The Cake Snatcher

Remember when I told you Grandma Audrey wrote a lot of fact-based fiction? Today's story is a perfect example. In this one she changed the names of everyone but Robert Clary. The Markles were really the Barclays, Audrey and Erna, and the Markles' son Lynn was my father, Paul Linvel Barclay.

Here's the story:

The Cake Snatcher

by Audrey L. Barclay

You probably don't watch "Hogan's Heroes" on television for the same reason I do. It's an entertaining little comedy, and Hogan's great, but it has a special meaning for me because it features Robert Clary. He's one of the few celebrities I ever met.

We went to visit our son several years ago when he was assistant manager of the Statler Hotel in Detroit. Lynn told us immediately on our arrival that we were to spend the last night of our visit as guests of the hotel, where he had already reserved the "Presidential Suite" for us. He knew, with our limited travels, it would be an exciting experience for us, besides enabling us to get an early start on our return journey.

We visited with the family until late bedtime for the children that last evening, then Lynn returned to the hotel with us. There we found the welcome-mat spread. A lovely arrangement of flowers for "Mr. Markle's mother, courtesy of the hotel," and a big box of fancy candies "for Mom and Dad, from Lynn" awaited us in our suite. Then we went down to the supper-club for refreshments and the floor-show.

Our experience of social night-life was limited to what we had seen on television or in the movies, so we hardly knew what to expect, certainly not the homage we received from the moment we entered the room. Waiters came flocking from every direction to serve Mr. Markle and his guests, and the orchestra swung at once into Mr. Markle's favorite number in our honor. The scene had the unrealistic qualities of a fantastic dream or a bit of play-acting; I had to keep assuring myself it was neither, but stark reality.

We were escorted to a choice balcony table by some half a dozen waiters, each vying for the honor of serving our party. The head-waiter insisted he would take our order, but the others hovered near, making frequent suggestions. The order finally given, we sat back to enjoy the floor-show.

Just as Robert Clary began his performance the chef arrived from the kitchen to place his contribution before me, a lovely cake, nicely boxed for carrying. I was speechless, and oh! so self-conscious at being the center of so much attention. My son sat there grinning at me like the cat that ate the canary and having the time of his life.

The little Frenchman finished his act and started from the floor. Swerving, he darted up the steps to our table, snatched up the cake, tucked it under his arm and ran, with nearly every waiter in the place in hot pursuit. They overtook him, seized the box, and came marching back in a body, the head-waiter bearing it aloft as though it was a diadem on a silken pillow.

It was the grand finale of the show, of course, but fun, and that's why I like to watch "Hogan's Heroes," with Robert Clary. It brings back memories.

THE END

**********

I have one more piece of memorabilia related to the time my father spent in Detroit's hospitality industry. Ripped out of a magazine, it's a page bearing a Cranbrook House Motel ad that featured him. I'm not sure what year it was, but in the ad my dad was touting the benefits of individual room phones, so maybe that'll narrow it down for you. Sometime in the '50s, I think. (Click on the photo to enlarge the ad.)

Did Christmas Come Twice?

by Audrey Barclay

The approach of Christmas always turns back the pages of memory to the holiday that brought both laughter and tears. It still does, though it happened almost forty years ago.

I arose that Christmas Eve to face a day crowded with things to be done in preparation for the coming day. My parents were to drive the clumsy, big lumber truck in from their home some thirty miles away to share in the festivities. What they didn't know was that Etta, a sister in St. Louis, had written that she was coming also, with her three children, but requesting us to withhold the information from our parents. It would be fun to surprise them.

A younger sister, Velma, was staying with us during the holiday season while she was employed at a local variety store. Both Velma and my husband, Erna, must work that day, but there was to be no school, so the children were being allowed to sleep as late as they wished. Velma, Erna and I were taking advantage of the latter fact to enjoy a leisurely breakfast without the usual confusion of several children needing attention. We chuckled over the surprise in store for Mom and Dad when they saw Etta and her children; we discussed other pertinent matters that absorbed our attention so we failed to hear the noise of the heavy vehicle pulling into the driveway.

Then a fumbling noise was heard at the door. Wonderingly, because of the early hour, I started to rise from the table, but before I was on my feet the door opened and there came my mother, holding aloft a huge cake. She advanced  into the room, followed closely by Dad, who had both hands around an enormous box of Christmas goodies. After pausing only long enough to push the door shut with his foot, Dad followed after Mom, echoing her gleeful greeting, "Merry Christmas, everybody!" Both faces were bathed in broad smiles of happy anticipation.

I was ashamed of the idea that was chasing about in my mind. Could they have made such a horrifying mistake? Not MY mom and dad! I was stunned at the idea. Erna, Velma and I simply sat there exchanging questioning glances, each of us waiting for one of the others to tell the happy couple of their error.

Having deposited their burdens in the kitchen, they returned to the dining room where I was fumblingly trying to pour cups of coffee to warm them up after their long ride. Mom looked around expectantly and, seeing no signs of excited children, inquired, "Aren't the kiddies up yet?" She sounded disappointed, then surprised when I replied, "No, there isn't any school today." I couldn't bring myself yet to blurt out the awful truth.

At last it was time for Erna to leave, so he told them, rather timidly, to be sure, "This isn't Christmas Day. It isn't until tomorrow." Both Mom and Dad thought he was only teasing, and Dad, being quite a tease himself, decided he'd have a part in the fun. He began explaining that he'd tried to tell Mom she was mistaken in the date, but she wouldn't listen to him. Knowing our dad, we knew he'd never have made that cold drive had he really thought Mom was wrong. It was only when Erna put on his coat and cap and picked up his lunchbox that they really accepted the truth. Looks of horror, embarrassment, and disappointment replaced their happy smiles.

In his chagrin Dad announced they wouldn't be returning the next day, bringing remonstrances from all of us (by that time several of the children had been awakened by the sound of strange voices and were standing around sleepy eyed and wondering what the commotion was all about). When Erna finally told him to forget it, we wouldn't tell on him, and that Christmas only comes once a year, you know, Dad replied, "The heck it don't! It's come twice THIS year."

The rest of the story is anticlimactic I suppose, but the tale would be incomplete without it. Erna left from work to meet the afternoon train while Velma and I spent the time comparing notes. Seems we each had been in a near-hysterical state throughout the day, bursting into sudden spurts of laughter, followed by floods of tears as we pictured the faces of our parents and knew how embarrassing the incident must have been for them. We agreed we'd spare their feelings and not reveal the occurrence to our other guests, but Dad, being a good sport, couldn't resist the opportunity to let the others in on the secret.

Yes, they did return, bright and early, but in a somewhat subdued attitude from that of the previous morning. And it was, truly, a very MERRY CHRISTMAS!

The End

Audrey and Erna (on sofa) surrounded by family,
Christmas Day 1948.

The Spirit Letters - Part Three

Messages from Spiritland

by Audrey Smith Barclay

I didn't know I was supposed to have descended from a considerable line of royal ancestors until after I was a grandmother. I still find it difficult to accept, but that's what the "papers" say, said papers being two ancient school tablets I found at the bottom of my grandmother's old trunk when it came into my possession several years ago. It was all news to me!

Grandmother went to California when I was nine years old, remaining there until ten years later, but we had corresponded regularly. I still had vivid memories of the weeks I spent on the farm with her each summer; they were the happiest times of my childhood, in spite of her eccentricities. Fortunately, it wasn't until after her return that I became aware of her interest in supernatural things. The knowledge explained, in part, some of the things I've never understood. I knew, for instance, that she despised my grandfather, whom I can barely remember. She would go no nearer his grave than the roadway, even when I begged to visit it, myself. It was quite near and she'd walk with me to within sight of it, then I must go the rest of the way alone.

I hastened to visit her as soon as possible after Grandmother returned to the old home. It was then I felt the full impact of her belief in communicating with spirits. She spared me nothing, except the answer to my question about Grandfather and what he had done to earn her hatred. I didn't dare ask, although she regaled me with many instances of being heckled by his mischievous spirit, explaining with great gusto how she always outwitted him. It was my first experience with one who consorted with spirits, and I found it rather frightening, to say the least.

Grandmother soon let it be known that she was only stopping over at the farm for a short time, then she was going back to New York, where the family had lived until most of the five children were grown. She neglected to say, however, for what...or whom...she was sainting, and it wasn't until after reading the contents of the tablets years later that I was sure I had the answers to both that question and the one concerning Grandfather. At any rate, she continued waiting until nearly three years had passed, then she suddenly sickened and went to join her friends in the spirit world.

Many years later, I found what I now refer to as "The Letters." The closely written pages, in Grandmother's neat script, appear to be communication dictated to her by spirits of various people long dead. They unfold a most remarkable tale, unbelievable, really, although a cousin and I have verified a few of the statements. Whether or not I descend from royalty is a moot question...if so, I've surely descended a long way! Nevertheless, I thought there might be some among you who would find the story entertaining. If so, be my guest: (Note the dates.)

**********

Editor's Note: Okay, let's stop here for now. Judging from the lack of traffic on this site, not too many people are waiting with bated breath to find out more about the spirit letters. Nevertheless, Grandma Audrey did attach a typewritten transcript of the letters (part or all of them, I don't know which) to the above piece. I'll retype her transcript for posting here next weekend.

In the meantime, I'm curious: If you are related to Audrey, then you're also related to her grandmother Amy, who sincerely believed she could communicate with the dead. Reading Audrey's stories about Amy makes me wonder if there really is such a thing as a "sixth sense" and, if so, is it something that might be inherited? 

The subject intrigues me because I've actually had one profound (and as yet unexplained) experience with someone from "the other side"--my maternal grandmother, Lola. You can click here, if you wish, to read about that incident. Now I'd like to know if any of the rest of you have ever had a close encounter of the spiritual kind. Come on, now! Comment or email, but 'fess up if you have. I can't be the only one who's dying to know.

Amy Lucinda (Hagadorn) Smith

Audrey's Children

An Untitled Poem about Audrey Smith Barclay

by Shirley Barclay Rust

Never a mother so loving,

In every little way

Never a mother so humble

And faithful every day.

Helping with our problems

As we grew from day to day

Righting all our daily wrongs

Only helping us grow strong

Loving us beyond where

Duty calls.

Prayers for our repentance

Allowing us our freedoms

Urging us to grow up to be

Loved by one and all.

Many tears she shed for us

Although we didn't know

Rather we were more concerned

That we could go to a picture show.

Happy when we were happy

And sad when we were sad.

Wonder how that Mom of ours

Always seemed to know our faults

Yet loved us in spite of them,

Never doubting our abilities,

Even when we did.

Only yesterday it seems

Loving arms reached out

And gathered me in full embrace,

Never faltering.

All of us are grown up now,

Ladies and gents are we,

And Mother, still our guiding light,

Needs our love to make her day bright.

God in His mercy gave us a

Loving, faithful mother,

Ever ready to show she cared, providing

Nourishment, both physical and spiritual,

Nurturing in every way she knew.

Surely, in His infinite wisdom, God made

Heaven a wonderful place and

Insured for our mom, as well as others,

Redeeming

Love

Eternal.

Yes, God surely made our mother.

**********

The First Four ...

Left to Right:  Harold, Martha, Nina, Paul

The Next Four ...

Left to right: Olan, Glenn, Wayne, Alan

And The Baby:

Shirley

A Day Late for the 4th of July Festivities

Well, if I'd been paying attention yesterday, I'd have realized that the 4th of July was the perfect time to remember Audrey and Erna on the 95th anniversary of their wedding. That's right, they tied the knot in Springfield, Missouri on July 4, 1918, ninety-five years ago yesterday.

Here, I'll post their wedding-day photo again to make up for my tardiness:

It appears I also missed an opportunity yesterday to post another favorite photo that was taken on the 4th of July, this one from 1915:

(Remember to click on photos to enlarge them.)

That's Grandma Audrey standing on the wagon with her hand on her hip. A notation on the back of the photo reads: "July 4th, 1915 - Headed for picnic at 'Baptisin' Hole' on Spring River, Stotts City, Mo."

Let's turn that photo over:

Twenty-four people are identified here. Just in case someone is looking for information on any of these folks, I'll transcribe the names here so Internet search engines can find them:

On ground -- Mrs. Van Welsh -- Mrs. Fred Welsh

On seat -- Harve & Minnie Brower, Baby Velma

In tree -- Henry Schillinger

Below him -- Webster Welsh

Second row -- Mr. Schillinger, Audrey Smith, Janie Schillinger, Minnie Schillinger, Lena Welsh

First row -- Erma, Etta, Geneva Brower, Clieve Galloway

Top row -- Abb & Minnie Galloway, Former Dessie Schillinger and husband

On ground in rear -- Fred Welsh, Emery Welsh, Van Welsh

H. Brower's team & wagon

So, I've done a little research today to find out who these people were who planned to picnic at the "Baptisin' Hole" on that long-ago 4th of July. The Browers, of course, were Audrey's family. Minnie and Harve were her mother and stepfather; Velma, Erma, Etta and Geneva were her half-sisters. Audrey was 14, almost 15, in this photo.

Van Welsh was the white-bearded man behind the horses (or were they mules?) in the photo. His full name was Martin V. "Van Buren" Welsh, and he was a Union soldier during the Civil War. According to census records, he would have been 75 years old at the time of the photo. Van's first wife, Lorena, died in 1888. Nine years later he married his second wife, Annie (Anna, pictured standing at left on the ground), who was Harve Brower's widowed mother. I couldn't confirm the family connection of Mr. and Mrs. Fred Welsh, but Webster (shown peeking over the shoulder of the man next to Audrey) and Lena were children of Van and Annie. Webster was 14, born in the same month and year as Audrey. He died only three years and 20 days after this picnic; I don't know why.

I found Absolam H. "Abb" Galloway in a 1905 Joplin, Missouri City Directory. He was a miner, as was Harve Brower, so perhaps they knew each other that way. By the time of the 1915 picnic, Abb was married. He and his wife, another Minnie, had a son named Clieve, and the whole family lived in Stotts City.

The Schillingers were a real puzzle, but I finally tracked them down through young Henry Schillinger (the shadowy figure barely visible in the tree at the far left of the photo). The man identified as "Mr. Schillinger" (whom Audrey just missed poking with her elbow) was Andrew A. Schillinger, a widower. His wife, the former Margaret J. Arter, had died four years earlier. Dessie, Janie, Henry, Minnie -- and a couple of other kids who didn't go to the picnic -- were their children. Dessie's unidentified husband's name was James Allison Jay. Even after finding all these Schillingers online, I still can't figure out their connection to the Browers, the Welshes, and/or the Galloways, nor can I find any other reason for so many Schillingers to be in Stotts City for a 4th of July celebration. All the records I could find, before and after 1915, showed the Schillingers living in Kansas. Nevertheless, there they were in Stotts City on that day, and I'm certain it didn't cross any of their minds then that some old woman in Louisiana would be sticking her nose into their business 98 years later.

About Audrey's Birth Family

How about a little family history? Nina Barclay Beatie, Audrey's eldest daughter, shared some of it with me in an informative, entertaining email on March 26, 2006. Here, with minor edits for clarity and a few pictures sprinkled in for good measure, is what Nina wrote:

"Ernest Ray Smith was the son of Amy and [Samuel] Smith who came from Pennsylvania after the Johnstown Flood and settled in Stone County (Galena) Mo. There were several children, including Ernest Ray, Arb and Omar, adults.

Samuel S. Smith, Audrey's paternal grandfather.

Amy Lucinda (Hagadorn) Smith, Audrey's paternal grandmother.

In later years (left to right):

Arba, Anna (Omar's wife), Amy, Ernest, and Omar Smith

"Ernest was a carpenter and so was his father. They traveled around the country doing construction. They built the high school in Stotts City where Grandma [Minnie] West Brower lived with her family. The men all worked in the lead mines in that area. Minnie West (Mom's mother) met Ernest there, I think, while his parents lived in Galena on a farm they homesteaded. Their sons, Arb and Omar, were deaf mutes. They sent them to a school for the deaf in Iowa where Omar met and married a woman also a student there. They traveled on to California where he and Anna established a very lucrative real estate business. Arb came home to live until his parents both died, and Ernest stayed there on the 40-acre homestead and took care of him until his death. That occurred after [Ernest] and Minnie were parents of Audrey Lou Smith.

Ernest Ray Smith (Audrey's father)

Minnie Lee West Smith Brower (Audrey's mother)

"[Ernest] liked his home brew a bit too much for Minnie, and she divorced him for that reason when Mom was just a very small child. Minnie claimed that she married Ernest so that her parents would have one less mouth to feed. Great reason. Anyway, she turned around and married Harve Brower, a lead mine worker. Sad to say, he was also a boozer. But she stayed with him through the birth of 4 more daughters. Maybe drinking is different if you truly love someone.

(Rear) Audrey Barclay

(Front) Harve, Etta, and Minnie West Brower

Harve Brower was Etta's father, Audrey's stepfather.

"[Minnie} left [Harve] about 1931 or '2. It was a funny sight when she came driving up in an old Model-T car in front of our house. She had never driven before but she coaxed that car from the farm in Fair Grove to our house and announced she had found Harve in the back forty with the woman from the neighboring forty. Mom and Dad took her in and she never married again.

"She had no money, so despite the fact she had 4 other daughters, she lived with us for a number of years. I am sure she earned her keep helping with the 9 of us. However, when FDR came up with the Social Security plan and made it possible for people like her to get a small pittance from the government (I think it was Harold who took her down to apply, although it was against her will), she wasn't going to accept charity. Don't know what she thought she was getting from Mom and Dad. Anyway, when she started getting checks, it was a paltry sum, but by the time she died, she was getting $60 a month.

Audrey with her mother and four stepsisters.

Front row (L-R): Minnie, Neva, Irma

Back row (L-R): Velma, Etta, Audrey

"Aunt Etta had gone to the farm and gathered up some of [Minnie's] personal things and enough furniture that she rented two rooms in a home and set up housekeeping. Mom and Dad took out a small burial policy on her, so just in case something happened they could pay their share of her final expenses. She lived there for a number of years. Her other girls were able to keep her in clothing. Christmas and birthdays she always got quality clothes, coats, shoes and such from the girls. When she died, she had accumulated savings enough to pay for her burial from Social Security. Now that is money management.

"Don't think she ever went hungry during that time. She was one person I know who could go into a kitchen and come up with a delicious meal with very little. She could make the most delicious biscuits and gravy, coconut cakes, fried chicken, et cetera. She was a God fearing woman and attended church regularly. She had very little joy in her life but she was so bitter about Ernest that she deprived Mom of any interaction with her dad.

"After Mom and Dad were married, Mom learned that [Ernest] did not abandon her. He went on to California to work in the construction field and made good money. He used to send money for Mom, and [Grandma] would return it. He also sent things to Mom and Grandma would not let her have them. One year he sent a beautiful doll to her for Christmas, but Grandma would not let her play with it. She hung it up on a wall like it was a picture, and one of Mom's sisters wanted to play with it. Grandma refused, but Etta threw something at it and knocked it off the wall and broke it. Mom never forgot that incident, nor did she let Etta forget it.

"I was just a small child when Mom got a letter from [Ernest] asking if he could come to Springfield to see her. She was so thrilled, and from then on Grandma had no say in that relationship. By that time he had returned from California to Galena to take care of his brother. We would drive down there sometimes on Sunday, and he was always thrilled. Another thing he did was that he always sent a birthday card with a dollar bill enclosed to each of us kids. He was a kindly person, and he made his own home brew, which he bottled and tied the bottles together with rope and kept in the well to keep them cool. He was so well traveled that he kept us fascinated with some of his stories. When he died, he left that 40-acre homestead to Mom. She later sold it. But that was her only legacy."

Audrey and Erna

Erna and Audrey Barclay on their wedding day - July 4, 1918

Erna and Audrey - Undated

(If you know when this photo was taken, please tell us.)

Erna and Audrey - December 1958

Audrey and Erna in 1968

Editor's Note: The 50th Anniversary newspaper clipping above included the full names and street addresses of Audrey and Erna's children. That information has been cropped from the image out of respect for privacy.