Grandma and Grandpa Boyer, c 1950

Delightful letters from Grandpa and Grandma

Sylvia shared these wonderful precious letters to Aunt Doris from Grandma and Grandpa.

From the description of my parents, Jim and Gerry, looking for a new place to live, we can date these letters to 1961 or 1962 and almost certainly 1961. Tom

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I am pleased to share a letter that Grandpa Boyer wrote to my mother Doris sometime in the 1960s. After reading it, I could see why she saved this letter. It evokes Grandpa’s voice so strongly. I did add a few periods here and there, but otherwise this transcription is true to Grandpa’s unique style and spelling. I now feel affection for his use of “frome” for “from” and “hoap” for “hope,” etc., preferences that never changed over his life. Folded into his letter was also one from Grandma, included below. From the references to family events, someone may be able to figure out the actual year these letters were written. Sylvia

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June 21 (1961)

Dear Doris,

This is one of those nice rainey days, just an ideal day to write letters. But I can’t get the letter writing spirit. I just finished a letter to Tom an answer to a letter frome him some days agoe. It took me most of the afternoon to write two pages. I don’t know what to write about and don’t know how to say what little there is to write. I told Mother I am going to stop writing letters and make a phone call about once a month. But Mother thought a nine dollar phone call to Japan plus a call to Hightstown was more than we could afford. I told her she would have to do the writing. But she said she could only write when I did. I said I would make believe I was writing while she wrote the letter. But she said no soap. So what do I do now. You say Write. That is easy for you to say. I get paper and pen, sit down at the kitchen table. Now I am all set. I decite I want a cup of coffee. I tell Mother. She says No I am going to make supper we will have coffee then. I say I want it now. Mother says no. I get back to the letter again which I haven’t started yet. I look out the window it is still raining. I look around the kitchen for inspiration but there is nothing there. Mother is mixing biscuit dough for a strawberry short cake. I have given up the idea of a cup of coffee til suppertime.

It does not bother me any more. Correction Mother just surprised me and sat a steaming cup of coffee in front of me. Now to writing. But the problem still is what to write about. I could tell you about the lousey T.V. late show I didn’t watch last evening. But I don’t think you care one way or the other. I like to talk about my akes and pains and all my other troubles but I don’t think you would care to hear about them. Of course there are the things that happen around here that you can use to fill in space. Like for example I got up shortly after nine oclock yesterday morning, had breakfast. Then got to work on the screen door and one window sill tore the old screen off painted the doore and window screen. While it was drying I had lunch mowed the lawn by that time the paint was dry. With Mother’s help I put new screen on both doore and window screen and put new moulding on the doore it made a big emprovement. Before we was finished Uncle Clate come. It was the first time we had seen him for quite awhile. He gets around good he still uses the cane but says he could get along without it. I finished the doore and Mother made a lunch then Paul called and asked if he could use the car. His car was at the place he works he had come home in the truck for some reason I don’t know he invited us along. Mother did not feel like going. But Uncle Clate and I went along. Roots Market is not very far frome Lancaster. So after we got done shopping we took Uncle Clate home. All I got at the Market was two boxes of strawberries. So strawberry short cake for supper.

We spent fathers day at home except my going to church in the morning. Gerry and Jim come here after church. Mother kept Tommy for them they stayed and had dinner with us. Pete and his family stopped off for a little while. Geneviave was in the hospitle on mothers day. So she brought a big two layer cake topped with icing and strawberries for Mother and I. Pete give a cigarett lighter. Jim and Gerry give me two of those heavy mittens you use around cooking. Also a pair of big tongs to use to turn stakes and other meat on the grill. We spent last Tuesday afternoon and evening with Ethel. We had a nice time it was the first time we visited with Ethel for some time. I suppose Mrs. Light told you we have a new minister at Cornwall. Frome what I have seen of him I think I shall like him. Uncle Clate is going to Rev. Wilkensons church in Lancaster. It is late now I listened to the news on T.V. then we watched T.V. for awhile then I had a long chat with Uncle Gere. Then Paul and Geneveave come they brought the mail among it was a swell box of candy. I have made a big hole in it already. It is very good candy. Mother has gone to bed some time agoe. I will close now thanks so much for the candy. I wish for you and the girls a very happy and restful summer vacation. And that goes for you too Harold when your vacation comes up. Give Barbara a hug for Grandpa. Mrs. Light talked so much about her. She made me homesick for her. Give my Love to all, Dad

P.S. I hoap you understand my writing Problim now.

Note: Grandma kept her promise to write a letter if Grandpa did. See below.

Thursday morning, June 22

Dear Doris,

I will add a little to Daddy’s letter. I enjoyed your nice long letter to me. It was also good to hear your voice on the telephone. There is something about your enthusiasm for life and things you are doing, that gives a person a lift.

I think I used to have some of it too But I’ve lost it somehow.

Last week Ethel had her vacation and Daddy and I spent a very nice day with her.

One week we entertained half of the family to a barbecued chicken feast. We had 20 legs and 20 thighs and franks. I made baked potatoes in the oven also a big bowl of salad and cup cakes with marshm. icing for dessert cold lemonade and watermelon to finish with.

The next week we did the same thing for the other half of the family. Of course we set the table out in the yard. The one day was beautiful and cool. The other day we had to come in and finish because of rain.

Jim and Gerry are home hunting either to rent or buy. They would rather rent for a year or two but the rents are from $80 to $100 a month for anything desirable. So they really have a problem. Things are really hard for young people these days to get any kind of a start. Did we tell you that Allen has his Masters now and accepted a new job at Jeffsville for about $1,000 more a year. That should help them a lot.

I wrote a big letter to Aunt Ethel yesterday. I haven’t seen her for quite a while. She writes pretty often.

Peter and Allen and Jim are all working at the gap this summer. Allen has an office job I believe, and Jim and Peter are managers of the P.X. I guess Allen is in a different part of the place and probably won’t see the other boys at work.

We had a nice letter from Alice with 4 very good pictures of Timmy. Alice is feeling better now as she is over that morning sickness. I guess you do know there is a baby on the way again. It will be hard on Timmie as he will be so little too. But it will also be nice for him to have a little playmate. I hope Alice doesn’t have any complications. I think it is hard on her system to go thru so much in such a short time.

We are looking forward to seeing you when you come up this summer. I will close this so we can get it mailed soon.

Much Love, Mother

Memories of Grandma and Grandpa

Mother’s Day Speech, May 1994, First United Methodist Church, Trenton

By Doris Boyer Wilson (1921-2009)

As I collected my thoughts for my talk today on this day when we honor mothers, I thought that of all the roles today’s mothers must fill, that of nurturer is most important. Good mothers are always nurturers, but not all nurturers are birth mothers. We could mention many but I am first reminded of Abraham Lincoln’s famous words about his mother — the mother who cared for and encouraged him — “All that I am or hope to be I owe to my angel mother.” And she was not his birth mother. So today I would like to honor all those who fill the role of nurturer.

The influence of a good mother can be very far reaching as expressed in this excerpt from the book Days of Grace by Arthur Ashe. He says and I quote, “I know that I haven’t always lived without sin or error but I know that I have tried at all times to be good and honest. I have never sinned or erred without knowing that I was being watched. Who was watching me? Among others my mother, Mattie Cordell Cunningham Ashe, watches me. She died when I was not quite seven and I remember little about her except for two images. My last sight of her alive. I was finishing breakfast and she was standing at the doorway looking lovingly at me. She was dressed in her blue corduroy dressing gown. And I remember the last time I saw her in a coffin at home. She was wearing her best dress made of pink satin. Every day since then I have thought of her. She is with me every day, watching every thing that I do. Whenever I talk to young people about the morality of decisions they make in life I usually tell them — Don’t do anything you couldn’t tell your mother about.” Now I must add that in his book he also credits his father and speaks of his influence and expectations for good behavior.

An interviewer once asked Arthur, “How is it that I never hear anything bad about you? Why are you such a goody-goody?” He just laughed and told her what I have just told you.

In the closing chapter of his book, he addresses a letter to his daughter in which he says, “Camera, have faith in God. Do not be tempted by pleasures or material possessions into thinking that religion is obsolete or that worship is beneath you. Spiritual nourishment is as important as physical or intellectual nourishment.”

This is the legacy of one of the finest men of our time and he passes it on to his daughter, to us, and to this nation of ours so troubled by its rising crime rate, for surely we are finding that we can’t legislate morality and that by adding more police officers or building more jails we are not solving our problems. It will take time but we are becoming increasingly aware that we need strengthening of the family and a return to the old-fashioned values and morality if we are to have a better society . . .

As I think of my own upbringing I find that I cannot speak of my mother without acknowledging my father who dearly loved her and stood firmly behind her in all matters pertaining to our upbringing. In this regard I am reminded of a line from the play, How Green Was My Valley. The young son says, “If my father was the head of the family, my mother was its heart.” Ours was indeed such a family. It was an old-fashioned family, though I feel quite sure typical of those times. My father was the breadwinner. He tended the fires (no small chore in those days of coal-fed fires). He planted and tended our large vegetable garden and did the things that were considered men’s work. He was a strict disciplinarian and we never dared to disobey him. We learned at an early age that if we wanted permission to do anything it paid to ask Mother. For it seemed to us our father felt that if we had to ask permission the proper answer was “no.” But we also knew that in any emergency he could be counted on to come to our rescue, like the time I dropped my school book in a rain puddle and was afraid to go to school the next day and he dried it until it was good as new.

Mother was the tender nurturer. Since we were a large family there were always little ones to care for. We were a one-car family so she was always at home. It was a standing joke in the family that when any one of us returned from school the first question was, “Where’s Mother?” My father said we would stumble over him to find her. However when he got home from work or doing errands his first question was, “Where’s Mother?”

Since I was the oldest of seven children I could see as each of my brothers and sisters arrived how tenderly she cared for each new baby, bathing, feeding, rocking and singing to them. Years later I had an experience that showed me just how important this kind of care is. I had a boy in my first-grade class who had some emotional problems. He was an adopted child and was under the care of a professional counselor. This man came to see me before school started to clue me into the situation. He said the boy Ricky had been abandoned by his parents as an infant and placed in an institution where he was physically well cared for. He was bathed, diapered, fed and sheltered and given what the counselor called “crib care.” That means that although his physical needs were met, he was never held or cuddled, rocked or talked to. The counselor told me that it is very difficult for a child with this kind of background ever to become an emotionally mature person. The family that adopted him knew of his problems and were willing to spare no effort to help him but the prognosis was not good.

To get back to my own family, it was my mother who was responsible for our spiritual development. She grew up in a small church called simply the Christian church. Her faith was simple and firm and we lived by her principles.

In our home we honored God and God’s name — no swearing. We showed respect for our parents and all adults, were taught to be kind to each other and to our friends. We knew that lying and stealing were sins and at night we knelt by our beds to say our prayers which our mother always heard. My father was an agnostic, not an atheist. He didn’t deny that there was a god but he simply found too many things in church teaching that he questioned or didn’t understand. He never opposed my mother, in fact upheld her belief and for many years cooked Sunday dinner so she could come home from church to a cooked meal. Mother sang alto in the church choir and, following her example, or rather with her encouragement, all of us excepting one brother eventually joined the choir. She also played the piano so there was much music in our home. She and I often harmonized on hymns or anthems as we worked around the kitchen. In those days there were many kitchen chores and doing them together gave us lots of time for companionship.

It was of great concern to her that my father was not baptized and it was of great comfort that eventually he was baptized and did become and active member of the church.

Although Mother was deeply religious she was not pious or austere. She had a great sense of humor and could laugh at herself on occasion — a healthy and endearing quality.

We all remember how she enjoyed surprising us with special treats. Money was scarce in those depression years but she made molasses taffy or fudge and during snowstorms would scoop up some fresh clean snow to make snow ice cream. She had a way of making simple things seem special — a nice glass of water, some good fresh bread, or a nice warm bath.

We lived in a small town which I suspect was the size of Plains, Georgia, today. We had a neighborhood school, a church, gas station, country store plus post office.

My parents came from widely different backgrounds. My mother grew up in the city of Harrisburg. My father grew up in a mountain home. As children we benefited greatly from our exposure to these widely different cultures and we enjoyed both — riding the trolley cars in the city and picking berries in the mountains. I have often felt these differences both in their background and their religious views gave us a broad view of life, making us less likely to become narrow-minded or bigoted.

Because both my parents came from big families — each came from a family of eight children — I have many relatives. I have always greatly valued my extended family. And like most of you I’m sure I have in that extended family dear friends who are closer than some blood relatives.

When I passed the age of childhood I found that both of my parents included me into the adult world. My mother and I became good companions and did many things together. As the oldest child I did have a special place in the family. Now when I asked my father for permission or for help in making decisions I found him fair and reasonable and a day came when he said I trust in your good judgment to make the right decision.

In closing let me say that I feel I was fortunate in having loving, caring parents and am happy to have had this opportunity to remember and honor them.
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A new book about Great-Grandpa Peter from Allen Boyer

Allen Boyer has written a new book about Great-grandpa Peter's life and experience in the Civil War. He weaves in descriptions of the war, the hard times, and Peter Boyer's experiences in the Union Cavalry using Peter's own letters. It is a very nice read and very informative.

Allen is willing to share the manuscript with anybody who would like to read it. He or I can email it to you -- just ask. We thought it best not to post the whole manuscript to a public place, but here's a taste just to get you hooked. The title is "What Peter Saw".

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Peter Boyer was a teenager. He lived in the mountains of South Central Pennsylvania near a small town called Brickerville. As a boy, he enjoyed playing in the woods with his brothers and spying on any animals that passed by. While most children grew up with toys to occupy their time, Peter occupied his time with nature.
One of four brothers, Peter grew up in a family that worked hard. Peter’s father owned a shoe shop where he repaired shoes for other people in the community. Peter’s home was surrounded by unspoiled land where he and his family were able to plant and grow beans, potatoes and other vegetables that could be canned for the winter. His parents expected Peter and his brothers to help around the house. One of the jobs Peter and his brothers did involved walking around the woods and to gather twigs. The small branches would be used by their mother to start and maintain a fire in their home for preparing meals. Water was also located outside their home. Every morning Peter or one of his brothers was expected to carry buckets of water in from a near by creek or spring, even during the winter.

In addition to doing chores around the house, Peter and his brothers also helped with raising crops. Potatoes, corn and beans were some of the things they would help to plant and harvest. While living off the land was hard work, it was a peaceful existence. It was a life of give and take between the Boyers and nature. For every ear of corn or every potato the land would produce, Peter and his family would care for the land so it was ready for the following season’s harvest.

The Boyer family had developed a quiet harmony with nature. A harmony of working and caring for the land and taking what the land gave them in return. However, the harmony of Peter’s life would soon be interrupted. It would interrupted by events far from Peter’s home.

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Rather than be drafted, Peter thought it would be a good idea to enlist in the Union army. When he signed up he learned he was making a three year commitment to serve. He also learned he would be paid ten dollars a month. From those ten dollars, Peter would usually send some home to his family. Eventually Peter was placed with the 17^th Pennsylvania Cavalry. It was one of the three Cavalry regiments being formed at the request of President Lincoln.

Peter traveled to Camp Simmons, a military camp located near Harrisburg, the state capital of Pennsylvania. Growing up, Peter was comfortable on a horse and took great pride in writing home about his success in basic training for the cavalry.

I passed my examination bully and when I rode my horse I went over the rail the first jump like nothing. I like soldiering first rate and am glad I enlisted.

It would be one of many letters that Peter would write home. Most soldiers weren’t as fortunate as Peter. There were many challenges for a soldier to write home. One problem for a soldier was finding a spare piece of paper to write on. Loose paper was not a common thing to find on the battlefield, which made writing home difficult to do. Another challenge to writing home was postage stamps. Being able to find stamps was one thing, paying three cents a stamp was sometimes a bit costly for a soldier earning ten dollars a month. In one letter home Peter wrote:

If you write again send me some postage stamps. I am out of stamps and out of money too.

While a lack of stamps and paper could keep a soldier from writing home, the biggest obstacle for a soldier to communicate with family was lack of an education.

A lot of the young men involved in the war were not well educated. In those days, school was only held five or six months out of the calendar year. A good many young men came from rural settings where an education was less important than helping the family with daily tasks. If a soldier was from a farming background, an education was less valued than helping to bring in crops, feed animals, or help the family work the land. As a result, a good number of soldiers were not educated enough to write. They would often have to seek out fellow soldiers who were better educated and could write letters for them.

Peter Boyer was able to write most of his own letters. As a young boy Peter had educated himself by using his brothers’ books from school. He also developed an interest in other countries and in other time periods. Because of his education, Peter may have even written some letters for other soldiers in his cavalry unit. He may have also read letters for soldiers who couldn’t read.

During his time at Camp Simmons, Peter experienced a fairly straight forward process for being trained as a cavalry soldier. When they arrived for cavalry training, a typical Union soldier came with little experience riding horses. Some Union soldiers grew up on farms and came with some riding skills, but most did not. Some recruits were lumberman, some were mechanics, some came from backgrounds that didn’t require the use of horses. Because of this lack of experience, cavalry training would begin with the basics. Soldiers were given instructions on how to groom and care for their horses in the field. How to ride a horse was also part of their training. Once basic riding skills were mastered, soldiers were then taught how to fight while riding a horse.

Most cavalry soldiers were provided with a sword or bayonet to use. Combat training was very limited. Sometimes during training, soldiers were asked to ride towards a target and practice chopping at it with their sword. They were also drilled in how to handle a sword when not riding a horse.

Peter enjoyed his time training as a soldier. However, not all of the men at Camp Simmons were as happy. While at camp, Peter saw the arrival of a group of young men who were drafted into service. Watching them arrive in camp, Peter could tell that the men weren’t happy to be there.

There came 360 drafted men on our camp last night. They were pretty near all down hearted and mad. They even talked of running or breaking through the guard.

Memories of Grandpa's house...

I was wondering if anybody else would like to share memories of Grandpa's house.

I remember Grandpa's house as a little bit worn out, but always a warm and happy place. It was just the two rooms downstairs, a living room and a kitchen. But it was all he needed. Really it was all any of us would need. I would go back now and I'm sure I would love it as much today as I did when I was little.

He had a swivel chair with cracked brown vinyl upholstery that he couldn't part with even after his children bought him a new chair. I remember the white stuffing coming out of the arms. Is my memory correct that he held the upholstery of that chair together with duct tape?

The floor in the kitchen was old wrinkled linoleum with a pattern of light gray and green -- I can still picture it vividly and touch it in my mind. (When you're little you spend a lot of time on floors). And I can still hear the percolator on the stove and smell the coffee, Grandpa's strong coffee. I think he drank Bokar Coffee from A&P. Here we are forty years later and we love the same kind of coffee.

What was important to Grandpa was the simple things. He loved his U.S. News and World Report, and his tape recorder. He loved grandchildren sitting at his table eating soft-boiled eggs with vinegar. Or tasting his wonderful warm sugared doughnuts. I learned to love Canada Mints from Grandpa. And Opera Fudge.

He took great pleasure in whatever we had to tell him. I can picture him with his eyes magnified behind those thick glasses, really paying attention to us. He was a very literate man and I think he loved words and ideas.

For a few years in the late 60s - early 70s, my brother Larry, and sister Susan, and I spent Thursday nights with Grandpa and Grandma while Mom and Dad went to choir practice at the Cornwall United Methodist Church.

Sometimes there were Saturday nights when Mom and Dad had a date. We would play some games, watch a lot of TV. A detective series with Raymond Burr in a wheelchair. Sometimes a movie of the week. A lot of Lawrence Welk. Sometimes hockey -- Grandpa liked hockey.

Grandma usually spent the early evening lying on the sofa and then Grandpa would help her get to bed early.

She was ill, suffering from tremors that we later learned were probably caused by medicine the doctors had given her years earlier. She didn't speak much, and must have been in some pain but she never ever complained. Grandma always greeted us with a big smile, with so such warmth and love. We never really got to know Grandma the way our parents did, but we did feel her love very much.

Starting out..

A little over three years ago, my cousin Craig Boyer and his wife Kay were kind enough to host a get-together of Grandpa Boyer's progeny, and since then some us have been talking about starting something on the Internet to continue the good spirit of those gatherings.

So I thought maybe I could get us started with this blog.

All our family and friends are welcome to read and participate. A blog is kind of a string of notes that get sort of posted like a bulletin board. Please pass the link along freely. It's pretty easy to remember: peterpboyer.blogspot.com.

If you'd like to add something, just let me know and I'll add you to the list of contributors. If you don't want to deal with the computer so much, you could also just mail me something and I'll be glad to add it to the blog for you.

This blog could be anything anyone wants to share -- remembrances, family history, information about our next gathering, goings-on of family members -- really anything.

One thing I would like to share is some of Grandpa's writing from his books, maybe some of the poetry he loved so much.

I think we could share some pictures and maybe scans of documents. A few years ago, my brother Larry found some tape recordings of Grandpa reading poetry and he put it on CDs for us. I'd like to make those recordings available online.

Grandpa died about 35 years ago, and yet I think without exception the people of my generation, and their parents, still feel touched by him. I've talked about this with a number of people, and Keith Boyer puts it more eloquently than I can, but so many of our most important core values we think of as Boyer values, and they're really to a large extent Grandpa and Grandma Boyer's values.

So maybe we could talk about these things without sounding too full of ourselves (because being full of yourself was not one of Grandpa's values). And certainly we could share a good story or memory, because a good story is something that Grandpa would appreciate.

Tom