by Donna Swagerty Shreve
We were 57 years apart in age yet our friendship worked. He had limited education and had been home schooled for a few years. I had a college education and was a school teacher. He had been blue collar all his life. Formal education was my life’s work. Mr. Minor got his education from those around him and was considered a “jack-of-all-trades.”
In 1972 John and I returned to Stockton after living for four years in Connecticut. We had found a cute little house to rent on Bedford Road just off Pacific Avenue which was known as the Miracle Mile. We bought it after renting for a few years. It was our starter house and Mr. Minor felt he had finally arrived with a home near Oxford Circle. The neighborhood was inhabited mostly by elderly people who had lived there since they bought into the neighborhood in the 1920s. In 1973, I was now pregnant with our first child. I did not have high hopes of our child growing up with children his own age. I also did not find people in my age group.
Two doors down from me was an elderly couple, Eugene and Alice Minor. The summer before Aaron was born, as a pregnant woman entering my last trimester, I took on the task of clearing out a section of Bermuda grass that grew in a small section along our long driveway. My father had tried to discourage me as Bermuda grass can be a worthy opponent. Mr. Minor used to take walks around the neighborhood and he watched my labors. It turned out he had an extensive background in farming and he came up to chat as I worked away.
I found him to be a delightful man full of wonderful knowledge from living a life that was familiar to me only from stories. I came from a long line of farmers and was fascinated with the man. I actually put in that garden and successfully grew vegetables that I then fed to my infant when he was ready for solids. I was aiming to be a great mother and did not want to rely on commercial baby food or disposable diapers. My second son did not get such intensity.
Soon after Aaron was born, I took him down to the Minors to show him off. Mr. Minor and his wife reacted well and asked for more visits. Mrs. Minor was in failing health at the time and I was introduced to their daughter, Doris, who visited frequently to care for her mother. When his wife died, I returned to offer my condolences. Soon Doris moved in to check on her father as she was a widow and just lived a few blocks away.
After the birth of my first son, I returned to teaching with John going to law school at night. I found Mr. Minor a wonderful source of local history. He shared with me a stack of postcards from World War I that had soldiers in their uniforms and various local scenes from around the area. He was going to throw them away and I asked if I could have them instead. My students were fascinated with them but I had no definite use for them. Of course now I regret that I eventually also threw them away as I was clearing out items I did not use. The postcards started Mr. Minor sharing his memories of his childhood.
He was born in 1888 up in the foothills. He was the oldest of five children. He came down with rheumatic fever as a child and was home schooled except for a few years after he became stronger. His mother was his teacher. He made friends with some of the Native American people of the area. As a young man he was even invited to a special sweat lodge ceremony. He said his biggest memory of it was how dark and smelly it was inside that tent. One of his early jobs was being a hunter for a group of men from town. The men would take a bunch of alcohol and drink around a fire while Mr. Minor went out and bagged the limit for each man in the group. The men could have a good time and come home with what ever was in season.
Mr. Minor’s education ended in eighth grade. He listed his occupation in 1910 as a delivery wagon driver, as a farmer in both the 1920 and 1930 census. His employer was his father-in-law. By 1940 his occupation was livestock buyer. All of this information I discovered by doing a bit of research recently. I put together what I had learned from him and found public records to support and expand my information.
I only knew him his last nine years. At age 91 he was diagnosed with stomach cancer. The doctors wanted to operate and he refused. He said he supposedly had a bad heart and there was a likelihood he would not survive the operation. Besides, the operation was not going to cure him, so “just leave me be”. I learned all of this when I visited him in the hospital after they had run a bunch of tests. He also said all of his friends had “left” and they were not coming back. I replied that I was his friend, but he said it was just not the same. He had lived a long life and had few regrets.
The year was now 1979 and I had given birth to my second son. We had moved from the neighborhood into a larger house. My visits now took much more effort. I needed to balance someone babysitting my boys with finding time that I was not working. I kept in touch with Doris towards the end as she was the sole caretaker. In 1981 Northern Ireland was culminating a five year protest with the British government. Several prisoners were holding a hunger strike and their daily failings was posted in the news. I became very educated on what the body does when it is starving to death. Mr. Minor’s cancer was taking away any food that he ate. He was slowly having his own hunger strike via his disease. I asked Doris what I could do to help her, such as running errands for her. She needed to leave the house for her own sanity and to shop for food and do a few errands. This was long before deliveries were provided. Doris asked her father and he replied that he felt comfortable with me at his side while she left the house on occasion. I was very honored. I sat at his bedside and was usually quiet but he knew I was there. I even held his hand for a bit. Friendships can come in many forms. I was lucky enough to find one with a man old enough to be my grandfather.
1170 words
4/19/2022
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