Official site of Tribune News serving Tomball, Magnolia and Waller

I was thinking about my cousin Wayne the other day and it made me think about his dad. Wayne's wife recently retired and I guess he is about to move into another realm of life. I will have to watch how he handles having his wife around him all day long and see how he reacts to the probable long list of honey do's and harass… ahhh…the new full time togetherness .Just kidding! Congratulations to the two of you for the long love relationship and retirement!
Wayne's dad was of course my uncle. His first name was Freddie and to me all my life he was Uncle Freddie. Unfortunately Uncle Freddie passed away many years ago, but I still remember a story that I wrote about him several years ago.
Uncle Freddie, to me, was always a quiet man. I don't recall ever hearing him holler and I really don't ever recall him getting in too much of a hurry about much of anything, well at least until a few years ago!
I saw him, first hand, do two things that really showed me how much of a hurry he could get into! Uncle Freddie worked for a local funeral home.
Now I would really like to mention the name of this establishment, but I haven't talked to anyone over there and they may not want my type of comments mentioned in the paper. Knowing the family, I think they would all laugh, but I know comments about funerals and funeral homes are sometimes taken the wrong way, when a person is in bereavement.
Uncle Freddie was one of the persons responsible for assisting people with parking, amongst other duties. Many times I have driven by the funeral home and have observed these gentleman, all in proper suit and tie, directing traffic. Rain or shine, cold or heat they have stood for long periods of time working with all sorts of drivers. They stand vigilant at their job. A somber face, proper attire and a pleasant helpful attitude.
Some days, when I have driven by, each man seems lost in his own thoughts. They appear to be trying to reserve energy and not break into a sweat on hot days.  
On one of those hot days several summers ago, I broke the silence of Uncle Freddie's day in a very unusual way.
I enjoy messing with honeybees. I've never had a real hive before, but I have enjoyed taking bees out of trees and bushes. The hives I've tried didn't last too long and simply flew away.
One day I received a phone call from a friend of mine who said he saw a swarm of bees in front of the then Church’s Fried Chicken Place here in town. (It's now Popeye's) It was near my lunchtime, so I decided to leave the office and investigate.
I stopped in and talked to the manager who explained to me several of his customers were already in a panic and he would be real glad to have me remove the bees for him. As I investigated the hive, they were real deep into his shrubbery in front of his store and I explained to him I would have to cut out parts of his shrubs in order to remove the bees undisturbed. He gave his approval and I went to work.
After a few cuts with my hand saw I was able to retrieve the swarm tightly encased on one of the limbs. I cut the limb and placed the swarm, limb and all, into a cardboard box I had in the back of my truck.
At the time I retrieved this hive, I had no place to keep them and I thought of Uncle Freddie. I knew he had an empty hive next to his garden. I needed to talk to him right away and I knew he was working at the parking lot of the funeral home.
As I approached the lot there was Uncle Freddie in his usual somber stance passing away the moments in deep thought and concentration between cars coming in for the next funeral.
As I approached his area he began to approach my truck. I began to roll down my window to talk to him when he suddenly noticed the swarm of bees frantically flying around in the bed of my truck.
His forehead wrinkled, his eyes got big as his lips began to pulsate in and out when he said "good God boy, what you got in the back of that truck!" I began to laugh, as I had never seen Uncle Freddie show such emotion. I began to realize just how amazed a guy could really be! I mean face it! Here you are minding your own business at the parking lot of a funeral home, when this nut drives up to you with a load of angry honey bees flying around in an open cardboard box! I don't know what kind of reaction I expected from him, but I did get a kick out of his facial expressions.
I delivered the bees to his house, but after several months they decided to leave. I guess they made a beeline out of the county for fear of another truck ride in a cardboard box.
More on Uncle Freddie next week.


- Clifford

"Art, Art, where are you Art? Art, come in here right now! Art, are you listening to me? Where are you Art?"
The sounds of Marylyn. I can still hear them ringing in my ears after all these years.
Art and Marylyn Cummings have been family friends for many, many years. Art and I went to high school together and after a few years, we settled into the same church.
After my wife and I were married, we joined a church known as Grace Tabernacle here in Tomball. Art and Marylyn were married and joined the same church. We both have daughters about the same age.
Art and Marylyn used to live in a mobile home parked behind the church.  As time passed, our families grew close and we began to tease each other about the ways in which each of us treated our spouses. Art and Marylyn took the brunt of most jokes, because we accused Art of being hen pecked.
Marylyn had a way of calling out to Art from inside the house. Her voice would hit nasal octaves, which could be heard reverberating between the church building and metal walls of the house for hundreds of yards away. Regardless of where Art was on the church property, he would always promptly respond with his typical, "yes honey" and then go off and do whatever he wanted to do in the first place. Most of us men respond with the same answer. We always tell our wives what they want to hear, but do it our own way anyhow.
Marylyn was one to always be involved in a good joke. She could dish them out but she could take them as well.  One night a joke was played that went real bad.
A work day was being held at the church. As with most of us, we are happy to help when we can. I had been at the church for several hours and was soon ready to leave. I had no desire to go announce to everyone I was leaving, because I knew I would get picked on for being the first one to leave, so I simply left! I didn't tell a soul I was leaving.
As I drove up my driveway, my wife came running out the door screaming at me to get back up to the church because Marylyn called and said the church house was on fire! As I turned to run back to my car, I told her to call the fire department.
I had been a volunteer fireman for several years and I knew the drill as I was making my way back to town. A call would go in to the dispatcher at the police department and a siren would sound off at Bill Snyder's house on East Main. I knew if I drove with my window down, I would be able to hear the alarm as it was being rung and would need to watch out for the trucks as they pulled out of the station. The closer I got to town, the more and more my ears strained to hear the sounds of the alarms. 
As I began approaching the church house from Main, I strained to see the smoke. I really anticipated seeing black smoke billowing from all angles of the church, when a little voice inside my head told me to hold back and not rush to the scene without a moment of caution. I turned one block early and circled the church house from a one block distance. I soon saw the fire truck parked in front of the church, but the hoses were dry and still laying on the truck. The sirens were not on and I failed to see anybody scurrying around in much of a hurry.
That small voice started telling me somebody was pulling my leg. After circling the block a couple of times, I soon garnered the courage to drive into the lot. As I got out of my car, I realized a prank that was attempting to be pulled on me had turned real sour.
What really occurred, was that Marylyn had called my home attempting to force me to rush back to the church since I left work day without telling anyone. What she failed to tell my wife was, this was in fact a joke, so when I got home and my wife told me the church was on fire, I immediately told her to call the fire department! My wife then started calling other church members and soon everybody in church was panicking thinking the church was burning down.
For once, I was innocent and this prank turned bad by causing the volunteer firemen to come out and creating a lot of potential problems.
Art and Marylyn have moved and the church has changed names.  Life goes on, but my memories of Art and Marylyn will be forever.



- Clifford

During my growing up years here in the Tomball area, I was privileged to be under many fine educators. I was always the class angel and all of my teachers had been told time and time again by my parents and all of our adult family friends how calm I was and how I never caused anybody any trouble. I was simply a sweet, little, timid boy who never caused trouble, never played practical jokes on anybody and never got into any trouble at all. (Precious Lord, I ask you to forgive me right now for lying……).
In time I will share many stories of happiness and sadness about my teachers, but for this article, I wish to relate a story about the oldest teacher I knew, Mr. Herbert Buescher. Now don't misunderstand me when I say he was the oldest teacher I knew. It's no disrespect to a fine man, it's simply fact! Mr. Buescher did turn one century old before he left this earth. Yes, that’s a one with two zeros behind it!
I have a memory of Mr. Buescher I will never forget and a respect for his stern, tender education he provided me. I really cannot remember a particular lesson in the classroom, but I do remember a lesson of life he taught me while on the playground at Tomball Lutheran School.
During the late fifties and early sixties we participated in a program called recess. I don't know if recess is still called recess today, or if it's some politically correct statement like "opportunity to participate in social activities" or "social skill development," but for us it was recess.
I was always a well behaved young man. I was always orderly and never disruptive in class. During recess I was always the quiet child sitting on the side of the playground under the shade tree, studying my English or math. (If you believe this please call me, I have a bridge in the desert for sale!)
One day during recess, teacher Buescher had gathered all of us little crumb crunchers around him, as he was attempting to put some order to the chaos of our softball game. He was standing in the middle of our group and I was holding the softball. For no reason whatsoever, I threw the ball straight into the air while standing in the middle of this crowd, not thinking of the fact what goes up, must come down! Well, it came down all right! It came down on the side of the head of teacher Buescher.
The ball grazed the side of his head and knocked his glasses lopsided. My initial reaction was to laugh at the humorous way teacher Buescher looked when his glasses were sitting on the end of his nose and crooked across his eyes, but my laughter immediately turned to one of those childhood fears of "Uh Oh, I messed up and I'm in big trouble!"
I froze in my spot expecting teacher Buescher to soon advance toward me and take me to the woodshed, but he didn't.
Teacher Buescher simply turned toward me with a long silent, stern stare. He pointed his index finger at me and, even though he was standing several feet away, I felt as if his finger was reaching into my very soul. The power of his stare and the strength of his pointed finger struck a fear in me only felt before when my dad would give me a spanking! I was cooked! I was a goner I thought!
Through the glasses on the end of his nose and the sternness in his voice, teacher Buescher had to speak only once.
He pointed and said, "Don't you ever do that to anyone again!"
The impact of his words brought embarrassment to my being. His voice and the correction in front of my many friends on the playground did more to grab my attention than any spanking could have ever accomplished. His words have been with me all my life. He didn't get mad, he didn't scream, he didn't lose his self control. He simply accomplished, with his words, a lesson learned and remembered for all my life and to this day I have never thrown another ball randomly into the air.


- Clifford