Life in the Philippines, Living in the Philippines, Moving to the Philippines

Wyatt & Henrietta Haney

This sight would not be complete without mentioning the two people who had the biggest influence on my life, my grandparents.

My earliest memories as a child are of the Barracks Farm where my Grandfather was farm manager. There was an orchard in front of their house and my Father said I could go play there. At a plank fence, my Grandfather came up driving a John Deer tractor pulling a hay baler, stopped, and asked if I wanted to go. I was on that tractor in seconds and will never forget the experience. There were some others I remember but I was only five years old.

In 1955 when I was 6 years old, my grandparents, Wyatt and Henrietta Haney retired to their home on W. Park Dr. My grandfather had been farm manager at the Barracks Farm for about 25 years. My memories of the Barracks Farm are few. I do remember walking with my grandfather, riding on the John Deer tractor with him, and my grandmother getting a fish bone hung in her throat and having to go to the hospital. I remember seeing the “Church” picture that I now have, hanging in their home at the Barracks. I remember asking to stay the night, waking up crying and Granddaddy taking me home in the middle of the night. It was not until they retired that I remember staying the night again. When they moved to W. Park Dr. they took with them two Irish Setter dogs. One’s name was Judy, a black and white dog, and the other Rex, a clay red. They only had them a short while and then they were gone. Their car was a 1952 Chevrolet Deluxe with an automatic powerglide transmission. It was a four door, emerald green. This was the only car I knew them to have.

Very quickly after they retired, I wanted to spend the weekend with them. I don’t know why I wanted to do this.  I would always take my bike and I would put it in the trunk of my parents 1955 Pontiac and I would ride in the trunk with my bike to their house. It was a fun adventure ridding in the trunk. There were always many things to do. I quickly made lots of friends, liked to go exploring, and did different chores around the house like cutting the grass, racking leaves, cleaning the gutters, and washing and polishing the car. No one ask me to do these things, I would see they needed doing and just do them. During the summer I would stay with them weeks at a time, during winter when I went to school, I would come for weekend visits. I can remember calling my Grandma and asking if it was OK for me to come and she would always say yes.

I quickly developed a close relationship with them. Everyplace they went, I went with them. When they went to Church, to visit family or friends or to a funeral, I went with them. My Grandpa had a part-time job as janitor at the Madison Regional Library. He worked 3 days a week from about 5:30 am till the library opened. Many times during summer months I went to work with him. He taught me how to use a mop. When I was older, about 12 or 13 years old he took vacation from his work and I filled in for him. A few years earlier I was with him at work when one of the ladies ask, “Mr. Haney is it possible you would sell me that little boy?” Grandpa’s reply was “Well how much would you give me?” Then he continued, “No way would I ever sell him, that boy goes everywhere with me”. I have never forgotten those words and can visualize him with his khaki shirt and pants on. I remember that as being the nicest thing anyone ever said about me.

The first time I fired a shotgun, the first time I went hunting, the first time I went fishing and caught a fish, and the first time I drove a car, all these things I did with Grandpa Haney. Many times he took me target practicing with B’s single shot .22. We went dove hunting at Woodie and Mildred’s house and squirrel hunting there. We went squirrel hunting at Bernie and Violet’s house. There were other places we went hunting, almost always for squirrels and when we did kill a squirrel, Grandmother would prepare it to eat.

 I think I enjoyed going fishing with Grandpa more than hunting. He had a minnow net and often I would get in the creek with the net to catch the minnows.Most often, we went to either Profit Lake or Blake’s Lake. Profit Lake has since been drained and can be seen from the 250 Bypass near Barracks Rd. Blake’s Lake is out Barracks Rd. past the farm. The Blake’s Lake is big, maybe 6 to 8 acres. We would park on the hillside that over looked the lake. On the far side of the lake was a big rock that came out of the water on the side of the lake. We would walk around the lake, over the dam, and fish off of this big rock. From the top of the rock to the water was about 8 ft. When it was hot the fish would come to the rock because it was cool. One day it was a hot summer afternoon and big Bluegill fish had come to the rock where it was cool. I could look down and see them against the rock, trying to get cool. I would put a worm on my hook and dangle it right in front of the fish’s mouth.  I caught 10 fish and he none. Grandpa never forgot this and commented to friends about it often. My first driving experience was on the road to Blake’s Lake. I was about 13 and wanted to drive really badly. It took awhile to build up the courage to ask if I could drive but when I did he stopped the car and said sure.

 I can remember saying to him, “Grandpa, are we going to do this or that”. His reply would always be, “I must check with the Mrs. first” I never heard a cross or mean word spoken between them. Their caring, affection, respect and love for each other were evident seeing them together.

 Many times I went to Ivy Creek Methodist Church with them. Grandpa would wear his suit and vest and have the gold pocket watch he gave me. He would smoke his pipe waiting for grandmother to be ready to go. He always waited so patiently. Whether we were waiting in the parking lot at Colonial Store for grandmother to grocery shop or waiting for her to get ready for Church, never did I hear him say to hurry. Her final chore before we left for Church was to put money in a envelop for the offering. I can see her with her hat and dress and still smell the perfume she would have on. Going to Church was a time to worship but also a time to visit with friends. There was never a rush to leave as it usually ended with Grandpa and me waiting for Grandmother to finish chatting with friends.

We would return home, change clothes, and Grandmother would prepare lunch. Grandmother would always make homemade rolls. Her bread was the best and it filled the house with a good smell as it baked. Grandpa would often poor coffee into his saucer to cool and drink from the saucer. He also liked to put saltine crackers in his coffee. Grandmother fixed tea or lemonade, I never saw a Coke in the house. Often she made applesauce pie for desert. She knew that I liked them so much she would make a smaller one just for me. Many times she would make cookies, her favorite being “snicker doodles”. She would have a ball of cookie dough from which she would make smaller balls, about as big around as a quarter, then roll this ball in a mixture of sugar and cinnamon before placing on a cookie sheet.

 I can still see her sitting at Grandpa’s gum desk, writing a card or note to her friends. She often wrote her sister Haseltine who also came to visit. I would sleep on the sofa when Haseltine came. Haseltine seemed to me a serious, more quiet and stern lady. Her dress was always dark as I remember. Grandmother always liked Haseltine to come visit and they would talk about the past for hours. The chair Grandmother sat on at the desk was a thumb back chair Grandpa gave me that I later gave to Pat Earl. The seat had been replaced by Grandpa using bailing twin.(string used on a hay bailing machine) On the shelf of the desk, Grandpa kept his Half & Half Brand pipe tobacco. To keep the tobacco moist, Grandpa would cut half an apple to put in with the tobacco. From this tin, many times I would put tobacco in his black leather tobacco pouch that he carried with him to smoke in his pipe.

 At the top of the steps going to the basement were two oil lamps. One was called an Aladdin lamp. I do not know the where about of these lamps. In the basement were three pictures that they gave me. One was a picture of Grandpa taken when he was in his early twenties. This picture was in a oval frame with a convex glass. It was stolen from me by movers when I moved my furniture. The other two were of Edmund Powell and his wife, Cornelius Mallory. When I was on leave from the Army, Grandmother told me Maude wanted to see the pictures one last time. I brought the pictures to her and she let Maude take the pictures to look at. Maude never returned the pictures. When I got out of the Army I went to Standardsville to get the pictures back. Maude told me they were her pictures and only given to my grandmother for safe keeping for awhile and she would not give them back. Also, there was a steel shoe horn used for the repair of shoes. Grandpa gave this to me and I later gave it to B. Also, he gave me a tin rivet box. The rivets were used to repair horse harness but it now contained beeswax, used on a clothes iron to keep the iron from sticking to the clothes. I gave this box and the beeswax to B. I have no idea why I was interested in this box but I kept it for almost 40 years, in just the same condition as he gave it to me.

There is no doubt that my grandparents were good to me. They were both very generous and gave me things that were certainly important to them and became cherished possessions for me as I grew older. What they gave me cannot be measured by material things and it cannot be bought. They gave me their time. They are the ones that taught me about family and friends. They left me with much more than a watch, some pictures, etc. They gave me things very hard to put in words. A feeling of being loved and cared about, being important, and taking the time to do something nice for me, I do not know a better gift to give. These are the things I carry inside me from day to day. When I think of them now, I thank God for them. What they gave was free and cost nothing.  I learned from them I can do the same. I can give the same to others, by using them as an example of what Christ intended us to do as Christians. Often I do not measure up. They gave me a mark to measure to.  I only hope that I will be able to pass the same they gave me to another. If I can leave my wife, my son and hopefully others feelings like they left me, I will know that my hardships have not been in vain.

When they first moved to Knollwood, W. Park Dr, they had no television. Time was passed in the evening telling stories. I only recall a few. One was when Carlton Mawyer got his car stuck in the mud at the Barracks Farm. He went to the house and got Grandpa and Grandpa went for his tractor to pull Carlton out of the mud. At this time it was raining very hard. The tractor was not so big and had steel wheels. I will never forget my Grandpa saying that Carlton looked at him and said “Mr. Haney, you will never pull this car out with that tractor”, but he did and he was very proud to do it. Another was of the German prisoners that worked on the Barracks Farm during the war. Grandpa told me of one that wanted to stay and work on the farm but it did not work out so. He told me about the work horses on the farm. Grandmother told about the turkeys she raised. She liked to make tapioca pudding and would put a spice in the pudding. I forget the spice but she told me a lady came to visit to whom she served pudding. The lady said, “Mrs. Haney, do you know this pudding has a fly in it”. I think that happened while they still lived at the Barracks.

I remember driving out Barracks Rd. to the farm. The farm was about 3 miles out Barracks Rd. Half-way was down a hill and over an old iron bridge, I think one lane. Going over the bridge it bared to the right and up and around the hill. In the late 50’s the bridge was replaced and the road made straight up the hill. Continuing on about 1\2 mile was a right turn to go to the farm. The sign on the road was a picture of a Black Angus cow with the words Barracks Farm. At this right was about 1 mile straight to the farm. About 100 yards before the entrance to the farm was a tree on the left that leaned almost all the way over the road. Many times I thought this tree would fall down on us. At the entrance to the farm was a split in the road. Left went to Garth Farm and the right to the Barracks. This is where Grandpa placed the quartz rock that he showed me. Entering the farm was a drive between two fields. I remember oil being put on this road to keep down the dust. The Barracks Farm house stood on the hill to the far left. They lived in this house for awhile when they first moved to the Barracks. Later they transferred to the tenant house. As I remember one could park to the left of the house.  Or turn right and go along a plank fence that enclosed an apple orchard in front of their house. Continuing on was a barn to the right of this road. There I remember two tractors. One, a green John Deer and the other, a red Farmall. Just before the barn a left turn could be made going down beside the right side of the house. Behind the house was a diner bell atop a post. Further back and to the left was a Johnny house. I remember going in this as a kid and looking at the seat with two holes inside. A bathroom was built inside the house just before they retired. To the right of the Johnny house were the pens that Grandmother raised turkeys.

I remember walking with Grandpa when I was only as tall as his pocket. We had walked back behind the house, down the road to the right of the house, through the gate and down a dirt road or field. We were walking to a small tenant house I could see over to the right in the distance. Grandpa held my hand as we walked and I will never forget the scuff of his khaki pants legs. 

The barn was open on the near side and this is where I remember the tractors parked.  The tractors were used on one occasion to pull fence post from the ground near the barn. I remember the tractor tires digging holes in the ground at least a 1 1\2 ft. trying to pull the post out.

Once my parents told me I could play in the orchard in front of the house. There I climbed up the plank fence and watched Grandpa approached on the John Deere tractor pulling a hay bailing machine. He stopped in front of me. The tractor was only a few feet from me. He said, “Want to go with me”. I was over the fence and on the tractor. We were bailing hay in the field to the right of the road when my father found me. I got a good beating but would do it again.

I remember the porch on the front of the house, the living room to the front right. Steps went up to the left of the room to what I remember as three bedrooms. One bedroom to the left side and two to the right. The kitchen was to the back right. It seems the bathroom was to the back left and a big room. I thought before it had been the dining room. It is here that I remember the Church picture handing.

Wilbur was their son killed in a train accident Sept. 1917. In a trunk Grandmother still had his little dress, his hatchet and a few pictures. She showed these things to me and let me play with the hatched. The hatched was small but heavy. He is holding it in a picture. She never said to me Wilbur is dead or he was killed, but I knew. She somehow acted or talked differently about him. It is hard to explain. Not to long after they retired, they bought cemetery lots at Holly Memorial Gardens. Wilbur’s remains were exhumed and he was buried again at Holly Memorial, where he is now beside his Mom and Dad. The only comment I heard from her was that they only found a small piece of the wooded coffin and a little of his hair. Grandpa told me the story of Wilbur’s death. He told me of finding him with his legs cut off and trying to crawl up the bank. He also told me that after Wilbur’s death, there was some identification or something like that he had to do for the death certificate. I’m not sure; I was 9 or 10 when he told me. Grandmother was not present. I think she was babysitting or shopping. We were home alone. I do not recall why he told me the story; I do not think I ask. I do vividly remember seeing the tears run down his face. That was it; we never talked about his death again. I do not recall being present to visit his grave. Maybe they did, I do not know. I know loosing Wilbur was a very hard time for them and it seemed to somehow stay with them, never being able to heal from it.

For many years, on my birthday, Grandpa gave me a silver dollar. I began collecting them and now have about twenty or so. Many of the old ones are the ones he gave me. I traded Grandmother a 1886 silver dollar for a 1887 so she would have one of her birth year, 1886, and one for my Grandpa’s birth year, 1887. She found a small box for me and for each dollar I made a cloth pouch so they would not rub and damage each other. Also, I had pair of jeans that I would wear when I was a young teenager. The seat had worn through and I had made a patch for some of the clothe she had in the Singer sewing machine. I think it pained her to see me go out the door wearing these pants and she just could not understand why I would wear patched up pants like these. Somehow these pants disappeared and were never seen again. I think I know what happened. Also, I had a girlfriend who would borrow her brother’s car and come to the house to get me for a date. She came in to meet my grandparents. Grandmother could never get over a girl coming to get me for a date. I heard her comment many times she had never seen such a thing before.

I can still see her now, setting on the sofa by the light, reading her Daily Word or Readers Digest. Her last years she had pain in her jaw that I know bothered her but she rarely complained. A few years before the Army, for some reason I started to hug her every time I would come or go. When I went in the Army and later to Vietnam, it was they who were so hard to say goodbye to.

Grandmother told me her father, Edmund Powell, fought in the Civil War. When I was in the 9^th grade I wrote a report about him. It was one of the few things I got graded A for. She told me he refused to carry a gun but would be a litter bearer and carry the dead and wounded from the battlefield. She said he was called a Wagoner. He was in the 34^th Virginia Infantry. Grandmother also told me about his Confederate uniform and that it was in a trunk, burned up in a house fire. She told me that he made his own wooden coffin because he did not want to be buried in a steel one because he believed it would fill with water. He is buried on Powell Mountain beside his wife, Cornelius.

Creeper & the Vidells

I was riding with my parents in the back of our 1955 Pontiac down Georgetown Rd. We saw a band practicing on the front porch of a house. I will never forget my Dad saying, "Would you look at that black guy singing with those whites". I was only about 12 years old but it would be about 5 years later I would be in the band. My best friend, Mike Abbott's brother played bass and we went often to watch them practice. Some time later, Eddie Hall, a friend who was a drummer in some bands we had became drummer for the Vidells. When they needed a horn player, Eddie got me to try out and I was in. Playing with the Vidells was a great experience even though it only lasted about 6 or 8 months. The band broke up in 1969.

Sadly, this picture was taken without Creeper.

I got drafted, ended up going to Nam thus the end of my horn playing days.

Vietnam

Vietnam is a time and experience from which I have never recovered.  It is a central to me as the faith, family or work of others. All my attempts to heal fail. It has lead me to resentment, bitterness, depression and feelings that I no longer want to live. It lives in me today and is to complicated to try to explain. I must add that life for me is greatly improved.

I am far left, Ft. Rucker, 1970, gunner school.

In Oct. 1971 I came home from Nam straight to civilian life. For ten years I lived as though nothing happened. Then,  a dark period of my life.

LZ English,Vietnam

                                                Tuy Hoa, Vietnam

In 1969 my draft lottery number came up 87. It was a sure thing that I would be drafted and most likely go to Vietnam. I was a rebellious, confused kid and did nothing to prevent being drafted into the Army. So in Jan. 1970, I got the letter, Greetings". I went to Ft. Campbell for Basic Training. At in processing, a Sgt. asked what I wanted to do in the Army. I replied, just drive a truck. He said, come on, everybody wants to drive a truck, what was your last job. I told him I worked at an airport fueling airplanes. That remark put me in helicopter school.

I went through Basic still being rebellious and the class clown. I did many extra push ups. At the end of Basic everybody was just waiting for there orders to go to this or that school. I past the mess hall on e evening and noticed the Colonel giving the Company Commander a really hard time. He had the Captain on his knees scrubbing the floor. I went down to the barracks, told a couple of guys, and we went back to the mess hall and volunteered for KP to help the Captain. The Colonel was very impressed that some of the Captain's men would volunteer to help him. We never did anything but the 1st Sgt. told us to sit and wait, the Captain wanted to talk to us. He was very thankful and took each of our names. I never expected to make rank out of Basic but believe I did because of that.

I got orders for helicopter maintenance school in Ft. Rucker, Alabama. On the bus to Ft. Rucker, I sat next to a black man, Herman Chilton, who was to become my best friend in the Army and my friend for life. I learned a lot from Herman. We were in the Deep South and many times told to get out a restaurant because he was black. He never said anything, just got up and left.

Brad Hughes, Herman Chilton, John Liligreen, Ft. Rucker July, 1970.

I was made class leader of a class of about 45 guys. (I think another result of volunteering for KP) This was June. July we had a break for Independence Day. Half the class never came back and by the time the class ended, there were only 9 of the original 45.

Herman and I knew we would get orders for Nam. We also knew if we came back with less than 150 active days, we wuld be discharged rather than reasigned somewhere. We knew that we would end up gunners on a Huey so we volunteered for a 4 week gunner school that would put us with less than 150 days when we came back.

I went home on leave at the end of Sept, 1970. I had to report to Ft. Lewis, Washington, Oct. 23 for travel to Nam. It was then that the reality of what was happening sat in with me. I had told no one in my family what I was trained to do as I saw no need to worry them. As it turned out it really didn't matter.

When I got to Vietnam, it was completely different than anything I could have imagined. Any soldier you ask could tell you how "short" they were or how many days they had left in Nam. And the "shorter" you got, the more worried you would become that something would happen.

One week I was sitting behind a M-60 on a Huey, the next I was in Cam Rhan Bay. My flight out was delayed by a typhoon. Next was Ft. Lewis, standing in the snow in my short sleeve cacki uniform. Overcoats were being passed out because of the cold. The next week I was home, driving down I-64 to Richmond looking for a job.

I went to Nam, did my thing, somehow survived and now I found that Vietnam Vets were not respected for their service but rather quite the opposite. For 10 years it was almost like Vietnam never happened, I shut it out of my mind. Then something happened, it was suppose to be just a joke and kidding, but to me it was not, it was a very serious insult. My life crashed, it took decades to begin to recover.

Brad Hughes Inc.

1982-2001 I owned and operated Brad Hughes, Inc. furniture restoration and repair. In 1980 I moved back to Charlottesville to work for the C&O Railroad. It was good money and work but I had problems with some people I worked with. Several looked down on my Vietnam service and I was called different names. My hobby at that time was refinishing furniture. I rented a small shop and started working on furniture. It worked out well so I decided to quit the railroad. I went from a small sop of 400 squ. ft. to 1800 squ. ft. At about that time, a salesman for restoration supplies came in my shop. He was very helpful to me. He explained I needed a system and had the supplies that made easy what I was doing the hard way. His company also offered several classes on how to use there products to restore damaged furniture.

This experience brought a whole wealth of knowledge. I learned about furniture finishes, what damages a finish,  how to care for a finish and how to repair a damaged furniture finish without a complete refinish job. This company offered a in-home furniture repair kit which I purchased. Then, I was able to do many in-home furniture repairs which lead to moving damage repairs for many moving companies.

With this knowledge, I began to donate time teaching classes on restoration, refinishing and furniture care. I would most often begin a class with a magic trick. The point being, if you knew a few tricks about furniture, you could do good things for the furniture in your home.

In 1989, I went on a tour of Ashlawn-Highland, home of Pres. James Monroe. I could not but help notice all the furniture that needed work so I called Jim Wooten, curator. I asked about working on the furniture to which he replied, "We have no budget for furniture restoration, just trying to stabilize things". To which I replied I was willing to donate some time. After working on the furniture there for some time, the local newspaper wrote a rather large piece on what I was doing with pictures. Later, the newspaper called asking if I would like to take a try at writing a monthly column. This lead to years writing columns and a book on furniture restoration.

I always wanted to be the biggest and the best. Whenever I had some extra money, I invested it in new tools or supplies. I went from a little one man shop to 5 employees and 3800 squ. ft. What I didn't understand till years later was all this changed me in many ways. From my hobby to a business, I was now having to turn about $300,000 a year to meet expenses and make a living. My life became furniture restoration and all the joy was slowly being taken away. Sadly, at the end, I closed the business and have not worked on another piece of furniture for almost 10 years now.

Four years wrote a monthly column for The Charlottesville Observer.

One year wrote a monthly column for The Daily Progress.

One year wrote a month column for Collector Magazine.

One year, weekly internet chat, American Woodworker

1993 published a book, Complete Guide to Restoring Wood Furniture and Cabinets.

Furniture Restorer, Ashlawn-Highlawn, home of Pres. James Monroe

Chair sat on in 1824 by Marquis de Lafayette in 1824 on his final visit.

Restored furniture owned by Pres. James Madison, Charles Dickens, Harry Houdini, The Rotunda, Uva.

I published this book in 1993.

Pres. James Madison desk at Ashlawn-Highland.