tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32951974147502925182024-03-13T12:00:08.225-05:00Remembering RonMy brother, Ron Noe, passed away on October 20, 2007 from cancer at the age of 52. In his short time here with us, he touched many lives in many different ways, some good, some not so good, but he touched them just the same.
He was a brother, son, husband, father, uncle, cousin, and friend. I wanted a place where I and others could come and share how he touched their lives.
Please join me in "Remembering Ron."
Sherihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10528657451787922138noreply@blogger.comBlogger20125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3295197414750292518.post-90136737114870530462016-12-20T18:11:00.001-06:002016-12-20T18:13:27.551-06:00Has been a long time...<h3 class="post-title entry-title" itemprop="name">
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I haven't written on this blog for a very long time, mainly because I
didn't need the blog to help me remember (a day doesn't go by that
something doesn't remind me of my loved ones who are gone) or to heal. <br />
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I don't think healing is the exact word I want, but it will serve. One
never really gets over loss, but you do learn to live with that black
void that tends to follow you around. It lurks like a ghost, just on the
edge of your emotions, ready to reveal itself on a moment's notice,
blindsiding you with the weight of the grief you thought you had come to
terms with.<br />
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This year the ghosts of the past have been lingering more than I would
wish. My mother, the last of my childhood first family, passed away
April 15th, 2016. She had been in decline since 2011 after a stroke. At
times, she didn't know who I was, at other times, she was back in the
past—back to her early teen and adult years. I don't know who she
thought I was, but I could always tell if she knew me or not based on
her reaction to me. If she didn't know me, she was oh so polite,
thanking me for whatever I did, etc. If she knew me, it was more of a
attitude that would order me about, tell me to go get or to do. No
stranger politeness. And that was okay, because I knew when she knew :)<br />
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Toward the end, she had several more strokes and could not talk or
really move much. But I think, when I looked into her eyes, she knew me.<br />
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I hope so anyway. And I hope she is with Ron and Dad.<br />
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Below are a few details we shared about Mom at her funeral, though it is
very hard to honor a life in a few short paragraphs. I do hope to write
a book about growing up...mainly because I want to get things down,
before I forget too!<br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>In Memory of Mom</b><br />
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<i>Tell me not, in mournful numbers, </i><br />
<i>Life is but an empty dream! </i><br />
<i>For the soul is dead that slumbers, </i><br />
<i>And things are not what they seem. </i><br />
<i>Life is real! Life is earnest! </i><br />
<i>And the grave is not its goal; </i><br />
<i>Dust thou art, to dust returnest, </i><br />
<i>Was not spoken of the soul. </i><br />
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<i>~ Longfellow, </i><br />
<i>'A Psalm of Life'</i></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">June was born
June 10<sup>th</sup>, 1923 in Salem Ridge (Germantown), Kentucky to Ira Disher
Hicks and Carrie Kemper Woodward. The youngest of three siblings, she often
spoke fondly of her early years growing up on the farm and of her memories of
family and friends. Her sister, Hazel was a quiet, soft-spoken girl who preferred
books and music to romping and adventure. June suffered through her piano
lessons, always eager to join her older brother Norman on adventures or playing
games outside when they had time away from chores. June was a bit of a tomboy. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">In later years,
June's tomboy personality found an outlet in watching baseball, football, and
basketball on television along with the occasional wrestling match or roller
derby. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">June learned the
meaning of working hard and hard work from her father. She recalled, once when
she was quite young, maybe four, the whole family was working the fields --
they grew tobacco as well as had dairy cows, etc. -- and June sat down in the
fields and proclaimed she was tired. Her father got off the wagon, paddled her
behind and sent her right back to work. She said after that, she never ever
said she was tired again. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">During WWII, she
left the farm and moved to Dayton, Ohio where she became one of the many women
answering the call for war effort workers. As one of the "Soldiers Without
Guns," she worked for NCR (The National Cash Register Company) assembling
bomber engines. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">It was while
working at NCR that June met Grover Noe. He started working there shortly after
returning home from the war.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">On March 27<sup>th</sup>,
1948, June married Grover Cleveland Noe in Lexington, Kentucky. June then had
to quit NCR because, at the time, the company had a policy about married women
working there. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">She discovered
shortly thereafter, that she wasn't cut out to be a stay-at-home mom/wife, and
actually enjoyed working outside the home. So, June went job-hunting. She had a
short stint working for a factory that sewed garments for a retail store,
before being hired by The McCall Pattern Company in Dayton, Ohio as a
handfolder (folding patterns by hand). She worked at McCall's until the early
1960s, when Grover bought a full service Texaco service station in Phoenix, AZ
and moved the family west. Grover's brother Bill and family moved with them.
Bill worked for Grover in AZ. The station was called, "Grover Noe's
Texaco." June ran the office, and Grover ran the service bays/pumps, etc.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">In 1967, they
sold the station and moved back to Dayton, and June was rehired by McCall's. In
1970, McCall's moved to Manhattan, KS and June came along as a trainer for the
handfolding department. She eventually became supervisor over handfolding,
holding that title until her retirement. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">June was an avid
walker, sports fan, loved puzzles of all kinds, chocolates, and animals. Later
in life, when an ailing hip kept her from walking, she'd take great pleasure in
watching the squirrels and bird feed in the backyard. As a child, she had many
pets including a squirrel she'd befriended. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">Before leaving
AZ, Ron and Sheri were given a large white rabbit they named Snowball. June
taught the rabbit to follow her around the house and to actually use a
newspaper for its business. Snowball and June's <span style="color: black;">Chihuahua,
Peaches, became reluctant friends in competition for June's attention. On the
move back to Ohio from AZ, both rabbit and dog traveled with the family,
claiming spots on the seats. At one restaurant stop, Snowball and Peaches
managed to get out of the station wagon and somehow made it inside the
restaurant and ran right to June at the table. Ron had to smuggle the rabbit
out under his shirt while June placed Peaches in her pocket. Animals loved her.</span></span><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><span style="color: black;">Here is a little more info. on NCR and the WWII part of her life: </span></span></b><br />
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<b><span style="color: black; font-family: "times new roman";">Involvement in World War II</span></b><br />
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "times new roman";">During
World War II, Dayton, like many other American cities, was heavily involved in
the war effort. Residential neighborhoods in Dayton and in nearby Oakwood
hosted the Dayton Project, in which the Monsanto Chemical Company developed
methods to industrially produce polonium for use in the triggers of early
atomic bombs, including those dropped by the United States on Hiroshima and
Nagasaki, Japan.</span><br />
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "times new roman";">Dayton
was also home to the National Cash Register Company whose employees built
airplane engines, bomb sights and code-breaking machines, including the
American bombe designed by Joseph Desch which helped crack the Enigma machine.</span><br />
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "times new roman";">NCR:
During World War I the company manufactured shell fuses and aircraft
instrumentation, and during World War II built aero-engines, bomb sights and
code-breaking machines, including the American bombe designed by Joseph Desch.</span><br />
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "times new roman";">Five “E” Awards</span><br />
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "times new roman";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In World War II, NCR carried on a number
of major projects in the war effort, and received five Army-Navy “E” awards.</span><br />
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "times new roman";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>During this period, NCR produced MK4
rocket motors, was the sole production source for the 58 Chandler-Evans
aircraft carburetor, which was used on the B-29 long-range bomber that
ultimately carried the first nuclear bombs, and turned out K-3 and K-4 analogue
computer gunsights, used in bomber defense systems.</span><br />
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "times new roman";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In addition, the Company produced more
than two million M-42 antiaircraft time fuses, and made a million and a quarter
magazines for the Oerlikon gun, a Swiss model that the Navy adapted for
shipboard antiaircraft use.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In addition,
the Company manufactured about 10 million spare parts for carbine rifles.</span></div>
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Sherihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10528657451787922138noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3295197414750292518.post-58566042462079017192011-08-20T13:45:00.001-05:002011-08-20T13:46:56.645-05:00Long Time Since...It has been ages since I have posted anything myself to the memory blog, but lately with all the upheaval with our Mom, I have been thinking a great deal about Dad and Ron. Especially Ron. Not really memories but a sense of expectancy. Sometimes it is just plain odd, like I am expecting him to show up. When it happens, I really do have to stop and remind myself he is no longer with us. Funny how the mind plays those tricks on you. The bigger question for me is why? I honestly can't decide if my mind is trying to take me back to happier times or warn me of bad times on the horizon. Or whether I just need someone to share the worry? Who knows. It is odd, no matter what.<br />
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The feelings, when they happen are both unsettling and strangely comforting. I can't even begin to explain it. Needless to say, since Mom had her stroke, Ron's been on my mind a lot. His birthday is next week, so maybe that has something to do with it. Or maybe his spirit really is near - staying close to Mom - watching over her, and I am some how sensing him? I really don't know, but the notion is as I stated above, unsettling as well as comforting in an odd sort of way.<br />
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Time has a way of moving forward whether we are willing to follow or not. Justin, Ron's son is all grown up and has joined the Navy; Jessica, his daughter is no longer that little girl that sat on his lap, and as each day passes, we form new memories. Time flows and we are swept along.<br />
And maybe that's it, maybe it feels like we are moving too fast away from what was and that makes me want to pause, for just a bit, and remember what was.<br />
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Happy birthday, Ron.<br />
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Sherihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10528657451787922138noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3295197414750292518.post-74842816008603648722011-08-11T19:34:00.003-05:002011-08-11T19:38:06.946-05:00Ron's Olds - A memory from Eric<p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px; font-family: arial; "></span></p><div>I knew Ron Noe when I was in High school. He was a good guy. We had the same Auto mechanics course taught by Mr. Charles Schaler, a very capable instructor who I wish I could meet up with today (but has thus far alluded my Google searches.) </div><div>
<br /></div><div> </div><div> </div><div>Anyway Ron was a Senior and I was a lowly Sophomore. He had this wonderful 1940's or 1950's Oldsmobile that he'd inherited from his Grandfather, and he worked on it periodically in the auto shop class at the same time that I was trying to coax my dad's '58 Volkswagen back to life. </div><div>
<br /></div><div> </div><div>Ron's car was big and heavy and ugly, but had a lot of character. Our days in auto shop were in the fall - winter of '73 and the winter- spring of '74, just before the Arab oil embargo, and gas was still cheap. This was a good thing because a '50s Oldsmobile needed a lot of gas. Some wiseguy coined the name "The Noe-mobile" which was the name of a 1967 Disney movie called "The Gnome Mobile", and occasionally, at the sight of the car driving through the overhead door of the classroom, someone would burst into rousing song with the movie's theme which went something like -</div><div>
<br /></div><div> </div><div>"The Gnome (Noe) mobile the Gnome mobile</div><div>Riding along in the Gnome mobile</div><div>Oh what a wonderful sight to see</div><div>Riding along in the Gnome mobile"</div><div>
<br /></div><div> </div><div>You get the picture.... it was stupid but pretty funny, given the unique nature of the car at the time and the fact that we'd all been about 9 years old when the movie came out. </div><div> </div><div> </div><div>So one winter day in January, the parking lot just behind our shop class was slick, icy and cold. Ron had his Olds and another kid had an '57 Chevy pick up truck. They decided to have a pushing contest to see which could out-push the other on the slick surface of the lot. We all lined up inside the (heated) shop and watched with amusement through the window, as the two vehicles locked bumpers and proceeded to gun the engines; it looked like two raging buck's going head to head in a mating battle. Ron's Old's would get the edge on the pick up truck, only to have the truck push him backward across the ice. This went on for five minutes and we cheered them on.... even Mr. Schaler, who was seldom amused by anything, was standing there smiling at the action. </div><div>
<br /></div><div> </div><div>I don't remember who won the contest but it was great to watch, and the nearest thing we'd ever seen to an all out demolition derby. I don't know what happened to the car and lost touch with Ron after he graduated high school.</div><div>
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<br /></div><div>I hope that this post will bring a smile & good memory to Ron's loved ones, he sure was a lot of fun to know as a high school senior and you have my sincere condolences on the loss of this great & fun person. </div><div> </div><div> </div><div>With best regards,</div><div> </div><div>Eric R. Thompson</div><p></p>Sherihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10528657451787922138noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3295197414750292518.post-29321953701233142422010-08-05T09:00:00.002-05:002010-08-05T09:13:14.953-05:00Crosswind Live 1988 DVD Vintage Rock Band<div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; "><b id="mainContent" style="font-weight: bold; "><h1 class="vi-is1-titleH1" style="font-size: large; font-weight: bold; color: rgb(51, 51, 51); line-height: 27px; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; "><a href="http://cgi.ebay.com/Crosswind-Live-1988-DVD-Vintage-Rock-Band-/190427421929?cmd=ViewItem&pt=US_DVD_HD_DVD_Blu_ray&hash=item2c565bdce9">Crosswind Live 1988 DVD Vintage Rock Band</a></h1></b></span></div><div><br /></div><div>Hi all,</div><div><br /></div><div>Remaining members of the band known as Crosswind have put together a vintage rock DVD - One More Time Reunion, if you will - with Ron, Max, Jim, Tom and Steve. The DVD is shipping now, click on title link above. </div><div><br /></div><div>The net proceeds from the sale of the DVDs will be used to create a memorial to Ron Noe and Max Davidson, Crosswind members who have, sadly, left us. </div><div><br /></div><div>So, if you loved Crosswind, here's your chance to revisit the memories.</div><div> </div><div><br /></div><div>Details:</div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; -webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; "><p><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;">Crosswind Performance at The Blue River Pub in Manhattan, Kansas, 1988.</span></p><p>Please spread the word.</p></span></div>Sherihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10528657451787922138noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3295197414750292518.post-42161029349490570432009-10-16T07:46:00.001-05:002009-10-16T07:47:53.937-05:00Last week's episode of <span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">Stargate Universe</span> had a subplot that dealt with loss of loved ones. The character was reliving a painful part of his life. He'd loss both parents at a very early age and their deaths haunted him, though he had suppressed it. One of his lines, and I can't recall his exact words, only the essence of it, was, "Some things you never get over."<br /><br />I find this very true. Loss affects us. It wounds our spirit. It leaves its scars. Some wounds are so small that they're little more than a skin scrape, but some wound very deeply, the wound barely healing before something comes along to open it again. You never truly heal, never truly become whole again.<br /><br />Death of someone near and dear to you is like that wound that never heals. Time dulls the pain, but it never fades. It doesn't take much to bring it to the surface. A song, a whispered word, a stray memory that opens a floodgate of memories and there you are, dealing with that loss all over again.<br /><br />In time, you adjust, and you even find joy again. You move forward but you take with you those scars of life. The memories still come, unannounced, out of the blue, and give you pause. At times, they might be bittersweet; other times, they might be a welcome stroll down memory lane, a magical moment that lets them live again. I think it depends on what memory surfaces.<br /><br />Once in a while, I look out across an open field, or drive down a road, and I think about all those people who occupied this space before me, and I wonder about all those who will take possession after I'm gone. And then I see my dad or my brother looking at the same field, or driving that same road and I always think: Yesterday they, too, were here, and today they are simply gone.<br /><br />Vanished from scene.<br /><br />"Some things you never get over."<br /><br />October 20th will be two years since Ron left us. Hardly seems possible to me, but there it is, two years. I hope some of you will share your memories with us and allow us to celebrate a life well lived, though short.<br /><br />Remember, we never truly fade away, as long as we are remembered.Sherihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10528657451787922138noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3295197414750292518.post-80828695377281272422009-08-28T06:15:00.003-05:002009-08-28T08:13:48.375-05:00Happy Birthday, Ron<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_XKcIVsZVIEE/SpfArEAdMvI/AAAAAAAAAEI/gAmsidKPBDs/s1600-h/Dad,+Sheri+Ron.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 232px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_XKcIVsZVIEE/SpfArEAdMvI/AAAAAAAAAEI/gAmsidKPBDs/s320/Dad,+Sheri+Ron.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5374976526332539634" /></a>Yesterday, August 27th, was Ron's birthday. <div><br /></div><div>When someone passes away, certain dates are both sad reminders of the loss as well as reminders of all those memories that you shared. Both good and bad. They're days for reflection. And though sometimes bittersweet, they serve a purpose. As you take a moment to reflect, you allow those who have passed on to live again, if only in your mind.</div><div><br /></div><div>I have heard people say that you get over death, but that's not true, you simply learn to live with death. What is true, in most cases, is that time does help you remember with a smile instead of a tear.</div><div><br /></div><div>I don't believe anyone can argue against how much Ron loved life. He also loved people, and never ever truly met a stranger. I wish he had written down his escapades, because I guarantee you, there were many! Just the ones I knew of were head shakers. I can imagine what the ones I didn't hear of were like! After some of Ron's escapades, my dad used to shake his head and mumble, "Only Ron." Which expressed so much with so little words.</div><div><br /></div><div>Ron also had a bad habit of reacting first, thinking later. A broken arm because he thought he could take on a very large tree. The tree won. A silver cap for a front tooth after a fight with a skipping stone. You guessed it, the stone won. Driving my grandpa's Olds right up a tree, not harming the car or the tree but leaving my dad completely flabbergasted! Walking through glass patio doors because Ron thought they were open, crashing through the high school smoking court glass windows because of a cherry bomb, burning a hole in the back seat of the Duster because well, who knows why. I always assumed it was those great big speakers he had placed back there and someone's careless cigarette ash. If someone hadn't noticed the smoke, I imagine the whole car would have been toast even though surrounded by water. It was how he told my parents, I most remember. He walked in after being at the lake, got something to drink, fixed a sandwich, and said, "Oh, by-the-way, I burnt a little hole in the Duster's back seat."</div><div><br /></div><div>My mom went out to look, and then I heard, in fact the whole neighborhood heard, "A LITTLE HOLE? A LITTLE HOLE!" Turns out that little hole was dang near the entire back seat. I laugh now, but it wasn't so funny when I inherited that car with the burned up back seat!</div><div><br /></div><div>It's kind of funny what memories choose to surface on reminder days. Things I'd almost completely forgotten, but still things that were fun to recall. Ron used to like to "scare me." Now that could be turning doughnuts with the car, me held captive by the moving car while he performed these daredevil feats in the snow or in a dirt field. Or, trying to spook me by hiding outside in the dark and making spooky noises beneath the window. He usually found himself locked out!</div><div><br /></div><div>When we lived in Oakwood, we had a live-in great aunt who I now consider to have been more than slightly kooky. She took care of us while Mom and Dad worked. I say kooky because, well, she was. Between her and my grandpa, Ron and I were surrounded by eccentrics while our parents were away. I never completely understood why Mom and Dad didn't notice. Or maybe they did, but that was long ago and a far different time than now. </div><div><br /></div><div>Grandpa used to sit on the front porch and throw bazooka bubble gum at the neighborhood kids, not just toss, I mean bean them. It was like target practice for him. The kids loved it, they dodged and teased and got free gum, if not a few bruises for their efforts. My great aunt, which my grandpa actually did not like at all, was responsible for "watching" us.</div><div><br /></div><div>Needless to say, we were pretty much on our own. My aunt was a character just waiting to be created in a book. And she may be if I ever find the time to write a story that suits her. She was a heavyset, old maid, who was passed from family member to family member as she had no place to go. I think she thought becoming out babysitter after my grandma (her sister) passed away would be an easy job. I mean, we were <i>SO</i> well behaved.</div><div><br /></div><div>Well, her idea of behaved and ours clashed and strange as it seems, we had an Allie in Grandpa. Anything that made my aunt have to get up from watching Billy Graham or the daily soapbobbers was encouraged and a victory for my grandpa.</div><div><br /></div><div>Looking back, I really don't think we were bad, but we were kids and we enjoyed being kids. My aunt enjoying kids? Not so much. </div><div><br /></div><div>When she lived with us, Ron and I had to share a bedroom. It was neatly divided. My half had my dolls and other girl stuff, Ron's had models of monsters and monster posters and those horrid plastic gummy like bugs that looked very real. I hated those bugs! Ron hung all those monster models from the ceiling. Vampires, werewolves, the monster from the deep lagoon or whatever that reptilian thing was, you name it, if it was a monster, he had a model of it. At night, with only the moon shining through the windows, the effect was quite surreal for a very young girl and the cause of many a nightmare.</div><div><br /></div><div>Our room bordered next to my aunts. Every night I would fall asleep with the shadows of those monsters drifting over me and the sound of my aunt's voice in prayer. She'd start low, but her voice would build and then she would begin to wail for forgiveness for the day's sins. I remember thinking that she sure was bad to have to be up half the night asking for forgiveness.</div><div><br /></div><div>Ron and I both recalled her with mixed feelings, she was a kook but at times a very fun kook. She had very long hair, very long, which she wore in a long braid coiled about the back of her head. When she undid her braid and washed her hair, it reached to the floor. As it dried, she'd allow us walk through it. It felt like a curtain of soft silk. And she was the only adult that would serve us brownies for supper. </div><div><br /></div><div>When my mom found out, well, that wasn't pretty, but as kids, we sort of thought we had hit the lottery. I suppose feeding brownies to kids for supper was one of those sins she prayed to be forgiven for. Who knows. We enjoyed it!</div><div><br /></div><div>Memory lane is fun to stroll down, especially when you can do so without the sharp pain of loss. As I noted, they are bittersweet, but serve to remind us of those who have gone on before us...and in that remembering, they truly do live again.</div><div><br /></div><div>Happy belated birthday, Ron, wherever you now roam.</div><div><br /></div><div> </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Sherihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10528657451787922138noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3295197414750292518.post-87577649629457382312009-02-06T15:33:00.003-06:002009-02-07T09:24:04.920-06:00Another blog, Another Touching MemoryI wanted to share this link with you. It's from a friend of Ron's, Gretchen Jones. She wrote a very touching tribute to Ron that I hope you all will find as special as I did. She has a great photo of Ron at the bottom, one that captured his sparkle.<br /><br />One of the things that really touched me was her mention of Ron's childlike joy at seeing Christmas lights. He loved holiday lights, and the decorating, and everything Christmasy and I thought it wonderful that she choose to write about that.<br /><br />I hope you'll surf over and have a read.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.gretchenjones.com/?p=37">Gretchen Jones Memories of Ron</a><br /><br />Gretchen has also been kind enough to upload several photos from the<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/26749299@N04/"> Just Say NOE to Cancer Benefit</a>. I hope you'll surf over and view.<br /><br />Thank you, Gretchen!Sherihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10528657451787922138noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3295197414750292518.post-75683552749615094502009-01-28T10:32:00.002-06:002009-01-28T10:51:23.940-06:00Wealthest Man in the WorldIt's a funny fact of life, it seems that one never fully comprehends, and for many, appreciates what they have, until it is gone. I think deep down, Ron always knew he was a rich man, even with all his self-doubts and insecurities. Yes, he truly did harbor these fears within him though I think he hid most of them well—fears of not being liked, of being unable to find success, of not being loved…all plagued him.<br /><br />He faced some of those fears a few years before our dad passed away. A sort of cleansing that I think they both needed. And though at the time, I thought it might have been an unnecessary hurt for a man who tried to raise us the best he could, in retrospect, I think it helped them both. They laid the demons between them to rest, while they could, and had no regrets. Not many of us can say that.<br /><br />But I digress. I do believe deep down Ron knew he was a rich man, and always knew it though rarely took time to explore that knowledge. Not rich in material possessions, but wealthy beyond belief in friendship and loyalty. And I don't think he truly understood what that wealth was or meant until the day of his cancer benefit. That day I saw it in his eyes, and heard it expressed in his voice, and felt it expressed in his emotions and in the emotions of those who surrounded him with hope and concern.<br /><br />I remember when he first told me others wanted to do a benefit for him, how he seemed reluctant to accept. His pride making him uncomfortable with not only asking for help, but also realizing that he wanted that help. Whether he viewed agreeing as a failure on his part or a weakness that may have translated into failure, I don't know, I only know that on the day of that benefit, he knew he was the richest man in all the land. As I stated at the start, many of us rarely understand this simple truth. Rarely do we realize just how much we mean to others or how much others mean to us. It's a rare gift when realized.<br /><br />The outpouring of love, support, and hope he received that day left him in awe. The fact that others cared so much for him that they came in droves to help, both family and friends, touched him, and offered him hope.<br /><br />Now, don't get me wrong. Ron loved attention, loved to be in the limelight. He thrived in that light and he relished the social aspects. My dad used to like to say that Ron never meet a stranger. And that was pretty much true, because within moments of meeting someone, he or she was already a friend. I have always envied him that natural ease with people.<br /><br />But, there is a darker side to being social, to needing to be liked, and to not wanting to be alone. Sometimes his judgment wasn't so sound, sometimes he trusted people who he shouldn't and often, he got hurt. These hurts, betrayals, if you will, cut him to the quick. Yet, he was so worried about others seeing him as a failure, that he showed only the "I'm OK, I'm doing great," face to the world.<br /><br />As his only sibling, I was privy to many of these hurts and betrayals. Some he committed, others committed against him. When his relationships went rocky, I usually knew why. Yet, some betrayals hurt him so bad, or caused such a sense of shame that even I didn't find out about them until after his death.<br /><br />Ron and I drifted apart during one such betrayal mainly because he refused to see the truth and I could no longer stand to watch the destruction. He didn't want to admit things were as bad as they were, his pride would not allow it. That fear of failure again, I suppose. He really didn't want others to judge him and find him lacking. Sadly, few would have, but how do you tell someone that when they aren't ready to believe? So, in my own way, I betrayed him, too.<br /><br />After he told me he had cancer, we talked, and I learned a great deal about both hurt and strength and soldiering forward even when all he saw ahead of him and around him was hopelessness. I watched as he never gave up hope, how he fought to live, and never stopped believing in miracles. He just never truly gave up on himself even when so scared.<br /><br />Yes, Ron was a wealthy man, and to some extent, the bravest man I have ever known. Despite the cancer that robbed him of life at such a young age, I think he was also the luckiest. Brave because he faced his demons and refused to lose hope, and lucky because of the vast wealth of friendship he possessed.Sherihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10528657451787922138noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3295197414750292518.post-27388765253513506272008-12-13T08:58:00.002-06:002008-12-13T09:01:28.784-06:00For Random Memory PostsI'm creating this thread with the hope that it will make it easier for others to post their memories...sort of a catch all.<br /><br />If anyone has photos they wish to post, email me the photos and I'll post them for you!<br /><br />Thanks, SheriSherihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10528657451787922138noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3295197414750292518.post-29666448675592008472008-12-13T08:20:00.002-06:002008-12-13T08:26:49.836-06:00Ron's Memory Marker<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_XKcIVsZVIEE/SUPF-t0WWkI/AAAAAAAAAD0/H-CsuaiBxS8/s1600-h/Ronnie+Stone.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_XKcIVsZVIEE/SUPF-t0WWkI/AAAAAAAAAD0/H-CsuaiBxS8/s320/Ronnie+Stone.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5279280869450078786" border="0" /></a><br />This is a photo of Ron's memory marker. I want to personally thank Tom Wiley for sending it to me.<br /><br />To Tom, along with Jim, Steve, and Max, Ron's brothers, if not by blood, certainly by spirit and love, thank you. Through your thoughts and actions, Ron lives on.Sherihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10528657451787922138noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3295197414750292518.post-4851028518423992822008-12-12T06:54:00.004-06:002008-12-12T08:56:56.119-06:00"Crosswind-Ron Noe Memorial Scholarship" InformationCrosswind PM announces creation of<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">"Crosswind-Ronnie Noe Memorial Scholarship"</span><br /><br />October 26, 2007, Carrollton, Texas<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">The Crosswind—Ron Noe Memorial Scholarship</span> is a scholarship made available to graduating students from Wamego High School who plan to continue their education in the arts, business, or technology fields.<br /><br />The scholarship is awarded each year on March 15th. Applications are available within the Wamego High School guidance office. Criteria for the award will focus on areas that were of interest to Ron and how they relate to his love for music (Arts, Business, and Technology). Also influencing the award will be a candidate's efforts in helping grow or mentor others as Ron did with Crosswind President Tony Johnson.<br /><br />Crosswind President Tony Johnson had the following to say about the scholarship. "In creating this scholarship, it provides an opportunity to continue what Ronnie did with so many, and allow that impact he had on people to continue. I remember when I was 15 years old and met<br />Ronnie, how he was a mentor to me in helping me grow and evolve.<br /><br />"To this day, a lot of those lessons I learned from him and others while riding in the blue school bus, I still apply as we operate Crosswind with products sold in 41 countries. This scholarship will help young people who want to grow and develop, discover what the world has for them, a chance to do so."<br /><br />For further information contact:<br />Crosswind Project Management Inc.<br />214-764-1338 X7102 or <a href="http://groups.yahoo.com/group/Crosswind/post?postID=xKPj7FIOFg7Zm9P2G0Rsw6XyGDLMJspWoNpHMv1d6uxsd4jS0qX37LaiDRnuN0KYVQmgOOhzVSS6kPpwJMk">info@...</a><br />attn: Denise Nichols<br />General Manager<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">A Note from Sheri:</span><br /><br />What a wonderful way to honor Ron. Perhaps, in time, they will broaden this award to include students at Manhattan High, Ron's high school. I hope so. Thanks, Tony, for doing this.Sherihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10528657451787922138noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3295197414750292518.post-51360883887954465942008-08-23T20:26:00.005-05:002008-08-23T21:28:24.611-05:00August 27th<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_XKcIVsZVIEE/SLC5W7lXu_I/AAAAAAAAACA/1Z_V1IM2cNo/s1600-h/Ron1961birthday.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_XKcIVsZVIEE/SLC5W7lXu_I/AAAAAAAAACA/1Z_V1IM2cNo/s320/Ron1961birthday.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5237890170234584050" border="0" /></a><br />August 27th would have marked Ron's 53rd birthday if he had lived. As the date approaches, I find myself reflecting on many things, moments that only siblings can share: all the giggles, the smiles, our fears and tears and the fights -- Ron did so love to pick on me. I often thought it was a hobby of his or he considered it his brotherly duty. I usually broke out in tears, he usually got in trouble. But though we fought and argued, just let some other kid try to argue or fight with one of us and the other was right there, ready to do battle...the way of siblings: I can pick on my brother or sister all I want, but don't you dare.<br /><br />Scenes from the neighborhoods of our youth flash in my mind, the kids we ran with, the long lazy days of summer and the fun of chasing lightning bugs and staying up late. Come fall, the smell of leaves burning filled the air and Halloween with its ghosts and goblins running door to door on Beggar's Night. Oh, how Ron hated to have to drag me along. There was lots to do, candy to be had, and little sisters did nothing but slow him down. [We used to carry extra bags with us because we got so much candy that we would drag the heavy bags on the ground...eventually the bags would break and we would have to stop and transfer all our loot to new bags.] And I remember the old house down the street from us when we lived in Oakwood. Not one of the neighborhood kids would walk past that old house, nope, not on your life, because it was haunted and every kid in the neighborhood knew it even if their parents didn't. And Halloween was a time to stay far away from any haunted house.<br /><br />Winter brought snowmen and snow forts, and snowsuits so thick you could barely move and of course, Christmas! The spring rains washed away winter drabness and ushered in the joy of running outside without coats. Spring also brought Easter and flowers and the release of restlessness from being couped up all winter long.<br /><br />Memories, thousands of them, all jumbled up and sleeping until something causes them to awake and haunt my thoughts. August 27th seems to wake them from their slumber.<br /><br />Above is a picture of Ron's sixth birthday. It was taken in the house my dad built on Indian Ripple Road in Beavercreek, Ohio. The year is 1961. I can barely recall the kids in the picture...except Norm Jr., my cousin--He's next to Ron, Ron has his arm across Norm's shoulder, and of course me at the far right end. I vaguely recall the older girl in the back and the boy on the far left...neighborhood kids, siblings as well, but that's it. Yet for some reason I recall this birthday, the games we played, and those silly hats! It is a fond memory filled with pin-the-tail on the donkey, balloons, gifts, and, of course, cake and ice cream, giggles and laughter.<br /><br />Happy birthday, Ron, wherever you may be.Sherihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10528657451787922138noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3295197414750292518.post-55727492206061011012008-04-27T10:51:00.009-05:002008-04-28T06:26:15.462-05:00Photos of Ron from his MHS Class of 1974 30th Reunion<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_XKcIVsZVIEE/SBSjR39jh3I/AAAAAAAAAB4/9ocOYlT_Ay8/s1600-h/Reunion+30+years_0836.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_XKcIVsZVIEE/SBSjR39jh3I/AAAAAAAAAB4/9ocOYlT_Ay8/s320/Reunion+30+years_0836.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5193955797740259186" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_XKcIVsZVIEE/SBSjHn9jh2I/AAAAAAAAABw/IIuewqxgQMU/s1600-h/Reunion+30+years_0788.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_XKcIVsZVIEE/SBSjHn9jh2I/AAAAAAAAABw/IIuewqxgQMU/s320/Reunion+30+years_0788.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5193955621646600034" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_XKcIVsZVIEE/SBSisX9jh0I/AAAAAAAAABg/ul3pgl_Btkw/s1600-h/Reunion+30+years_0776.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_XKcIVsZVIEE/SBSisX9jh0I/AAAAAAAAABg/ul3pgl_Btkw/s320/Reunion+30+years_0776.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5193955153495164738" border="0" /></a><br />I received some great photos from a classmate of Ron's: Connie (Thompson) Visitacion, who right now is in England (lucky lady!). Connie can be reached at kanivisit @ gmail . com<br /><br />(Close up the spaces.)<br /><a href="http://mail%2Ekanivisit@gmail.com/"></a><br />I was so happy when another classmate of Ron's, Rhonda McCabe, contacted me, then contacted Connie about sending the photos. Without either lady, I wouldn't have the pictures to share.<br /><br />These 30th reunion photos were taken out at Black Jack Hills in St. George, KS, Ron's business.Sherihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10528657451787922138noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3295197414750292518.post-90277043721803534722008-03-30T20:11:00.006-05:002012-07-23T19:32:34.474-05:00Wallace and Ladmo, KRUX, and the Monkees!The other day, I was watching some show, I can't even recall which one now, but someone made a reference to <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Wallace_and_Ladmo_Show">Wallace and Ladmo</a>!<br />
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Wow, instant walk down memory lane.<span id="formatbar_Buttons" style="display: block;"><span class="down" id="formatbar_CreateLink" onmousedown="CheckFormatting(event);FormatbarButton('richeditorframe', this, 8);ButtonMouseDown(this);" onmouseout="ButtonHoverOff(this);" onmouseover="ButtonHoverOn(this);" onmouseup="" style="display: block;" title="Link"></span></span><br />
Not just because Ron and I used to love to watch the Wallace and Ladmo Show, but the mere mention of the show made me think of the 60s, Phoenix, AZ, canals, KRUX-AM 1360 radio station, and the Monkeemobile!<br />
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Now, I'm sure you're wondering what all these things have in common. Well, Wallace and Ladmo were just the kick start that took me back to Phoenix, which took me to the canals where we sometimes played, which took me to the very day we were playing in the canals out near the KRUX radio station when the monkeemobile came to town!<br />
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<span style="font-weight: bold;">A bit of history: </span>For a time in the 60s, we lived in Phoenix, AZ. Our dad had bought a gas station there which he called <span style="font-style: italic;">Grover Noe's Texaco</span><span style="font-style: italic;">. </span>It was really a family business, with our mom and uncle working there as well and sometimes a cousin or two. That left Ron and I with plenty of time on our hands after school, on weekends, and during the summer when we didn't have to go and hang out at the gas station. Now, don't get me wrong, we had a lot of fun hanging out at <span style="font-style: italic;">Grover Noe's Texaco,</span> but we also really enjoyed days we got to stay home and run with the neighborhood kids.<br />
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One of the "in" things to do was explore the canals, and many times, swim in them. Now, first, we weren't supposed to, and second, the term swim is being used loosely here. What really happened was the older kids would toss us in the canal and the current would grab us and send us flying along where other older kids waited to fish us out! As I think back on those days, it makes the hair rise up on my arms, but we were kids, what did we know?<br />
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On one such adventurous day, we all decided to hike the canals and see if we could discover something interesting to do. We just never knew what might become entertainment.<br />
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There were maybe ten of us in all, though the only name I can recall was Candy, a girl in her teens, who played a mean tambourine in the band Ron was with (he was in grade school!). Ron had a BIG crush on her. I had a case of hero worship, I guess, as she was the first "older" girl that let me hang around with her, which was pretty cool! Anyway, we all followed the canal for a while and soon found ourselves out by the KRUX radio station.<br />
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And that's when things went a little crazy! We all spotted the Monkeemobile about the same time. Wow! The Monkees! OH MY GOSH!! They were right here, at our local radio station! The Monkees!<br />
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I recall just standing there with my mouth hanging open while Candy took off like a flash around the side of the building. Ron and the rest of us soon followed. As we rounded the corner, there was Candy trying to crawl through one of the station's window, bound and determined to get in and see Peter, Mike, Mickey, and Davy!<br />
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With Ron's help, she actually got boosted halfway through the window before some man came around the side and ran us off. Or I ran, at least. I'm a coward. I think the rest of them sort of trotted.<br />
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All the way home we whooped and hollered. Wow, the Monkees! Weren't we just the luckiest kids in the world! We talked (bragged) about seeing the Monkeemobile for days, and as I recall now, the story grew by leaps and bounds the more it was told. We all became the envy of our peers, at least for a while. Which for us, made us stars!Sherihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10528657451787922138noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3295197414750292518.post-60020043784979947042007-12-24T12:14:00.001-06:002007-12-24T12:31:52.587-06:00The Goose, the egg, and the rowboat<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_XKcIVsZVIEE/R2_3OBMBUJI/AAAAAAAAABQ/8aBNRDwgWmk/s1600-h/covered+bridgeRon.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_XKcIVsZVIEE/R2_3OBMBUJI/AAAAAAAAABQ/8aBNRDwgWmk/s320/covered+bridgeRon.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5147604719316848786" border="0" /></a><br />The Holidays are never easy, and this year it seems will be harder than usual. I thought about posting a Christmas gone by memory of Ron, but then decided instead to tell you about one summer on the Island, a goose egg, and a rowboat.<br /><br />The Island, as we called it, was a small, wooded piece of land bordered on all sides by water with two roads in. One with a beautiful covered bridge (pictured) and one just a wood-lined road with a rather ordinary bridge. It was located in Xenia, Ohio, and was owned by our dad's best friend, Jack. It was a place of rivers and creeks, cabins and woods, and mischief for bored kids.<br /><br />I can't really remember a time when we were kids that we didn't visit the Island. Winter found us sitting in Jack's lodge house, roasting marshmallows over the fire or stomping around in the snow and falling on our butts as we tried ice-skating on the river. Summer visits were filled with memories of playing "Shot in the Dark" or catching fireflies or just simply being lulled to sleep by the repetitive chirp of crickets and the deep, earthy croak of bullfrogs.<br /><br />One summer, Ron and I were allowed to take the rowboat out on the river alone, no parental supervision. Wow! We had stern instructions to stay up near the lodge house or even farther up river, but not to go past the bridge, and to steer clear of the dam. "Sure, no problem," we said, all smiles and sweetness. And we meant it!<br /><br />So, away we go, Ron rowing, because he said he knew how, which he really barely did, and me facing him, riding along. I envisioned a calm, leisurely ride, just a nice way to pass the afternoon.<br /><br />We slowly worked our way against the current, taking in the way the old tree branches hung low on the bank, how fish gathered near the branches that had dipped beneath the water, and even admired the ducks and geese floating near our boat. Oh, so very picturesque.<br /><br />Then, things changed. Geese and ducks aren't always friendly, and pleasant afternoon boat trips have a way of turning on you. One goose kept swimming near the side of the boat and honking at us. If that wasn't odd enough, at about the same time, we both noticed a small white ball floating in the water near the goose. We shooed the goose away and upon closer inspection, we decided it wasn't a ball, but neither of us could figure out exactly what it was.<br /><br />I, ever the cautious one, said we should maybe just leave it alone. Ron, always the opposite, reached down and fished it out of the water. He held it up and smiled. It was a goose egg. And before I could say, "Okay, great, now you know, and hey how about we put it back," the water-soaked thing burst into a mess of yucky, slimy egg yolk and stink. Oh my, did it stink.<br /><br />We had rotten goose egg innards all over the boat, all over Ron, everywhere, plus a very angry goose in the water next to us. And we were nowhere near the dock.<br /><br />Ron started rowing, trying to outrun the smell – as if – and the goose! Then, because we were just a bit preoccupied by the smell and the goose, almost too late we realized we were heading toward the dam.<br /><br />Screams rang out and operation "rowboat reverse" went into effect. I'm paddling by hand, Ron's rowing like a madman, the smell isn't going away, and neither is the angry goose. The other geese and ducks were looking at us like we were crazy, and if things weren't bad enough, there stood our dad yelling at us from the shore. He didn't look happy. Who knows what he was saying, we couldn't hear him through the noise of our laughter and the honking goose! I mean, what else was there to do but laugh? The whole situation was absurd!<br /><br />Finally, we made shore, docked the boat, and just fell out on the grass and continued laughing until we had tears in our eyes. My dad rolled out a hose and, you guessed it, hosed us down. The laughter turned to shrieks as the spray hit us. Then, still dripping, we hosed out the rowboat while that crazy goose floated nearby, still honking, almost like it was scolding us. I rather believe it was.<br /><br />So ended the adventure of the goose, the egg, and the rowboat.<br /><br />I know it's one of those stories that you had to be there to appreciate the silliness, but things like that always seemed to happen to us. Just another day in the life of the Noe children.Sherihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10528657451787922138noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3295197414750292518.post-65883808019202875562007-11-13T17:27:00.000-06:002007-11-13T17:29:05.643-06:00The GTO/MHS/Franklin and anything elseI didn't know Ron very well, he was my older brother Jeff's age, but I did know him casually because my brother would sometimes hang out with some of the same guys Ron did. I recall one time that me, Ron, my brother Jeff, Greg West and a couple of other guys were having a few beers and Ron was installing a new intake manifold/carb setup on Greg's stupidly fast red 440 six pack Plymouth 'Cuda....in spite of the beer, Ron got Greg's car up and running. This is also how I remembered Ron's pale green GTO.<br /><br />I wanted to also share another incident that I remember Ron from, in those days, I drove a blue Mach 1 Mustang which was also no slouch in the acceleration department. Anyway, sometimes I would pull up alongside Ron in his GTO at a stoplight or vice versa and we would do what any red-blooded American kids with fast cars would do, which is of course engage in "just for laughs" stoplight to stoplight races. One time, I pulled up next to Ron on Poyntz Ave., heading into town at the bottom of the hill where the MHS was. I did the obligatory engine rev to get Ron's attention.<br /><br />Ron responded by doing a VERY smoky "burnout," in which you hold the car stationary with the brake and use the engine's power to spin the rear tires which produces a dramatic cloud of tire smoke if you have a car with a strong engine and hold it back with the brakes long enough. This was funny enough, but what made it downright hilarious (maybe a little mean also) was the fact that there was this poor little old man with a cane crossing the street behind us at exactly the same time Ron did the burnout in the GTO.<br /><br />This poor old guy was literally engulfed in tire smoke, all you could see was his arm coming out of the cloud of tire smoke, shaking his fist and yelling at Ron. We both took off quickly after that, but I could see Ron was laughing just as hard as I was, neither of us saw the little old guy until it was too late, LOL.<br /><br />Sheri, I hope you get a chuckle out of this. It's funny, all these years later, you can still vividly recall specific incidents from those days, you didn't even have to know the person very well to still retain the memories of the "good times" in those care free high school days.<br /><br />Take care and God Bless,<br /><br />Stu Sendelbach<br /><br />Sheri Comments:<br /><br />Oh, I can just see it!<br /><br />When Ron went off to join the navy, we were supposed to take care of the GTO, drive it from time to time, etc. Mom would never ever allow me to drive it, said it would send me to Topeka with just one punch to the pedal! LOL I did eventually drive it, and it did have a lot more get up and go than my Duster <g><br /><br />Thanks so much for sharing. Reminds me, too, of a Mr. Franklin story and Ron. Unfortunately, I was involved by association <g>.<br /><br />That man would chase you all over town to catch you skipping class. When I was in Jr. High, Ron in High School, he had the '72 Duster at that time, my mom wrote him a note to leave school and come take me to the dentist. Sounds all fine and dandy, I had a pass, he had a pass, only thing is, he didn't let Mr. Franklin know he had a pass!<br /><br />So, Ron barely stops at the curb by Johnny's Store and yells at me, "Get in!"<br /><br />I hardly had time to shut the car door when the chase was on! And he enjoyed it as much as I think Mr. Franklin did.<br /><br />We didn't make it to the dentist until after we had raced all over town with the poor guy chasing us and I was dang near late for my appointment.<br /><br />Ron pulled into the stall at the Dentist's office and rolled down his window as Mr. Franklin pulled in, got out and came along the driver's side door. And just before the guy opens his mouth, Ron flashes his pass and smiles sweetly with that silver tooth twinkling. I swear! So, by the time I got to MHS, Mr. Franklin wasn't too cool on me either LOL<br /><br />During Ron's senior year, the man had broken his leg, so wasn't quite the chaser. I ran into him years later at a company Christmas party and he said, "Boy, do I remember you two!"<br /><br />Funny now, not so funny, I'm sure, to him.<br /><br />SheriSherihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10528657451787922138noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3295197414750292518.post-4608814645574328342007-11-12T19:08:00.001-06:002007-11-12T19:20:05.279-06:00Dwight L. Barnes Jr. High<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_XKcIVsZVIEE/Rzj5c-nQPGI/AAAAAAAAABI/bXs4_0Ao_TU/s1600-h/RON+NOEBarnesid.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_XKcIVsZVIEE/Rzj5c-nQPGI/AAAAAAAAABI/bXs4_0Ao_TU/s320/RON+NOEBarnesid.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5132126051627973730" border="0" /></a><br /><dl id="comments-block"><dt class="comment-author" id="c5407946749357773445"> Terry said... </dt><dd class="comment-body"> <p>I still have a junior high ID card of Ron's that he gave me when we were in JR. High (Manhattan). I'm not sure why he gave it to me, but I have kept it all these years. I will miss seeing him even if it was every five years. Terry (Yeager) Keller<br /></p></dd></dl><dl id="comments-block"><dd class="comment-footer"> <span class="comment-timestamp"> <a href="http://rememberingronnoe.blogspot.com/2007/11/rons-first-band.html#c5407946749357773445" title="comment permalink"> November 11, 2007 5:49 PM </a> <span class="item-control blog-admin pid-1180979231"> <a href="delete-comment.g?blogID=3295197414750292518&postID=5407946749357773445" title="Delete Comment"> <span class="delete-comment-icon"> </span></a><a href="delete-comment.g?blogID=3295197414750292518&postID=5407946749357773445" title="Delete Comment"> </a> </span> </span> </dd></dl>We moved to Manhattan in 1971. The above ID was from Dayton, Ohio, and I think this was Ron's 9th grade ID from when we attended Dwight L. Barnes Junior High. Terry, thanks for sharing this with me. I had forgotten we had ID's at that school LOL<br /><br />I've often wondered what happened to some of the kids Ron ran with from Dayton: Joe, Keith, Lee, and so many others whose names escape me now. Lee and Keith were in a band with Ron. Again, practice was at our house. Lee and Keith actually where kids from Page Manor area of Dayton, but continued to hang around with Ron after we moved to South Blvd. in Kettering. I've lots of memories about Page Manor and the "band," but I'll save that for another day.Sherihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10528657451787922138noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3295197414750292518.post-65601775437498893022007-11-11T12:40:00.000-06:002007-11-11T12:43:10.274-06:00Ron in his later years, possibly 2003<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_XKcIVsZVIEE/RzdNLunQPDI/AAAAAAAAAAw/BA4Ecn0EtZc/s1600-h/Ron03+copy.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_XKcIVsZVIEE/RzdNLunQPDI/AAAAAAAAAAw/BA4Ecn0EtZc/s320/Ron03+copy.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5131655164298542130" border="0" /></a><br />This is a photo of Ron taken, I think in 2003, maybe 2004. I'll post more after I get them scanned.<br /><br />SheriSherihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10528657451787922138noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3295197414750292518.post-37286237613194036252007-11-11T12:27:00.000-06:002007-11-11T12:34:27.682-06:00Ron in his 20s photo<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_XKcIVsZVIEE/RzdLEOnQPBI/AAAAAAAAAAk/6R_le92BKMo/s1600-h/ron20s.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_XKcIVsZVIEE/RzdLEOnQPBI/AAAAAAAAAAk/6R_le92BKMo/s320/ron20s.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5131652836426267666" border="0" /></a><br />Nancy, this is Ron in his early 20s, I'll do another of him when older in a new thread...I do have photos of him with the GTO but I'll have to scan them to my computer. I'll try to get to that later for you. BTW, if anyone has photos they want to share and can't figure out how to post them, (I am not sure either how others do this), then go ahead and email them to me with your comments and I'll create a thread and post the photos.<br /><br />SheriSherihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10528657451787922138noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3295197414750292518.post-76225466953524786422007-11-10T11:07:00.000-06:002007-11-11T14:54:44.803-06:00Ron's First BandMy brother Ron was a person who loved music, listening and playing. From a very young age, he drummed. I mean he drummed on the coffee tables, the windows of the car, across my back, the walls, any place that would produce a beat, he found it.<br /><br />He was given his first real set of drums when he was in grade school. We lived in Arizona at the time, and he was so excited to receive that sparkling red metallic kit. (Santa brought me a Kazoo. Most likely because he knew it was something I could handle.) And within a few weeks, Ron was playing in a real garage band with kids who were in high school. Of course, practice was always at OUR house.<br /><br />Songs like <span style="font-style: italic;">Little Black Egg With the Little White Specks</span> and <span style="font-style: italic;">Eve of Destruction,</span> boomed from our living room. I'm sure the neighbors where quite pleased. After he played his first gig for a teenage girl's Sweet Sixteen birthday party, he was hooked. From that time on, no matter where we lived, he managed to find a band in need of a drummer. And I never stopped requesting, at least in those early years, my favorite drumming song <span style="font-style: italic;">Wipe Out.</span> He would always groan, but he never failed to play it.<br /><br />When you think of Ron, bands and his drums, the band Crosswind immediately comes to mind, at least around here, but I recall his very first band. No, not the one in AZ, but the one formed in Dayton, Ohio so many years ago.<br /><br />The band consisted of two people: Ron who was 9; and me, I was 6. We had just returned from a family night out at the Ice Capades. My mom and dad, as well as my Aunt Alpha and Uncle Herman were gathered in the living room, a true captive audience, while Ron and I played our own rendition of the song <span style="font-style: italic;">HANG ON SLOOPY.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Hang on sloopy, sloopy hang on</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">(yeah) (yeah) (yeah) (yeah)</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Hang on sloopy, sloopy hang on</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">(yeah) (yeah) (yeah) (yeah) </span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Hang on sloopy, sloopy hang on </span><br /><br />Pencils served as microphones as well as Ron's drumsticks, and the bottom of a small mental trashcan provided the beat. Each of us had donned our cherished Beatle wigs and we bopped and jumped and twisted, our wigs sliding first forward, and then backwards as we played and sang our little hearts out.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Hang on sloopy, sloopy hang on</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">(yeah) (yeah) (yeah) (yeah)</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Hang on sloopy, sloopy hang on</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">(yeah) (yeah) (yeah) (yeah) </span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Hang on sloopy, sloopy hang on</span><br /><br />We had practiced for weeks for that small fifteen minutes of fame and the applause from our adoring fans was well worth it LOL<br /><br />It's a very fond memory, and one I will always cherish.<br /><br />A few facts about <span style="font-style: italic;">HANG ON SLOOPY</span>:<br /><a href="http://www.songfacts.com/detail.php?id=3901">http://www.songfacts.com/detail.php?id=3901 </a><br /><br /><a href="http://www.ohiohistorycentral.org/entry.php?rec=1878">http://www.ohiohistorycentral.org/entry.php?rec=1878</a><br /><br /><br />"We never truly fade away as long as we are remembered."Sherihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10528657451787922138noreply@blogger.com4