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DOROTHY WERNER
Contributed by Karen Mitchell Interviewed by Rosalyn McCain Dorothy Lyle Werner, born 4-30-1901 Parents - Robert J. Hamilton and Winifred Lyle Schooley Family origin - Pennsylvania Date of family arrival in County - 6-1-1947 Location of first family settlement - La Veta
JUNE 16, 1979
My parents were both born in Pennsylvania where they met and
married in 1900. When dad was just a little boy, his parents joined
a group, mostly relatives, who went to Nebraska in 1878. But, as
his father died during their first year there, his mother returned
to Pennsylvania. dad was a young man, he went to Nebraska again
for a short time returning to Pennsylvania. My mother had never
been away from Watsontown, her birthplace except for a sight seeing
trip to Washington, D.C. to a Christian Endeavor Convention. But
after they were married, they began to think of moving west. They
waited until I was six months old, then made the first step of the
journey-going to Iowa where my mother had some cousins living. They
lived in Kamrar where Owen was born and had several tennant farms
in Iowa.
It was about this time they happened to get some literature
about Routt County, Colorado, and from then on that was their goal,
making short moves in that direction as they were able. First to
Yuma County, Colorado (the Sand Hill Country) where Phyllis was born.
Then to McCook, Nebraska where we lived about five years. Carl was
born there in 1910. Then a few months in Denver where Phyllis and
I lived with Grandma Schooley while dad, mom and the boys went to
a sawmill near Tabernash where dad worked and mama cooked for the
men. Then a short move to (four or rive miles) as the rail-
road moved its division point there, and dad got some work, building
homes for the railroaders who also had to move.
Owen and I used to walk back up to now and then. There
were some folks named Warner who ran the store there, and they were
always nice to us. There were a few cars then, but I do remember
that while living in Fraser the neighbor stopped his car and offered
my mother and me a ride. The first time either of us had rode in
a car. I imagine my mother was pretty nervous, but she had the
courage to get in. I was twelve years old.
Then, still with Routt County beckoning, we moved to Steamboat
Springs on June 26, 1914. We began hearing of the war starting in
Europe. The first thing we notice was that the price of sugar
took a sudden increase.
The railroad (the Moffat road) was being extended on past
Steamboat and finally reached Craig. Coal mines were opened up
along the way now that there was a way to ship the coal. One was
at a place afterwards called Bear River. Another was Mount Harris.
My dad got work there building houses for the miners to live
in. Dad, mama and the boys lived in a twelve by fourteen foot tent
down along the river. In the meantime dad had filed on a homestead
up Wolf Creek about eight miles from there.
They stayed in Bear River until November, when it became ap-
parent that the developers of the mine had gone broke and dad's
job was gone. It had been some time since he had received any wages,
but there was a company store there where they could get groceries,
and of course, they had been promised their pay later. My mother
told how all summer she had gotten along with as few groceries as
possible so as to have that much more in the fall, but dad never
did get any wages at all. This was a crushing blow as they had
been depending on this to get started on the homestead. But they
decided to go anyway.
There was an old man there, a Mr. Stonham by name, who had
a team and wagon. They got him to move their tent and other belong-
ings up Wolf Creek. The road was very bad and they only got to
Canyon Hill, the first day and camped over night there. They killed
a porcupine. I don't remember if they could eat it or not. They
had a dutch oven they could bake biscuits in over a campfire. The
weather was getting pretty cold by then, but some way they got to
the sight of the homestead the next day and set up the tent.
In the meantime Grandma, Phyllis and I were still living in
Steamboat. But they told us to come out to Mystic on mail stage
and dad met us there, and we got to the homestead after dark that
night. Dad must have borrowed a team and wagon, probably from
Berry's because we did not have any horses yet. All seven of us
lived in that tent the rest of the winter. I remember the organ
had to sit out doors with canvas over it. Also my Mother's trunk
and many other things had to be outdoors. Owen and Carl slept on
what we used for a table.
At first we only had a monkey stove and had to bake our bread
in the dutch oven. For a while mama used to carry her bread dough
over to Irwins (the neighbors) to bake it. She repaid them by doing
some sewing for them. Hazel and Hannah Irwin, were getting to be
good sized girls, and crazy to go to dances, and sometimes when she
got there with the bread dough, they would bring out a piece of
goods and expect her to make them dresses to wear that night, to a
dance over at Chimney Creek. We finally got a stove with an oven,
but I don't know how.
At that time there seemed to be a coal miners' strike going
on, and Irwins, McElhinneys, Hills, Crockers and others were out
on strike and drawing relief from the union and living on their
homesteads, so they were doing pretty well.
Berry's were older people and had moved to their place some
time, from Steamboat. They were not miners. They helped us out
sometimes when we needed to go to Mount Harris, which was our Post
Office and the nearest store. Dad often walked and carried home
groceries. That was seven miles. At one time he walked all the way
to Steamboat, and one thing he carried home was a pail of Karo syrup.
He knew it would be a treat for us kids.
Grandma Schooley had a small pension, being a civil war veteran's
widow. I suppose it was all used to keep us going that first winter.
We lived mostly on potatoes which we could get from Irwins. How
hungry we got for butter. That was before the days of oleo.
Anyway by the time we were all together again it was nearly
Christmas. The Wolf Creek School was near our place, and it was
about to close which we attended, and they were having a Christmas
program, the teacher as part of the program recited the poem called
Lasca. I have it in a book here called the Speaker's Library. Her
name was Dorothy Smith and she boarded at Berry's. They had known
her previously in Steamboat.
The Wolf Creek School continued for several years. At one
time it had about 15 pupils. We all went to it, and in later years
my mother taught it several years. But as people improved, they
sold out and moved away, so finally the school was closed.
The Terrys, relatives of Erwin, had quite a family and I be-
lieve they were the last family to attend it. Anyway our first
Christmas on the homestead in 1914, must have been a pretty lean
one, but we were glad to be together and proud to be on our own place.
There was lots of snow that winter. I remember how the tent roof
would sag down, and if you touched it from the inside it would begin
to leak. Dad would go outside with a broom and brush it off as
well as he could. He built us a toilet out of logs, as soon as he
was able.
In the spring he managed some way to get a team of horses.
He bought them from Simmie Peary, who had used them as leaders on
the mail stage. Their names were Kid and Fritz. They always
started out real fast, didn't know a thing about going slow and
steady. When dad first tried to plow with them, they went tear-
ing across the field, the plow just hitting the ground just once
in a while, and dad hardly being able to keep up. I remember that
day very well, we tried to grub the brush off that little level
strip along the creek. The horses finally learned to slow down,
and did a lot of plowing. They took us to town once a week. Dad
was always kind to his horses. He wouldn't let us ride them around
on Sundays. He said they needed to rest and eat.
In winter we used to ski on our home-made skiis. In a country
like that where the snow is deep and lasts until late in the spring,
the sun melts it enough on top and it freezes at night and makes
a hard crust that can hardly be dented, that is until it begins to
warm up the next morning.
Before long we built an addition to one end of the tent and
later another larger room on the other end. That is the only house
we ever had on that place. A barn, chicken house and cave had to
be built, and the land had to be cleared of the sage brush and the
trees. How we kids did hate to pull brush as we called it, while
dad plowed the ground.
Most of the time we kept quite well and never had any broken
bones. I don't know if there was a doctor yet at Mt. Harris, but
we had no money to pay one anyway. One accident was when Carl, my
youngest brother, cut his leg. He probably should have had a few
stitches. It bled profusely and as dad was nearby cutting trees,
we called him. He was very upset about it, and carried Carl all
the way down into the house. I believe he was about four years old
then. It finally healed up, but left quite a noticeable scar.
Several years later Owen, my older brother, had what they
called inflamatory rheumatism. The folks thought it came from his
swimming in very cold water up by the spring. They got him some
Doane's pills, but I believe it was Rheumatic Fever. He was pretty
sick with it. It would hurt so, and he would want to be turned
often, then he would complain that it would hurt when we would try
to move him.
Speaking of illness, there used to be a belief that people got
Mountain Fever the second spring after coming to the mountains, and
there must have been something to it for both dad and mother got a
spell of chills and fever, they were pretty miserable for quite a
while. Mrs. Emma Peck, the county Superintendent of Schools, was
visiting our school at that time. She was an old pioneer and said
the remedy for it was sage tea, not sage brush, but a little plant
that grew in places. My mother fixed some of it, and I don't know
how much they took of it or whether it did any good, but it certainly
was bitter. They eventually recovered. Then we had plenty of wood
ticks to deal with, but they never seemed to do us much harm.
In 1918 a family by the name of Butz moved into Wolf Creek,
down by the Haddon place on a homestead that was filed on by Tim
Gaskill, Mrs. Butz' father. They became our good friends, and we
still keep in touch. Just this summer, 1979, a man and his wife,
stopped to see me, and she introduced herself as Effa Butz, one of
the daughters. We had a wonderful time recalling those long ago
days.
Before they came to Colorado, they lived on a farm in Texas,
and had five little girs, one of whom was never very strong. The
doctor there told them that perhaps a higher altitude would help
her, so they sold out and came to Colorado, in hope of benefitting
her. They felt that she might have lived, but that was the year
of the flu epidemic, which they all got. Mrs. Butz nearly died,
but little Nada did not survive. Mr. Bashor was the County Coroner
then, and he came and helped them plan the funeral. She was buried
in Hayden. The casket was sent down from Steamboat on the passenger
train which got to Mt. Harris late that night. My dad met the train
with a team and wagon and brought the casket up to their place at
night.
Irene Harold was teaching the Wolf Creek School then, and I
had been going to school in Hayden, but was home because the school
had been closed because of the flu. I remember Irene and us kids
had to stay alone one night while the folks were down at Butz' and
we were nervous. Irene left soon after, to go home for Thanksgiving
and was never able to come back because she also got the flu and was
very sick for a long time.
I don't believe our family ever got it except Owen who was
working at Harris, and they kept him down there in a house with
others who had it. I remember we went to see him and talked to him
through the window. The schools were all closed until sometime in
January.
When dad would plow the ground, that would tear most of the
brush loose. Then we were supposed to pile it up and later it
would be burned. Potatoes were usually planted the first year.
Then by the next year the ground would be in better shape, and
grain could be grown. The season was too short for hay. We had
no way to irrigate any of our land. We were real dry farmers.
but we'd get some rain in summer and always snow in winter. So
the ground didn't get too dry and we raised wonderful potatoes,
and all kinds of hearty vegetables.
Grandma Flickinger, my father's mother, had been living in
Pennsylvania until then, but when her second husband died, she
decided to go to California and live with Uncle Ben, her brother.
So on the way out there she stopped and spent several months with
us. This was the first time she had seen her grandchildren. Later
she sent dad some money to buy some Jersey cows, and bought an
incubator and got eggs from Priestesses to put in it so we got started
in chickens, so we lived better after that. Grandma went on to
California and lived to be quite old and we never saw her again.
After the mine at Mount Harris was developed and the town grew,
it became a good market for vegetables, eggs and dairy products.
We would buy a bushel of onion sets and sell most of them as green
onions in bunches. We would work hard all day getting a load of
produce ready to take, we would take potatoes and other vegetables
in season, eggs, butter and buttermilk and sometimes chickens.
We'd have it all in the spring wagon and would drive along the
street, the people would come and buy.
Later on after I was gone from home, on one of these trips,
one of the horses got sick and died right in Mount Harris. Our
neighbors, the Irwins, happened to be in town that same day, and
they took the folks home leaving old Kid behind. I suppose my
folks had to borrow a horse or team and come back for the wagon.
When I was ready for high school, I went to Hayden for a while,
then I went to work in Mount Harris while my brother Owen worked
at various ranches. When Phyllis and Carl finished the grades in
Hayden where mama had moved and grandma was also living, she made
a home for them so they could go to high school. Carl graduated in
1929, the only one in our family to finish. He won a scholarship
to agricultural college in Fort Collins and graduated in 1934.
Mama and grandma moved to Fort Collins with him. Dad stayed on the
homestead alone, for a while, then went to New Mexico to be with
Phyllis, who was married and living there then.
I believe the homestead finally was sold for taxes. I don't
know who owns it now. The last time I saw it was August 22, 1972
when Bob, Mabel and Bill took me there, and we cooked supper up
above where the schoolhouse used to be. I can't remember whether
or not there were any buildings left at the homestead at that time.
Our big problem when we were on the homestead was the range
cattle. At that time the cattlemen could turn their herds loose
anywhere in the summer. As long as there was good pasture along
Wolf Creek, that was a favorite place. Our fields were fenced,
but the cattle would get in anyway. Part of our cultivated ground
was out of sight from the house. It was very discouraging to get
up in the morning and find a bunch of doggies in the middle of our
fields or truck patch. Finally a herd law was passed, and free
range was a thing of the past.
Later on when I was married, we heard of homestead land, being
thrown open for entry over on Slater Creek. I'II never forget the
look of horror on my grandma's face when we told her we had taken
up a homestead, but it didn't discourage us. But she still remembered
our early days on Wolf Creek.
The following is a brief account of our life on the Slater
Creek homestead. We were living in Mt. Harris after returning from
Illinois when some friends of ours, the Ayres, told us of homestead
land to be on Slater Creek. So Jack Ayres and Adolf made the trip
over there in the spring. That was probably in 1924. Each of them
filed on a place. They could only get as far as Jameson's place,
which was about five miles down the road, with the car due to bad
roads and lots of snow. The altitude was about 8,000 feet, and it
was twenty miles from the store and post office of Slater, which
was the nearest thing to a town. It was run by Mildred MacIntosh.
We were acquainted with the Jamesons. They had already lived on
Slater Creek for several years. The road was fairly good as far
as their place. But our place was about five miles farther up
the creek. At first there were no bridges, and the creeks were
high, and hardly passable for a car. We had a Chevrolet touring
car then.
In the spring of 1925 Adolf, my husband, quit his job at the
mine. I think we had about $400 saved. Bob was about two years
old. We had to vacate the house at Mt. Harris, so we stored some
of our furniture at the livery barn at Hayden and got someone
with a truck to take the rest of it to Slater. We could only get
as far as Jamesons again and had to leave some things there and
also leave the car. A bachelor named McMichael took us the rest
of the way with his wagon. We had a tent which we set up along
Douglas Creek. The weather was nice by then but it got very cold
at night. We had bought a small wood burning stove in Craig but
I think it was a while before we got it moved up. We also had a
little gasoline hot plate, but we couldn't use it much because we
had to save gas. No filling stations were closer that Slater post
office. So we cooked on campfire for a little while. I don't
remember how long before we were able to get the car up to the
place, but a man named Hoggatt moved our stuff from the Jamesons
with horses and wagons .
Smith's sawmill was only about six miles away. and it wasn't
long until we got some lumber, and we began building a twelve by
twenty-four foot house. We also planted a little garden by the
Creek, but it was too frosty. Adolf's father came from Illinois
to visit us about this time, and he gave us $100. We paid it back
later.
We decided to move back to Mt. Harris for that first winter
returning early the next spring. I think that was the only time
we left the homestead except for a few months at Savory so as to
be near a doctor when Josie was born. Jack Ayres was rinning a mine
there, and Adolf worked with him in the mine. We would get a little
money each year by renting out our pasture to the sheep outfits,
and Adolf usually got a few weeks work in the summer clearing the
forest trails, also he worked at the sawmill sometimes, and took
lumber as wages. By this time the Depression was in progress.
Before long we got a cow and some chickens and most years, we
could raise potatoes. We could get a mess of fish now and then,
but I only remember getting one deer while we were on the homestead.
In the fall we would get enough flour, sugar, coffee and so forth
to last a year. Though these were Depression days, we felt very
well off when we'd hear of people in cities standing in bread lines.
After a few years we decided to move up on a hill into the
timber as it was hardly possible to raise a garden down by the
creek, because it frosted so often. It was a cold place to live
and no timber close by for firewood. It was beautiful up there,
but very isolated.
Our neighbors were the Rubidues, Mr. Marshall, Baldwins,
Hammricks, Floyd Crawford and Bart Melton, the last two were bachelors.
Also Cochrans, from Oklahoma moved in near Rubidues, and a friend,
Lucy Perry, came with them. A school was organized, and she was the
first teacher. Bob had to walk about two miles to go to school, but
I think Miss Perry left before he was old enough to go to school.
There were several other teachers later and quite a few pupils. The
Ayres children, Baldwins, Hammricks and the Rubidue girls. We
eventually got a mail route and a party-line telephone. However,
the folks with children all moved away as soon as they could prove
up and sellout their places, and we were the only ones left. So
after the school was closed, the next year, Josie was old enough
to go to school, so we had to give up the homestead after living
there eleven years and moved back to Mt. Harris where we lived until
Bob finished high school.
Josie died while we lived there. She was not quite eight years
old and in the second grade. Josie came home from school one
morning feeling weak. We took her to see the company doctor. He
said she had the flu. He said, "put her to bed, and feed her poached
eggs." The last thing she said was, "The trouble is, I don't like
poached eggs." She went to sleep, slipped into a coma, and died that
next morning. Another company doctor saw her and she had kidney
failure. So even though there was a company doctor available, it
didn't do any good. If we had been in the mountains and not had
a doctor, we would have thought that she would have made it if
only there had been a doctor available. The company doctors were
abused. People called them for every little thing, and doctors
became calloused because they were over worked.
We then moved into the Hadden place which was not far from my
dad's homestead. Wendell was born there, and when he was old enough
to go to school, we moved to La Veta. There was no one living on
upper Slater Creek by that time. We sold it to Leslie Anderson, a
sheep herder, who had been leasing it for several years.
We had left a batching outfit in the house on the hill, but
someone stole all of it, and the heavy snow broke down the cabin.
Bob had built a little house, and it was still there when I saw it
last, which was a few years ago. The sweet williams that Josie
had planted, had spread quite a distance into the timber and
rhubarb, was still doing quite well.
The following is an account of our move from Routt County to
La Veta. We had been living on the Haddon place for about five
years, although we had bought it some time before that. I had
continued to live in Mt. Harris, until Bob graduated from high
school. About two months after that took place, little Wendell
arrived. There was no school anywhere near, and we knew that
eventually we would have to move again, when Wendell was ready for
school. We had thought some of moving down around Grand Junction,
(the fruit country), but we didn't know anything about raising fruit
and heard that they had problems too. Either late frost would
damage the fruit crop, or a bumper crop, would bring low prices
and great difficulty in getting pickers when needed.
In the meantime we had become interested in dairy goats, and
when our friends, the Mathews', wanted to sell their herd, so we
bought them, I think about 15 milkers. They did real well for us.
We separated the milk along with that of the cows and shipped the
cream. I subscribed for the Dairy Goat Journal, and not long after-
wards, saw an article in it about a cheese factory being established
in La Veta to make cheese out of goat milk, and they were paying a
good price for milk and wanted people with goats to come to La Veta,
to supply them. That seemed to be just right for us.
I made a trip down to look over the country, taking Wendell,
he was five years old. Gross's were running the hotel then, and we
stayed there. Mrs. Germano, Doug, Josephine and Audrey, were
staying there also, and we got acquainted. Later that winter Adolph
came to La Veta to see how he liked it. He bought the place where
Jack Bailey now lives, from Ray Spangler, and did some work on the
house, which had just been moved on the place, and needed a lot of
work done on it. He built the chimney, and also a garage, and had
a supply of hay put into it, and built a corral fence for the goats.
Bob and Cleo were then living on their place, having come from
Seattle, where Bob had been working for Boeings and had met and
married Cleo Smith on December 1942.
World War II was going on then, and every so often Bob would
be called up, but was not actually drafted as he was working in
an essential industry. He was told that he would have to go soon,
so they decided to come back to Colorado, so they could see their
place, and Cleo could stay with us if he had to go. The war ended
about this time, so he never was called. He bought some used lumber
from an old mine boarding house they were tearing down, and he built
them a nice house. There had been a small cabin on the place where
they lived meanwhile. So while Adolph was gone, Bob came up to
bring the mail and anything else I needed.
After Adolph came home, we began to pack up and make arrange-
ments to move to La Veta. We engaged a big truck from Steamboat to
take the goats. The road up to the house from the main road was
very poor, and of course, it had to rain and had to be muddy, so
the big truck could not get up to the house. So everything had to
be taken in the small truck and transferred to the big truck. Bob
came up to help us get loaded, and as we drove off, the last sight
I had of him was standing there, muddy from head to toe. I think
it was late afternoon.
The main road was not too good, being muddy. I chickened out
and was afraid to ride up the big hill, just before getting to Mt.
Harris, so Wendell and I walked up. Pop managed to get up okay,
and from then on we were soon on the highway. The big truck had
stayed in Steamboat for the night. They loaded the furniture, in
the front end of the truck, then made a partition with bales of
straw, and put the goats back there were about 20 or 25 of them
including, the old, the young, and the billy. We took the chickens
with us in the back of the pick-up.
We stopped a little in Steamboat at the home of the truck owner
where we were given coffee, etc. It was then nearly midnight I
think. But we intended to go on ahead and get to La Veta ahead of
them. So the-re was no sleep for us that night. We got over Berthoud,
and through Denver okay, but along Castle Rock, Adolph began to feel
sick, and we had to stop awhile. We had no breakfast, so I thought
he would feel better to have something to eat, and some coffee. So
we stopped at Larkspur. Meantime we had seen the big truck pass us,
so we knew we could get there first. So I called Spangler in La Veta
and told him the situation, and asked if he could get someone to
meet the truck and help them unload, which he did. When we finally
got to La Veta, the empty truck was just leaving. They charged us
$200 altogether, for the moving.
The goats had been put into the corral and the furniture piled
into the house. There was a small chicken house where we could put
the chickens. The goats had not been milked since the previous
morning, so I had to get busy. I did not feel that the milk would
be good, so I threw it away. There was no barn, so I had to bring
each goat into the garage to milk and feed her grain. Hay had to
be thrown on the ground, and they had no shelter at night, or when
it rained, which it seemed to do quite often. Several of the young
ones died from exposure, and of course, the milkers did not give
much milk either. The cheese factory was paying 60¢ a gallon for
milk then, and Adolph had to take it over each morning. As soon
as he could, he put up a nice cinder block barn, with a hay mow,
and things were much better then.
When I began to get things organized in the house, I soon
discovered that everything was covered and driven full of flour.
We had a fifty pound lard can of flour among things, and the lid
came off some way, and the wind and speed of the truck had caused
it to be blown into practically everything. Of course, it was
nothing dirty, and not too hard to clean off, but nevertheless it
was a nuisance added to the other hardships of moving. Years after-
wards I would find flour in such places as the sewing machine drawers.
Another trouble was that although the place was within town
limits, no one had lived on it before, and the water had never been
piped up to it. The war was over by that time, but it still wasn1t
possible to buy water pipe, so for quite a while we had to haul
water for the goats and household use. Finally we were able to get
pipe, and that problem was solved. A new floor had to be put in
the house also, and flooring was to get done, but Adolph paid quite
a price for some used flooring and got that done. The house
originally had two large rooms. I don't think it was wired for
electricity when we first got there either.
The price of milk kept going down until they were only paying
28¢ per gallon. Several people protested, and the man who was
running the factory called a meeting which I attended. He explained
that he could not pay any more because in selling the cheese, he
could not compete with other areas, which were better suited for
dairies, such as more rainfall and better pasture, like Wisconsin
and Minnesota. We could not sell our milk at what he could pay, so
he had no choice but to close the factory. That is what happened,
and everyone was faced with disposing a lot of milk, and a lot of
goats that couldn't be given away. I heard that there was an outfit
from Texas that came in and was paying $5.00 a piece for them.
We butchered some of ours. I separated the milk and shipped the
cream for a while, but that only brought about half as much as
selling the milk even at 7¢ a quart. We got a couple pigs, but
they could not use all the skim milk. So the whole deal was a
failure from beginning to end.
We had never expected to make our entire living off the goats,
but thought it would help, and as we had to move, we did not lose
much actual cash. Adolph soon got work as a carpenter, and Wendell
had a nice school to go to. We never have regretted moving to La
Veta, and have found the climate more pleasant than northwestern
Colorado where it is much colder and has more snow.
The old timers have told me that once or twice before, some
one has started a cheese factory, but they never lasted long.
Wendell soon found friends, Archie Mendoza, Henry and Emily
Romero, and went to school with them. Bob, Cleo and the girls soon
came to visit us and later decided to locate in Pueblo where Bob
worked for a construction company.
My son Bob, was six years older than his sister Josie. Then
Wendell was twelve years younger than his sister. My two sons are
eighteen years apart. I had my last baby when I was forty. Maybe having a baby
so late made my body keep on longer than most. They say that many
women who have babies when they are older have babies who aren't
normal, but I always felt that Wendell was very bright.
Now they are just discovering that mother's milk is the best food
for babies. Isn't that amazing? Who would ever have doubted that
if they were in their right mind?
You know cars used to be a rarity. I really think that the
coming of so many cars has completely changed life in La Veta. People
use cars so much now, that it is no wonder that there is a shortage
of energy.
At the end of the interview, when my baby was ready to fall
asleep, Dorothy said, "now you just close those sleepy eyes and let
your worries slip away."
DOROTHY WERNER
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