A Story From the Life of Ramona B. Ghostwritten By: Diego L.

A Story From the Life of Ramona B.

Ghostwritten By: Diego L.

New Surroundings

It was the winter of 1965 in my small hometown of Escañuela, Spain. I was around twenty years old and I was planning to move to Germany for a little while to look for work. Me and five other friends had all decided to work in a factory in Germany that produced sewing machines under a one year contract. We were all very nervous and afraid of how it would be in Germany because  none of us spoke German. Since there was no modern transportation, we had to take an old locomotive train that ran on coal and produced a terrible smell. We were told that we would have to bring our own drinking water for the two day long train ride since water would not be provided on the train. My friends and I ended up having to carry an enormous jug full of water. Each of us had about five liters in each jug which was extremely heavy to carry to the train station. The trip took only two days but it felt like an eternity. We were also not able to lay down to sleep since the train car was packed full of people so the nights were fairly uncomfortable. Additionally, the seats that we sat on during the train were wooden benches which made the two day ride significantly more uncomfortable.

When we arrived at the train station, there was a man who represented the company who was shouting, “Is there anybody from Spain?” in Spanish. Because the man spoke Spanish we felt a little bit comfortable knowing we had somebody to translate for us. We began to work the day after we arrived. We worked eight hours a day from five in the morning to three in the afternoon five days a week which meant we had weekends to relax. The factories were very crowded and loud. Things were even harder since I couldn’t speak German.  It was a very hard time for me every time I wanted to  try to communicate with someone who only could spoke German. At work we had a translator if we needed to speak with the boss or someone else. The translator was not always around. One of the biggest differences from my small town in Spain and the city in Germany was the weather. Even in the winter in my small town we would never have snow. In fact we rarely got temperatures below 10 degrees celsius. Plus every weekday I would have to walk fifteen minutes to the factory in snow that went up to my ankles. When it first snowed at all looked very new to me, I had never seen so much snow in one place before. The snow covered the sidewalks and made it look like the sidewalks were covered in a thick white blanket.

My job in the factory was to box dial-in telephones. My friends jobs were to put all the parts of the dial-in telephone together. There were many people in the factory and there was a lot of noise. I would easily be distracted because I missed my family very much. I would cry a lot thinking about the family that I left behind in Spain. I spent about three months at the factory. Eventually the work was too much for me and constantly thinking about my family back in Spain didn’t help matters either. After three months I decided to try to go work at another factory in Germany that made fabrics hoping that a change would help me feel better. But I quickly realized that changing factories was a mistake. Not only was the factory as loud as the sewing machine factory, but also the factory was notably dirtier. I was at the fabrics factory for another month when I finally realized that I wasn’t happy in Germany because all the work and the environment in the factories was just too much for me to handle. But what really made me decide to return to Spain was how much I missed my family. Looking back at the countless nights that I cried thinking about my family made me grasp the fact that money wasn’t important to me, it was being with my family. I decided to return back to Spain and pursue my other interest. I eventually ended up moving to France for a while to live with a relative.

The time I spent in Germany in the winter of 1965 was definitely one of my memories that stood out to me the most because of the changes that I experienced in Germany and how different the world can be.

A Story From the Life of Terry H. Ghostwritten by Liam H.

Photo Courtesy of Terry H.

A Story of the Life of Terry H.

Ghostwritten by Liam H.

College Tuition

My family wasn’t the the poorest in my hometown, there were other families we would help out with by delivering our leftovers to their home when my five brothers and sisters, grandfather and two cousins didn’t finish it all up. Mom would look out for a couple of families in our hometown that were even worse off than we were. Grandpa’s small vegetable garden, and Mom’s gifted abilities to can the food for long term storage, helped even out the rough spots. It took us years to pool the money for my college tuition, Dad worked tirelessly at the factory and Mom worked two part time jobs where she met people called ‘engineers’. To me, an engineer was the guy that drove the locomotives on the tracks that passed within a few feet of our small home. Mom was a typist at Cummins Diesel, the men she worked for were engineering graduates of Tri-State University, mom didn’t know much about their world but knew this was a better life for me. Through my parent’s sacrifices, the seed money for college was put together. My good grades in high school got me accepted into Tri-State university.

Once I arrived at the university, my first challenges were finding housing and still having funds to buy food. I was able to find a family that was renting out their guest bedroom. Along with that room I was given permission to eat as many tomatoes from their garden as I wanted. I was able to create a diet for myself consisting of jello, saltine crackers, and tomatoes. After a couple months of my thrifty diet I was becoming extremely malnourished and thin.

Getting the money to pay for my housing and food wasn’t the hard part of college, it was running into Jerry and John everyday.

I walked down high street everyday on my way home from class. Of course, Jerry and John were waiting for me outside Larrison’s. I nodded as I walked past. Jerry caught up to me and spit his gum on the ground. Johnny began to tell me about his adventure skipping school on our way back to my apartment and Jerry tapped my chest. “How much do you want for that man?” I looked down at my black shirt.

“My shirt?” I said. “Have it” Jerry looked back at me, grateful. He patted me on the back. From this point on he opened up to me and told me what was on his mind. We strolled past the diner. “Man I was drinkin’ some hooch last night, but the neighbors must’ve called the cops.” Jerry trailed on and continued to grumble about the police while Johnny stood on my left and nodded. “Jer, if you keep doin’ this kinda stuff you won’t live till your 16 man. Talking about the police like this, I know you’re gonna get yourself into trouble.” Jerry kept looking straight and didn’t pay me any attention.

Four days later, it was saturday. I ran into Johnny. “Where’s Jerry?” I asked. Johnny looked at his shoes and clenched the green bench handles. I knelt down and tried to look at his face but he wouldn’t look back. “What’s wrong man, is Jerry in jail again?”

“He’s gone now Terry.”

“Gone, how?” Stunned I nudged him harder hoping to get an answer.

“Last night he was drinkin, the cops got em.” John’s eyes became watery. “He jumped into one of their running cruisers and took off with it…”

“What happened?!” This time I wasn’t going to be patient I shook his shoulders, jerking him back and forth.

“A cop sped up right next to him propped his shotgun up right in the window and blew him away.” John sniffed, holding back tears. “He’s in the morgue already.” Tears began to run down the 15 year old's face. I patted him on the shoulder.

The following day we headed over to the funeral home, I opened the door. The emptiness of the room and the silence made me anxious as I made my way over to his casket. Nobody, not a single family member or even an employee was in attendance. I moved closer to the casket, his head and neck were so mutilated I didn’t even recognize him. I looked at his chest, he was still wearing the black tee I had just given him days before. The room was empty, not a single employee or relative had shown for the boy. Broken, I stepped out and decided to head home.

The next few days I didn’t see John. Eventually I saw him outside the drugstore a few weeks after the incident and went to talk to him. He seemed different. His sadness was converted to anger. “I’m gettin outta the town man. You're the only one I’ll miss Terry.” “What do you plan to do?” I exclaimed.

“I’ll clean out the Kroger downtown and use the money to get away, start a new life, somewhere far away from here.” He said it as if it were a master plan.

“Didn’t you just see what happened to Jerry?” “You’re next if you do this and on top of that your father is the manager!” He lead me inside and I slid into a booth. He lowered his head and whispered, “look under the table Ter.” I ducked my head under the table and in his palms was a colt. “What’re you thinking?” He smirked at me. “This’ll be the end of you if you do this!” I slammed my clenched fists on the table and left.

That night at nine, knowing John wouldn’t be home, I called his house and his Dad picked up. I explained to him what his son was planning. He thanked me for letting him know and I hung up. I heard the phone ring and looked at my clock. It was 12 AM. I stumbled to the phone and answered.


“Terry I need you to come and talk to John, he’s blowing me off and you’re the only one that will make an impact on him.”

“Give me three minutes.” I replied.

“Thank you.” I pulled on my jacket and flew out the front door. I looked for the house with a porch light on and jogged up the cracking brick steps. John’s father led me inside and I opened his bedroom door. “John” I said. and he looked up at me with gloomy eyes. I spent three hours trying to convince him to stay out of trouble with the police and to stay home that night. “Man, you really care about me don’t you?”

“I don’t want to see you end up like Jerry.” I said.

After this talk, John started to work hard in school and stayed out of trouble. Months later John’s dad called me asking if I would be able to see John graduate from high school. “Mr. K, I would but I won’t be around to see it, I can’t afford to stay in school so I will be returning home to find work. After a pause, some silence, he responded with  “Don’t worry about it Terry, I will loan you the money to stay in school and you can pay me back once you begin to work.”

Years later, John became the general manager for a manufacturing plant in Angola Indiana.

A Story From the Life of Alice T. Ghostwritten by her grandson, Alden T.

Photo courtesy of Marianne T.

A Story From the Life of Alice T.

Ghostwritten by her grandson, Alden T.

My Adventure In the Great Outdoors

“Come on, Alice! Pick up the pace!”

I was a young girl at that time, and I was exhausted. It was our first day out on a canoe trip with me, my brother Sam, my sister Mary, my father, and Ed, a family friend. We were on a two week-long trip in Quetico Provincial Park, which is just above the Canada-Minnesota Border. This was the first of five canoe trips, and I didn’t know it yet, but this one was the most memorable of them all. Because of my experience on that first canoeing trip, I developed a great love for the beauty of the lakes and woods and appreciation for the fact that it was unspoiled by civilization. Being in the wilderness was wonderfully peaceful, and it made me realize it's very important to have undeveloped areas available for people to visit to get close to nature and appreciate God's creation.

We planned this trip carefully, as we were going to be traveling through numerous lakes while carrying all of our equipment, but no amount of preparation could prevent how much our backs would hurt. Ed really enjoyed going on trips like these, so he had prior experiences and knew what to expect. Although Sam, Mary and I were camping novices, we had come prepared. My father and Ed were very good at reading maps, and that skill proved very valuable throughout the trip. Everything was made as lightweight as could be, and all of the food and supplies had been carefully rationed so we only brought precisely what we needed. We brought no water, as my father and Ed deemed the lake water safe enough.

When any one of us wanted water, we would simply tie a string to a tin can, lower it down to about six feet deep, and drink the water we brought up. Looking back, the water might have been relatively safe then, but it is most certainly not safe to drink now. All visitors to the park would bathe in the lakes, and over the years all the bacteria would accumulate into god-knows-what amounts. Still, there was something interesting about drinking lake water, as every lake tasted different. One was cold as ice, while another tasted very fishy. One was salty, and had a metallic aftertaste, while another lake had an earthy taste, like dirt. I remember a particularly nasty one that tasted and smelled like old, rotten vegetables. We didn’t stay at that lake long, that’s for sure.

Also, I found the many baby toads in the area adorable, how tiny and cute they were, and I collected them in our water can. I found the miniscule amphibians irresistible. Mary, on the other hand, did not. Mary was repulsed by the idea of drinking from a can that formerly housed anything living.  As our group passed from lake to lake, It was a challenge to find a campsite. You needed to find spacious, even ground for the three, two-man tents, but you also needed trees nearby to tie the tents to. All of those factors made it made it hard to find a good place to set up the tents. Even after carefully setting up your campsite, you could still run into problems.  On our first night out, after everybody fell asleep, a foraging bear wandered into our camp.

It was the middle of the night. A bear was raiding our cooler and woke up my father. He rushed to our tents, shaking us awake while yelling “Get up! Get up now! There’s a bear!”. Half-asleep and bleary-eyed, Mary and I rushed outside and heard something big crashing around in the underbrush about 25 feet away from us. While I never saw it, it still was positively frightening to be so close to a bear.

Sam, Mary and I grabbed pots and pans and started banging them again and again and again. The bear lumbered off, startled at the sudden noises, and we breathed a collective sigh of relief. My father warned us to keep banging the pots, otherwise the bear would return. We did so while my father and Ed rushed around, gathering the essential supplies and preparing the canoes. We needed to move fast, as we had no idea if or when the bear would return. As soon as the canoes were ready, we scrambled on and hightailed it out onto the lake, letting out a breath we were unaware we were holding. But as much as we might wish otherwise, we still had more problems ahead. We needed to find an island, but it had to be far away enough from shore so the bear couldn’t swim out, and large enough for us to comfortably fit on it. Adding to our problems, it was pitch-black outside and the darkness was highly disorienting. My father had to use the north star to figure out the map and find an island. After plenty of paddling, we managed to find that island out in the middle of the lake. Sleepy and exhausted, we spent the rest of the night there sleeping on the branches of bushes. As frightening as our encounter with the bear was, we were one of the luckier ones. We heard from other people (you meet others on portages and trade tips and stories) that some bears were not easily frightened by noise, and that some people had felt very threatened by them and had to leave their food supplies behind for their own safety.

Bears were not the only animals that we encountered during our trip. For cooking, I was assigned breakfast, and Mary was assigned dinner. For lunch, we simply ate pre-packaged food. Anyways, one night Mary had burned the mac-and-cheese she was preparing for supper, and had to fill the pot with water to clean it out. The next morning, my father woke to quite the surprise, as some mice had gone into the pot in their search for burned macaroni and had drowned. We also encountered other wildlife such as beavers, deer, turtles, loons, and even though Sam said he saw a mountain lion, I didn’t believe him.

At the beginning of our first 2 week-long canoe trip, I was excited to be visiting unblemished wilderness, and to get away from civilization for a bit. But what really surprised me on that trip was the sheer amount of peace and splendor that the lakes possessed. On that first trip, I developed a great love for nature and realized the importance of preserving the wilderness so that all people and animals could enjoy it. When our first canoeing trip finally and sadly concluded, I was happy to know I would eventually return to nature on our next trip.

Photo courtesy of Marianne T.

A Story From the Life Of Steve A. Ghostwritten by Olivia P.

Photo courtesy of Steve A.

A Story From the Life Of Steve A.

Ghostwritten by Olivia P.

Fluidity

Most people in my life would come and go, and I didn’t particularly mind that. I’m sure that I, too, did the same. Sometimes they would change my life, others would not, but certainly they all gave me a good time. Relationships are fluid, sometimes you don’t know how people will impact you or what memories you will share.

My then in-style 70s glasses needed to be cleaned, along with the rest of the old and run-down gas station that I had been working at for a little while. I sat in my tall, leather stool and wondered when I would see the next customer. The small hotdogs rolled on their tracks as usual, and I saw the few regular folks I typically saw. My day was as uneventful as always. I thought out the rest of my day, from what joke I would tell the next guy who came in here, to brushing my teeth before going to bed.

“Hey Deeb,” Glenn said, walking in as his dirty blonde hair shimmered in the artificial light of the station. Shelby, a good friend of mine, had a younger sister that just simply couldn’t say 

“Steve” but would try and say “Deeb” instead. The ridiculous nickname just seemed to stick. Glenn plopped himself in front of me.

“Hey!” I said with a smile, “What’s going on?”

“I want to go somewhere,” Glenn stated, serious as always. “I want to go to California.”

Glenn was a friend of a friend at first I saw him at parties a lot, as he hung around with my group of friends. None of us seemed to know where he came from, one day he just began to weave himself into our group. He was a quiet and mysterious guy, I never knew him personally. We all used to hang out on Front Street and talk about lots of things, from the girls we had an eye on, to where we could grab the best beer.

“How about somewhere else? Maybe somewhere closer,” I laughed.  “I have to go to Shelby’s wedding in two months. I’d want to be in California for more than two months anyway. Let’s go to the East coast instead,” I suggested.

Glenn and I got our last paychecks. I don't think we had even $100 between us. We didn’t do too much packing to prepare: Glenn brought only a paper bag and I lived in my car, so I had everything with me. It was a boring but beautiful trip. I had never been further east than Indiana. Looking at all of the different hills and elevated land was so different compared to the flat cornland I was used to. But due to our need of food, drinks, and gas we ran out of cash pretty quick. To make a few bucks we started picking up hitchhikers, I think we picked up about seven or eight in total. Glenn and I would ask for a few dollars for gas, but it wasn’t mandatory. That only got us so far. Luckily, Glenn remembered that he had a friend in Norfolk, Virginia that we could stay with.

Glenn and I got to his friend's house and were able to crash there for a while. To make a few bucks for necessities, I got an overnight shift at an Esso station that had a great history of robberies. I was fortunate enough to not have to deal with too much drama. Around a little over a month I needed to return to Illinois for Shelby’s wedding.

I went to Shelby’s wedding and all went smoothly, and my life went back to its usual routine. Two or so weeks later, Glenn went into a diabetic episode. Glenn had had diabetes for a while, and used to be in the Marine Corps but was out on illness for it. He began to tell me that his vision was getting blurry and that he felt extremely light headed. He told me we needed to rush to the hospital. Glenn had to go to a specific hospital. The Hines V.A. hospital just south of Chicago. This, however, was about seven or eight towns away from where he and I lived. But we had to get there quickly, or we risked his safety. I began to speed, and a cop pulled me over, sensibly so. This guy had a beard that was bright orange and he spoke to me gruffly.

“Speeding?”

I attempted to sound as honest as possible, “Well, sir, my friend Glenn is having a diabetic episode. I am trying to get him to the Hines V.A. hospital so he can get some help.”

The officer paused, then picked up his radio and spoke. He had contacted each of the police departments from here until our destination telling them what I just told him. The police then escorted Glenn and I to the hospital.

I stayed with Glenn for a few hours to make sure nothing too serious would happen to him. I eventually had to leave so I could work the next day, but when I returned to pay Glenn a visit a day or so later he wasn't there. The nurses claimed they knew nothing of him and when they searched for his name they couldn’t find a “Glenn.” It was almost as if he never existed. It was strange but I don’t know that I’ve questioned it enough to be worried. Maybe he just left.

I never saw Glenn or heard from him ever again. I tried to search for him on facebook and on other platforms but I don’t even know Glenn’s last name. Who knows, maybe Glenn died. Maybe Glenn is okay. People can disappear from your life so quickly, even if they were such a large part of who you are. He was a large part of my teenage life, but we barely knew each other. He hung around me for such a long time. We sat in a car together for countless hours and barely got sick of each other. We knew small things about each other that barely scratched the surface of who we were. But I don’t mind that, people will float in and out of your life and will leave all sorts of stories and memories to stay when they leave.

A Story From the Life of Jayshree J. Ghostwritten by her granddaughter Stuti S.

Photo courtesy of Jayshree J.

A Story From the Life of Jayshree J.

Ghostwritten by her granddaughter Stuti S.

Like a Pane of Glass

Serenity can be described as a pane of glass. So fragile, delicate, almost like it’s begging to be shattered. Serenity can be described as a one-sided conversation- like watching from the other side of a window. Your ease is yours alone- but with that, the same can be said for your hardships.

Dharamsala was my pane of glass. My little window of peace that separated me from the outside world; protected me from the harsh realities I thought I would never experience.

I guess I was wrong.

I guess, for me, my window shattered.

------------- August, 1965 --------------

I never saw it coming.

A note that would change me forever. A note that pierced the veil of peace I knew was going to rip and tear eventually.

A note of war.

A man brought the message to the bungalow-style military house my husband and I stayed in. Upon its the arrival, my husband promptly read it and turned to me.

“I have to go,” he said. I caught on immediately.

“Where?”

“The border.” This was the only real downfall to being the wife of an army doctor. The panic, the fear that constricted my throat as I could only sit down and watch as my husband gathered all of his things.

I’m only 21! Just newly married! This can’t be happening. This is too soon. Where is he leaving me and going?

Panic and fear overtook me. The panic and fear that tore breath-rattling sobs from within me that screamed and shouted my fear, my panic.

“Don’t cry! Stay strong,” was his last message to me, and with that, I watched as my loyal husband took off to save other soldiers while they fought for our country. With everything that I’d experienced as a person in life before this- it amazed me how I only had the capability to sit and watch, as my world came crumbling down in 30 minutes. It took a little bit of time for what had happened to settle in. As I’d never really been on my own, the statement ‘I felt lost’ was a huge euphemism for my situation.

There I was, in a place that I barely knew, surrounded by people I didn’t know, and in a place where pretty much no one even spoke the same language I did.

Was I scared? Yes. But was what I felt right now anything compared to the agony, the panic, the despair I was about to feel? No.

----------------------------- 4-5 Days Later: Mid-August, 1965 -------------------------

No message. No sign. My thoughts bounced around in my head. Thousands of ‘what if’ scenarios that tormented me- scenarios that grew more and more dangerous with every day. What if he doesn’t make it home? What if-? fHEWWWWWWWWW BANG! Bombs. Every single explosion reminded me of things that had been- and what had happened. Desperation. Bang. Stress. Boom. Worry. Crash. Panic. With every single day without a message, without any sign that he was alive, emotions that ranged from despair to depression to fear started to fight a battle inside me. I barely ate. My appetite materialized into the worry of loss and despair.

How will he return? And if he can, when?

I will admit I broke down quite a lot, but I had every reason to. That sensation of being alone, even when I people surrounded me, is what crept up on me and suffocated me in its grip. There was no one to really talk to. No one to lean on. No one who could even provide moral support. I turned to the only source of hope I could think of at that point.

Prayer.

When you have no one by you, your faith in God increases, as did mine. Every single day I prayed to God to keep him safe. I prayed and kept hope, even when my mind urged me to give up. Told me that there was no chance. When my brain tried convincing me to close in on myself.

There’s no point.

I prayed and tried to remain positive even when fear and panic threatened to overwhelm- overcome- me. I gripped and held onto any little piece of optimism I came across, because the only thing I could hang onto was hope, and the sliver of the chance I thought I had. What astonished me was how this much could be going on internally inside a person, when all the outside world could see was a peaceful town sat on a hillside. Where spring bloomed, and all was well.

Remember what he said. Stay strong. Stay strong. It’ll be okay. It’s alright.

----------------------- November, 1965 ----------------------------

After nearly half a year in total agony, panic, worry, stress and torture, it seemed too soon. The war finally ended. I knew the leaves were changing back in Dharamsala, and matched how I felt inside. Cold and barely hung on. I looked up at the sky.

The postman should be here soon.

Sigh. Another day back home in Ahmedabad, where I had come back after the bombing had begun back in Dharamsala. Another day spent waiting by the porch anxiously as I anticipated the arrival of the post. Since about mid-August, I had not even a small message from my husband. I was so desperate for news, I almost gave up hope. But then I heard it. The soft footsteps of the postman that crunched small stones and kicked up dust. Those footsteps that filled me with a rush of promise, of disappointment. He dropped the post off, and I walked slowly towards it as I tried to delay my impending fate. Then I saw it.

A letter. His name, Jagdish Jethi scrawled on it. My hand reached down and grasped it like my lifeline. All of the post that came through from the army got filtered, so the envelope already lay open. Thank God. I didn’t think my trembling hands would have had the coordination to rip it wide. A surge of adrenaline and elation jolted through my veins. With a held breath, I nervously took the letter out and unfolded it.

“Don’t worry. We won. We’re okay. We won, and I’m so proud. Not only because we won and I got to serve my country, but because because you came. Because you were with me. You’re so strong even in a situation where I couldn’t guide you, and where you didn’t choose to be. Don’t worry because I’m okay. I’ll come home as soon as I can get a break. Just remember God and all will be well. Stay strong.”

The food on my plate was long gone that night. The worry switched with relief and pride. That hole that caused me to curl inward, instead filled with happiness.

He’s alright.

----------------------- 41 years later ------------------

As I’m writing this 41 years after 1965, a lot has changed. As a 62 year old mother of two and a grandmother of 4, I’m pretty satisfied. But that feeling of something missing is threatening to overtake me. My very reminder to be strong is gone. 2006. The year I would lose my husband, and the year my world is falling apart all over again, like 1965.

Be strong. He’s here with you.

He’s gone.

Be strong. You have family that will always be there for you.

You’ll never get to see him again.

Whatever happens now, big or small, you can handle this.

You can tolerate it.

This will pass.

No. I will not let my pain, my fear, my stress take over me again. Yes, I’m devastated. Yes, I’m miserable. But I’m stronger now.

And my shattered window begins to rebuild itself.