Person Page 2,121

Obituary -- (Findagrave.com):

Harry T. Downing, son of William and Effie(Kern) Downing was born in Clayton Twp., Adams County, Illinois on the 24th day of July , 1884 and departed this life at the General hospital in Des Moines, Iowa at 2:15a.m. Wednesday the 24th day of March age 41 years and 8 months. "Toss" as he was familiarly known to everyone grew manhood in the vicinity of Golden and no social activity among the young folks was complete without Toss. In athletics, if Toss Downing was in the game its success was assured. Generous hearted, ever ready to assist he was a general favorite with young and old and the message that he had passed to the Great Beyond was received with sorrow. He was united in marriage to Miss Daisy Kemp, of Camp Point, on the 3rd of Sept 1912. To this union two children were, born, Dorothy having passed away in infancy, and little son , Edwin, now 11 years of age.Stricken very suddenly with acute appendicitis, Mr. Downing was taken to the hospital Sunday afternoon, March 21st and at 7:39 p.m. an emergency operation was preformed. Surgeons discovered the Appendix in a ruptured condition and held little hope for his recovery. Serious complications followed the operation, the end proved not far distant. Some 14 years Mr. Downing and family have been residents of Des Moines. He held a responsible position as a city employee in the engineering department. His admirable devotion to his wife and little son, were the outstanding traits of his character. His energies were unselfishly spent for the happiness and welfare of his family. One sister, Mrs. Fairy Downing Donnelly and infant daughter, Dorothy, having preceded him in death. He leaves in bereavement the beloved wife and son, Edwin, of Des Moines, Iowa. Mr. and Mrs. William Downing, parents, and one brother, Emery K. of Golden, One sister, Mrs. Ray Miller of Camp Point, besides many other relatives and friends. In the midst of his years , his life's biography ends and leaves us in silence and in tears. The funeral services were held at the home of his parents Sunday afternoon at 2 o'clock, the Rev. Laverne Barkley officiating. Arch Thomas, Fred Thomas, Russel Peck and J.F. Ross sang, with Mrs. J. F. Ross at the piano. The pall bearers were, Henry Reynolds, Chris Weyen, John Baird, John Marshall, Roy Reed and Thomas Eckles. among those attending from a distance were: Dr. and Mrs. Will Kemp of Chicago, Ill.; Harry Kemp of Indianapolis, Ind.; Mr. and Mrs. Lloyd Harrison, Mr. and Mrs. John Adams, Mr. and Mrs. Fred Kern, Mr. Sam Kern, all of Shelbina, Mo., Mr. an Mrs. James Weeder and grandson of Hannibal. Mo.; Mrs. Laura Kern of Decatur, Ill. , Mr. and Mrs. James H. Downing and son, John, of Springfield, Ill.. Mrs. Mary Poling, Galesburg, Ill. Mr. and Mrs. Lee Mays and mother; Clifford and Howard Mays; William Donnelly, Marguerite Downing; Mr. and Mrs. Ray Taylor and daughter, Mildred, of Quincy, Ill. Mr. Downing was laid to rest in the Hebron cemetery ., besides his little daughter Dorothy.

Autobiography -- (Findagrave.com):

THEY CALL HER DAISY( 1888- 1973) written Abt. 1951

An autobiography, no less. Though this does not equal the Jolson Story in importance, it began about the same time or perhaps earlier. It is a story I've thought I'd like to do though never did I think so far ahead as to anticipate anyone asking for it. The story begins on an Illinois farm some sixty-three years ago. I had the usual set of parents, three brothers and a sister. I was second in line. Spent the first twenty years in helping with the other youngsters and in cooking and housework. I went to country school through eight grades high school one year. I always liked to read, write and spell, but still can't add, subtract or divide. Books were not too plentiful, but at twelve I had a paper back set of Dickens which I read many times. Reading aloud was always a favorite pastime for me until my upper plate begin to slip. Memory slipped here a little too. I did not stay on the farm twenty years, it was only seventeen. At that time I started working in the office of County Recorder. Was there Three years. Then I was to and from the farm for another three years. Married, moved to Des Moines, Iowa. Kept house ,buried one child, reared another. At my first PTA meeting I was inspired to become president of the organization , which I did two years later. Found the Public Library. Read much of the popular fiction at that time. Began an education which has been continual ever since. Because I was interested in my own son and other children I began with Blanton books on child psychology and followed Edwin(my son) in books through all the years of his boyhood. When Edwin was eleven his father died.

By that time I had taken courses in public speaking, parliamentary law , and various other subjects at night school and special courses. Worked for many years --beauty operator, saleswomen, teacher in beauty school. Once I cooked in a High School cafeteria so I could have my evenings and weekends at home with my boy. Got fired from that job, because the Supervisor thought it was too hard for me and that I was capable of better type of work. That I did not like, but I did get an easier job so I am grateful to her. I kept on reading popular fiction, such magazines as Red Book American, Cosmopolitan, Woman's Home Companion, Ladies Home Journal. I still read them. Like the Post too. And this shocks some, (or so they pretend) I have read a lot of the Confession mags. Still do now and then, wondering if I could turn out one .By the way, I used to be quite successful in answering the" lovelorn" letters that many of the confession magazines specialize in. I won many prizes with my answers a few years ago. Also while working I attended writing classes at Nite School. One was given by Thomas Duncan. He was not much of a teacher, tho inspiring and sincere in his efforts. I did not accomplish any great improvement in my writing at that time. Perhaps because I was quite interested in "25 words or less" and other types of commercial contests. Since 1936, I have won some thing over a thousand prizes in contests. No great prize - just the little fellows came my way . I have enjoyed them very much . Two $500 dollar prizes were the largest I ever managed. I paused here to look at some of my night school credits. They are for over a period from 1930-1941. The 1940 card is signed TOM DUNCAN. Along about this time I sold a number of articles, fillers and things like jokes, recipes, bright sayings to newspapers. I wrote (tried) some fiction, but nothing good enough to sell. Most of it went to my son in the Navy. He encouraged me by saying the boys liked to read it, and that they wanted me to keep sending it so of course I did. I guess anything from home pleased them. In 1942 I went to Detroit and got involved with a tiny two weeks old nephew. His mother was not strong , and was mentally depressed, so my writing got lost in my efforts to be of service to the mother and babe. I spent six years at that. Then, because it has always been my lot to look after the sick ones in my family. I took on the care of my sister for the last three months of her life. I could write a book about cancer, but I won't. That was too much for me. I had to give up nursing. While doing all this other stuff I had also studied Unity, Christian Science and the Bible. When I came to California, three and a half years ago, I dropped right into Religious Science. Started more study. An Introductory Course, Major Course, Leadership Course. I'll enclose a list of my studies in a final work. Some really good lecturers in that. Recreation? Night school and study had been my fun. From that I drop to babies and small children . I love to baby sit. I can look in a baby's eyes and see the whole of life. I can (thank goodness) play with them . My babies call me Grandma Daisy . My nephew once advised me,"If you can't keep up with me, get up on the back of the tricycle and ride. That would have been a picture. Just one of the things that I think is fun. I have many many women friends. All of them twenty or thrifty years younger than myself. They humor me by letting me "preach" which I love. When he was gowning up, my son often assured me that he wished I would get another congregation other than just him. He must have thought me an old meany. Radio programs. Bob Hope , Bing Crosby. Lux Radio Theater. Sports Announcers and Baseball games come as near to making me mad as anything can. I turn'em off quick. I like to hear the King of England speak, and I once heard Charles M Schwab talk. I could swoon when I hear that perfect diction that seems so far beyond me. I am susceptible to voices. I pause here to wonder if you are still reading. You asked for it, and my hair is down. Usually people want to tell me their troubles. Come to think of it, I believe this is the first time in ten or twelve years that I have really let my words come through and fall where they may. Have I stumbled on something. Is that why I am not selling the simple little things that I used to? All this study should have led to greater things, instead of which, I have not been selling at all. No articles, no fillers, just a sprinkle of small prizes about ten in April & May. In night school this past winter I have turned in some articles that two instructors told me should sell, but they haven't. They (the teachers) offered no criticism. Just told me where to send them .While very young I read several books by Thackaray and some Robt. Burns poetry. In fact quite a lot of poetry by the older poets. I am very romantic still and I want my movies to be big love stuff or else give great laff. I like superman in the movies. Its is so utterly impossible that it fascinates me. I skipped comic strips from the time my son was eight until I started reading them to my little nephew. Since I left him in Michigan. I don't have to read'em. You ask about my favorite characters. Maybe I've outgrown the hero worshiping stage, by that I mean gotten so old that I don't care enough about things that I should. I admire Joe Louis & Hattie McDaniels because I think colored people have had about twice or three times as much to overcome in order to attain success as a white person. I admire Mary Baker Eddy and many others who have pioneered in their particular fields, they bore the brunt of the burden that the way might be lightened for those who came after them. I am particular sympathetic towards our pioneer mothers. Those women who bore their babies in the wilderness where they would have to endure every hardship and danger. If Ron Hubbard had stopped to consider that Abe Lincoln, Boone and those other men who paved the road to America, could not possibly have been wanted by their mother, perhaps he would not have written Dianetics. What mother could want to bring a new life into such perilous existence. There I go preaching again. I like Kelland, Mabel Seeley (mystery writer). I like Troward Norman Vincent Peale, Glenn Clark and other metaphysical and spiritual writers. I like Winchell and baritone singers. I think it would be nice if woman's place were really in the home but how are you gonna keep them there. I don't like liquor, even in a story I think I'd rather not have to write about it. In real life I'd rather offer a person an asp than a drink. I air my house after anyone smokes in it . No I don't criticize them. I stand by my belief that life is a matter of choice, and if one chooses to smoke or drink, it is none of my business, but I also stand by my right to not like the odor of stole cigarettes if I choose. I don't voice this to a guest but I am afraid I'd like her better if she did not smoke. Liquor is another thing, I simply would not have it in my home. Old fogy, that's me. Of course I liked, Of Human Bondage, some of Sinclair Lewis, some of Steinbeck, some of Hemingway. I think the best story I ever read was Angela 'St John's Magdalen 49, in May 49, Cosmopolitan. Do not care much about her other stuff. My ambition since I was a little girl had been to write something of emotional and inspirational appeal that would be beautiful and enduring something to be remembered . Big idea for little me . I don't think I ever put this into words for anyone else to see or spoke it aloud for anyone to hear before. My son has even greater ambition for me than I have had for myself. He thinks I'd be a wonderful radio or screen mother. My daughter in law professes to be disappointed that radio and TV haven't claimed me .Sweet of them, but one look in the mirror shows me how wrong they are. Now that I have been dissecting my life for three pages, I am realizing that am no equipped to write fiction. How could I write about men when I don't know anything about them. My life has been with women and children. Even in the heyday of my youth and questionable beauty, men did not care for me.. I have never played cards, danced or even been to a party where there were men for thirty years or more. I can count on one hand the men I know well enough to speak to on the street .Looks to me like I'd have to stick to article writing. The dream men I'd write about would not be convincing to the fiction reader. I am prone to idealize my friends and family. To me they are all good, beautiful, true. I have never for many years. Since I was old enough to think at all, believed that any person ever did anything that he or she, thought was wrong or sinful. I do believe with all my heart that the Hitler's, the Mickey Cohen's, the Al Caponess think that what they do is right for them to do. They are so firmly convinced that it is the only right way for them, that they defy conventions and do that which they have to do. Maybe I don't make myself clear, to put it simply I believe everyone is good, in his own way, as he understands good. I won't burden you with anymore of this. It is disjointed and rambling, but just to try to put sixty three years into four pages. There you have it. If you feel that you don't care to take on this job of teaching that is good too. I have come to a great serenity and agreement with most of life. I refuse to become angry, hurt or confused too much. Of course there are so many things that my hit or miss education has not taught me, that perhaps I do not even have the vocabulary or ability to put my words together well enough to become a writer. I know that you will tell me about that. My living depends on my own efforts and a few sales that would be a great help. As well as satisfying an ambition. This is awful. To have put all this stuff on paper. I think that it would be very kind of you to return it, after you have looked at it. Perhaps three years from now I can use it as a spring board for writing that real biography of a farm girl loose in the big wide world.