First edition, copyright 1991; last minor revisions January 24, 2004
Preface
This story tells its own story, has its own preface of
sorts. I just want to say thanks to mom for proofreading the manuscript
(and earlier in my life, proofreading me) for me. When the book says
"mom says" the comments are at least partly her ideas added after the initial
draft.
Second edition preface
This edition improves the reading of the initial hard copy edition, by shortening
sentences, removing the passive voice, and the addition of new memories as
I type it in. The first edition exists as a single hard copy with a
couple copies mailed to my children. I took the background picture
for the web version near the meteor crator along Interstate Highway 40,.
This follows old U. S. Highway 66 in this area, a road I traveled about
14 times as a child.
Chapter 1
Free days before school
Free days before school
Why a book about me? Not because I've done anything
great. Sure I've traveled widely but not highly, coast to coast but
not border to border, I've been from the lowest in Death Valley to the highest
on Mt. Whitney. The real reason is because i don't know much about my dad,
Richard Hyatt. And I've always wanted to. But nobody tells me
much. I guess they never had the time.
Specifically, by the above paragraph (written in 1991 edition) I mean I don't know much about my father's childhood. He didn't talk about it much. What was it like for him to grow up? What was his world like? What did his brothers and sister like to do? What did he dream? What would he have told me, had we both taken the time?
That's typical of this little world you know. I'm guilty too. I spend all my time on things that are either productive or interesting. That usually leaves out helping people. I'm trying to change that, as I approach retirement.
For my first three (mom says four) years I lived in sunny Loma Linda, California. Ever since I saw the hospital I was born in and was told, "Ellen White saw that hospital in a vision before it was built", I figured she might have seen it when I was in it.
I only recall one event of this time, crossing "the stack". The stack is a pile of early freeways where four levels cross, a neat thing for a little kid. Today, such interchanges exist in many cities, but in the 1950's its unique. So much for California. I could tell what I saw later, and was told. But I'll save that for later memories. What I don't remember probably wasn't significants anyway, right?
I don't know why we moved to Florida when I was about three (four?). This move must not count either because I don't remember it. Maybe I slept through it. I would see the Alamo in San Antonio, Texas. Mom says it was 1956. My hero, Davy Crockett, fought and died there. After twenty years I would forget the visit completely. In Florida we lived in a long white house with bamboo across the street. I must have spent my time looking for shoe polish under the bathroom sink, because that's all I can think of. I would remember the Seventh-day Adventist Church we attended when we moved back to Florida in 1965/1966.
In several months we moved to Hendersonville, North Carolina. Mom and dad bought a two story house. I have a picture of this house taken in 1972 with my sister and her husband, Betty and Pete Nunez, out in front. Now here we go; the memorys flourish here! The frame had a steep room, and probably had a nice attic. The front porch ran most of the length, with the door leading into the living room downstairs. Off to the left a short hall led to the kitchen, and next to the hall was a stairway. I know there was another room to the left, but can't recall what was in it. I do recall the top of the stairs had a hall leading back parallel to the stairs to my bedroom. I say "my" bedroom, but I probably shared it with Richie, Robert, and Greg. We hang clothes on the line out back.
The big house seems like the living room always had a Christmas tree. Kids like things like that. To me, the tree will always stand there! It also seems like winter lasted the two years we lived there, with only a brief summer. Either that, or I don't recall the details. We lived here until the winter before I started school. The fondest memory I have is of dad putting me on his shoulders and taking me up to bed at night. I loved this fun, up the stairs, around the corner, down the hall to my bed.
And the kitchen! Why do I remember it? Once I recall sitting in a chair watching the clock on the stove. A few minutes before I'd picked up the phone and dialed some nice lady. We had a great conversation until I got caught! Christmas brought my borther's electric train, the kind that has three rails and sparked if I laid a nail across the track. What fun! What fussing!
Outside we own 10 acres*, partly wooded, partly garden. In summer we'd go out in the garden to pull up weeds. In fact, weeds are the only thing I ever remember harvesting. Once when I got hot I walked over to the barn. One grand day we'd tie a rope to the barn and to the car and pull the barn to the ground. Snow brought sledding, but so did the sawdust pile by the creek, which is better for sledding without snow. *Ellen tells me its 13 acres, not 10.
Then there is church. Like I said, its always winter, so its not surprising we found the car frozen to the ground one morning. We chopped the ice around the tires with shovels as the engine warmed up. I don't recall the Sabbath School teacher, the classroom, or even the sanctuary . . . well, maybe just barely. But I did love to slide down the banister out front. I wore out at least one pair of pants on it. Sliding kids had worn the concrete banister smooth.
I loved this place. You know, it was home. I don't know why, but if I had to choose just one home, this would be it. We had a house and ten acres and we loved it. Our family was happy to be here, Dad, Mom, Betty, Richie, Robert, Ellen, myself, and Greg from oldest to youngest. Only I left out the oldest one. My great grandmother, Dora Kirk, had care of Greg and myself during the school day because mom taught at the church school. Mom says she felt like she was deserting Greg and I, but I remember more of mom than of Grandma Kirk. I'll always remember Grandma Kirk as a kind little lady who couldn't see or hear well, but who always had a malt ball for her great grandson.
I guess the winter of 1957-58 must have been a rough one. The cold put a chill on dad's carpentry job. The money ran out, no house payment for a month or two and we moved to Florida. Mom and Dad always were to wish they had never moved. After twelve years they would settle down in North Carolina again, but they would leave me in Arkansas.
I'm amazed, writing this for the new edition, that I can't remember many more details. Each paragraph above, with a mental picture from North Carolina, stands alone almost. Oh, I can recall some details of the kitchen, table, and chairs were I sat for eternity watching the clock move after making a phone call. I remember family, fussing, a huge Christmas tree, and couches and chairs in the living room. But most North Carolina memories from this time period are like MPEG videos of computers today. They exist as short fragments of video and sound in my memory banks.
Specifically, by the above paragraph (written in 1991 edition) I mean I don't know much about my father's childhood. He didn't talk about it much. What was it like for him to grow up? What was his world like? What did his brothers and sister like to do? What did he dream? What would he have told me, had we both taken the time?
That's typical of this little world you know. I'm guilty too. I spend all my time on things that are either productive or interesting. That usually leaves out helping people. I'm trying to change that, as I approach retirement.
For my first three (mom says four) years I lived in sunny Loma Linda, California. Ever since I saw the hospital I was born in and was told, "Ellen White saw that hospital in a vision before it was built", I figured she might have seen it when I was in it.
I only recall one event of this time, crossing "the stack". The stack is a pile of early freeways where four levels cross, a neat thing for a little kid. Today, such interchanges exist in many cities, but in the 1950's its unique. So much for California. I could tell what I saw later, and was told. But I'll save that for later memories. What I don't remember probably wasn't significants anyway, right?
I don't know why we moved to Florida when I was about three (four?). This move must not count either because I don't remember it. Maybe I slept through it. I would see the Alamo in San Antonio, Texas. Mom says it was 1956. My hero, Davy Crockett, fought and died there. After twenty years I would forget the visit completely. In Florida we lived in a long white house with bamboo across the street. I must have spent my time looking for shoe polish under the bathroom sink, because that's all I can think of. I would remember the Seventh-day Adventist Church we attended when we moved back to Florida in 1965/1966.
In several months we moved to Hendersonville, North Carolina. Mom and dad bought a two story house. I have a picture of this house taken in 1972 with my sister and her husband, Betty and Pete Nunez, out in front. Now here we go; the memorys flourish here! The frame had a steep room, and probably had a nice attic. The front porch ran most of the length, with the door leading into the living room downstairs. Off to the left a short hall led to the kitchen, and next to the hall was a stairway. I know there was another room to the left, but can't recall what was in it. I do recall the top of the stairs had a hall leading back parallel to the stairs to my bedroom. I say "my" bedroom, but I probably shared it with Richie, Robert, and Greg. We hang clothes on the line out back.
The big house seems like the living room always had a Christmas tree. Kids like things like that. To me, the tree will always stand there! It also seems like winter lasted the two years we lived there, with only a brief summer. Either that, or I don't recall the details. We lived here until the winter before I started school. The fondest memory I have is of dad putting me on his shoulders and taking me up to bed at night. I loved this fun, up the stairs, around the corner, down the hall to my bed.
And the kitchen! Why do I remember it? Once I recall sitting in a chair watching the clock on the stove. A few minutes before I'd picked up the phone and dialed some nice lady. We had a great conversation until I got caught! Christmas brought my borther's electric train, the kind that has three rails and sparked if I laid a nail across the track. What fun! What fussing!
Outside we own 10 acres*, partly wooded, partly garden. In summer we'd go out in the garden to pull up weeds. In fact, weeds are the only thing I ever remember harvesting. Once when I got hot I walked over to the barn. One grand day we'd tie a rope to the barn and to the car and pull the barn to the ground. Snow brought sledding, but so did the sawdust pile by the creek, which is better for sledding without snow. *Ellen tells me its 13 acres, not 10.
Then there is church. Like I said, its always winter, so its not surprising we found the car frozen to the ground one morning. We chopped the ice around the tires with shovels as the engine warmed up. I don't recall the Sabbath School teacher, the classroom, or even the sanctuary . . . well, maybe just barely. But I did love to slide down the banister out front. I wore out at least one pair of pants on it. Sliding kids had worn the concrete banister smooth.
I loved this place. You know, it was home. I don't know why, but if I had to choose just one home, this would be it. We had a house and ten acres and we loved it. Our family was happy to be here, Dad, Mom, Betty, Richie, Robert, Ellen, myself, and Greg from oldest to youngest. Only I left out the oldest one. My great grandmother, Dora Kirk, had care of Greg and myself during the school day because mom taught at the church school. Mom says she felt like she was deserting Greg and I, but I remember more of mom than of Grandma Kirk. I'll always remember Grandma Kirk as a kind little lady who couldn't see or hear well, but who always had a malt ball for her great grandson.
I guess the winter of 1957-58 must have been a rough one. The cold put a chill on dad's carpentry job. The money ran out, no house payment for a month or two and we moved to Florida. Mom and Dad always were to wish they had never moved. After twelve years they would settle down in North Carolina again, but they would leave me in Arkansas.
I'm amazed, writing this for the new edition, that I can't remember many more details. Each paragraph above, with a mental picture from North Carolina, stands alone almost. Oh, I can recall some details of the kitchen, table, and chairs were I sat for eternity watching the clock move after making a phone call. I remember family, fussing, a huge Christmas tree, and couches and chairs in the living room. But most North Carolina memories from this time period are like MPEG videos of computers today. They exist as short fragments of video and sound in my memory banks.
Click here to go to Chapter 2, which is currently incomplete.