July 9, 1920 - May 3, 1962
and
Marva Senkow
September 17, 1924 - November 28, 1996
In the fall of 1940, Walt Senkow, a newly licensed electrician, was offered a job in Dayton, OH. He didn't want to leave my mom behind in Muskegon, Michigan. Consequently, he picked my mom up at Muskegon High School, packed up the stuff in her locker, and they took off (with her parents' blessing) to Newport, Kentucky to get married. His sister Anne and the minister's wife were their witnesses.
My dad was drafted, as were many young men in those days, and went off to serve in Europe. He hated the army with a passion but abided by the book. He used to tell us a story about how his sargent asked him to polish his (the sargent's) shoes and my dad refused, quoting a regulation that stated that enlisted men were not required to perform that type of personal task for an officer. Of course, the sargent was none too happy. My dad relates that he shouted, "Senkow, I wish you had one stripe, just one little stripe, so I could bust you." (He was a buck private.) He spent much of his time stringing communications lines between the troops and had his most frightening moment when a troop of German soldiers passed below him while he was up a tree stringing telegraph wire - and he realized he had left his rifle leaning against the tree. Fortunately, no one saw him - or his rifle - or I wouldn't be here.
After the war, Walt and Marva borrowed a couple of hundred dollars from her folks and set themselves up in business (1946). Walt did electrical contracting and Marva, who had her salesman's roots selling fresh garden vegetables from a Red Flyer wagon during the depression, sold parts and appliances. Eventually, the business bloomed and they moved into larger buildings twice during the life of the business.
Walt had three hobbies: playing and singing country music, fishing and a knack for locating oil. In the last few years of his life was involved in oil drilling, some of them quite successful. He put over 100,000 miles on a new car one year, driving to and from Kentucky and Tennessee, checking out the oil wells and setting up leases.
Marva was a real carpenter. Two weeks after she gave birth to me, she was building counters and doing finishing work on the upper level of their house to set up a bedroom for my brother and me.
Walt - my dad - died the day after my 10th birthday and my mother never re-married. She sold the business in 1971, shortly after I was married.
The last 12 years of her life, Marva dedicated herself with her usual zeal to the of our boys and she helped us keep up with household tasks while we worked full time jobs and took classes at night school. Up to the day before she died, she worked on her carpentry projects - doing finishing work on her new carport and breezeway, lifting 14 foot 4 by 6 inch boards for the roof, building closets inside the carport, painting, etc. Quite a feat for a lady who was under 5'2" tall and weighed about 100 lbs soaking wet!
Father covered
The nine hundred miles
From our house
To the resort
In ten hours flat
One stop
For lunch
And Heaven help the kid who had to go
Between.
When we got there
Things came slow
Like a pleasant dream.
Blue, crystalline waters
Sparkled over sculptured shale
And mysteries
Beckoned to my brother and me.
Ripe for exploration
The islands dotted the fingers
Of Dale Hollow reservoir.
The houseboat putted out
Five miles per hour
And father played skipper in a duckbill cap
While mother swept the shale
Off the lumpy, metal deck.
"Shale doesn't feel good
On your bare feet,"
She said
While brother and I darted restive
Leaning over the rails.
Wild blackberries
Tasted sweeter than maple syrup
On those deserted islands
July Fourth offered Roman Candles
Forbidden fruit
Back in Michigan
Father and brother
Maintained a steady diet
Of chiggers and Tennessee watermelons.
Out in the motor boat
We discovered a secret cavern
And you had to dive
Below the water's surface
To get inside
And the water glowed turquoise
In the secret grotto
I fed breadcrumbs
To the spotted sunfish
Shining blue and iridescent gold.
Two weeks later
Feet criss-crossed with shale cuts
Sunburned backs
And half a dozen dirty white tee shirts
Father docked the houseboat
Back at the resort
I took hom the memory
Of our secret grotto cavern
Father and brother took home chiggers
And diarrhea from too many watermelons.
- Miki -
In my mother's kitchen
The spice rack never held
Sugar and spice.
It held jars full of
Nails
Screws
Nuts
Bolts
And anchors
For hollow walls.
Her recipes
Contained measurements
In feet
And inches
With ingredients like
J-channels
Two by fours
Vinyl siding
And quarter round trim.
Her kitchen smelled
Of fresh wood.
When my mother baked
She cooked up porches
Partitians
New rooms
Garage doors
Carports
And breezeways.
She always lived
With her projects
And taught me young
That a straight line
Requires a "level",
A steady hand,
And a critical eye.
So projects take time
Need patience
To complete each
Small detail
And finish.
The way she constructed her life
Showed us
How much harder it is to build up
Than to knock down.
That is why
I must finish
Her final project
And how I know
The world will always need
Another carpenter.
- Miki -
