Happy birthday to my father, George Elmore Rogers, Jr. (1914-1985)

 (a repost about) 

My Father was born Nov. 9, 1914, Galveston TX.

I was so loved by him, and I loved him in return, always trying to be his "good girl."
I really don't remember him ever disapproving of me, or saying no.  He would just say, you have to check with your mother on that.

What have I not yet shared about his life? (After all he lived a lot of it without me around!) (Here's another blog I posted around 2016)

 All the people around him usually had positive things to say about him, and would smile and joke with him, as I remember.

Above was a photo of our Studebaker besides our first house we owned in St. Ann, MO, probably around 1956.  My parents had owned a home in Dallas TX and Houston TX before we moved to St. Louis MO where we lived in apartments for the first 7 years there.

My dad was an accountant, and a devoted Christian Scientist who didn't go to church much.
    
His father had been a bookkeeper before him.  I guess that's why I always felt pretty secure about math.

Chauncey, Zulie, Alex, and George, Kansas City, Mo 1918  George was 4 as they visited their mother's sister's family.  Zulie was a cousin while Chauncey and Alex were his older brothers.

December, 1921, George in sailor suit at age 7, Chauncey sitting next to him with Alex in the back.

James (baby in this photo) had been born in January of 1922, and mother, Ada Rogers ("me") and George standing behind on porch wearing something on his head.  This house burned before they built a new one out of brick which was photographed in 1927 (see below).  They lived in the garage while Poppy built the new home and probably worked his full time job as well in the packing company in Fort Worth, TX.

12/26/36 Junior (George E. Rogers Jr.) at Dumble's ranch

My father's parents, George (Sr.) and Ada Rogers had married at the home of the bride's parents in Galveston, Texas, They resided in Galveston in the home built by George Sr. until 1918, at which time they moved to Meadowbrook Drive in Fort Worth, Texas, where he was employed by the Fort Worth Packing Company as office manager. This began a friendship with the company manager, Norman Dumble that lasted twenty-five years.  They would go hunting on his ranch (as in photo above.)

Poppy (George Sr.) on l, Chauncey in rear, Alex, and George Jr. on r.  

His father had been 37 when George Jr. was born. Very few photos exist where Poppy didn't look old, but he certainly was an active father all his life. 

My father never saw a doctor in his life.  His family always called him Junior with the Texan accent sounding like "Joonie."

I remember how when he'd retired from the Mother Church (of Christ Scientist in Boston, MA) and moved to Houston again, he worked part time in an Ace Hardware store.  Most of my information came through letters from my mom.  He apparently had trouble with his feet working in the store, and I suggested one of those foot-baths...which weren't at all medical.  I don't know if he ever used it.

I wasn't able to go see him in his last months, and was sorry in many ways.  But also I was unable to move beyond the strictness of the Christian Scientist refusal of medical treatment.

And my mother had always been the gatekeeper of information, which she slowly designated my sister to do...and that was not a good thing.  I got mis-information as much as truth as far as their conditions.  I'd been given sunny reports for months, and then someone else would let me know that he was dying.  Then I'd get another letter saying "they don't want you there."  This was probably because I might try to push them to get medical help.

So when he was leaving this life 32 years ago and my parents chose to have no memorial service or funeral - I sat in his memory in meditation for 40 days, and I went out to Houston from FL (after being invited) and mother gave me some of his things, like a lot of baby food jars full of screws and nails. Today the remaining screws are still in my own toolbox (but the baby-food jars are now gone.)  

I took the bus to Houston after he died, because he'd left their car to me...an older Pontiac sedan, which had supposedly been checked over by a mechanic, but had been sitting in the garage for a few months. My mom was effectively blind with cataracts untreated at this time. (When she later had a stroke, she was hospitalized and had surgery with my sister's direction so she could again see.)

I started home to FL, never having driven the old Pontiac before, and got on the bridge over the bayou near Louisiana and had a tire blow-out, and no idea how to jack up this new to me old car, or change a tire...while semi's were zooming past about 2 feet away from me (no shoulder to speak of, and of course it was driver's side rear tire.)  Some kid stopped and helped me change it, and I went and bought tires in the next city.