Category Archives: Growing up in the 60's

Buddy

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He was my 1st cousin, but old enough to be my Dad. His children (my 1st cousins, once removed) were the cousins I played with, hunted Easter eggs with and spent the night with at our grandmother’s (Big Mama’s) house. This was in Clermont, FL. What used to be a small citrus community west of an also unknown town called Orlando.

It used to take us all of 30 minutes to drive to my grandparents’ house when I was growing up. We watched for the only landmark among acres of orange groves during our drive—The Citrus Tower!

How times have changed. Clermont and Orlando are nearly inseparable. But I will never forget my growing up years and the adults who watched over me.

I learned last week that he left this life. I cried remembering the ways he helped our family through the years.

He was in the citrus business as was his dad, granddad and great-grandad before him. But he watched the industry dissipate. It was such a sad day when he bought the last 20 acres of groves from my Mom to develop it into a neighborhood. Of course we were grateful he was able to do this from a financial standpoint. But my Mom and I never went back to Oswalt Road in South Clermont after it was fully developed. Not because we weren’t happy for how he had taken the next step in our family’s story, but because we wanted to remember what was. My Mom moved there from Oklahoma when she was only 9 months old. This was her hometown!

Richard “Buddy” Oswalt went to be with the Lord last week.

I loved his laughter, his pranks and the way he loved life. Following is the tribute his three surviving children wrote about him. You’ll see what a man he was by the legacy he leaves behind.

Buddy was born on September 16,1937 in Clermont, FL. to Vick and Frances Oswalt. Buddy was a lifelong resident of Clermont, graduating from Clermont High School in 1955.

He passed away peacefully on September 26, 2022, surrounded by his loving family at his home in Clermont.

He married his high school sweetheart Gloria in 1957, the love of his life. He was employed by his father Vick Oswalt who owned Oswalt Grove Service, a citrus grove caretaking business. He became his dad’s right-hand man. His mother Frances was the office manager and bookkeeper. During his lifetime he also was involved in several ventures always connected to the citrus industry. B&O Dragline, Florida Air Spraying, Lake-Sumter Fruit Dealers and buying several orange groves through the years.

He belonged to the Clermont Jaycees who at the time built the Clermont Jaycee Beach. He was also a Clermont City Councilman for 4 years.

After the Citrus Industry in this area was devastated in the late 1980’s and early 1990’s, he began thinking of new ways to use his grove land. He attracted a few home builders who were looking for land to build homes for the new residents moving to this area. His son-in-law, Bill Thomas, custom home builder, built the first beautiful brick home in Crescent Bay on South Lakeshore Dr. on Crescent Lake. There were several more neighborhoods built throughout Clermont and South Clermont on Oswalt Land, one being on a family property originally owned by his Great Grandfather & Grandfather, purchased for a citrus grove in 1920.

He loved ranching, hunting, fishing, working and being in the outdoors. One of his special loves was growing things. He enjoyed growing oranges, lemons, avocados apples, peaches, blueberries, pecans, asparagus, flowers, and his favorites, daylilies, hibiscus, and flowering trees in both Florida and North Carolina. He took great pride in everything he did.

In the last 15 years, he enjoyed his mountain home on Cranberry Creek extending his love of water from Florida to North Carolina where he and Gloria spent the summers. He had the best of both worlds enjoying all the spring, summer and fall flowers and leaves. They met many friends through the church and the community where they lived.

He dearly loved his wife of 65 years, the love of his life and his family and especially spending time with them telling stories and making everyone laugh!

Survivors include, his wife, Gloria, daughters, Vicki O. Thomas (Bill), Becki O. Young (Faron) and son Mark A. Oswalt (Sara) He was preceded in death by his son Richard E. Oswalt, Jr. “Rick”, his father, Vick Oswalt and mother, Frances Oswalt, grandparents William and Grace Oswalt.

Grandchildren, Stacey Padgett, Stephanie Giraldo, Michael Kirkand, Mason Oswalt, Grace Oswalt, Lily Oswalt and Holden Oswalt. He has 6 great grandchildren Hunter and Joshua Crumbo, Madison and Makenli Kirkland, and Isabella and Ryan Giraldo. He is also survived by many cousins, nieces and nephews.

Brothers, Tom Oswalt (Shirley), John Oswalt (Carol) and sisters, Carolyn Bond (Wayne), and Dianne Russ (Charlie).

Funeral services will be held Friday, October 7, 2022, 2pm, at the First United Methodist Church of Clermont. The family will receive friends starting at 1pm at the church.

May he Rest In Peace!

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Dolphins

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We are blessed to have a week at the beach. It’s been a long time since we’ve had this kind of down time together. Time to think. Time to reflect. Time to remember.

Whenever I come to the beach I’m reminded of a story I heard as a teenager back in the 70’s.

My friends and I had fallen in love with Jesus. We would often drive the 45 minutes to the beach in my little yellow VW bug, Sunny. He may not have had air conditioning, but I had installed a great stereo with huge speakers. I added long enough wire so I could set them on top of Sunny while we laid on blankets soaking in the sunshine. What a memory.

Barry McGuire had recently come to love Jesus too. He shares a simple story about dolphins, and today I want to share it with you. Take some time and listen.

Then follow this by listening to the song, Callin Me Home. The video photos are captivating and the lyrics beautiful. Happy Monday

100

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That’s a number we often associate with a perfect score on a test or a high speed on the Interstate. But rarely does someone make it to their 100th birthday.

My Mom would have been 100 today.

She was born in the small town of Jenks, OK, in 1922 following the tragic death of her brother in 1920. Her only living brother was 11 years old at the time and was angry she wasn’t a boy. I can only imagine the heartache he suffered losing his little brother and best friend at such a young age.

The family moved to Florida when she was just 9 months old. Citrus groves were a hot, new investment for farmers and my grandfather and great-grandfather took the bait.

They arrived with the whole family including two cows and a horse by train. Once here they planted 32 acres of trees that produced a healthy crop for decades.

We have been in Florida ever since, but the orange groves are long gone.

It was a sad time in our family when the 32 acres of citrus trees we had were killed in the double freezes of 1983 and 1984. Only one tree survived due to it’s location; it was next to the irrigation pump that kept the tree just warm enough to save the roots of the tree.

My grandfather had installed that pump and it felt like part of him saved the lone tree for us to have its fruit. He passed away when I was 4 and my only memories of him are his pipe, the way he teased me and his delicious creamed corn.

My Mom sold the 12 acres of dead trees in town for the city to build a public park complete with ball fields, picnic pavilions, a massive playground and boardwalk through the bald cypress trees to the lake.

The other 20 acres she replanted with tangerine and tangelo trees alongside the one lone original tree. It stood like the grandfather of the grove making sure the young trees grew healthy and strong.

They did grow well, and we loved harvesting the early fruit that ripened just in time for Thanksgiving each year. We would pick as many as we could and gave them as gifts to friends at Christmas.

Those days are gone. My Mom was unable to afford to keep it, since the cost to harvest the fruit was more than the price she’d make selling it.

I’m sad to say the grove is now a subdivision in the sprawling hills of Clermont. The only memory of our family is the name of the road—It still bears my grandfather’s last name, Oswalt Road.

My Mom and I vowed to never drive out there again. A promise I’ve kept even after she took her last breath in 2012.

Happy 100th birthday in Heaven, Mom. I miss you. 💯🥰

My Christmases Past

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It was an annual event in our home. It happened every summer, but it’s focus was Christmas.

My Dad was a pharmacist and owned his own drug store with everything imaginable for our seasoned shoppers.

There was a jewelry department—with costume jewelry, 14k gold options and sterling silver. They were displayed neatly on velvet lined trays that rotated around the glass case much like a Ferris wheel. Push one button to rotate forward, another to rotate backward. I loved looking at every shiny piece.

We also sold perfume, sunglasses, greeting cards, toys and of course drugs for anything that ailed you.

My favorite was the toy aisle, which is why I had a significant role in our annual summer event.

My parents purchased merchandise for our shelves from The Allen Drug Company. An independently owned drugstore distributor.

Every summer they put on a “wholesale only” trade show for retailers to select what they wanted to make available to their customers for the upcoming holiday shopping season.

My Dad invited me to come and help them purchase toys that kids my age would want. As payment for my expert opinion I was allowed to choose one toy for me.

It was a child’s dream come true.

Some now nostalgic toys that were new to me then:

  • Slinky
  • Gyro wheel
  • Clackers
  • Silly Putty
  • Weaving loom
  • Etch-A-Sketch
  • Lite Brite
  • Easy Bake Oven
  • And so.much.more

My dad also raffled off a giant toy and candy-filled stocking every year to one lucky child.

As a pre-teen I enjoyed gift-wrapping the items our customers purchased, a free service. We had a giant roll of red striped paper on a steel cutting wheel that worked much like a roll of aluminum foil does today.

We had a new contraption that made bows in no time. With lots of ribbon choices, each gift was a unique work of art. I loved creasing the corners and taping the gift perfectly. I still enjoy wrapping gifts today as much as I did then.

Remembering my Christmases past has been a delight to behold. What memories do you have of Christmases past?

Misunderstood

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Our blogging prompt was to share a song lyric that means something to me.

There are too many to even begin to share, so I decided on a twist. I’m sharing the song lyrics I misunderstood as a kid and only recently discovered the correct words. I must admit this is embarrassing, but it’s understandable. I was attached to my record player as a pre-teen. I listened faithfully to Casey Kasem’s Top 40 list every Saturday. Once I heard the #1 song for that week I would get on my bike and ride it to the Five and Dime store (T.G. & Y.) to buy the 45 rpm before it sold out.

Music was my companion and my 10 year old friend’s companion too.

I remember us turning around in circles to the EP version of In-A-Gadda-Da-Vida by Iron Butterfly. Why? Because we were kids and we had nothing better to do. I had a crush on Davy Jones of The Monkees and loved his British accent. My BFF loved Mike Nesmith and his beanie hat. Life was simple for us.

You have to realize we didn’t have Google in the 70’s. If we misunderstood a song lyric, the only way to find out the correct words was to buy the album where the lyrics were printed on the paper sleeve inside the cover. I didn’t have that kind of money, so I improvised, often at the top of my lungs I’m afraid to admit.

I gave my older brother, (who was a huge tease and my biggest nemesis), lots of material to mock me. And mock he did! I can laugh about it now, but as a ten year old I was humiliated more times that I can count.

Songs with lyrics I misunderstood:

  • “Hold me close I’m tired of dancin…” by Elton John is actually titled, Tiny Dancer, and was released in 1971. The line really says, “Hold me close, tiny dancer.”
  • “Blinded by the light. Wrapped up like a douche…” by Bruce Springsteen originally, but this version of Blinded By The Light was recorded by Manfred Mann in 1976. The line actually says, “…revved up like a deuce…” A deuce coupe more specifically. A fancy way to describe a sports car.
  • “I’ll light the fire. You place the flowers in the bras that you bought today.” by Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young. Our House was released in 1970. The song has nothing to do with putting flowers in a bra. Haha! As a pre-teen I had never heard the word vase pronounced with an “ahh” sound. The song makes more sense as written, “I’ll light the fire. You place the flowers in the vase that you bought today.” And finally one more…
  • “Had a F-___ing nightmare, and a little thunder.” I almost didn’t share this one, but this will probably garner the most laughter from you. I know it would have from my brother. Yeah, I really thought that’s what this line said from Steppenwolf’s, Born To Be Wild released in 1968. I have never been one to cuss, so I would always skip this line. I could never understand how the radio station back then was allowed to broadcast such language. It never occurred to me I might have misunderstood the lyrics. The song actually says, “I like smoke and lighting, heavy metal thunder, Racing with the wind, And the feeling that I’m under.” How in the world I came up with those lyrics instead I’ll never know. But I’m grateful to be able to sing the entire song now if I so choose. And with a clear conscience.

I’m curious. Did you ever misunderstand the lyrics to a song? I’d love to hear your embarrassing story–I promise not to mock you. But I might laugh. We can all use some laughter these days.

Speaking of laughter, check out this video I found on You Tube from The Holderness Family. Apparently I’m not the only one who has done this. These are hilarious!

This is post #13 in The Ultimate Blog Challenge to post everyday in November.

Photo by Eric Krull on Unsplash

A Conscience Cracked

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Photo from qz.com

The year was 1968. I was 9 and loved my new obsession. They were the hot new gadget that every kid collected. They came in every color imaginable and they were addicting like the finger widgets of today.

Clackers, for those too young to know, were clear, marble-type balls made of tempered glass, they hung one on each end of a string with a loop in the middle. The idea was to clack them together up and down over and over to see how long you could continue without the balls clacking your wrists.

As Forest Gump would say, “Stupid is as stupid does.” I was stupid and had the bruises to prove it. I was trying a new trick—throwing them up in the air and trying to catch them.

My parents had just purchased a brand-new Pontiac. It was parked in our driveway; a trophy my parents’ hard work had earned. It was shiny and new like my clackers, only the glass on its windshield wasn’t shatterproof.

My dad came home for his dinner break from the store and was obviously upset. He told my Mom about a huge crack in the windshield of their beautiful trophy. He suggested to my Mom that a rock must have shattered it from the road.

I had a hard time finishing my dinner. My conscience was cracked.

“A guilty conscience needs no accuser.”

English Proverb