Neal Family Archive Letters

California Trip 2011

To:  John P. Neal

From: Kenneth W. Neal

May 2, 2011

Dear John Patrick:

I write this after reading your father’s well-written account of the 5,900-mile western odyssey of grandfather, father and son. 

I can’t add much, if anything, to his account, but I will take this opportunity to tell you a bit about your father. 

But first, I ask a few favors of you: When you read this many years hence, perhaps when your dad is 75, please make snotty remarks about how older drivers should be kept off the road! 

Secondly, make fun of him because his hearing is failing. Finally, in general, treat him like your dullard child. In fact, he will be acting as if he is because in addition to his hearing, his health and memory will be in decline. 

And above all, watch his turn signal indicator like a hawk, and if he leaves it on an instant too long, jump his old skinny butt like a chicken on a June bug. 

For good measure, you might laugh anytime you get a chance at his skinny legs. As matter of fact, they are pretty skinny right now. 

And, you might laugh at his pot belly, his gray hair (if he has any) and his inability to walk very far. And you might show your boredom when he tells his stories. 

I am not sure what advances in electronics and other devices will be around when he is 75, but be sure and laugh at his efforts to operate same while simultaneously putting on his reading glasses with semi-crippled hands. 

Do these things for me and you will help me get even with your father. He deserves it. 

Neal Family Archive Letters

To:  Kenneth W. Neal

From: Mary A. Beck (Ninth Grade English Teacher, Sand Springs High School)

Date: October 1, 1985

Dear Ken,

In the past three weeks I have written over two hundred thank you notes in long hand to express my appreciation of flowers, food, and memorial gifts. Now I can allow myself the luxury of a typewriter to express my thanks for the five or six letter that I will keep at hand and reread long after the flowers have wilted and the food is gone.

It has occurred to me a number of times in the past twenty years or so that I would like to let you know that I am proud of you; but I was afraid I would end by sounding a little bit presumptuous.

Ken Neal Article - Fred R. Neal

The "Ghost Town" - War and the Aircraft of Douglas Forever a Part of Tulsa
Ken Neal, December 12, 1993
TULSA WORLD (FINAL HOME EDITION Edition), Page O1 of OPINION

      To those of us marked by World War II, the nearly mile-long building at the Tulsa airport was "the bomber plant," and the company that ran it was Douglas.
      Years after its heyday during the war, Douglas merged with McDonnell Aircraft to become McDonnell Douglas.
      Sandy McDonnell once testily corrected me when I referred to the plant as Douglas. But then he couldn't know how deeply intertwined the plant and Douglas were in the minds of my generation.
      Or what it was like to stand on a hill in Sand Springs and watch streams of big airplanes fly off to war.
      Or to hear almost every evening of the work adventures of thousands of men and women who ultimately built 5,929 warplanes and modified thousands more in a few short years.
      Or to know in detail the model numbers and designations of every fighter and bomber; to imagine that every time a B-24, a B-17 or an A-26 showed up in the movie news that it probably came from Tulsa and that maybe my dad worked on it.
      My father, while holding down a full time job, attended Spartan Aviation School eight hours a day for
eight weeks for the chance to go work for Douglas, which received 10,000 applications before the plant was opened in mid-1942. Ultimately 24,000 people, most of them from Tulsa and Northeastern Oklahoma, were busy putting together a variety of airplanes.
      To a 7-year-old boy, airplanes were a wondrous thing. The war was something bad, of course, but it provided the framework for the contest between the airplanes on both sides.   

Ken Neal Letter to Madalene Danklef

September 26, 1998 

Dear Madalene:

It’s early on a Saturday morning on my 63rd birthday. I got a terrific birthday card from you with a couple 
of pictures of a beautiful girl in the swimming pool. Since you are not yet 18 months old, I highly suspect 
this was your mother’s doing!

Your mom has suggested that I write to you from time to time. It is a very thoughtful suggestion. Forgive 
me if I have told you why in previous notes, but she and I both think it would have been terrific if our 
grandparents had written down more of their thoughts and remembrances for our benefit.

I, for example, have only sketches of handwriting or other written material even from my father, and 
only a few impersonal words taken from work documents from my grandparents.

My mother, as you probably know, put down a lot of material. Much of it religious and wisdom 
literature that appealed to her. It does offer a direct insight into her personality and the kind of a person 
she was. I recommend you read it for that purpose.

My grandparents lived in a time when it was not easy for people of modest means to write. Writing 
materials were scarce and their educational levels were such that putting thoughts on paper was not 
easy for them. My dad, for example, was a terrific story teller. I hope you will read of some of them 
in other writings on which I am working. But although Dad consumed newspapers, he did not read 
much more than technical material. A truly smart and wise man, he simply did not feel comfortable 
putting the stories on paper. He expressed his feelings freely in person, but putting them on paper was 
awkward for him.I, on the other hand, have no such excuses. I have, as you probably have been told, 
been hammering away on typewriters and word processors all my life. Putting my thoughts on paper 
(computer?) is natural for me. It is awkward for me to put my thoughts down in longhand.

There are details of my relatives(and yours) in other material, so I will not get into that here except 
to tell you that I believe that we honor our ancestors and learn much about ourselves by getting 
acquainted with them and the times in which they lived and strived. Of such, of course, are the basics 
of history. I have found that knowing my immediate relatives in this way enables me to have a good 
feel for the really important figures in history.  An example: Having heard my father tell many funny 
stories – many of them with barnyard language and expletives – I can read of the anecdotes that Abraham 
Lincoln told and close my eyes and hear that great man dispense humor and wisdom that flowed out of 
a good mind and a loving heart.

Perhaps more than any other attribute I wish for you is that of empathy for others. It is difficult to 
truly define and difficult to acquire, else this would be a far better world than it is.

Ken Neal Letter to Patrick Neal

July 20, 2011

Dear Patrick:

I didn’t forget your birthday but I suspect the card with the $250,000 check will arrive a bit after the 23rd.

Someday, when you are in old age, you will realize there is no one around who remembers when you were born and the circumstances surrounding that birth. 

My folks told me many times of my own birth, the details of which I will skip here, so I thought it might be nice to have this little missive describing your birth as only a doting father can do it.

On the afternoon of what turned out to be the big day, your mom and I drove to Bristow to pick up some tools that a friend was loaning to me to assist in building the house at the corner of Courtney and Mission. 

As we neared Bristow, she began to have slight pains but thought we could get back to Sapulpa for your birth. See how narrowly you missed being saddled with Bristow, Okla., on your birth certificate? Come to think of it, Bristow is easier to pronounce than Sapulpa.

At any rate, we checked her into the old Bartlett Memorial Hospital (now St. John) at about 6 p.m.

Your mother was in labor with you about six hours, about the same as with Kathy 13 years previously. Perhaps this is why you and Kathy are so star-crossed!

You were delivered by Dr. Robert White who coincidently was our neighbor when we first moved to Sapulpa in 1965.

We called Dr. White “giggles” because of his slightly manic, girlish laughter. He was a good doctor even if a rabid Republican. He saved my life with his quick diagnosis when I came down with spinal meningitis in 1972.

He came out of the delivery room to tell me I had a boy, born at exactly midnight. I quickly made you a full day younger by deciding on July 23. (I don’t remember you thanking me for that, by the way.)

Shortly, a nurse came down the hall with you in her arms.

I will never forget how you looked. Whereas most new born babies have their eyes closed, you were wide-eyed and looking around, as if to say, “who the hell brought me into this burg?”

I called my mother and father even though it was nearly 1 a.m. saying, “He’s here.” They were happy, if sleepy, to have a grandson to go with two teen granddaughters.

Sure enough, you greatly resemble your grandfather Neal in appearance and mannerisms, so much that it brings me to tears at times.

There’s a lot more to tell about you, but I will never forget the night of your birth. I was extremely proud of you and I have been extremely proud of you all your life.

I hope you read this someday when you are older than I am now and be comforted that although nobody remembers your birth that your old man never forgot it.

I love you, son.

Ken Neal Letter to Patrick James Neal

Patrick James Neal, April 9, 2012

April 8, 2012

       Tomorrow is the big day when you make your debut as my seventh grandchild and third grandson. As of this writing, I don’t know your given name, but I know you will be a Neal, so I am talking to you tonight about your Neal background.

       I hasten to say I could tell you of our lineage on my mother’s side and I am sure your mom has similar information on your antecedents on either side of her family.

       Yet the Neal surname is one you will carry all your life and so it’s fitting you know something about those old geezers who carried the name before you.

     Armed with some of my memories of what my father told me about them, your dad and I tracked the Neals in a little more detail

      We have some information about Neals for seven generations back of you. I expect your dad to preserve this note in some form so that you can read it as an adult some day. It won’t be long until I am 77 and my health is such that I fear I won’t be around to observe your development for many years.

      But I expect great things from you, not so much in accomplishments in the usual material pursuits but in your becoming a man of integrity, understanding and compassion.

      The earliest Neal we can find was John Henry Neal, who we think was born in central Arkansas around 1815. We can’t find his parents, so our search has ended there. Yet we know Neal is a Scottish name and we know that the Scot-Irish came over in several waves from the old country and so we are sure his folks were among those who moved down the Appalachian mountains into Arkansas.

      Maybe your Dad will have learned more by the time you read this.

      Anyhow, John Henry had a son he also called John Henry, born in the area of Logan County, Arkansas in about 1845.

    John Henry the second had four wives, three of them dying before him. I can’t find any of his other children, but he sired a fellow named Radford Andrew Neal by an Indian named Melissa Ussery on Magazine Mountain near Paris, Arkansas, in 1880. We think Melissa died giving birth to Radford, who, you might have guessed, is my grandfather.

     John Henry the second died in 1910 where he lived with his daughter, my grandfather’s half sister. We have remnants of a letter from her telling her lineage and relationship to Radford. My father knew her, referred to her as his Aunt Stella.

     Radford Andrew had nine children, including my father, born Rufus Leslie Neal, but later changed to Fred R. Neal. I, of course, am the offspring of Fred and your dad is my son.

     Enough of the lineage. I give you this background to express a couple of points. First, all of these people came from very humble situations. The census says the first John Henry could neither read nor write. John Henry the second could barely read. Radford had meager schooling but by all accounts was brilliant, if uneducated, man. Fred had an 8th grade education but was self-educated and very much a knowledgeable guy. I know, he was my father.

     
      I, have a bit better education, holding a college degree from the University of Tulsa. I was the first of my extended family to get a degree. Your dad is easily the best educated and the smartest Neal yet.

     The real reason for this treatise is to point out to you that each generation of Neals built on the previous generation. I know that each of these people wanted their sons to do better than they did. I inherited this desire from my father and I know he got it from his father.

     Therefore, I submit that each generation of Neals got better than their forebears and I expect the same of you and your brother John and your sister Catherine.

     Coincidentally, I am sure your mom, a great lady, feels the same as I do and that she benefited from her parents and background similarly.

    My regret is that I won’t be around to see you take the baton from your dad and exceed his great accomplishments in life.

     Your eyes are probably glazed over by now but I have a call in to your dad to learn of the birthing schedule tomorrow so I had to pontificate a bit. I am very pleased that there will be another Neal to carry on the name and to improve on it. Your ancestors were by no means great men, but those illiterate guys back there in Arkansas were never in jail, and one, John Henry the second, was a young cavalry recruit in the Union army out of Arkansas. Get your dad to take you to visit his grave some time!

      I presume a bit here. I would have liked to have a letter from my grandfather and so hope you will some day like it. I have written quite a lot over the years and I am sure your dad will fill you in on those scribblings.

     We eagerly await your arrival!

Love, Grandpa Neal

P.S. It’s the morning of the  10thand you are more than we had hoped for. You are a husky, 8-pounder with all your appendages, ready to take on the world. We’re betting on you!

Ken Neal Letter to Catherine Julia Neal

April 15, 2010

Dear Catherine Julia:

I am sitting here thinking about my brand new granddaughter, whose name is Catherine Julia Neal, I am told by her proud parents.

This is your first day home. My wife and your adoptive grandmother, Kara Gae, saw you when you were just hours old and she pronounced you a really beautiful baby. I am sure your dad already has taken a lot photographs proving that.

C.J. (I bet we call you that a lot), you most likely are my last grandchild since your father is my baby boy and at the age of 40 not likely to have any more children. My daughters, your aunts, are far older than that, even.

So you have five cousins on your dad’s side of the family and a couple more on your Grandpa and Grandma Young’ s side. All this minutae comes to mind as I think about you and the truly fabulous life you will lead. You probably will live well into the 22nd century and given the likely advances in medicine perhaps well into your second century of life.

Your Grandpa Neal was a reporter and editor all of his life and so I guess that is why I feel compelled to write you a letter tos ort of welcome you into my family and also to give you a little peak into old Grandpa’s world. Perhaps that is because the odds are you will not have any memory of me. But hey, I hope that will not be the case and so I am taking all the precautions I know to hang around awhile.

C.J., one of my grandfathers, Radford Andrew Neal, died when I was a baby and I have no independent memory of him. My own father, however, told me many stories and anecdotes about Radford, so I grew up “remembering” him. I hope your dad does that for me and that he doesn’t tell you the “whole truth” about
me.

C.J., the only real accomplishments of my life were my three children, your aunts Kathy and Julie and your dad. A friend once told me that if you rear three successful kids you have contributed as much as any one can to this world. So I claim success.

I regret that I will not be around to see you grow into the beautiful, accomplished woman I know you will be. How do I know that? Well, for openers, as Gae said, you are already a beauty. Second, you have a wonderful mother who already has John Patrick on the road to accomplishment. I know she will do
that for you. And, I modestly admit that your Dad is quite a guy and he will do his part for you.

I guess the reason for this little letter is a longing not to be forgotten by those you love most. It is one of the wonderful things about being a parent or a grandparent. I loved you from the day I heard you were on the way. Sure enough, you turned out to be a beautiful baby. That’s kind of symbolic for life; first
you develop in your mother’s womb, then you develop a lot longer in the womb of life.

Patrick and I have done a little research on the Neal side of your family and I have gotten to know these folks through dusty records. I happened onto a pitiful old hand-written letter from a rather remote relative that I am sure your dad will show you some time. In it, this largely illiterate lady told of her father and
my grandfather. Somehow, this tenuous connection with them is precious to me. I have only one or two brief notes from my own father. I have often thought how nice it would have been to have
a letter from him to me.

So, I have written letters to all my kids and now to you. I hope that we can someday sit down and read this together and laugh at the remarks of an old man who believes the only immortality
is the people we leave behind.

Hey, I haven’t seen you in person yet, but thanks to the camera, your parents and technology, I can prove you are a gorgeous girl!

Grandpa Neal