FAMILY HISTORY OF PRATT/SHIRK LINES
SKETCH 13: Remembering my parents on what would have been their 103rd anniversary
Ben Pratt and Lilly Shirk were married on January 14th, 1911. He was five feet ten in his prime and she was five feet four. Both had brown hair and gray eyes. He was outgoing with a big grin and an infectious belly laugh. She was more reserved with a gentle smile and quiet chuckle. They both loved to sing and dance. They both loved their neighbors.
Richard remembered a team of horses pulling a wagon that quietly stopped in front of our ranch house. Dad investigated and found a drunken driver who had passed out. Dad managed to get him indoors, put him to bed, and then went out to take care of the horses. Mom fed the man a good breakfast in the morning and then they sent him on his way. Richard as a boy didn’t quite know what to make of it, but later wrote: “it was a lesson to me of love for your fellow beings no matter how wretched they are, which our parents had an abundance of.”
They received a wooden pump organ as a wedding present. Mom would play while they sang in harmony together. Dad was a tenor but could sing bass and baritone if needed. Richard noted that Dad “could hear a tune once or twice, and then play it on the guitar” and accompany himself on the harmonica. Melba adds that a wire harness around his head held the harmonica in place and that Dad was always singing or whistling. My siblings could all sing in harmony and Mom made sure the girls learned to play the piano. Dad managed to teach me to whistle but the rest of the family’s musical talent never made it to the end of the row.
Mom could draw and demonstrated artistic creativity. Melba notes that Mom’s box always won the prize at the box socials. Melba remembered boxes designed like a battleship, Uncle Sam’s hat, and a red barn with silo. Mom wrote that “Most Saturday nights we danced in our front room while Melba played the piano, had chili at midnight.” Members of the Wenatchee LDS branch would drive out after Sunday School for chicken and dumplings and homemade ice cream. On July 24th, “we would clear the apple-shed and dance. The men would sleep in the hay and the women in the house.”
Monday was always washday and bean soup day. Fires would be lit out doors to keep hot water going for washing and rinsing clothes. A big pot of beans would be simmering on the kitchen range to feed the hungry and supply mashed beans for sandwiches during the week. The mashed beans were used like peanut butter between two thick slices of Grandma Pete’s “peasant bread.” When my brothers were sent out to ride the range, they would be given a couple of these sandwiches in an old flour sack which they would tie to the pommel of their saddles. They would stop by a cold spring of water for lunch or even earlier on a hot day before the sandwiches could absorb the horse’s sweat. I don’t know about bean sandwiches, but how I loved my Mom’s baked beans.
Dad never finished the third grade. Mom made it through the sixth grade. Both were bright as well as caring and wanted their children to all finish high school. Two of the five who survived childhood made it and went on to get bachelors and masters degrees. Dad hoped that one of his children would become a doctor. I finally received a Ph.D, but as my two brothers liked to remind me, I was the kind of doctor who couldn’t help anyone! (I did manage to caution a whole generation about bananas.)
Dad had the ability to start laughing in a movie and others around him could not help but join in. A theater in Wenatchee (I think it was the Rialto) tried to persuade him to come to all of their comedies, but Dad’s laugh was not for sale. He did star in a local production about a World War I soldier that was staged in the school house on the Colockum. Mom told me that the uniform did not fit and had to be pinned in strategic places. All went well until the soldier’s death. Dad collapsed dramatically to the stage only to be pierced in the side by a loose pin. He yelped and jumped to his feet in pain, but the audience was wowed by the resurrection scene of the hero.
Dad was a strong man physically but not as strong as Grandpa Pete which I’ll tell you about in the future. Dad was particularly uptight about men who abused their wives. He was gentle in child rearing, but all of us knew that one line we could not cross was to sass or show disrespect in any way towards our Mother.
I’ll close this sketch with a rhyme Dad made up to be sent in a box of cookies Mom had made for Leroy. (Rhymes were part of the humor of both father and son. I can just hear Mom say, “Oh, Ben” as she heard the words “swear,” “junk” and “punk.”)
Our mama dear to hear her swear,
Fills daddy’s soul with deep despair.
She’s making cookies for the Navy
While daddy begs for spuds and gravy.
Between the dog, Dave, and me
We’ve licked the cake pans till their free
Of all the dough and other junk
That goes to make these cookies punk.
We hope with you they will agree
As they have the dog and Dave and me.
We’re sending you this little rhyme
To help you pass away the time.
To you, dear Son, we wish to say,
If these cookies with you too long stay,
Take Carter’s Little Liver pills
And they’ll move all your ills.
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