God Bless Daddy, Mother, Bill, Ron, Jerry, Carol Ann, Linda Jane, Dick and Little Tom
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Daddy carefully painted the name "Cealy" on each side of the bow in block letters with red enamel paint. He named it after Mother, using the nickname for Cecilia that he liked to use as an endearment to tease her. She didn’t like it at all and she didn’t want the name rowed all over the lake. Mother sewed the white material into the sail for Jerry’s planned sailboat. With ropes and pulleys, Jerry rigged the entire sail in our backyard at Indianapolis. It was transported, tied to the roof of the car one summer as we left for the annual family vacation. Arriving at the cottage, and after unloading, Jerry anxiously did all of the work of installing the sail on Cealy. The mast was securely anchored in the boat, tied to the rowing seat in the middle of the small craft. I don’t know that he took anyone sailing or if he went out alone before he called Tommy and I to the dock. I had the impression that this was the maiden voyage. "But we don’t know what to do," I said to Jerry. "Don’t worry. I’ll tell you what to do and when to do it. Get in the boat," Jerry said. We were quick to respond but we got in the wrong end of the boat so Jerry said, "No, get in the front. That is where I’ll be. I’m the captain and you’re the mates." "Now, isn’t that just like him," I thought. We scrambled over the seat and under the yardarm, bumping our heads as the yardarm hung quite low, near the seat. It stuck way out over each side of the boat. The sail was impressive though it hung limp. Tommy and I were excited and jabbering. "Where are the oars?" I asked. "We don’t need them. This is a sailboat," Jerry instructed. It was as though his declaration was all it took to make this work. That worried me. With Tommy and I in the bow, Jerry shoved the sailboat out onto the lake, one foot in the boat, the other heaving against the shore. We were off! As the boat reached the channel at the end of the dock and cleared the protection of the trees, the northeast breeze filled the sail and we were really sailing. Tommy and I were intent on enjoying the ride, looking forward, dragging our hands in the cool water and trying to see who else around the lake would see this masterpiece and us in it. What a proud, carefree, happy few moments. Jerry handled the rudder and the boat rocked to and fro as we shifted weight in our exciting ride. Jerry kept asking us to sit still, to try to keep the boat level, to keep our hands in the boat as dragging them in the water slowed the craft, to be quiet and listen, to be ready to tack. "Tack?!" I said, looking at Tommy who shrugged his shoulders. "Yeah, to turn around," Jerry said. "Now, do what I tell you and when I tell you to do it." Sound familiar? It did to me. We were well out into the middle of the lake, not quite as far as Roesch’s cottage or the point in the bend of the lake, but we were out there, further than I could swim. Tacking was a disaster and was never accomplished. Our attempts at tacking went something like this: "Okay, each of you untie the rope, there, on your side of the boat and hold it steady," Jerry explained. The ropes were attached to the ends of the yardarm and to the boat. We got them untied. Then we received tacking instructions from Jerry. "Okay. Now, when I tell you guys, Tommy, pull on your rope and Dick, let yours out but keep the slack out. We have to catch the wind just right to sail back against the wind to the cottage."
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About the Book
This is a book of short stories about growing up in a German Catholic family of seven children. The stories are based on the memories of actual events and activities in the life of a native Indiana Hoosier. They address issues of personal development, the importance of family ties, the experiences of a do-it-yourself family and the activities of planting, hunting and gathering. These stories are about a family making ends meet, working and playing together day by day, season by season, and year by year without knowing they were struggling. Some of the events described seem mundane and run-of-the-mill, but all of them formed the character and personality of the family members. These events and activities shaped a generation and generations to come regarding principles, values and behavior toward love for and respect of people in general.
About the Author
Richard L. Kramer was born on 7-24-41 at the home of his parents at 4350 East 21st Street in Indianapolis. He was long, skinny and not expected to live according to the family doctor--Doctor Conger. Born in a German Catholic family, he completed primary education at St. Francis de Sales grade school and secondary education at Scecina Memorial High School. While working at J.C. Penny & Co. on the Circle in Indianapolis, he completed four years at Marion College, graduating with a degree in Accounting and Business Administration. Following college, he served in the Peace Corps in Chile, S.A., for two years. The U.S. Army sent a congratulatory letter, and he spent two years at Fort Hood in Kieleen, Texas, as a "mental hygiene" specialist with the 47th Medical Battalion. Following the Army experience, he attended graduate school at IUPUI in Indianapolis earning a Masters Degree in Psychiatric Social Work. He is married and has two children with his wife Peg, a nurse. Their children are Dane Edward and Casady Lynn. He is who he is today because of the family in which he grew up and his church. He values family, respecting elders; a giving, outgoing person who has stood by his principals at great personal cost but with great personal satisfaction. He continues to work on other short stories regarding real life events that shaped and cemented his character.