My Best Friend’s Mom – Part 2

When I met Pam and her Mom in the early 1960’s, I was lost because I came from a small town in South Dakota and I was just starting my teen years. I was an only child and my new friend was an only child from North Dakota so we had things in common. We helped each other get through the years. We went to the beach often, talked about sharing clothes, found bikinis we liked and listened to the radio. Oh, and looked at boys. Rad.

Pam’s mother, Hope, helped us get through the teenage years as well. We met another newcomer, Sue, who lived in Pam’s lovely garden apartment building. Her father had recently died so she looked sad and alone. Her brother Patrick made friends with a young guy who played the drums with a small rock group. We got to talking and concocted an idea to have a dance in the apartment clubhouse where Pam and Sue lived asking Patrick to ask his friend’s band to play. Bitchen.

And who would fill out the forms and pay the fee to rent out the clubhouse? Pam’s mom of course, Hope. She stepped forward and helped us. We spread the word putting up posters and telling everyone about our planned dance after all the paperwork was in and the money paid for the clubhouse rental with our babysitting money. Was this really happening?Far out.

The night of the dance brought out many kids and couples with about 40 people attending. As naive 14 year olds we were shocked that our plan was a total success! We were entrepreneurs but didn’t know it. Groovy!

After a few years, we graduated high school had our boyfriends, I went to college and Pam went with a friend to live then work at Park City Utah at a ski resort. We got married, had kids, bought homes, exchanged Christmas cards, and got on with life, communicating rarely.

Fast forward to 2015 when I finally decided to visit Pam. I stayed at her house a couple nights and we reminisced and met up with another friend and her husband for dinner out and a ghost walk through San Juan Capistrano historic area. It was a blast. The years melted away. Unreal.

Last Monday I was down in LA with my two sons. We drove down from my house in Central California to celebrate my other son, Matt’s birthday with him. I also arranged to take the train to San Juan Capistrano to visit Pam because her 98 year old mother had just passed away. I wanted to tell her in person how much her mother had meant to me and we were going to dinner with three other high school friends we hadn’t seen very often.

This was the bizarre part…I had just gotten a letter from Pam’s mother three days after she had died. A caregiver had written it for 98 year old Hope and it was asking me to please console Pam since Hope knew she was going soon to “meet our Lord and savior”the letter said. It was written in graceful flowing cursive in blue ink.

I had to share this touching, soul warming letter with Pam. That was my plan.

Skip the details of riding the train, hugging my friend at the station, sharing memories of her mother and reconnecting. When I showed Pam the letter, she read very carefully and said, “This is just like the one I received. Yes, the caregiver wrote it for my dying Mom.”

I’m still crying each time I look at the envelope. It’s a relief that all has been done that can be and that Pam is dealing with it so gracefully. She had an incredible mother. She loved her a great deal.

Love is by far the greatest conqueror.

My Best Friend’s Mom

She was standing off to the side of the paved playground amidst the crowd of teenagers in seventh, eighth and ninth grades. She definitely stood out as a newcomer in her cutoff jeans and white neatly pressed blouse. She had just arrived from small change North Dakota like I had just moved from small town South Dakota. At some time we walked up to one another and told one another our names, our stories, our likes and dislikes and our classes. But knowing where she lived was the key.

My parents had rented the cheapest one bedroom apartment they could find in Anaheim, California after we moved from Murdo, South Dakota. I didn’t even have a bedroom and slept on a hard couch. So when Pam, a cute blonde and the new girl from North Dakota, invited me over to her place I was shocked at how beautiful and open her garden apartment was. It was located a few blocks from where I lived. They even had a serene park with a playground lush with healthy green grass, and a pool with an adjoining spacious clubhouse. To me it was like Beverly Hills versus the suburban ghetto where I lived.

I met Pam’s beautiful Mom who seemed to always look like she had washed her face ten times and had big eyes that played softly with the California sunshine looking about ten or fifteen years younger than my Mom. At other times when I went to visit Pam, her mother Hope was decked out in a tight fitting sheeth dress popular in the 1960’s. She wore heels and not much jewelry and her husband – Pam’s stepdad – was brusque, slim, also looked much younger than my Dad, and was in a suit ready to take Pam’s Mom out on “date” even though they were married. He was a salesman. Pam hated him and tried to stand up to him when he was gruff with her or made her Mom deny Pam money to buy clothes or shoes or just money for a movie or a coke with friends. He struck me as mean.

I have been her friend over many years and she stuck with me through some tough teenage tragedies and trials. We lost touch with one another for a long stretch of time what with having kids, moving different places and finding new friends. However, none were as close nor as kind as her. She and my cousin made their own dresses to help out at my hippy style wedding reception in 1971. Pam brought her newborn son and held him during the entire wedding reception. She was a new mother yet she was there for me. That showed me what a strong, caring young woman she was.

We reconnected again when sadness hit. Her son died from drug addiction in a jail cell. He was in his 40’s. He had been in prison and on meth most of his young life. She wrote me a letter about his problems. She also had a daughter named after her mother, Hope. Her daughter was an accomplished artist and went to college back east.

I went to visit Pam ten years ago and it was like we were young girls in our early 20’s, newly married and ready to grab life by the hand with our new handsome husbands. We connected again after having sent a few letters and Christmas cards over the years, We had gone on our separate ways, trying to figure it all out. She had gotten divorced and I had taught school for 34 years and I had been through a lot with my husband. He died about six months ago. I’m going tomorrow to visit Pam who lost her Mom a week ago. I’ll let you know how that goes.

By Valerie Halla

Aunt Helen:

When I was a little girl, we visited Aunt Helen and Uncle Bob and their four kids in Michigan just once. We only saw them once in a while because we lived in Pennsylvania pretty far from their house, and had only been to Murdo, South Dakota for a few SANDERSON family reunions together during the summer. But after seeing Aunt Helen a few times and noticing how pretty she was, I decided to name my new dark haired doll Helen in her honor. To me that was the perfect name.

Me with my Mom and the doll I named after my beautiful Aunt Helen

Aunt Helen was the fourth child born to Grandma and Grandpa SANDERSON and the last to be born before the family moved to a little log cabin on Horse Creek about 7 miles outside of Murdo. Her brother Jeff’s birth had been difficult so her dad, my Grandpa, drove his wife a very long distance in a wagon/carriage to Mitchell Hospital when the time came. Helen was named Mary Helen but was called Helen so as not to be confused having her mother’s first name.

Helen was the baby of the family when this picture was taken with brothers Wayne and Jeff, and sister, Ella.

It was a tough life on the farm there. Even though the family had a Model A, Grandpa later bought a Model T which made the two miles on dirt roads then the 5 miles on gravel roads easier. Aunt Helen later wrote that she was always happy growing up even in tough times. She dressed the farm kittens like her babies and loved playing house, even though she had chores and worked hard as did the entire family. The kids road a horse three miles to school and did not like leaving their horse all day in the barn at school with no food. There were 12 students in the country school in eight grades.

The Osborn family also attended school with the SANDERSONS and only had bread with cocoa junk on their bread sandwiches. That was a mixture of sugar, cocoa and whole milk which would soak into the homemade bread. The Osborn family was poor. They had 13 children. Helen felt lucky to have sardine sandwiches at school for lunch. A tin of sardines cost 4 cents and she recalled that some were canned in mustard or tomato sauce and were tasty.

The Sanderson sisters…from left, Helen, Elna, Ella, and Loretta

Helen recalls that her Dad, M.E. SANDERSON was strict. If their Mom, Mary, couldn’t handle the kids, she would say in a low voice, “I will have to tell your Dad.” One time M.E. put her on top of a tall cupboard to discipline Helen. Or to show the other kids who was boss.

Helen was a dark haired, slim girl in high school. Later she went to business school out in Rapid City after my Mom, Ella, gave her the money to attend. She eventually met her future husband Bob who graduated from School of Mines and he got a job in Michigan with the auto manufacturer, Chevrolet. They left the day after getting married and drove with another couple all the way to Michigan from South Dakota. They raised their four children there in Michigan. One summer my parents bought a car from Bob and Helen. The two families met in Murdo so my parents could drive it home later. They were so proud to have gotten a relatively new car from Bob and Helen.

Later in life, when Bob had passed away, Helen went to live near a daughter in South Dakota once again. She regularly wrote beautiful letters to her brothers and sisters with a neat flowing cursive handwriting. I remember my mother read those letters over and over and kept many of them. Aunt Helen was always happy as long as the sun shone. And she was always beautiful inside and out.

From Left: The ever stylish sisters, Helen, Ella, and Loretta

Murdo High School and reunion stories by Ralph Thomas, Class of 1967

Senior Class Play

One spring morning in 1964 Gloria Thomas woke up with hundreds of red bumps all over her body.  Her Mom Ethel said you have the measles and you can’t go to school.

Gloria replied but I have to go the Senior Class Play is today and I’m vital.  Ethel prevailed, Gloria stayed home.

Mrs. Peters (the play director) was notified.  She immediately went into hiding for 3 hours assuming the understudy’s role.  She performed admirably in the matinee and evening roles and saved the play with an A+ performance.

When Gloria returned to school the next week several classmates (names redacted) jokingly accused her of trying to sabotage the Senior Class Play!

Near the end of the school year in 1964, the Junior Class spokesman Dave Beckwith spoke to the open assembly hall of all 4 grades.  (That was the last year all 4 grades could be addressed from on or near the steps going up into the superintendents office.  In the summer of 1964 the school was remodeled into home rooms.)

Anyway Dave started with a heart wrenching soliloquy about how the Senior Class was special and will hold a cherished spot in all our hearts.

Through Dave’s tears he kept going and said the Junior Class wanted to present the Senior Class with a special gift he hoped they all would cherish.

On cue Dave’s assistants revealed the green dimpled head of Puff the Magic Dragon, the Junior Class’s winning float entry from the previous fall.

The Senior Men immediately rushed Puff’s head, took it outside, and stomped it into smithereens.   And Puff you were gone  .

Jeff H. Sanderson liked to tell the story about going to the reunions for the Murdo High School and he saw Johnny Daum at one of those reunions probably in 2006.  Jeff H walked up to Johnny and said you look just as good as you did in high school, and Johnny Daum puffs his chest out with a big smile.  He felt so good.

And then Jeff H. sees Lyle Reynolds a few minutes later and he says wow Lyle you look even better than you did in high school (cause he did) and Johnny’s got this sad look creeping over his face….

So anyway, I saw Johnny Daum at Range Country Lodging at another reunion probably in 2011 and I say hi Johnny.  And he was sitting at this table with some woman, and I said, do you remember back 5 years ago Jeff H. said to you that you look just as good as you did in high school and you were all pumped up and thought that was great?  Then he saw Lyle Reynolds and said wow you look even better than you did in high school and it kind of made you disappointed?  And Johnny said, yeah Ralph I get it.

And then I said I remember you were such a good singer in high school, just fabulous, you made us proud.  And Johnny smiles.

Then I looked at that woman next to him and I said I thought this was your wife, but this is actually your sister right?  And I said wow she’s even a better singer than you (cause she was) And Johnny’s like OK Ralph that’s enough….

https://maryfrancismcninch.com/2025/07/11/murdo-girl-the-food-swap-ladies-2/

Murdo Girl…A spoof that got out of hand a story about Bill Francis

Do you believe in Angels? There is a saying, “To those who believe, no explanation is necessary. To those who do not believe, no explanation is possible.”

The following is a true story.

Back in the 70’s Sherri Miller’s Mom and Dad bought a grandfather clock at an auction in Presho, SD where they lived. As it turned out, the clock belonged to someone who lived just a couple of blocks from them, so they ended up hand carrying it down the street to their house, where it still resides.

The clock soon became Mr. Swinson’s pride and joy and he seldom let anyone else touch it. His beautiful clock had to be wound each week before the weights were all the way to the bottom. If they do get to the bottom, the clock can lock up and fixing it requires a clock repair expert. Sherri said that throughout the years, it has only locked up on them once. They had to take the non-working parts out, wrap them very carefully and haul them to Bridgwater, which is about 135 miles from Presho. A couple of weeks later, they had to drive back and pick them up. They never wanted to do that again, so Mr. Swinson was very careful to wind the clock on time each week.

The Grandfather clock has three weights..one in the middle, that controls the time, and two on each side that control the chimes. When Sherri’s Dad started slowing down, he finally decided to let her take over the task of winding the clock. When he became really sick last November and had to go to the hospital, winding the clock was not on Sherri’s mind. When she got back to Presho a few weeks later, the weights on the grandfather clock had reached the bottom and everything on the clock had stopped. She had to get back to Pierre, (SD), so she wasn’t able to do anything with it on that trip.

In late December, she decided to try winding it to see what happened. The clock timing actually started to work, which meant the middle weight was moving down like it should. After that, Sherri was careful to rewind the clock part weekly. The two weights on the outside however, did not move, which meant the clock did not chime on the quarter, half, or on the hour. Fearing he would get upset, Sherri decided not to share this with her Dad.

Several weeks after Mr. Swinson came home, Sherri was helping him to the bedroom and he stopped at the clock and asked, “Is the clock not working?” Sherri responded that it was and it was keeping perfect time. He didn’t say anything more about it until a few days before his passing, when he asked her again if the clock was working. He said he couldn’t hear it chime. This time she told him what had happened. Sherri said he remained calm and said, “If I were able and if I could get to it, I know I could fix it.” Sherri told him she knew he could too, but he couldn’t get to it and they were not going to worry about it now. No more was said.

Sherri and her sisters had tried to fix the chimes several times over the previous three months, but to no avail. Then a few days after her Dad died, the clock needed winding. After she wound it, the clock made a little chime. She was shocked, but thought maybe she had touched something when she pulled the weight up, that caused the sound. That happened around 7:35, so Sherri and her sister sat there watching it, and waited for 7:45 to get there. Sure enough, they heard a small chime. They waited for it to come to the hour of eight o’clock. They were so excited when they heard the “minute before” chime and then the count..8 dongs..one for each hour. Sherri and her sister listened to each chime of the grandfather clock in amazement. The clock has been working perfectly ever since.