THE TWELFTH

by: CHARLOTTE

I was nick-named Miss Chicago by my older brothers, because I had a fiery temper, but think I had to have one so I wouldn't get lost in the shuffle. With ten older brothers, I think I did anyway. I was so tiny people would have missed me except for my big black eyes.

I really was blessed. I grew up with my first years on a farm, the twelfth child of George and Ida Kaler Helle. Above me were Lloyd, Royle, Joe, Delbert, Don, Ethel, Walter, Sheldon, Verle, Gene, Gail, then me, Charlotte. Tagging along the thirteenth was my sister June.

As we often tell our mates, our parents didn't have to correct us often, even thou' we were so many, "Because we were good kids." Needless to say we're not always agreed with.

I was asked just for the record to write about some of the things I remember about myself and my family as I grew up.

Well, when you've grown up in as terrific a family as mine, I could write a book, because we had the best parents in the world, and also I had the best brothers and sisters.

As I write this, I've had fifty-seven years to enrich our relationship and they've only grown better throughout the years. They've deepened as we've experienced joy and sorrow, births and deaths, marriages and a few divorces along the way.

Every birth is rejoiced by all and believe me this family has grown and grown. Every death is shared sorrow by all. But the love; the closeness are still there. We're all kicked a little by the same mule. We all write some. Many of us dabble in poetry. There's lots of music in the family.

I remember childhood on the farm. Thirteen of us kids, Mom and Pop, and my maternal grandmother. We all lived, crowded but happy. Pop was a German. Probably one of the most loving pop's in the world. Thirteen of us, and he never spanked a one of us - but then, "We were good kids."

Mom always kept a couple of switches in the corner. I always hoped I'd never get one used on me, but occasionally I did.

Morn and Pop must have had cast iron nerves. We had a long dining room table. It had to be to seat fifteen of us. My youngest sister and four or five brothers and I used to play "Bear around the table". We chased around and around that table, whooping and hollering. One was always the bear chasing the rest of us. It was a noisy game, but it usually tired us out to where we went right to sleep at bedtime.

We always had a parlor. In this parlor was a piano. Winter nights, Mom played the piano, Pop the fiddle .. .we, most of us, sang. So many lovely memories - popcorn; neighbors coming in; bringing their instruments; my older brothers playing their musical instruments.

Delbert played the violin, Royle just about any instrument. Don came along and played the fiddle. He wasn't the greatest, but he loved it, and had such determination. Walter, one of the younger five, played an accordion and harmonica. Verle played the violin. Gail played a horn in the high school band. When I was in high school I was a drum major. I twirled the baton some and also led the band in all parades. But I'm a little ahead of my story so back to my childhood.

I remember tramping the farm with my brothers. They told me an empty tank in the pasture had little men living in it. If I'd watch it I'd see them come out. I watched for hours one day. They never showed up. I think I was gullible for anything.

As a young man, my brother Royle took up magic tricks. He showed me how he could swallow a ball bearing, then pull it out of his neck. I watched him for a while then told him I knew how he did it. So he gave me the ball bearing. I swallowed it, then tried to pull it out of my neck. It just didn't come. I think Royle quit doing magic tricks after that. Mom was pretty mad.

I was given a lamb to raise when I was about four years old. It's mother rejected

it.I named him Jimmy and raised him on the bottle. He grew and followed me everywhere. One day Lloyd said, "Charlotte, we're going to cut Jimmy's tail off today." I absolutely refused to allow it. All day I guarded him zealously.

Late in the afternoon, Ethel and I walked down to the yard, sat in the shade, and I dragged Jimmy along. We got to talking and momentarily I forgot Jimmy. I remembered and jumped up, going in search, but it was too late. His tail was dripping blood and Lloyd was standing beside him.

I realize today that it had to be done, but I had nothing to do with Jimmy again ever. I completely rejected him. So he was put out with the older sheep and eventually sold. I must have been a stubborn little kid.

I started first grade when I was five years old. We walked about a mile away to a little red brick school house. I walked with my older brothers. One day Gail and I were lagging about a hundred feet behind as we started out. A neighbor came by and passed us up and picked up the older boys. I turned around and went back home. Gail was always a good kid. He went on to school. That day I found out why Mom had a switch. She whipped me several times trying to get me to go on to school, but I refused to budge. Mom gave up and let me stay home.

These little gems show I was always stubborn. I didn't realize that then. It's no wonder today my husband tells people I'm stubborn. Well I guess I'm too old to change today.

When I was about six years old, my cousin Mabel and I used to walk around cow pastures and tramp in the fresh manure barefoot. We thought it was lots of fun.

June was just the opposite of me. She and Ethel looked more like our Pop I guess. June was blond with hazel eyes. Ethel was fair with blue eyes. When I was ten and June was eight, she already weighed about two pounds more than me. June was witty, where I had to rely on my temper or stubbornness. June was sweet, lovable and cuddly, two and a half years younger than I, she made friends easily. I used to envy her.

I was a day-dreamer. After we left the farm and moved to town we walked to school. I walked along, day-dreaming, and walked across just ahead of a train coming. June, always alert, waited for the train. After that Mom used to tell June, "Take care of Charlotte so she doesn't get run over." Needless to say that went over real big. June was in the second grade and I was in the fifth.

On Valentines Day, I got a normal amount of valentines, but by this time two little boys were in love with June. One named Tommy... One named Melvin.

After school, in our doorway, we found two valentines to June from Melvin then an hour later two from Tommy. The Next day three from Melvin and a little later three from Tommy. This went on for about three days. Finally, Melvin brought a whole shoe box full of valentines and deposited at our door, "To June from Melvin." That ended the war. I do not know as either one of the boys declared their love verbally.

Grandma had a fatty tumor on the nape of her neck. Cold winter nights, June and I, who slept with Grandma, used to take turns warming it with our hands.

One sad fall, when June was eight and I was ten, we came down with sore throats and high temperatures. Mom called the nice young doctor in our small town of Wyoming, Illinois. The doctor came every day. We lay sharing a bed with our devoted mother taking care of us. Several times she asked the doctor, "Are you sure it isn't diphtheria?" The doctor always reassured her.

Finally, one day we felt better. Maybe I'm the one who felt better, but we had been down so long. We got up and played with our dolls and little dishes. June finally said "I'm tired. I'm going back to bed." I was frustrated, but she went back to bed anyway. She never got up again. The next day she went to the hospital and as near as I can remember, as I was only ten, she only lived one day.

Those two little boys who sent her valentines would come as far as the yard but they didn't come to see their little friend laid out in the parlor in her pink chiffon dress. Her illness had been diphtheria.

Walter married about the time of June's death. Lloyd, Royle, Joe, Delbert and Ethel were all married previous to this time. This left the five younger boys and Don at home as well as me. The folks moved into a house they bought at the west end of Wyoming.

Mom never got over June's death. I don't believe Pop ever did either. I guess even after twelve kids, the baby of the family has a special place in peoples hearts, and June was special. She was so bright and loving that I'm sure she was a favorite with all the family.

I have to admit there had been times in her eight short years that I had felt envious, but I missed my little playmate. Yet today, I realize many years have passed and I'd have had a much richer life if she'd lived with her beautiful spirit.

Gail, who was eighteen-months older than I was, and I were very close. We went to high school together. Gail was always gentle and loving. Gene was too. As little girls, June and I often declared we were going to marry Gene when we grew up.

Verle was one of those dashing, handsome young men. Black eyes, gay and charming. A little more of a temper than Gail and a little more yet than Gene.

Verle had a good friend, Bus White. They were always playing jokes, never any harm done, a gag here, a joke there. I was always proud of my brothers.

Sheldon married Hazel Hendrick. Don was married about the same time too. Verle and Hazel's two brothers had a band or orchestra. Verle and Bob Hendrick played violins. Verle a mouth harp along with the violin, and Elmer the drums. Bob was a good kid. Verle and Elmer were mischievous. We always say Verle was led astray by Elmer but Hazel says it was vice versa. Really they never got into trouble. Just had clean fun. .sometimes funny.

Well, Gail married his high school sweetheart. I married Harrison Osborn. Verle and Gene went into the service World War II started. Eventually Gail went too. All three came back, although Pop passed away in 1943.

Our childhood's were over. Very memorable childhood; eating eggs by the dozens at Easter; homemade root beer in the basement; Pop trading lumber for sorghum; homemade clothes; hair put up on rags for curlers; going barefoot on the farm; milking cows; Dad on the threshing runs; big meals by the women for the threshing crew; homemade ice cream; listening to Joe Lewis prize fights on the car radios with the brothers and friends; chivalry when Don got married; the friends we made throughout our school years.

Yes.. It has been a grand life and a great family. Today, 1979, I've lost, besides June, two beloved brothers. Don died in 1961 in a tragic accident and Royle died in September 1979.

We've lost several nieces and nephews, and yes our childhood is over, living now only in our memories, where they still burn bright.

Even Mom is gone, but as long as some of us are still here, they all are in our hearts and our memories.

Charlotte Helle Osborn

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