Hoosier Farm-Boy: Memoir by Gary William Steele
Chapter 1 : My Earliest Memories
Section 1.1 : Daydreaming on a Plane
As the sun peeked out on the western horizon as the plane flew from Madrid towards Dallas. Frost sparked on the small oval airplane window as it glided 35,000 feet over the mid-west plains of the United States. The day is Sunday morning in June 1997 and I am returning from a consulting trip for Sony Corporation in Barcelona, Spain. I am an Applied Statistics expert instructing managers and engineers from fourteen different countries on the technical 4-week series “Lean Six Sigma”. Besides mastering the material, I became fluent in Spanish and was teaching to professionals in the client’s native language. What events led to this stage of my life? How did I go from an Indiana farm-boy to where I am today?
Gazing out the window on the farmland below, it reminded me of a patchwork quilt. My mother stitched together scrap pieces of fabric into distinct, colorful designs. The land below formed neat square patterns. Divided into one mile patches except where natural creeks, rivers, or terrain caused the borders to vary. Five thousand, two hundred eighty feet or 640 acres, separated on each side by a dirt roadway. They pave the country roads today. Back in the 1950s when I grew-up, they were stone and gravel, stirring up a cloud of white dust whenever a car or tractor traveled the isolated road.
If you split each square mile into quarters, you have four 160 acre pieces. Divide them again to get 80 acre homesteads. On one of these insignificant plots on the north-west corner of Wabash County, Indiana, my parents raised me and my sisters and we lived there until he was sixteen years old.
In my mind’s eye, I visualize this piece of God’s earth with a small farm pond. On the bank is a sun-burned farmer casting his line for bass and bluegill while he waits for the cows to wander in from the pasture. That’s my Dad, Carl Steele, doing the one thing in the world he loved most … fishing. He died in 2001, just a few days before the 9/11 terrorist attack, but I can still see him by the shore with me at his side. My mother, Lilah Steele, might be in the chicken pen feeding the chickens or in the house fixing breakfast. She died in 2007, but will always be in my heart.
“Memories of childhood were the dreams that stayed with you after you woke.”
… Julian Barnes, England
Section 1.2 : Day of My Birth
On Saturday, May 14th, 1949 in Huntington, Indiana I arrived with the chosen name of Gary William Steele. My parents were Lilah Mae Steele and Carl Tyner Steele. With two older sisters, Rebecca (Becky) Steele and Anna Steele and myself as the youngest child. A large, vigorous child with healthy weight, and extra long , narrow feet. My name, “Gary”, was most popular between the periods 1944 to 1962. The name reached its climax in 1951. It was tenth most prominent boys name in the U.S. This period, the famous “Baby-Boomer” generation, came after soldiers returned from WW-II. Many of my friends later joked that I must have been “Born in a Barn”.
In 1949, the average cost of gasoline was seventeen cents, cost of an average car $1,420, and average wages were seventy cents per hour. I remember my Dad pulling up to a gas station and saying to the attendant “Give me a dollar’s worth”. That dollar could buy five gallons. The president, Harry S. Truman, on the day of my birth, signed a bill to start rocket testing at Cape Canaveral, Florida. One year before my birth on May 14, 1948, Israel became an official state. George Orwell wrote and published the book “1984” during the year also.
Section 1.3 : Bath in Kitchen Sink
I don’t know my age, but old enough to be ashamed at being given a bath in the kitchen sink. My sisters didn’t go through this humiliation. They had not yet built the bathroom and I remember feeling the cold breeze on my wet skin as Dad came in from the back porch and kicked off his work boots.
A path outside the back door led to the outhouse where an old Sears and Roebuck catalog sat beside the cold, wooden toilet seat. The catalog is every child’s wish book, but its purpose here was more utilitarian.
Strong emotions tie our most long-lasting memories together like glue. I did not choose shame to be my favorite emotion for my longest lasting memory, but that wasn’t my choice. Many activities in early childhood took place in the kitchen. We did not even have a television. I remember happy hours spent with my mother playing the piano or the accordion. We sang favorite hymns together. My mother played piano at the missionary church where we attended. How our Dad loved to hear us sing his favorite songs.
They should reserve “Shame” for the things we do, not random circumstances.
Section 1.4 : Yellow Jacket Bite
Nothing gave me more pleasure than romping barefoot on the ground. Until four years old, my mother could not convince me to wear shoes, when that fateful spring morning came. My Dad and I were in the wheat field on a perfect, sunny day. I was playing beside the tractor and wagon and Dad busy harvesting. I was shoe-less as usual. I felt a horrible sharp pain. A large bumble bee, what we used to call a “yellow jackets”, found its target on my right arch. I shrieked in agony. My foot and ankle swelled to three times its normal size in the next few hours.
That experience remained so vivid, I stopped running barefoot outside after that. My sister, Becky, says she stepped in a pile of soft, squishy chicken droppings, about that same time. We both switched to proper footwear after that.
“Behind every kind of thing, there is a beautiful pain.” … Bob Dylan
Section 1.5 : Vacuum Cleaner Bliss
My mother’s idea of a luxury included having a vacuum cleaner to keep the house clean. I remember the day she got her new Electrolux canister vacuum cleaner. Farm chores included garden, laundry, cooking, and being a mom. I can’t recall a mental picture of my mother during those years when she wasn’t working. As with many farm wives, she worked dawn to dusk and did not complain.
The hypnotic warm breeze of the air coming out of the back of the vacuum cleaner blew on my face as I lay on the floor behind it. The vacuum had a long cylindrical body about two feet long and eight inches in diameter. Anozzle and hose on one end, and the dirt collected in a canister inside the vacuum. At the back end of the cylinder, a fan motor purred quietly and kept the motor cool.
The fan sound was a high-pitched hum that had an almost hypnotic effect on me. Air coming out was dry, warm, and had an aroma of ionized, oily smell. Smell, sound, and touch combined to create a sensation I will never forget. Of all the senses, I think smell invokes the strongest feeling. They blocked everything else in the world out when I was laying there with my eyes closed behind that fantastic machine. It seemed like I could lay there forever. I only moved when my mom had to move the machine to another section of floor. To this day, I can put myself in a peaceful trance thinking if that feeling. The experience was the closest I have ever come to being inside the womb of my mother, blocking out all the troubles of the world. This was pure, eternal bliss.
The sense of smell can be evocative, bringing back pictures as sharp as photographs of scenes that had left the conscious mind. … Thalassa Cruso
Section 1.6 : Catching Lightning Bugs
When twilight came in the summer, it was a great time to go outside and catch the hundreds of lightning bugs flying around. Becky, Anna, and I would each get an old canning jar with holes punched in the top and run around to see who could catch the most. Dandelions would be scattered all over the green, lush yard as we bounced around chasing the elusive bugs. We always had dozens of cats on the farm and they hurried into the game as well, jumping and dancing trying to catch and play with the luminous insects.
Mom and Dad would be sitting on the swing on the front porch watching enthusiastically while we scampered among the two large maple trees in the front yard. Many times Mom would be busy snapping green beans or shucking corn for dinner, with one or more cats at her feet or on her lap. There were few occasions when she would sit around and just do nothing.
