April 2006

     My childhood years were spent in Homer, Alaska. When my parents arrived there in 1925 they lived with Dad’s Uncle Andrew Sholin. He had been one of the early pioneer’s in the fox raising business, which was then at its peak. He built a fairly large house about a mile east of what later became the Beluga Slough Road. Quite a number of relatives came and went during those days. My mom and dad, Carl and Ann Sholin loved Alaska, remaining in Homer for 42 years.  Our family’s early history as told by mother is included in a book by Diana Tillion titled ‘Pioneers of Homer’.  As a daughter of pioneers, born in June 1927, I will share some of what life was like for us young people and how our lives were shaped.
 

     When I was six years old, we moved from Uncle Andrew’s house to the little log cabin that my dad so proudly built. I was much relieved to no longer have to walk to school on a trail in dense woods. The Carl Sholin homestead of 160 acres was located on the corner of what is now Lake Street and Pioneer Avenue.  Years down the road, Dad gladly donated small sections of land to the Homer Elks for their first building and to the REA for a shop.  Someone asked me why give valuable land away? For years growth of our town was sluggish. Any new venture ‘to get things moving’ was welcome. The early pioneers’ philosophy was to give whatever it took, in time, money or labor for the good of the community.

     Our original log cabin eventually became the family kitchen with rooms on either side. An upstairs was built in 1939 with two large bedrooms and later a basement was added.  Dad used to say we had running water - it ran in a creek some distance away. We had to run and get it  and in winter chop a hole in the ice to find it! All buildings have long since been demolished, including quite a remarkable barn built of huge bleached logs found along the beaches. We kids had fun jumping from rafters into the hayloft. I can still remember the smell of hay. Also, how much we loved our animals. There was an aura of peace on the farm. Those were the days before television and computers. We had our radios. There was music and the scary mystery stories we loved to listen to. Comparing then and now, I feel that we were more of a family unit, sharing the workload, as well as the fun times. Life was much less stressful. We didn’t need so much ‘stuff’, though I’m sure Mom would have appreciated a washing machine!  An inside bathroom would also have been nice! 

Shirley was born in Tacoma, Washington. This is a picture of Baby Shirley and her mother Ann	Shirley, Bob & Dale		"Corky" - a typical Homer winter

     Neighbors who lived nearest our family were the Gus Andersons and the Nels Svedlunds. To the west were the Glen Bowers, Bert Hansons, ’Dad’ Shaffer, Sam Pratt, the Bunnells, Tom Shelfords, Harringtons, Ernest Bird, Alfred Anderson, Mr.Crittendon and a Mr. Nimich who built his abode directly into a cliff. Munson’s lived across the slough. The Ero Walli’s lived on the West Hill at that time, as did the Harris Gordons and the Kranich family.  I could never forget Dick Grey who lived above a high vertical cliff several miles away along the west beach. The only access to his cabin was straight up a rope ladder. Lillian Walli and I walked the beach to that place and climbed right up the ladder! Opposite our home was Milo Colemans home on the hillside. On the east side lived Charlie Miller who came to Homer in 1915 as an employee of the Alaska Railroad. He cared for 95 horses as they wintered over. I have no idea why the railroad had need of so many horses. That gentleman told us that he rowed a small boat to Seldovia, fifteen miles away to gather supplies. On the east side lived the Neilsen and Christiansen families. After all these years I know I have forgotten some special people. You understand, I left Alaska in 1944 - actually before many ‘old-timers’ arrived.
 

Carl & Ann's 25th Anniversary 1950	Ann loved to entertain guests

    Winter months provided us much recreation. We could walk through the door, slip on our skis and away we would go wherever we chose.  Beluga Lake was huge and a great place to ice skate. The only problem was that winter lasted too long! Summers were lush and lovely, but didn’t last long enough. We were outdoor kids:  biking, hiking, trout fishing or pulling up a net of king crab at the end of the dock.  Nancy was our workhorse, pulling a plow, sleigh or wagon. We rode her now and then, but she had a way of letting us know that hauling us around on her back was not in her job description. 

   We hadn’t the luxury of buses, so I often did walk two miles to school in two feet of snow. The school was a one-room building where grades one through eight were taught row by row. Older children assisted younger ones with such classes as reading from large ‘Dick and Jane’ charts that hung from a wall. I believe that our schooling was comparable to that in the States. With so few students we had much personal attention, and many exceptional teachers. Heating the building was a chore the older boys took care of by stoking the stove with coal as needed. Seventh and eighth graders advanced to seats near windows where a view of Kachemak Bay allowed us to whale watch. Seeing them spout or breech was quite amazing. Biology classes were interesting as the beach was five minutes away with its many treasures. Around us were beautiful, pristine woodlands with plants and animals. We sang, we acted, and practiced penmanship over and over!

     I set snares in the woods along the road to catch rabbits. On the way home from school I would take my find to a family who cooked the rabbits to feed their mink. We were rarely ill due in part to that nightly dose of cod-liver oil. What torture!  I recall an earache or two where the treatment was my dad blowing warm cigarette smoke into my ear. The ache ceased, but more than likely not due to smoke.  Another time I arose early, before my folks were up, wanting to surprise them by making breakfast. Somehow I managed to pour boiling water over my left inner wrist, then rubbing my long sleeved sweater over the burn. Treatment was gently pouring slightly salted tepid water over the area, then patting it dry and covering it with gauze twice daily. The blackened epidermis peeled off leaving nice pink skin that healed without scarring.  Our town had one very frightening health episode when a teenager developed polio. We were quarantined to our homes for a time. He did recover after a long time at an Anchorage hospital.
 

Potato Field    - site of mud ball fight	Brother Bob             Dale gathering coal from the beach

    Tuberculosis was prevalent among many of the Alaska Native population and our family had us tested every now and then. Without a doctor in town or any health facility, our optimistic attitude had much to do with our good health.      Pure air and the amazing growing season for fresh produce and berries, the seafood and of course that wonderful moose-meat, our own chickens, pigs and cows provided gourmet food fit for a king. Of course that goodness required much hard work before all that could be prepared and brought to the table to enjoy. The payoff was that we kids learned a most valuable lesson. We developed a good work ethic, which served us well in what we attempted to accomplish in life. I must confess there were chores that we disliked…a great deal. Our potato garden was huge! There was that darned chickweed that my brother Bob and I had to get rid of. One sunny summer day we were supposed to work in the garden. We started out fairly well. I don’t recall which one of us threw the first mud ball, but it wasn’t long until we became a dirty mess, hair, clothes and face. Mom came out of the house to see what the commotion was. She wasn’t happy with us! Dad was away for several months with the Alaska Guides. We kids knew she was tired, working the farm without his help. Late that night when everyone was in bed I was feeling really guilty. I crawled under the blankets at the foot of her bed, tightly covered my ears so I couldn’t hear myself speaking and said, ”I’m sorry for the way I acted today.”  My mother actually cried and said “Thank you Shirley”. Later in life it dawned on me that there are those who have never been taught to apologize when they ought to. Our children need to learn that lesson. Showing respect toward others doesn’t appear to be a priority in much of today’s society.

                                               December 7,1941

     My parents were at a neighbors for dinner. My brothers and I were listening to the radio when the announcement that changed our world, sent us scurrying to the phone. The shocked guests rushed home. True knowledge of the carnage at Pearl Harbor took some time to reach us. Later we felt considerable anxiety when Japanese troops were not a great distance away on some of the Aleutian Islands. Scope of battles fought there are unknown to most Americans.  The Alaska Geographic has an amazingly beautiful magazine titled “The Aleutians.” It documents anything one might wish to learn about these islands, the people and their culture, with a complete history of WW2 battles. For information about these Alaska magazines click online at Alaska Geographic Society or inquire at Amazon.com

     When I was fifteen, after much debating, my parents allowed me to have a summer job at a large salmon cannery on an Island in Cook Inlet called Snug              Harbor. My good friends, Lillian Walli (Miller) and Wilma Shelford (Williams) also were hired, along with several Homer women who kept an eye on us. We enjoyed the good food in the company dining room, and sitting on the beach at night watching moonlight glisten on the water, and singing, while the Filipino workers played ukuleles. When the boats brought in their loads from fish traps along the inlet, we would stand beside the conveyor system that led from the end of the dock into the cannery. Those hundreds of beautiful salmon were a sight to behold, as they slid along to their destiny.  We did lie about our age, but we were eager, fast workers. We learned later that the owners knew our ages all along. From our parents, of course! By the end of the season we had earned about three hundred dollars - enough for a year’s worth of school clothes.
 

Shirley working at the cannery	Providence Hospital	Going Stateside

     The high school in Homer wasn’t accredited, so my folks sent me to Seldovia, a small town 15 miles away, across the bay. I finished my senior year there at age 16. Somehow, grades four and five and seven and eight were completed in one year each. Drastic, but fortunately it worked out for me. Alaska was still a Territory of the U.S. while I was in school We had to pass standardized tests, sent from the capital in Juneau, before we could begin high school, which was grades nine through twelve. I don’t recall feeling stressed, but then we did not have the “No Child Left Behind” with all of its implications. Are we losing some of our creativity and individuality? Are we seeing more signs of rebellion among many young people? More dropouts? Does the “one size fits all method" work?
 
     During that year, on a stormy February evening, a group of classmates and I were celebrating a friend’s birthday. Nausea and right side pain kept worsening. I was becoming very sick. The town had recently opened a small hospital. Susan English, the dear lady and town postmistress I was staying with, and some   friends walked me up the hill to have the doctor examine me. The one nurse, and the doctor’s wife, who was a lab tech, informed us that Dr. McKenzie was seeing patients at small towns along Cook Inlet. At some point during the wait, my appendix ruptured. Considering the fact that the small hospital wasn’t properly equipped to perform risky major surgeries, and antibiotics were somewhere on the horizon, how this young fellow and his nurse saved my life was miraculous. I don’t remember walking to the hospital or anything else, until groggily hearing my mother crying in a room across the hall. She was terribly frightened as she recalled the time years earlier when she arrived in that same town to begin life in Alaska, when her appendix ruptured. There was no hospital or doctor at the time of her ordeal. She certainly went through a much more dangerous time than I. Of course ‘Someone’ was watching over both of us!

     After a month recuperating I was able to go back to school. Dr. McKenzie and his wife asked if I could remain with them in their quarters on the lower floor of the hospital. I helped care for their two little boys and cooked many breakfasts of oatmeal with raisins. I remain an oatmeal fan to help keep cholesterol levels normal. It works! I tend to be wary of highly advertised new “wonder” drugs.

When McKenzie’s moved to Anchorage they asked my parents if I could go with them. Soon I was in the “big city,” and lived on the lower floor of the Providence Hospital along with several other workers. Folding linens in the hospital laundry, then on to washing pots and pans in hospital kitchen were not the greatest jobs, but I managed to hang in there. The lab and x-ray technician needed a helper.  The good nuns allowed me to give it a try. Mrs. Feehan was a feisty redhead and a very sharp lady. She taught me so much, even how to do blood draws and basic lab tests. Those days were different, all right! McKenzie’s eventually relocated in Colorado. Years later, on a visit to Seldovia, he was killed when the small plane crashed on the pile of huge boulders along Seldovia  Bay. Don’t you just wonder sometimes?

                                             March 23,2006     

     As I resumed typing again, I glanced over at my desk where I have a little chart with a year of ‘Thoughts for the Day.’

                           For He will command His angels concerning you,  
                            To guard you in all your ways.   Psalm 90-11

                          “A surgeon’s hands, a friend’s note, a mentor’s pat on the back -
                           angels in the guise of the ordinary-carry us like a thousand
                           lifting wings.”                                            

That really caught my attention. I am well aware that tragedies and sadness, along with happiness and joy are intertwined in life.  What makes sense to me is that “God promises us a safe landing, not a calm passage.” The ‘safe landing’ is on the other side. I am grateful for those angels in disguise who directed or changed my life at different times and circumstances.

     After over a year in Anchorage, I was ready to go Stateside, thinking I would study lab technology. The journey from Seward to Seattle on the S.S. Denali was   fun. On board were the owners of the Snug Harbor Cannery who invited me to their home on Queen Anne Hill in Seattle, before settling me on a bus for Tacoma. Here was my maternal grandmother, aunts and uncles. In Milton were Dad’s brother John, his sister Ruth Sholin Ellis and families, with many cousins my age. I liked the area, and my new found relatives, now unsure of what the next steps should be concerning school.

     Upon hearing about the Cadet Nurse Corps, I hopped on a bus one morning and went to St. Joseph’s Hospital to check it out. This program instituted and paid for by the government was to train much-needed nurses for the military. I began training when I was seventeen and a half years old. Our Nursing School Director was a strict no nonsense nun. We were all afraid that we might break one of the myriad rules of conduct and be called to her office. I was a whistler. Sometimes I would whistle without realizing it. She heard me one day as I passed by her door. She stopped me, sternly saying,” Miss Sholin, whistling girls and crowing hens always come to some bad end!” I felt about two inches tall! Months went by, then I was called to her office thinking, ”Oh no, I’m in trouble again.” She had something else in mind. The staff physicians had monthly dinner meetings in the hospital dining room. During dessert entertainment was provided. Guess who the entertainer was to be? Me! In two weeks! Could I be prepared to whistle? “Ah, yes Sister.” Another student played the piano, and I whistled ”Always”. The doctors seemed to like that bit of unusual entertainment. I no longer felt like a crowing hen. If I ever whistled near her door again and she heard me, she didn’t mention it. Oh yes, I respect the memory of that angel in disguise who prepared us for what we might face as military nurses. Not an easy task!

     After graduating as R.N.s and passing state board exams we new nurses could choose the branch of service we desired to serve in. My choice was the Navy. As it turned out, my class did not get to serve.
 

Registered Nurse	Cadet Nurse	Shirley & Dick after wedding

                                                August 15,1945

     After working the day shift and walking through the narrow corridor that separated our quarters from the hospital, I entered my room, flipped on the radio, intending to relax and listen to some music. What I heard brought me to my knees. The war was over! A girlfriend dashed through the door yelling,” Lets go!” We ran all the way to downtown Tacoma. The main street through town was packed as far as we could see with joy-filled people. Soldiers and sailors were hugging and kissing every girl in sight. Everyone has seen similar pictures from all across America. That was 62 years ago at this writing. Hey! I was there!

     With service people coming home we were living in a different environment. We began experiencing a time without .the cloud of war, feeling free and happy. At the same time, sadly we knew there were many who would not come home!

     In August 1947 Dick Guse and I married. He was a competent, hard-working man. He became an electrician and electronic technician. We raised two girls and two boys. I chose not to work while the children were small. Most moms in the fifties were active in community affairs. I was a Camp Fire leader, a den mother for scouts and a volunteer at school. Teaching Sunday School, especially preschool and kindergarten was so special to me that I did that for most of my adult life.


 

                                                June 1951

     Seven years had sped by. Dick and I and our two children, David and Donna, finally arrived in Homer for a family reunion. Bob had been drafted during the Korean War. Stationed for basic training at Fort Richardson in Anchorage, he was allowed a one week leave. We talked and ate, and caught salmon in Anchor River. What a wonderful visit with family and friends! Three days after Bob returned to base the telegram arrived - Bob was missing and presumed drowned while on a fishing trip at a nearby lake. Our family went from joy to unbelievable sorrow. We had to return home, leaving grieving parents, before his body was found. Many years passed before I was able to feel peace about his passing.
 

Dale Sholin mighty moose hunter	Carl Sholin and Dale crabbing

                                                                                                                                                  When we thought the time was right I became a working mom. Rehabilitation nursing was a specialty I enjoyed. Helping those who were paralyzed, or suffering debilitating effects from injury or stroke, was an adventure in team care that was challenging but so rewarding. From childhood, through many twists and turns, it seems that becoming a nurse was exactly what I was to do. 
 

                                                       June 1985

     A phone call from my brother Dale’s wife Helen, brought the sad news that Alaska waters had claimed him also. Sooner or later we learn how fragile life is.                      My sister Lois and I remain to pass on lessons learned from our growing up years. She lives a few blocks away, and we were able to share caring for Mom for many years. Mom passed away peacefully at age 97 in 1998. Dick passed away in 1994 after suffering for years with asbestosis. He had been exposed to asbestos in his electrical work. Sadly, most industries knew the danger involved in utilizing that material, but chose to not disclose it.
 

Shirley & Dick at home in Edgewood, Wash.	Shirley, Wilma, Lillian	Grandchildren 1986

     After selling our family home in 1996, I moved to Milton to stay with Mom. I remain here where my parents lived out their years after retiring from Alaska.

     My youngest son Greg passed away in 2001 after years of pain from a work related injury and other health issues. Now safe and pain free. He was a can do person like his dad, also an electrician and auto mechanic. David and family live in Walla Walla, but drive over often and help with my yard work. My daughters, Donna and Sherry are near by. They and husbands, (both named Mike) help me so much! The aging process can lead to unexpected happenings, which involves all family members in decisions difficult to resolve. Fortunately I am healthy, in spite of some broken bones, and a variety of surgeries to glue and stitch me back together. I even danced at a grandson’s wedding reception last December. All fourteen grandkids thought it was cool! But darn, I couldn’t quite jitterbug like long ago and far away!  I loved the Big Band era!  The music was wonderful when I was young!

Shirley &  Grandson Chad	Daughter Sherry Pasinetti and family	With Jeremy

Daughter Donna &  Mike	Son Greg	Son Dave & Kazue

     We must have been poor during the Depression years, but we kids didn’t realize it. I think of how rapidly many people’s life changed - from wealth, elegance and furs to standing in soup lines. I wonder if some of those furs were from Uncle Andrews and other Homerites fox farms. In the name of progress maybe we had better lower our sights, simplify our lifestyles, and be content with less instead of more. Many younger people can no longer afford to buy a home. Children need space, and grass to play on, not cement and video games for “entertainment”.  I’m thankful that I had parents who handled life’s ups and downs with grace. They lived a simpler, thoughtful life without the stress of survival found in our high paced world of today.

    I read somewhere a little thought that seems appropriate to close my little story with:

.                   I will not follow where the path may lead                                  
                    But I will go where there is no path,              
                    And I will leave a trail.

   This was literally true of those early Alaskan’s, who carved a town out of wilderness. In my dad’s situation, since his work was with the Alaska Road Commission, he not only left a trail, he left many roads that are traversed to this day. Dad was the head of the household. We kids listened up! That was a good thing. At least in retrospect.  And my mom - what a helpmate and strong person she was, though sometimes not quite appreciated by the Boss - (or did he just imagine he was the Boss?).                      

                                                          Shirley Sholin Guse