Robbie was five in the summer of 1974 when he began playing Little League baseball. He played on the ball field at Cole Elementary and there was no tee ball back then, no coach pitch or bending the rules, and yes they kept score. They played baseball by the standard rules of the game. Because of that it was hilarious watching them play at that age. I remember the first practice when the coach told the kids to take the field. One kid started crying because he didn't know where the field was. In the games the pitcher would throw the ball to the batter and the batter would miss the ball and the catcher would miss too. When the catcher threw it back to the pitcher he would miss again. This might go on three or four times before anybody would be able to catch the ball. When I played I don't think that anyone under seven could even play.
Debbie's mom Margaret was crazy about Jon, as she was about all of her grandchildren. I remember how thrilled she was when we brought him home. When Jon was about a year old she began experiencing severe pain and her doctor recommended that she have her gall bladder removed. She had had gall bladder problems for years. Even after the surgery her pain continued to get worse and the surgery seemed to exacerbate the pain. I remember walking into her bedroom one day, which was in the front of the house, and she was sitting on the end of the bed moaning. She was in terrible pain and it was troubling to watch. I felt so sorry for her but I felt helpless to do anything. She had a battery of tests but the doctors didn't know what was wrong with her. At one point she was diagnosed with an arthritic spine. After several bad guesses the doctors finally got it right and she was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. I have always been told that pancreatic cancer is one of the hardest cancers to detect. By the time that she was diagnosed Mrs. Phillips only had a short time to live. As it turned out she lived 7 weeks from the time of her diagnosis until the day of her death. We were all devastated by the news. Mrs Phillips was a great person and she was the center of Debbie's family. I loved her and although she was not related to me by blood she was the closest thing to a mother that I had. She was one of my biggest defenders.
On the night of November 2, 1975 I was at work when Debbie's sister Judy called me. I was expecting a call like this at any time and I could tell Judy was crying when I answered the phone. She told me that her mom had passed away. Even though I was expecting this call I felt like someone had kicked me in the gut. Debbie was at home with the kids and Judy wanted me to tell her the news in person so somebody would be there with her. We were at the hospital every time there was an opportunity and we weren't expecting her to die that night. Debbie was going to be crushed because she wasn't with her mom when she died. I dreaded every mile of the drive home and what I was going to have to do. When I got home I knocked on the front door. and after answering the door her first question to me was why was I home so early. I opened my arms and told her to hold me. She had a quizzical look on her face as she asked me why I wanted her to hold me. Again, I told her to hold me. As she put her arms around my waist and laid her head on my shoulder I whispered in her ear that her mother was dead. I could fill her body convulse as she began to wail. It reminded me of my initial reaction when I learned that my mother had died.
The next few days were surreal because her death was so hard to accept. Debbie's dad seemed lost. At one point he looked at me and said "Can you believe this is happening"? I never saw so many flowers and such an outpouring of grief since the death of my parents. Over the years I have been to a multitude of visitations and funerals and have seen many dead people. I have never seen anyone, however; that looked as natural in death as Debbie's mother did. She had lost very little weight and her color was very good. It looked like she was just lying there asleep. During the funeral I cried like a baby. I have only cried for two people in my life. My mother and Debbie's mom. She was buried in Mt. Olivet cemetery.
I can't remember exactly what year this happened but I know that it happened in the 1970's. It was during the summer, and late on a Sunday night when I was working 2nd shift at Colonial. I usually drove out Franklin road to Harding Place on my way home to our house in Antioch. Franklin road was deserted as I approached Elysian Fields Drive. The road is straight as an arrow until you get to Elysian Fields. At Elysian Fields there is a slight curve to the right. The first thing that I noticed was a car on the side of the road with its flashers on. In the middle of the road was a car that looked like it had hit tractor trailer truck head on. Smoke was rising from the wreckage and it was obvious that it had just happened. Several people were lying in the grass on the side of the road. They were obviously injured and a man was attending to them. He told me to look for the other guy. I thought to myself, what other guy. As far as I knew there was only one vehicle involved until I noticed something. The rear tire of a motorcycle was sticking out from the grill of the car. Dreading what I was going to see I drove very slowly for about 100 yards. There in the middle of Franklin road I could see the motionless form of a man still wearing his motorcycle helmet. He was missing a leg and straddling the yellow lines. The man was killed instantly as he hit the car doing an estimated 75 miles per hour. It was also determined later that he had been drinking. There had been a man, woman, and child in the car. They were in critical condition but according to the news they recovered from their injuries
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