1937 - 1939
I Begin My Teens

Leo, one of my handsome brothers, was a motorcycle enthusiast. He had owned several bikes over the years before he married. He was in hillclimb competitions all around the area. The hills were (it seemed) just about straight up. One contest his picture was taken by a photographer and it appeared in the newspaper. The write-up read:

Speaking of bronco bustin', take a
look at a man having a hard time keeping his
motorcycle under him. Leo Keener, Spokane,
halfway astride the roaring "gas horse," won
one of the events of the hillclimb Sunday
at Ski-Mor after he had driven his machine 104
feet up the steep track. Each of the 16 entries
rode three times, with only a few successfully
making the 225-foot climb.

Leo and his buddies (Don Collier and Erv Watts, to name two that I remember) became trick riders; two of them would ride their motorcycles side-by-side, then standing, they would change motorcycles. It was scary for Mom and us girls to watch!

As I have been told, one day Don and Leo were skipping school and decided to "show-off '' their new trick riding. They waited until lunch hour so there would be the largest possible audience. As they began roaring past West Valley High School, they stood up on their cycles, and to their mortification, things went awry -- Don slipped off his motorcycle and fell in the dust along Trent Highway. What an episode for these two very macho fellows!

Other times, our police dog would ride on the motorcycle with Leo. Ted would try almost anything. We "used" Ted's energy for a fun time down on the river where thick ice formed between a small isle of land and our riverbank. We would throw a stick or rock, or whatever was handy. Ted would race after it, but before he could take off, we would firmly grab onto his tail, and . . . WHEE . . . away we would skate across the ice. Also, our mother would have him pull us across the ice on a sled.

Ted

Leo encouraged Opal and me to learn to ride a motorcycle. He let us try on his smaller bike in an open field across the river. I really thought it was pretty neat stuff and wanted someday to have a motorcycle of my own. As a grownup, I could have realized this goal, but I was too obsessed with my appearance and my back-combed once-a-week hair-do, that I couldn't imagine myself in a helmet ruining my great hair style.

My good friend, Betty Smith, had a quick sense of humor and a lovely, fun mother. One day Betty and I were playing in her kitchen and giggling wildly about some joke we had going. Betty, amid our laughter, began singing, "Ah, sweet mystery of life, at last I've found you!" And, from the living room Betty's mother, "Betty, stay out of that candy!" We hadn' t known there was candy -- but with that, we found where it was hidden, and had some.

Evelyn, aged 16, and I became good buddies. She was the sister of Dennis' wife, Gladys. We often stayed overnight with each other. The McDonald house was in Spokane on East Montgomery, just near an open area where carnivals and circuses put up their attractions. One morning we were awakened early by the noisy procession going through the street outside -- big elephants were lumbering along the street being herded to the circus grounds.

Sometimes Evelyn McDonald had a hard time being my friend because I looked so much older than I was. I looked at least 16. Any boy who paid attention to me would quickly be told, "Do you know how old she is? She's only 12!" Evelyn was fascinated with the carnival group, and did in fact, later marry a wrestler who was with a carnival.

Together we went to several Saturday night dances. At one, she introduced me to a good dancer, "Okie" Smith. After dancing to "The Sheik of Araby" and "Sugar Blues," he maneuvered me to a window that had a heavy drapery. As we stood behind the drape looking down at the city lights, he put an arm around me, put his face down, and there was my first kiss. He said nothing to me, and I said nothing. That was it!

Evelyn and I, as would happen, lost contact with each other. Gladys and Dennis were divorcing. Gladys forbade any of us (Dennis' family) to see Johnny. She was bitter, and used Johnny to get back at Dennis. Therefore, we were never allowed to get to know him. In later years, he went by the name of John Mehl instead of John Keener.

When I was in the seventh grade, I tried very hard to control my temper. I was very stubborn, and my friends told me I sure had a bad temper. I was using lipstick by then, as were some of the other girls in the class. Mrs. Beam, my teacher and principal, was calling each of us by name to "go wash off that lipstick." When she called my name, I said, "No!" She was astounded and asked, "What did you say?" I repeated, "No!"

With that, I got up from my desk and lost no time getting home. She threatened me with poor grades in retaliation, but it didn't come about. Somehow, Mrs. Beam and my mother reached an equitable agreement on my chastisement. It was probably fitting to the crime. She mentioned that she never had anyone openly defy her in all her years of teaching.

The paperboy came to collect and I answered the door. He was a tall, dark, good looking boy. I unabashedly (brazenly -- overbold) asked around until I found out his name -- Albert Basher. He came every week for his money, and I tried to be home to answer the door. That is the whole story; he was prince charming whom I daydreamed about for some time after.

At age 12 I often accompanied my widowed mom to ballroom dances. When asked to dance, I'd say, "Well, I'm just learning -- ". "Come on anyway, you can do it!". And it didn't take long before I was quite confident. My favorite new song was "Josephine." I told Mom, "If the orchestra plays that song and I don't have a partner, I will just have to ask someone to dance!"

In eighth grade we tried out for roles in our Christmas play. Our teacher and new principal, Harold Hoffman, said I could have any part I wanted. Naturally, I chose the part of the young girl. Mr. Hoffman previously taught at Otis Orchards schools, and subsequently was superintendent of a new district, East Valley.

I can quite well remember the words to several required poems, etc. that I had to memorize in grade school. However, it is not so easy to remember things from contemporary times. I am still haunted by the poem "In Flanders Field," wherein we are the dead (of World War I). I can relate now to "If," which was a good philosophy had I but realized it. . . But what good "Abou Pen Adhem" did for me I cannot say. Committed to memory also was The Preamble to the Constitution.

An article in the Chronicle, Pinecroft-Irvin News read:

Graduation exercises will be held at 1:30 p.m. Thursday at Trent School for the following pupils completing the eighth grade: Patricia Rooney, Merle Billips, Minta Mae Jacoby, Beatrice Newsom, Betty Smith, Ruth Panther, Leta Keener, John Hendrickson. Harold Westfall, Emmett Harmon, Leo Robic, Harry Tesch, Lyle Plett, Don Hubble, Jerry Newsom, Wayne Lounder, Jack Hardie, Melvin Mertens, Bill Manfred and Donald Bryan.

Jack Hardie will give the salutatory address, and Melvin Mertens the valedictory.

My first dates were with a neighbor boy, Del Hardie. I liked Del a lot because he was a very kind person. He was nice looking, but I thought he had oddly shaped hands. I also liked the car his best friend took us out on dates in. We rode in the rumble seat! Pitching woo! Del's mother put an end to our dating as she figured we were both too young. I was 14 and he must have been 17; Del was a Senior when I was a Freshman. Later, his mother changed her mind and said to go ahead and date me, but I was not interested anymore.

The summer before I began high school, Opal and I undertook to swim across the river and back again. At mid-point, Opal suddenly exclaimed, "I can't swim any farther!" After weighing the distances back and ahead, we managed to complete our crossing. Then, in our wet swim suits, we had to walk a mile to Millwood, cross the bridge, and walk a mile back home.

Leta and Opal Keener