American Legacies Organization, Inc.

Once a year, and oh, how I wish it were more often, the gathering of the Straessle clan occurs at this place called ‘peace’. We laugh, share stories, heartaches, struggles, child-raising experiences, and without fail, peace. All of us know the smell of the cypress siding, the old well house, the pines and the oaks. The aroma that fills the air also fills our hearts. We all have different experiences of the same peace.

McDermott, newly married and barely out of his first year of accelerated surgical residency training, found himself shipping out overseas even earlier than expected, a 25-year-old surgeon assigned to an anti-aircraft mobile battalion. McDermott’s family and new wife watched from the lawn of their summer house on Marblehead Neck as his ship glided slowly out of Boston Harbor for an unknown destination.

MOUT Training, Ft. Devens, MA, 1973

Taken From Just a Few Lines: The Memoirs of Keith L. Winchenbach

By Keith L. Winchenbach was born in Rockland, Maine on July 13, 1923

Submitted by Jessica Winchenbach from handwritten notes from her grandfather, Keith L. Winchenbach. All chapters have been edited and proofed by Jessica Winchenbach.

I wanted to drive but had no license yet. I would work on the garbage truck so they would let me drive home from the dump. They had two trucks, a Chevrolet straight body and a Mack dump truck. The Mack was the most fun to drive as it had a sound all its own. It lived up to the saying Built like a Mack Truck.

The brigade boarded a train at Petersburg and departed for North Carolina. We stopped at Goldsboro and made camp just north of the town. Here, we witnessed the execution of three deserters. From Goldsboro, we went to Kinston on the Neuse River. We proceeded down the Neuse to New Berne, which was occupied by the Yankees.

Chelsey Smith, a 98-year-old descendant of the Carpenters of Columbus, GA, sits in my grandmother's living room as I prepare to speak with her about roots.

She's a tiny, white-haired lady with a gleam in her bright blue eyes.

Anyhoo, one Saturday as I briskly strode to the movies, this really old, old, old-looking, rag-clad lady approached me and held out her right hand...
Hey, my little naive generousity generating lovin' heart went out to the old gal and I joyfully handed her my quarter...and I felt so good and so proud...me, Howie, a Christian act of charity?

Remember When?

All the girls had ugly gym uniforms?

It took five minutes for the TV warm up?

Nearly everyone's Mom was at home when the kids got home from school?

Nobody owned a purebred dog?

We hitched up our horse and off we went, Mom and Dad in the front, my brother, my two sisters and me in the back. It was a great adventure and great fun. At the end of the day, we headed home, up the long, beautiful road with maple trees creating an arch to our simple farmhouse. The farm was beautiful and Dutch, our faithful collie greeted us with a happy wag.

This story was told to me by my grandmother, Sylva Beaumont Coonley, before she died in 1995.
My parents, Harry F. Beaumont and Pearl B. Beaumont nee Halleck, lived in a nice little white house on a corner, on Lake Street, in Pontiac, Michigan, where I was born, February 20, 1912. My earliest recollection is waiting on the steps every day for my father to come home from the Spring Works. He worked very hard hammering red-hot steel into springs.