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I’ve been telling Phyllis lately that soon I will get back to writing funny columns and not dwelling on the tornado that devastated Joplin.
But it seems like every time I go online, I end up checking that list of people who perished either in or as a result of the twister, and I keep finding long-ago friends and acquaintances.
One is Leola Hardin, whom I knew simply as Mrs. Hardin. She was the mother of three and I knew all of her children: I was in scouts with her sons, Kenny and Tom, and her daughter Kathy was in my class.
Kenny, her oldest, was my mentor in Scouts. He taught me the ropes of being an instructor, a scribe, a quartermaster, a patrol leader and a senior patrol leader, as he had done it all before. He was our troop’s first Eagle Scout, and dang near pulled my arm out of socket shaking my hand and pounding me on the back when I became its second.
At school, he also showed me around and kept me out of various pitfalls: after all, he was a junior, an upperclassman, while I was a lowly freshman.
Kathy was friendly and nice, one of the first girls I found I could talk to without blushing and stumbling all over my words because it seemed like I knew her forever. On visitor’s day at Scout camp one summer, we talked about the likelihood of alien life forms on other planets and UFOs and astronomy and space and music and all the other stuff kids think about (I was a bit of a “Close Encounters” nut). I hoped she didn’t think I was geeky: at least she didn’t run away.
Then there was Tom. Tom was my perpetual tent mate in Scouts. I probably didn’t always treat him as kindly as I should have as I was pretty immature at 16 and wanted to hang out with the “cool” kids. Looking back, I was rather unkind and impatient with him at times. If you’re reading this Tommy, I am deeply sorry.
I didn’t realize it until a few years later, but Tom was, in his own way, pretty cool. He could write well, he loved sci-fi, he worked hard.
All three Hardins got a lot of their traits from their mom.
I still remember one bitterly cold winter day, taking Tom home from a campout. I had a car that was brand new when Ike was preparing to say ‘so long’ to the White House, and my ancient relic lacked something very important: a heater.
I’ve been telling Phyllis lately that soon I will get back to writing funny columns and not dwelling on the tornado that devastated Joplin.
But it seems like every time I go online, I end up checking that list of people who perished either in or as a result of the twister, and I keep finding long-ago friends and acquaintances.
One is Leola Hardin, whom I knew simply as Mrs. Hardin. She was the mother of three and I knew all of her children: I was in scouts with her sons, Kenny and Tom, and her daughter Kathy was in my class.
Kenny, her oldest, was my mentor in Scouts. He taught me the ropes of being an instructor, a scribe, a quartermaster, a patrol leader and a senior patrol leader, as he had done it all before. He was our troop’s first Eagle Scout, and dang near pulled my arm out of socket shaking my hand and pounding me on the back when I became its second.
At school, he also showed me around and kept me out of various pitfalls: after all, he was a junior, an upperclassman, while I was a lowly freshman.
Kathy was friendly and nice, one of the first girls I found I could talk to without blushing and stumbling all over my words because it seemed like I knew her forever. On visitor’s day at Scout camp one summer, we talked about the likelihood of alien life forms on other planets and UFOs and astronomy and space and music and all the other stuff kids think about (I was a bit of a “Close Encounters” nut). I hoped she didn’t think I was geeky: at least she didn’t run away.
Then there was Tom. Tom was my perpetual tent mate in Scouts. I probably didn’t always treat him as kindly as I should have as I was pretty immature at 16 and wanted to hang out with the “cool” kids. Looking back, I was rather unkind and impatient with him at times. If you’re reading this Tommy, I am deeply sorry.
I didn’t realize it until a few years later, but Tom was, in his own way, pretty cool. He could write well, he loved sci-fi, he worked hard.
All three Hardins got a lot of their traits from their mom.
I still remember one bitterly cold winter day, taking Tom home from a campout. I had a car that was brand new when Ike was preparing to say ‘so long’ to the White House, and my ancient relic lacked something very important: a heater.
I guess Mrs. Hardin noticed something as we were putting Tom’s backpack and bedroll in his room — probably our loudly chattering teeth! Soon she was making us boys some hot chocolate and inviting us to sit by the woodstove.
She sat either sewing or knitting, I don’t remember which, and asked me about school and hobbies. Soon, we were all three talking books and whatever else came up.
That brief respite was much welcome. Shortly, feeling had returned to my feet and face and I made the two-mile trek to my own house much improved by the fire, the hot chocolate and the fellowship.
I remember how Mrs. Hardin always supported her kids and was enthusiastic about their activities. I remember working with Kenny on his Eagle service project and having lunch at the family’s little green house on Montana Place.
One thing I’ll always remember is her kindness. If there were a message I could deliver to her, it would be thanks and to tell her she raised three good children. They had a great example.
John Ford is managing editor of the Neosho Daily News. Email him at jford@neoshodailynews.com.
