in the springtime when the creek was high. The Uncles Add and Price would meet us, on their old mules, with a gallon jug hooked on the horn of their saddles. Anyone want to venture a guess as to what was in the jugs? What Memories!
As the years passed, Uncle decided to retire from the Navy and become a Loretto, TN resident. He moved his family to a farm in Busby, TN, which they named “Done Worryin” The Crockett Field, was the best of memories. The kids played lots of games there and I remember Pop and Uncle playing each other and taking forever to get a game over with. The yard had lights, so we played night and day. And, oh how they loved to fish.
The “Dairy Dip” was the big 'hang-out' and a really big deal in Loretto, TN. Uncle Floyd and Aunt Nora owned it and everyone in the family spent a lot of time there.
Now our memories turn to Florida, where I have visited Uncle a couple of times. They hosted the 1993 Family Reunion in Pensacola, at their home, and no one can entertain any better than Uncle and Vena.
Each year, the family looks forward to our Matthews Family Reunion and it certainly wouldn't be a reunion without you, Uncle Floyd!
I remember we had to cross a creek going out to Aunt Virgie’s, and it wasn't very pleasant, especially in the springtime when the creek was high. The Uncles Add and Price would meet us, on their old mules, with a gallon jug hooked on the horn of their saddles. Anyone want to venture a guess as to what was in the jugs? What Memories!
As the years passed, Uncle decided to retire from the Navy and become a Loretto, TN resident. He moved his family to a farm in Busby, TN, which they named “Done Worryin” The Crockett Field, was the best of memories. The kids played lots of games there and I remember Pop and Uncle playing each other and taking forever to get a game over with. The yard had lights, so we played night and day. And, oh how they loved to fish.
The “Dairy Dip” was the big 'hang-out' and a really big deal in Loretto, TN. Uncle Floyd and Aunt Nora owned it and everyone in the family spent a lot of time there.
Now our memories turn to Florida, where I have visited Uncle a couple of times. They hosted the 1993 Family Reunion in Pensacola, at their home, and no one can entertain any better than Uncle and Vena.
Each year, the family looks forward to our Matthews Family Reunion and it certainly wouldn't be a reunion without you, Uncle Floyd!
Written by
Eugene (Gene) Matthews
My memories of Unk are many. Visiting with him and his family in Knoxville during his recruiting duty, the visits by Unk and family during his Navy years and after they returned to Loretto to live. In recent years the family reunions, memories are many. All the memories involving Skipper were enjoyable.
When I start thinking of memories to write about, the visit we had with Unk, Vena and Shipmate in Okeechobee in 1972 keeps popping up. Helen, Mark, Terrie, and I took Pop and Mom (Roy & Gert Matthews) to visit for a week. We had our camp trailer at the time, which made visits easier on the host. We really enjoyed this visit and we actually picked oranges from the orange trees in the groves.
Some of the best advice I have received came from Uncle Floyd. He was responsible for my choosing the aviation branch of the Navy and a choosing a science major when I started to college. For this and other advice, I say thanks.
One of our most recent memories with Uncle Floyd is the Matthews Family Reunion he and Vena hosted, in Pensacola. He was so happy that we would travel to Pensacola for the reunion. With the help of Bill, Johnny and Vena, he was ready and waiting when we arrived.
It was my dad, Roy Matthew's, birthday. Not only did we have a birthday cake but Uncle had made arrangements to present Pop with the poem Frettin, with the Seal of the State of Tennessee, by Richard M. "Pek" Gunn, Poet Laureate of Tennessee.
When I start thinking of memories to write about, the visit we had with Unk, Vena and Shipmate in Okeechobee in 1972 keeps popping up. Helen, Mark, Terrie, and I took Pop and Mom (Roy & Gert Matthews) to visit for a week. We had our camp trailer at the time, which made visits easier on the host. We really enjoyed this visit and we actually picked oranges from the orange trees in the groves.
Some of the best advice I have received came from Uncle Floyd. He was responsible for my choosing the aviation branch of the Navy and a choosing a science major when I started to college. For this and other advice, I say thanks.
One of our most recent memories with Uncle Floyd is the Matthews Family Reunion he and Vena hosted, in Pensacola. He was so happy that we would travel to Pensacola for the reunion. With the help of Bill, Johnny and Vena, he was ready and waiting when we arrived.
It was my dad, Roy Matthew's, birthday. Not only did we have a birthday cake but Uncle had made arrangements to present Pop with the poem Frettin, with the Seal of the State of Tennessee, by Richard M. "Pek" Gunn, Poet Laureate of Tennessee.
Written By
Grace Marie Matthews Reeves
I went home with Uncle Floyd's family one summer after they had visited our family in Loretto. At that time Uncle Floyd was stationed in New Orleans, and of course, I wanted to make that exciting trip. I was - in age - between Floyd, Jr., and Bill
These were happy days for me and I remember them with great pleasure. One enjoyable event was a boat ride with young Floyd on the Mississippi River. Another outing, and probably the one I most recall, was an afternoon at Lake Pontchartrain with Bill and Aunt Nora. I rode my first roller coaster that day - we all three did - and it was very exciting. But the funniest part of the day was going through the fun house where we had to walk across moving floor boards. Bill and I, being kids, eager and full of energy, just zipped across those moving boards. The trick was to move quickly across and not get caught by the strong wind gusts. Aunt Nora didn't move quite as quickly as we did and she suffered the consequences! These consequences closely resembled the often-published photograph of Marilyn Monroe, skirt-up-in-the-air, picture.
When we approached the exit, we saw the only way out was a long, seemingly going downhill forever, slide. Bill and I just jumped right on and down we went while Aunt Nora was searching for a door. The 'person in charge' said “there was only one way out, down the slide”, so away she went, laughing that lovely New England laugh she had.
What wonderful memories Aunt Nora and Uncle Floyd gave me.
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