“Other towns of the West have been built and populated with marvelous rapidity, but it has remained with Cheyenne to spring, full-fledged, into existence, as it were, in a single night.” – J. H. Triggs 1876
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A quick trip to Cheyenne to visit another of Sue’s personal landmarks: one of her childhood homes. My parents Pat and Dick and I moved from Cincinnati, OH to Cheyenne, Wyoming in 1958-9 for Dick’s work testing the Atlas Missile for GE. Cheyenne was a whole new exotic experience, especially for a four year old:  There were horses in the pasture behind our house, my mother rode in a Stage Coach during Frontier Days, Native Americans had a strong presence in the community, we burned our trash in a concrete incinerator at the back of our property, we hiked into the snowy woods to find and cut down our own Christmas tree, and the prairie between our house and the kindergarten held all kinds of wonders to explore.  None of which we had in Cincinnati!

The GE team was close knit, many having relocated with their families from far off towns. In fact, it was one my father’s work colleagues who helped me learn to ride a bike on this very street, Frederick Drive. All I needed was a little push and encouragement and off I went. My baby sitter was a very old woman who back in the day had sown covered wagon canvases for people heading west.

It was in this very garage that a boy whose mother was visiting mine informed me at the tender age of five that there was no Santa Claus. He had older siblings. I chose to continue to believe for a couple more years but it still was traumatic and the trauma of this revelation is something I will never forget.

In visiting my former home and reflecting on my time spent in Cheyenne, I was touched by just how formative and impactful that experience was. In addition to learning to ride a bike and that there is no Santa Claus, my other takeaways and lessons-learned from that time include:

Experiencing hunger for the first time and appreciating how fortunate I was to have never suffered from a lack of food. I was sent home sick from school one morning after not feeling well. My mother had me get into bed and asked if I would like some toast. Soon after eating the cinnamon toast, I was dressed and heading back to school, much to the surprise of my teachers. My illness was hunger. I now think about the many children who go to bed hungry each night.

Learning about indigenous peoples and thereby expanding my horizons. I am eternally grateful for living alongside and being exposed to cultures different from my own. This was a new, formative experience for me at an impressionable age.

St. Mary’s Grade School and Praying for others. The Dominican sisters taught us when crossing from the church to the school after 7am Mass, that we should say a prayer for the person being transported in a passing ambulance. My first-grade teacher, Sister ?, was young and used to routinely swing her large rosary beads so they would wind and then unwind from around her finger. I learned from her that doing something others might consider irreverent doesn’t mean you aren’t devout.

Early inklings of my life’s calling and discovering that I had a talent for helping others complete their work. The nuns were always telling me to color my own mimeographed cowboy rather than helping the boy next to me. This carried into my professional life, as I still derive greater satisfaction supporting and advancing the work of others, rather than my own.

Experiencing the joy of nature. I walked to kindergarten across an open prairie where there were all sorts of colorful rocks, small wildflowers and interesting bugs to distract me. Today, I think fondly of the time spent outside and I am grateful for the many camping trips and nature experiences with my family.

Strong women are all around us. Wyoming is a state of many firsts, especially for women, being the first state to grant women the right to vote in 1869. My mother was active in the League of Women Voters, Welcome Wagon and she rode in a stagecoach during Frontier Days. She also learned to cook at high elevation (6,109 ft) and to prepare the antelope meat my grandfather and father had brought home and left in the kitchen sink.

Smoking is bad for you. My parents always bought new homes so there were usually several houses under construction in the neighborhood, including Cheyenne. My friend, Lori Phillips, lived on the street behind us. Her big sisters took a packet of cigarettes from their mother’s purse and we went with them to one the of the houses under construction to try smoking (not my idea, I was along for the ride). One of the construction workers found us and asked what we were up to. He then told us our hair would turn green if we smoked and he gave us all a piece of cedar (closet was being lined) which I still have to this day. We promptly left and that was at the end of that. A years later “Thank You” to the very kind construction worker who gave us such good advice!