THANKS GRAND DAD by Garnet (Stoughton) Potter Depression times always interested me.  Perhaps it is because at that very time of needs, wants, devastation and hardship, one man began to develop his space in life.  Even as a child, this man impressed me as a gentleman.  He was the only person I saw who ever wore a white shirt and tie.  There is no memory of him ever raising his voice to me or saying harsh words, yet there was never a thought of my disobeying him.  He was a giant of a man, head and shoulders above anyone in a crowd.  His hair was red, and the marks of a comb were always there.  He smelled of freshly being shaved, no matter what time of day we would encounter.  Even today in my middle age, I can't help but look on his picture and connect him with God.  As I grew older, I realized this man was anything but a saint.  He just had that air about him.  His presence brought things under control.  Even if he was nowhere to be found, his perosnality permeated his domain.  His venture started with owning a farm with a picturesque creek going through it.  The creek wasn't ordinary.  God must have put an extra touch there.  The WPA built a big bridge over the shallowest part of the creek.  In the creek above the bridge, the State put in a log dam.  Clear, cool water spilled over on the huge slabs of rock.  It danced around each crack and moss grew to make it a slippery challenge to many generations.  If you took the trek under the bridge, you would come to a natural slide of stone and zip into a clear pool of water.  Around the pool, huge rocks were arranged just perfect for several people on each rock to sun bathe.  How many years passed that I thought the gentleman, also my grandad, had even constructed that.  Now I know it was really my Father in heaven. Stoughton's Beach had its small beginning when grandad noticed campers on the lower end of his farm by the creek.  He discoverd they brought their children fifty miles just to swim and get out of the hot city.  He ran an advertisement in the city paper for campers to camp all summer for five dollars.  He mowed the grass in that lower field and built a small building.  He then had mother train my older sister to sell pop and candy. Mother was much too busy to take anything else on, or at least she thought.  Years would prove she was a very capable woman.  Mother was built sturdy, with a will of iron.  She was not afraid of work.  This may not have been an asset, as grandad got the most out of everyone.  She raised vegetables to sell at the pop stand.  Her chickens laid eggs to be washed, the cow had to be milked.  The milk had to be strained and put through the creamer.  Butter was made.  The butter made was sold, too.  There were seven babies in between all the canning, cleaning and barn work. The babies became workers too, and being the middle child, I got in on more fun than work.  My first job was picking up papers over the park with a stick that had a nail at one end.  Payday was every day after the park was clean.  It was one lollipop, always eaten on my way over the big hill going home. Some folks wanted a more permanent summer place, tenting all summer gets tiresome.  Grandad gave plots to build a cottage, and charged the folks for swimming. Each summer he began to enlarge the park.  He built a swimming pool with a bathhouse.  The four girls in our family took turns being the checking girl in the bathhouse.  It was always dark and damp in the checking room.  Our duty was to give each person a basket with a stretchy bracelet they would wear on their arm of leg.  It had a metal circlet with a corresponding number to the basket.  Problems arose when they would lose their tags.  They would describe their clothes and we would start our detective work pulling out the many baskets, sometimes with smelly clothes. One special summer was very exciting to us when he built a dance hall over the bathhouse.  Bands were scheduled for the weekends.  There was still time after we sold the tickets to watch or dance. Sunday was our big day, I dreaded the mornings.  Even as a teen I had to deliver Sunday papers.  Afternoons I sold tickets somewhere.  The merry-go-round was probably the worst.  I sat right in the throroughfare of the park in a little cage.  The tickets I sold were five cents for a five-minute ride.  My father ran the merry-go-round.  I doubt if he listened to the music as he played the same records over and over again.  His favorite was usually "Horsie keep your tail up to keep the sun out of your eyes."   When the confinement and repetition overcame me, I would lock up while the carousel was running and go change the record myself. Dad kept that machine well greased.  Perhaps too well greased.  Once on a hot summer day an older lady was riding on a horse on the carousel.  Soon after he started the machine, there was a shreik loud enough to get everyone's attention and especially dad's.  He stopped the machine and ran to the lady's rescue.  Surely that had to be the most embarrassing moment for him and me both as he took a rag and tried to clean the blob of grease from that lady's skirt. Many summers had gone by, new things to excite the crowds that filtered in from cities I never heard of.  There was a restaurant built next to the dance hall.  Also, there were two concessions rented out that proved costly to me -- the penny arcade and a popcorn stand.  Everything else was free, for it was part of my pay.  The bigger Stoughton's Beach got, the sweeter the sounds to me.  When the skating rink was built, it was the largest one in that decade.  The pool was large too.  Big enough to put on diving shows.  Sundays they attracted large crowds. We worked hard each summer for the goal of having the park look like it had never been used before.  All tree trunks were white washed about three feet high.  There were benches to paint for they were everywhere.  Grandad figured if you got tired, you would go home.  So there were many benches with scenic views or placed to watch other people.  There were bleachers in front of the pool so you could watch the swimmers or diving shows.  During the week, there were swimming lessons.  Everything was kept clean.  My gentleman conducted his park as an orchestra.  All parts enhanced each other. Through the years, we sisters put skates on folks.  We started with the key type, which clamped to the soles of the shoes.  The key hung around my neck so proudly, might have been an important medal for all I knew.  I sat queenly on a wooden bench, lacing people's skates on, as though the whole rink couldn't run without my service.  As I grew in stature, my position grew.  Mother made us uniforms and we became skate instructors.  My promotion came shortly after grandad gave me a brand new pair of roller skates.  There was no year that could be put to any promotion, but grandad always seemed to sense when positions were outgrown.  So in high school the position was ticket, candy and checking.  Then was the time to see a cash flow to my pocket.  So, any money made from checking was mine. There were many promises made between sisters in order to skate the last skate, when most folks would want their wraps.  There was mostly a friendly good night as people passed out the exit to go home. My love for people [was] nurtured.  In my memories the bad things are surely there, but I can't recall them. There have been several jobs in my life, but none have been as much fun or outgoing as working for my grandfather. We were encouraged to use our creativity.  We never thought of stealing money or candy and pop.  We always prided ourselves to look nice.  We were always prompt.  For the concessions were always opened as scheduled.  We were given a heart to work, a treasure where a value cannot be placed. The merry-go-round was sold to be used in the park outside the Smithsonian Institute.  They used it one year. Many college students referred to Stoughton's Beach as "The Rock."  It is now in ruins mainly because of poor management. The last memory of my grandad is indeed different.  I had a healthy respect for him, but never felt secure in speaking with him, so a letter seemed to me good communication.  I wanted him to know the Lord's salvation through Jesus Christ.  The neatest thing is, he was so thrilled with it that he took it to each of his children and asked them to read it.  So we'll have a reunion in heaven that will out do any reunion ever put on in the man-made recreation center. Solomon Stoughton Biographical information