About a month after the Joplin tornado in 2011, Dad and I spent Father’s Day driving from the Topeka area to Southwest Missouri. We took that trip to see the damage in Joplin, as much as anything, but we also visited several places dear to his heart.
Along the way, we had a breakfast at a small cafe that he and his father ate at in the 1950s off of Highway 69. For $5 each, we had biscuits and gravy, sausage, hash browns and eggs (that probably explains why that cafe isn’t in business anymore).
Afterward, we visited his dad, who’s buried at the Ozark Memorial Park Cemetery. We stopped by several houses in Joplin, one he grew up in, one we lived in when my parents moved back from San Diego in 1976 and another that was home from 1982-84.
That trip also included a drive to tiny Anderson, Missouri, and a house he traded for the place in Joplin. The last stop, of course, was a trip to a casino along the Missouri-Oklahoma border to lose money.
But the most important stop of the day was outside of Neosho, Missouri, a small town about 30 minutes from Joplin. Located on a heavily-wooded property, the small, yellow house off of NN Highway was Dad’s favorite place.
I don’t remember much about Neosho. We moved from there to Arkansas when I was 3 years old. But Dad talked about it all the time. It was the house we lived in when my brother was born. The old man had finally found his way out of trouble and was having the time of his life while working three jobs during the week and cutting wood on the weekend.
Dad often said he’s never been happier than he was in Neosho. I found this odd when I was young because we had virtually nothing and he was working at least 80 hours a week. To him, though, this was paradise on Earth.
That trip became a Father’s Day tradition. For several years, we drove to Joplin, Anderson and Neosho, making the same stops. Each time, Dad entertained me with stories from his youth and years building a small business.
There was the time he ran away from home, stole a motor scooter and drove — on a highway — from Joplin to St. Louis at age 13. There was the story about rebuilding a 1955 Chevy with his father … only to see a drunk driver barrel into the car and total it. Another tale came in 1981, when Dad barely avoided death by diving off a tractor as it fell over on a steep incline and pinballed down a hill.
There were dozens more, but none as good as the story about the goat.
In the late 1970s, my brother and I were babies, and we needed a source of milk. We couldn’t afford a cow, so my dad and mom bought a goat. As legend has it, they picked it up in our old Volkswagen van and drove toward our house.
With little money, we rarely had reliable vehicles. Naturally, the old van broke down a few miles from home, stranding Dad, Mom, Dan and I (and the goat) on the side of the road on a smoldering summer day.
An older couple came along shortly thereafter, offering to take us home. Us, of course, not the goat. That meant somebody — Dad — had to stay with the goat while we went home. The old man ended up walking (mostly pulling) the goat two miles along the sweltering pavement to our yard.
Mom cackles to this day when she tells this story, chortling to the vision of Dad walking down the highway with an ornery goat as cars drove by.
“You talk about embarrassing, son,” Dad said. “That was not a busy highway, but it seemed like the interstate that day. Every time a car drove by, I ducked my head and looked away. What do you think people were thinking as they watched a man walking a goat down the highway? What could I do? You guys needed the milk.”
Dad would do anything for his boys. Even walk a goat down the highway.
Baba was her name, did he ever tell you about the halloween that he dressed up as a werewolf, ?scared the heck out of my 3 kids and Baba, I don’t think I ever saw your cousins run so fast to get in the house. It was their job to put up the chickens and close the door. Your Dad slipped out to the barn ,and put on an old furry coat and a mask, he came out of the barn where Buba was, she was baaing up a strorm and pulling so tight on her rope, I thought she would break her neck. I ask the kids what was wrong with her. they were about to walk over to check on her when Ernie popped his head out the door. those 3 kids screamed and headed for the house across the corn field, . Ernie dissapered , Lorne ran out of his boots, (they were dressed for trick or treat, and he was a hobo. in your dads old clothes and boots, ) I was laughing so hard I was crying,, so by the time I got to the house they just thought I was scared too. Yes your Dad loved that place, he was proud as heck of it’
And Buba was stubborn, she didn’t give any milk next morning.
I love this! Thank you for sharing.
I remember the place in Neosho. In December 77 we had a family reunion, it had been over 20 years since the hole family had been together at one time. Boy was mom surpriced. Me and Wayne went squirrel hunting and cane back with over 20 squirrels. And the car was a red and whitr 55 2 dr hard top with a 265 V-8 2 speed automatic, the guy hit the car slamming it into my 55 F-100 he backed up and went on his way hitting another car 1 block away. Dad chased him down in his PJ’s reached in and crabbed the keys and throw them in the lot across the street. The kid lived two blocks away. We pulled the engine out and put it in my 58 chevy 4 dr.
Couldnt remember if it was a 57 or 55 … thank you for sharing, Uncle Don!