HOME AGAIN, really Home AGAIN, PART 2

 As I mentioned last week, since returning home to live after 45 years away, I am finding some additions and corrections to the family stories I've been telling all my life. This one is about DOGS.

Me and Lassie

My parents had a Scottish Terrier named Lassie before I was born, and my story has always included 

Crowd at 1941 Inauguration

that my father's dog died when he was away in World War II. (More on that in a moment.) Aaaaaand, I told everyone, Grandma Kendig was a big FDR fan. As far as that goes all four of my grandparents were huge Roosevelt fans. Grandma Young took Mom (her youngest) when she was in high school to D.C. for the President's third swearing in, and Mom always remembered what a bitter cold day it  was. The crowd was estimated to be 75,000 freezing people. 

Soooo, Grandma Kendig knew all about FDR's Scottish Terrier, Fala. The whole world knew about Fala, who traveled everywhere with the President. Aaaand, I tell everyone, my grandmother thought any dog good enough for the President of the United States was the best for her son. Lassie lived till age 13 when I was 10 years old, and I returned From Camp Wanake to learn that the neighbor's German Shepherd had bounded into our our yard and killed her. I wrote an essay about her in seventh grade for Mr. Birks, who predicted I would one day be a writer-- the only  teacher who ever told me I would be a writer, but he was pretty convincing.

Okay, so that's the story, and I stuck to it, as I went on to have Scottish Terriers of my own. Interestingly enough, our family never had another. We had a Toy Terrier named Wink and after I had left home, my mom and dad got Petunia, a Border Collie mix.

But when I was out on my own, I got my first Scottie, Bonnie Emma-- infamous for killing the first skunk killed by a Kendig Scottie (not the last) and for attacking a Pit Bull. Oh, and trying to make friends with a porcupine: 

Brenna with quills

And then came a much sweeter, easier but still very stubborn black Scottie named Brenna, who loved our neighbor man in Rochester so much she peed on his foot. She charmed the meanest Rottweiler in the town and lived to a be a ripe old 13. When I went to Toledo to buy her replacement, a wheaten I named Fiona, her little brother and she were so tight the breeder hated to separate them and threw him in for half price. Fiona, who was quite a pistol, died young, leaving her brother Robert Burns Beaudig (Robbie) to grieve the rest of his long life, waiting for her at every doorway for years. When Robbie died at 14, I did not intend to get a wheaten-colored Scottie, nor a male, but a black female named Rennie got me and a year and a half later, her half-brother Rebus.

The twins, Fiona and Robbie

 And there you have it: I have ended up with seven Scotties because my grandma liked Roosevelt. And I am sure that was at least part of the reason. Since coming home, I may have discovered another part, and it is rife with history too,  and it is the history of the B-17 airplane and World War II.

   

Brenna

  

Rebus (l) and Rennie (r)

My father's service in the war that reverberated throughout his life involved his being assigned to be a tailgunner in the 100th Bomb Group, stationed in Thorpe-Abbots, England and known as the Bloody Hundredth, a group so fascinating that Stephen Spielberg has made his latest movie about them Masters of the Air. It is well acted, well-made and accurate, especially the dialogue, much of which was captured by Harry Crosby in his memoir A Wing and a Prayer. The movie, in six parts, is on Apple. 

Another B-17 crew in the 91st Bomb Group earlier and elsewhere in England than my dad's was the crew of the Memphis Belle. Its co-pilot was James Verinis, who bought a darling  little black Scottie in a London pet shop, named it Stuka, and kept it on the base, often photographed it in his arms, hanging out the window. Then after his tour in Europe, he and Stuka and the Memphis Belle toured the U.S. raising money for the war by convincing people to buy war bonds. 

Okay, and here is what I have learned since coming home: just his year, I have found some footage of Verinis on one leg of his tour IN CANTON, OHIO!! This is my hometown and my  dad's hometown, where Grandma Kendig waited for him and her other three sons (of eight sons and her 13 children in total) who had gone off to fight. 

Stuka with James Verinis

Did Grandma go to Verinis' presentation? Did she read about it in the Canton Repository. I may never know the answer. Dad never mentioned it, and he may never have known, or he may have been too shell-shocked coming home to hear or remember much that Grandma told him. No one is left that would know. But I am going this month to dig around in Repository  files to see what I can find about Verinis' stop in Canton and to view some film I have found about it.  I will keep you posted.