Recipes for Living George W. (Warren) Norris

When two people who enjoy exploring philosophical ideas get together, writing a life story becomes almost secondary; but the "great cloud of witnesses" of Hebrews 12:1, who in this case were probably of the Methodist tradition, may well have been smiling broadly that George was contributing to a Methodist endeavor. He comes from a long line of Methodist ministers on both the paternal and maternal side.

George's ancestry has been traced back to 16th century England and every family member then and since, led such interesting lives that they deserve their own story. Ancestor Henry Wolcott was born in Tolland, England, in 1578. His lineage includes several knights, one of which was Sir Philip Walcott of Walcott, England, and goes back to a 10th century Welsh tribal chief named Cynfyn, King of Powys, on the western coast of Wales. Henry Wolcott came to America in search of religious freedom and settled in Dorchester colony (Boston), Massachusetts. In time he brought his sons Henry, Jr., Christopher, and Simon to Connecticut, while it was the hunting ground of the Iroquois. He and his children were well known in Connecticut
government and one of his grandchildren, Oliver, signed the Declaration of Independence.

Josiah Wolcott was the great-great-grandson of Henry Wolcott. He was a fifth generation American, born in 1755. He fought in the Continental Army. Granddaughter Lydia Wolcott was born in 1805. During her early years the family moved to the wilderness of Ohio. Records have shown that in early years there had been a settlement in Orwell, Ohio where there were just five families- the Norris, Babcock, and Wolcott families and two others. It is not surprising that there were marriages between the families. Evidence in North Presbyterian Church Cemetery in Orwell, Ohio, confirms that some of the present George Norris' relatives are buried there.

Three generations of Babcock brothers became Methodist ministers. Several of the boys were given Methodist-related names- John Wesley and Charles Wesley Babcock. The other boys fared less well. Of the 14 children, among them were boys named Tancred de Hautiville, whom his mother called Hautie; Solon Epamanondus (Solon for a town in Ohio, and Epamanondus for the Greek general of Thebes), Parmenio, and Fayette.

When Lydia Wolcott grew up, she became the first teacher in the community. She married John Babcock at the time when Methodism was sweeping the country and John Babcock and his family became Methodists. The Wolcotts, who were Presbyterian and later became Congregationalists, regarded Methodists as the false prophets foretold in scripture. When Lydia became the wife of John Wesley Babcock, her family erased her name from the family Bible. When John died, Lydia married his brother Solon, and they moved to Rifle, Colorado. Their children included George's grandmother, Ina Babcock.

Summing up Lydia's life, the writer of the family history said, "...she was the hub of the wheel that joined all things together. She was a member of a family of Yankee rebels and one of English loyalists. She was a member of a family of conservative Presbyterians and of a family of liberal Methodists. Through her grandfather, Josiah, she was part of Connecticut and New England. Through her grandchildren, she would be part of the new frontier that stretched into western Colorado."

George W.'s son, the present George's grandfather, was Daniel Burt (D.B.) Norris. He went into business in Colorado and it was there that he met and married Ina Babcock. They later moved to Redding, Iowa, where George W. served as pastor. They are both listed as charter members of the church and their names are on the stained glass windows. George has noticed them when he has attended funerals and weddings of relatives in the church. D. B. Norris' grandfather, Jeremiah Norris, had moved to Derby, Iowa, and is supposedly buried near Redding at Brushy Cemetery, but George has been unable to find the gravesite.

The present George Norris was named for his great-grandfather, George W. Norris, who knew that the Babcocks had moved to Colorado. Later he brought the family to the Midwest. D. Burt and family lived in southern Missouri and George W. in southern Iowa, eventually settling in the town of Redding in Ringgold County. The family records dub George a wanderer.

George W. had been a "rounder" as a young man. He and his wife attended dances, which were definitely on the "thou shalt not" list in those days. Sometime around the age of 35, he became aware that wasn't the way he wanted to live his life. It was at one of the dances that he was "convicted." He turned the dance into a revival and converted several people on the spot. He became a Methodist minister. An aunt of the present George lives in Westborough, Missouri. She has the journals and sermons of George's great-grandfather. George had the privilege of reading one of the sermons to the family as they gathered for a reunion four or five years ago.

The family of George's mother, Darlene Crane Norris, lived in Blanchard in Page County, Iowa. Her parents, L.A. and Mary Blanche Deuhurst Crane, were Methodists, as were her mother's parents, the Deuhursts. Leonard Crane ran a hardware store in Blanchard, Iowa. He died in 1929, while taking care of his aunt who had contracted pneumonia. He took it also and died when Darlene was three years old. Mary Blanche took over the business. She was familiar with it because her father, William Dewhurst, was a competitor in the same line of work.

In addition to operating the hardware store, she ran the local telephone office and raised two daughters during the Depression. In an attempt to cater to the interests of all his customers, L.A. had a gigantic inventory that included large items and small - from nails and screws to harnesses, belts and buckles, hats, and Star automobiles. George has seen pictures and attests that there was stock from floor to ceiling. When the Depression hit, L.A. owed for a great deal of it, and Mary Blanche had to find money to pay for it all. Needless to say, she had to account for every penny.

That practice served her well when she and several cousins were on a shopping trip to Omaha. She had purchased several items and paid for them with a $10 bill, but was given change for $5. She questioned the clerk, who protested that he had given her the correct change. When she could not win her point with him, she asked to see the store manager and pulled out of her purse a list of serial numbers of the bills that she was carrying. That proved that she had, indeed, given a $10 bill, and she was given the correct change.

Mary Blanche was still running that store in the 1960's and continued until she died at the age of 86. Her death raised the question of who would take over the operation of the store. There was no one in the family who was willing or able, and so it was agreed that her sister's son would accept the store in exchange for a few items that the families could use. George’s father took a riding mower with a trailer and a Hoyt tool chest, which George now has.

Like many other small towns, there came a time when the school had closed, the other businesses had failed, and the buildings were caving in. The only remaining business was this hardware store, and it was open only on weekends or on call George's cousin, Larry, conceived the idea of developing a camp site for bike trails from Blanchard to Council Bluffs. The store would be a centerpiece- a general store with consignment craft items and other necessities of trail riders. While this was in process, a storm blew an adjacent wall into a wall of the store. It caved in and the ceiling fell.

A fascinating aspect of that occurrence involved a glass display case that ran almost the entire length of the store. It must have been 50 to 75 feet long. When George was a child, he knew in exactly which portion of that case the toys were displayed. With all the damage caused by the storm, this display case was moved about six feet and not a plate of glass was broken.

Only one lower corner of the wood was slightly marred. Since that time Larry has sold it along with store items.

George’s father, Harold Norris, was born in southern Missouri. When he was about the age of four the family moved to Redding, where Harold grew up. He was the 12th of 13 children. Harold's father used to tease that he was not Catholic but merely a careless Protestant. Besides farming, he ran a dray wagon. He farmed with horses but didn't like them.

Harold went to work in Blanchard for a brother-in-law who farmed just outside of town and it was there that he met Darlene in 1940-42. War had broken out. Harold’s employer kept going to the draft board to get him deferred because he was needed on the farm. Harold became tired of people asking why he wasn't in the service and their children were, so he enlisted. Darlene was probably 17 or 18 years old at the time. She and Harold knew each other but they had never dated. She wrote to him just as she wrote to other acquaintances.

Harold's plane was shot down over France while they were bombing a ball bearing factory. Harold was the lone survivor of the crash. After six months of not hearing anything, the military informed the family that he was presumed dead. After receiving the news, his mother was crying as she came out of the post office. A lady asked her, "What is the matter?" She explained that Harold was thought to be dead, to which the woman responded, "Well, you have 12 other children" and she replied, ''But I only had one Harold."

The family was joyous, of course, when they finally discovered that he was alive. He had been part of the French underground and had many interesting stories to tell. His brother had also been in the service and came home about same time. Even then their adventures were not over. As the two of them were walking they were spotted by the driver of a bread truck, who called the authorities. It so happened that there had been a robbery in Albia the night before and the two became suspects. They were picked up and jailed but released when the guilty parties were found.

After spending time with the family, Harold returned to Blanchard to continue working with his uncle, and he started courting Darlene who was in college in Tarkio, Missouri. The next year he started college there, too, and he and Darlene were married December 23, 1945. During their teaching careers they both taught school in the East Union, Lorimor, and Russell school systems. They moved from Tarkio to Lorimor, and eventually to Russell.

George tells his story: I was the second child. I was born in Winterset in 1955, during a short stint while my father taught there. My sister, Rochelle, was born in 1958, and my youngest brother, Gregg, was born in 1963, a surprise and real joy to the family.

My mother deserves special recognition. She was the kind of person who never knew a stranger or had an enemy, but rarely had a close friend. She would say "no" to no one, so she was always doing something for somebody, contributing to the family support any way she could. She was one of the cleanest people in the world, but that didn't keep our house from being a home. It was not unusual to find the vacuum cleaner in middle of any room in the house, anytime.

My oldest brother Glenn was born in 1946. He and his wife Dale had two children, Christopher and Katie. He remarried Tiffany and at age 54 and he is expecting to be the father of twins. I am laughing because I have twins and know what lies ahead. Their family lives in Johnston, and Glenn is an attorney in Des Moines.

My sister Shelly married Phil Mason and their children are Jamie, Becky, and Robert. They live in Diagonal. Phil has changed his employment from banking to working for Crestland Cooperative. Shelly has been a special ed teacher and presently is changing jobs, going to work for Green Valley Area Education Agency in Creston.

Gregg married Vickie and they have a daughter, Crystal They live in Chariton, and Gregg works at Astoria, a company that makes plastic accessories for pickup trucks.

Both my parents have passed away. They died within six months of each other in 1991 and 1992. Mom went first. She had been a borderline diabetic. When the disease came on full fledged at the age of 62, she had a hard time adjusting the insulin. We tried to no avail to persuade her to see a specialist, nor would she stop her usual pace of doing for other people. She baby-sat for grandchildren and continued to cook food for whoever might come to the house, day or night. Gregg and I were playing in a band, and she insisted on going wherever in the area we were performing. Several times we caught her lying on the couch trying to generate more energy so that she could get up and go some more.

It is possible that she may have been fearful of cancer which took the lives of her mother and sister. She had a massive heart attack early in October 1991. She was life-flighted to Methodist Medical Center in Des Moines and was there for three weeks, but they were unable to do anything for her. Dad died six months later of a heart attack while he was baby-sitting for my sister, rocking one of his grandchildren to sleep. Both our parents are buried at Russell

I left the beaten path for a few years as I was growing up. Was it nature or nurture or a combination thereof? Without doubt the openness and rebellion that characterized the '60's had their influence. Part of my problem may have been that my parents changed jobs when I was in fourth grade. I found it hard to fit into the new community. I would think about things and was trying to figure out what the world was coming to. I was far from the only one going through those thoughts and feelings. We young people were in an uproar against authority. Where there had been a distinct line that divided right from wrong, it had no credibility for our generation. The church appeared to us as part of the establishment. It seemed not to understand or offer us any solutions. We felt that there had been such gains in knowledge that anyone over 30 years of age really had nothing relevant to say to us.

Vietnam became an issue. Friends of mine and others were drafted to defend a questionable cause. Fighting for flag and country lost its meaning to people on the home front but not for the fellows who were there. They were fighting a police action that was actually a war that couldn't be won with the parameters that the government had set for them. They would take a hill, give it back, wonder where the enemy was and where they were coming from. Because of the tunnels and jungles, they might have been one place and then another. When the servicemen and women came back, they weren't welcomed as heroes. Their peers were sympathetic but couldn't really relate. It was just a terrible scenario!

Now that time has passed, some good aspects of it have emerged. Being able to look back and try to explain how and why I felt the way I did as a young person growing up, opened my eyes to looking at the current younger generation growing up. It has made me aware of the fact that we adults need to pay attention to issues that young people face. The issues may be different but a lot of the trauma is still the same as young people in my day faced. Instead of a father or brother in Vietnam, now there are many cases when both parents are working, sometimes different shifts, trying to make ends meet. There are latch-key kids. Instead of having parental direction, lots of them have only self-direction.

The phrase "It takes a village to raise a child" has caught on, but it raises questions in many cases. To what extent should the community be involved with the upbringing of children? People who used to care for and help nurture their neighbors' and relatives' children hesitate or are fearful or just plain don't want to get involved. Sometimes rightfully so.

Whether or not all young people participated fully in the culture of that era, each one was affected in one way or another. In my case, I came from it resisting what other people expect. Having picked up some bad habits, I talk frankly with my children about the dangers of smoking or drinking. I know firsthand what drugs are, but I did not become their victim. I am delighted that my children have accepted my warnings, not my example.

The good that came from those years for me personally include the realization that I have my own baggage to deal with, and I do not criticize and judge other people. It really bothers me to hear people talk badly of others. I see it as disobeying the commandment, "Thou shalt not bear false witness." For years I stayed away from the church because of the hypocrisy I thought I saw among its members. Then I realized that I needed to be there for myself. Hypocrisy is only one of the sins that people may be guilty of. For others it is something else, but sinners need to be in the church.

For society in general, the good that came from that era includes an awareness that developed between different generations. It made people start looking at all kinds of social issues rather than trying to cover them up. They began to talk about them and deal with them. Granted, the pendulum may have swung too far the other direction and we may now be too open. Somewhere in there parents, teachers, ministers- all who are responsible for helping educate the minds of young people- have struggled with issues and become more open. Solutions have been harder to deal with, but answers should not be on a political ballot. The interesting thing is that the answer is what Jesus told us in the first place. He was guiding people away from sin, not trying to do away with the sins of the world.

I started to school at the Lorimor Center of East Union the year after consolidation, and was bused for two or three years between Lorimor and Thayer. I was sitting in a Thayer classroom when I heard that John Kennedy had been shot. I went there just one year but I remember their salty water. If you didn't like to drink salt water you had to bring your own from home. I had several friends, the most notable of whom was Randy Stevens. He lived on farm and I saw him most often when he visited his Grandmother who lived in town. In 1964, when I was in the fourth grade, our family moved to Russell; but I kept in touch with Randy. He was killed in a tractor accident at the age of 14.

A lot of deep thoughts started about that time-what death and life was what heaven was supposed to be. I went to different churches to see what they professed and found a lot of interesting differences between them. They raised more questions than giving me answers at that stage.

I was musical and began singing harmonies with my sister when I was five or six years old. I was athletic but smaller than the other players. My new friends in Russell were more in the classes ahead of or behind me than in same class. I wasn't a real good student. I wasn't terrible but I didn't apply myself, which is the reason I push my children. My father being a teacher could evaluate the difference between my brother who became the attorney and me. If the building collapsed around my brother, he would still have his nose in the book. With me, if pencil dropped anywhere in the room, I would be wondering who dropped it, how they happened to drop it, and why.

I would work passively to get assignments done and a passing grade, but I was more interested in social issues -not necessarily having fun but trying to understand and deal with people. My parents being teachers, I knew a lot of teachers and a lot about the ones who taught me. I discovered they were just people. I had the most admiration for my football coach, Mr. Butler, the music teacher, Mrs. Adams, and I enjoyed a history teacher named Fowler. The football coach knew my frustration because my size kept me from fitting in with other athletes. He encouraged me personally and through my parents. The music teacher was innovative and got me into barber shop quartet and other kinds of music than I was singing and listening to. This seemed an unusual exposure in a small school. We who loved to sing took our guitars and gathered at her house for many good sessions. The history teacher had an interesting way of delivery. He often showed "You Are There" films narrated by Walter Cronkite. I didn't know I liked history until I was in his class. He made it more interesting.

The Russell United Methodist Church had a pastor, Juanita McConnell, who had a major influence on my life for quite a long time. She guided me in a positive way, encouraging me to take part in camping at Wesley Woods. It was a memorable experience. For a while I was president of UMYF (United Methodist Youth Fellowship). Through an unfortunate set of circumstances, I became turned off and went in another direction.

I graduated from high school in 1973 and thought about going into electronics at the community college at Creston. I was prepared for it because I had taken lots of different kinds of math, but I decided to work for a year or two to save up money to pay my way. My parents were still working toward getting my brother's law education paid for and I didn't have good enough grades for a scholarship.

I worked on a doctor's farm for about a year, and then found employment in Osceola at the Jimmy Dean Meat Company. At that time I had met Jeff Riekena. He played for a homecoming dance at Russell and I realized that he was a good guitar player and singer. After we became acquainted, I stopped in Osceola a couple times to talk to him. I moved to Osceola in 1974 and started playing in the band with Jeff, Jim Wuthrich, and Carl McDowell, whom Jim had met in college. We adopted the name "Zef" and played for 25 years under that name.

Playing in the band has pretty much been a thread throughout my life. It has been difficult trying to manage other aspects of my life and still uphold my love for performing music. It would be easy for me to say that, like my mother, I have many acquaintances but very few real close friends. Jeff is one of the few.

I lived in Osceola for about a year before I met my wife, Janet Rayburn. She hates being called Janet, so she is Jan. When I first saw her she was working in the Champlin truck stop. I thought she was beautiful and asked the person next to me who she was. It happened to be her cousin who introduced us. So I started bugging her and have been bugging her ever since.

Jan's mother had been ill since Jan was five years old and passed away when Jan was 13. After she graduated from high school, she lived in Chariton and was in the same locales as I, but I'd never met her. She had spent six months living in Eugene, Oregon, and has always wanted to make a trip back there. I still owe her that. We were married in 1976 in the front yard of Jan's sister's house in Saydel, by my former pastor, Juanita McConnell.

We began our married life in Osceola. In 1975 I injured my back and was unable to work for a year and a half. Jan continued to work and we settled into a pattern of paying for our food with what she made at the truck stop and our bills with what I made playing in the band. We acquired a love for Kraft macaroni and cheese dinners and it was a real treat when we could pop for hot dogs to go with them. We were POOR!

Jan loved to dance. When I was playing she would dance with other partners and occasionally I would take her to a dance. We made some good friends at that stage of life.

In 1982 we were blessed with Michael. People who have children know what kind of transition happens when the first born comes into our lives. We were absolutely thrilled and elated to bring a new life into the world. As he has grown, he has not given us any disappointment. He graduated in 2000 and we are still overjoyed with what kind of child he is.

We debated about whether or not to have any more children. We had decided that we would have just one and spoil him rotten, when Jan discovered not only that she was pregnant but that we could expect twins. Jan didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, so I laughed and she cried. Four years after Michael was born, in 1986, we had twin girls, Keri and Kelsi. Their birth was absolutely overwhelming to me. I looked at one new little life and then looked next to her and there was a second one. All the feelings were intensified and there is no word to describe it other than to repeat the one I already used. It was an incredibly overwhelming feeling.

As could be expected, the first five months were very difficult, but as the girls got to be one and two years old, they were a couple of clowns. They were into everything but a lot of fun. Now they are 13 years old and getting ready to start eighth grade. They have emerged as two uniquely different individuals. Kelsi will probably try to out do Michael at everything he ever did - and may succeed. All our children are very good writers, but Keri is probably the most involved in that pursuit. She has developed friends on the internet, corresponds and exchanges pictures with them. I see my mother's personality coming through in her. She has a huge heart and is always trying to nurture kids. It tickles me that she remembers my mom's feet. She wasn't big enough to see all of her and just remembers Grandma's feet.

Jan spent more than her share of time with the children when they were little. I was still trying to make money playing music, seeing if there was a shot at becoming professional. That wasn't in the cards, but I still play with the group occasionally. Members now include my brother Gregg on drums and David McGahuey from Leon, along with Jeff and me.

Much of my time in the year of 2000 was spent chasing around after Michael in his last year of varsity athletics, his graduation, and exploring colleges. Recent summers have been taken up by youth activities such as coaching, umpiring, and directing the Osceola Little League. I became involved with it when my children got to be that age and discovered that it wasn't just about my children or an athletic activity for kids. It is definitely an organization that has a major impact and influence on adults and kids interacting. It is influential in the development of character as much as the child learning the skills of the activity.

It is obvious to me that I would rather talk about my family or people who influenced me than my own particular accomplishments or lack thereof. Love of family and of God and of fellowmen is still what I think my life and that of others is all about. It's been a rocky road but an interesting one that has brought me to this conclusion. We don’t know what lies ahead but we’re on the way.