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Reminiscing

Sometimes I sit at my desk here at the Independent Record and try to come up with something to put into this page. Some days ideas come to me very quickly – other days, not so much.

With all the snow coming down Tuesday I sat at my desk and stared out the window, waiting once again for inspiration to strike, kind of like lightning, but a lot less painful.

I finally gave up and hopped in my car to go take some winter wonderland photos and while driving around that inspiration came to me.

I was passing by all manner of things in town that reminded me just how deep my roots go in this little community. Lots of stories I can regale you with over the coming months, but coming back from a quick run to the mouth of the canyon I remembered one in particular.

My grandfather was the oldest son of 10 from a very Irish Catholic family in Ohio. As you can imagine, tradition meant he was the one who would be going to Seminary to become the family’s priest. You can take the family out of the “old country,” but you can’t take the “old country” out of the family.

His father’s brother made the journey to Wyoming, specifically Gebo, to open the Burnell Coal Mine. Soon he was begging his brother, my great-grandfather, to come West and seize his fortune.

With so many mouths to feed the family broke with tradition, pulled my grandfather out of Seminary and the pair made their way to the dusty little town in the middle of nowhere.

My grandfather and great grandfather both worked in the mine, sending their money home to Ohio to keep everyone fed and clothed. My grandfather was pocketing a little on the side, fixing the radios that belonged to the miners, setting that little bit aside every week.

Eventually, he went to my great grandfather and told him he was taking the train to Casper to purchase his first car. Needless to say, great grandpa nearly had apoplexy, telling him he couldn’t, that he had to send the money home to the family.

Instead grandpa hopped on the train in Kirby, riding it all the way to Casper and bought a snappy new car.

Keep in mind, the road through Wind River Canyon was still barely more than a gravel covered cow trail.

Know, too, grandpa had no driver’s license. He’d never even been behind the wheel of a car.

But drive he did, all the way home from Casper. I have a photo of him with that new car taken somewhere in the canyon. He looked so handsome in his dark pants, snow-white shirt and rakish fedora.

I wonder if that’s what my grandmother thought?

 

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