Ramage Family History

Irene Laree Hack

Irene Laree Hack

Female 1898 - 1980  (82 years)

Personal Information    |    Media    |    Notes    |    Event Map    |    All    |    PDF

  • Name Irene Laree Hack 
    Born 17 Jul 1898  Nebo, Pike, IL Find all individuals with events at this location 
    Gender Female 
    Died 25 Jul 1980  Portland, Multnomah, OR Find all individuals with events at this location 
    Person ID I3351  Ramage | Lee Lines
    Last Modified 28 Mar 2011 

    Father Frederic Lee Hack,   b. 2 Nov 1877, Nebo, Pike, IL Find all individuals with events at this location,   d. 11 Oct 1956, San Diego Navel Hospital, San Diego, CA Find all individuals with events at this location  (Age 78 years) 
    Mother Mida Almira Main,   b. 12 Feb 1879, Independence, Pike, IL Find all individuals with events at this location,   d. 2 Dec 1934, Jerome, Jerome County, Idaho Find all individuals with events at this location  (Age 55 years) 
    Married 7 Aug 1896  Nebo, Pike, IL Find all individuals with events at this location 
    Family ID F1270  Group Sheet

    Family Orie Earl Lee,   b. 22 Aug 1897, St Joseph, MO Find all individuals with events at this location,   d. 28 Mar 1979, Portland, Multnomah, OR Find all individuals with events at this location  (Age 81 years) 
    Married 5 May 1918  Twin Falls, ID Find all individuals with events at this location 
    Orei & Irene
    Orei & Irene
    50th Anniversary Orie & Irene
    50th Anniversary Orie & Irene
    Children 
    +1. Earl Ray Lee,   b. 29 May 1920, Hood River, OR Find all individuals with events at this location,   d. 13 Jan 1993, MT Angel, OR Find all individuals with events at this location  (Age 72 years)
    +2. Lois Jeanne Lee,   b. 23 Sep 1922, Hood River, OR Find all individuals with events at this location,   d. 23 Dec 2006, Portland, Oregon Find all individuals with events at this location  (Age 84 years)
    Last Modified 28 Mar 2011 
    Family ID F1175  Group Sheet

  • Event Map
    Link to Google MapsMarried - 5 May 1918 - Twin Falls, ID Link to Google Earth
    Link to Google MapsDied - 25 Jul 1980 - Portland, Multnomah, OR Link to Google Earth
     = Link to Google Maps 
     = Link to Google Earth 

  • Photos
    Irene in 1939
    Irene
    Irene Lee
    Irene Lee
    Irene Lee & John Hawkins
    Irene Lee & John Hawkins
    50th Anniversary Orie & Irene
    50th Anniversary Orie & Irene
    Fred Lee Hack's Children 1972.jpg
    Fred Lee Hack's Children 1972.jpg
    Hack children of Fred Lee Hack L to R= Ted Hack, Ima Hack, Irene Hack, Evelyn (Babe) Hack, Logan Hack
    Irene Lee_edited-1.jpg
    Irene Lee_edited-1.jpg
    Lee Family Portrait
    Lee Family Portrait
    Irene
    Irene
    Irene
    Irene
    Irene
    Irene
    Irene holding Jack
    Irene holding Jack
    Orie & Irene in center
    Orie & Irene in center
    Ima, Irene, Babe, Logan & Ted
    Ima, Irene, Babe, Logan & Ted

  • Notes 
    • Cover Letter for Irene's Journal
      In going through some boxes of pictures and other memorabilia, Jeanne found a sheaf of papers in Grandma Irene's handwriting. The pages, please note; were on stationary that someone had kited from the Crystal Court Motel in Victoria, B.C., and though the brown ink of most of the pages had faded somewhat we were able to make it all out. Jeanne handed them to me and asked if I could do whatever I do to things in the computer so they could be saved and shared. After counting the pages and looking at the dim ink I could see that it was going to be quite a chore but humor her I said I would do it.
      The deeper I got into the transcribing the more excited I got with it. The journal is the result of Mom, Wendy or someone asking her to sit down and write of her childhood. She does so beautifully, and carries up to where she enters high school. The next chapter was no doubt to be written later but just didn't get done. What a shame. She writes in a most readable style, lots of humor, parenthetical sidelights and wonderful descriptions.
      We had heard some of the stories before but they bear repeating. When she says the drummers got off the train in Nebo so they could call on the SMALL towns around there I wondered how big you had to be to qualify for small town status. Had she carried on she would probably have included stories about her cousins on the Main side of the family named Mudd Marble Main and Rell Artinsi Main.
      in savable and sharable shape. Do enjoy.
      Gib
      IRENE'S JOURNAL
      I was born about 10 miles from Nebo, Illinois, in the "weaning house" which was a small house on my Grandfather Hacks farm about 200 yards from the main farm house. It was called the "weaning house" because when they were first married each of the six children were supposed to live there until they outgrew it or the next one got married, whichever came first. My father, being both oldest and first married, got the first go at it. Only two of the others lived there. Times changed and they rebelled or something.
      From there we moved into Nebo. Pop and his younger brother, Uncle Fred, bought and managed the town's only livery stable. We lived in rooms above the office, just across the street from the largest hotel in Nebo. Salesmen came to town on the train then would hire rigs— horses and buggies and sometimes a driver also— to take them to nearby small towns to contact their customers. These salesmen were called "Drummers" in those days (had to "drum" up business.)
      When traveling shows came to town it was also by train and there was the business of transporting them and their gear to the little "opera" house. We always got passes to the shows. Medicine shows, vaudeville acts, plays (like East Lynn and Uncle Toms Cabin). At the age of four, I doubt if I appreciated the shows as such and fell asleep before the end of act I.
      It was while we were living there that "Kit" came to live with us. His mother died (pneumonia) and left 4 children. Carson (Kit) was the oldest at 6 years. Mom's brother was the father (Main). The children were separated, relatives took different ones. Kit was a shy, bookish , eager to please little guy, two years older than I, so we loved him as if he were a brother. Uncle Otto (Main) didn't remarry for ten years, then Kit went to live with his father and new wife. Uncle Otto was a painter; houses, barns, etc. but his hobby was painting pictures. Scenery for the backdrop curtains for the Opera House, country landscapes and such. However, an artist was considered little better than a "bum" then in Nebo.
      So Uncle Ott went to work for his new father-in-law who died a few years later and Ott took over the lumberyard. He was successful— happy. I don't know about Kit, he went to school in Chicago after he came back from World War I service in England and became an architect. He and I kept in touch for a number of years. He is gone now— like I'd lost a brother.
      I'd better get on with the nearer relatives— but when I look back to my early childhood, my Grandparents were very much a part of our lives then. When I hear that song "Dear Folks (sic) and Gentle People" I always think of my mother's people (Mains). Without exception as far as I knew, they were THAT. They treated children like individuals, took time to answer our questions, which was a rare thing in those days when children were supposed to be seen and not heard most of the time.
      My mother, Almira Main (Mide she was always called) was a rather small woman, had just black straight hair (which wasn't fashionable in those days) dark eyes, olive skin and beautiful white teeth. All her family seems to have those perfect teeth. When I was a child she was ill or as they used to say, " ailin' " frequently. Having children was a real ordeal for her. She had five of us and several miscarriages although I never knew what was wrong at the time. When I was about seven or eight I can recall vividly when they thought she wouldn't make it. There wasn't a hospital in miles and miles. Our faithful family doctor came and stayed at our house, right by her bedside and she lived.
      As to talents— she could sew beautifully and she did have a great talent for loving and giving of herself and her time to anyone who had a sad story to tell. I can't really remember her faults unless not standing up for her rights would be called that. She didn't crack down on us kids very hard and I'm sure we needed it. Dad was away from home a lot. She'd give us a swat on the rear now and then and sometimes send us out to get a switch so she could switch our legs if we had been really ornery. Then she'd usually say, "Now if you promise not to do that again I'll not use the switch this time." We— Kit and I— got onto the fact that if we brought a real heavy stick, Mom would be so horrified at the thought of using it, we'd usually get off scott-free. (She should have put us in the rain barrel and held us down for the long count of ten.)
      My father, Fred Lee Hack, was an entirely different sort of person— an extrovert like his father. J. B. (James Bluford) Hack (Grandpa) was quite an important person in that small part of the state in those days. Trying to follow in his footsteps could have been a bit rough. Physically, my father was about 5'10", auburn curly hair (till he lost it at an early age) light brown eyes, very erect carriage (he was forever smacking us kids on the back, "sit/stand straight and carry your head proud"). About 1906 (or 7) Grandpa sent him to veterinary college in Kansas City, MO. Grandpa had been a veterinarian for many years— no license or education beyond the 8th grade— also an auctioneer.
      Those years for us were pretty "lean" putting Papa through college. (I won't elaborate but you'd be surprised with what you could do without). Our youngest brother, Ted, was born while Papa was still in college. He was christened Vasco Vane by Pop's youngest sister, Dixie, who had been reading a romantic novel— hero Vasco Vane. Thank Goodness the records had been lost when Ted came back for his birth certificate. We called him Teddy when he was born. "Teddy" Theodore Roosevelt was president then— every child wanted a Teddy bear and we got a real live brother instead. In his army records, etc. his name, (legal) is Ted Hack.
      Before this, however, there was my sister, Ima Lee. (Dad's name was Fred Lee Hack). She was a beautiful baby, child and woman— black, wavy hair— dark eyes, creamy complexion. By the time I got around to noticing, here was me, skinny, freckles on every exposed part of my body, red hair and a temper to match. We never had anything (it seemed) in common till much later in life. Now we are very fond of each other and laugh about the squabbles we used to have long ago.
      Logan (Bluford) was born three years after Ima Lee. When he was a baby we were living on a farm about a mile from Nebo. A big old farmhouse with an upstairs and attic. My first year in school, Kit and I walked a mile or so to school. One day in early fall we found our house had burned to the ground. No fire department, no running water just neighbors with buckets. Water dipped from a nearby creek. Mom had got out with Logan— all our family pictures, mementos, everything just ashes.
      From there we went to Nebo (into town) again. Grandpa Hack, out of the goodness of his heart, bought us (among other things) an entire bolt of calico. Out of this Mom made dresses for herself and Ima and I. Curtains, bed spreads, shirts for Pop and Logan and Kit, stool covers, doilies, you name it we had it. That green background with tiny yellow flowers I'll never forget. Today, no doubt, it would be classic.
      Nebo: it is on the map if you have a big atlas. About 500 population then, less now. A grade school and high school (all in the same building) a Methodist, Christian and Baptist churches and a Church of Christ. Our entertainment revolved around the church. Sunday school, prayer meetings and choir practice. I never made the choir except when a couple or three others were out with sore throats. When I stayed with Grandma Hack we went to Church of Christ three times a week and twice on Sundays. Sat on hard benches without backs, and listened to hours of sermons. Sometimes I'd sneak a nap during this, probably missing something important, but I liked best the walk home through the snow, crisp and cold (feet too) moonlight or stars shining. I just couldn't believe that the good Lord who had given us all that could turn around and doom us to Hell for some sin I couldn't even understand at 10 or 12 years old.
      After Dad graduated from college we moved to Mount Olive, Ill. A larger town, mostly Germans. We lived next door to a German family. Very old country. Louretta, a girl my age, two younger brothers and Mama and Papa Kleinhart. We had a four room house, big kitchen, a folding bed in the parlor. The folding bed was, I guess, a sort of status symbol those days. When it was folded up it had a full length mirror and made quite an elegant piece of furniture (we thought). Like Sam Levenson says in "Everything But Money" I can't for the life of me remember where the people slept who came to see us or even us. But it must have been cozy to say the least.
      We lived in Mount Olive less than a year, returned to Nebo and moved to a small farm a mile or so from town. Babe (Evelyn Dolorous) Mom's sister named her, was born there. I was 13 years old— was sent away for the day and was brought home to see what the doctor had brought us in his little black bag. By then I knew better but went along with fairy story to humor the old folks. Babe was a doll for all of us. We fought over who would get to do things for her. Should have spoiled her but it doesn't show now if we did.
      What did we do for entertainment? We put on "home talent" shows, admission two pins and a button. Everyone wanted to be in the shows so sometimes we had a scanty audience. Summer evenings we would play run-sheep-run, hide-and-seek or see who could catch the most lightening bugs (fireflies). Then when we were older there was always the big event— meeting the four o'clock train at the depot on Sundays, even if no one got off the train or left town on it. It always stopped and I guess we all had a dream that some day we might be going aboard to some place. That was later when I was 15 or 16.
      Back to our life on the farm: we kids had a horse all our own, "Old Granny"— six paces forward and she'd stop and fall asleep on her four feet. Once, though, she got ambition (or mad) enough to "run away" across the field with three of us on her back. A sudden stop tumbled us all on the ground. No broken bones, just shook up a bit. It was while we were living here I was brought face to face with the fact there WAS a big difference between boys and girls and as far as I was concerned the girls came out on the short end. Mom had probably talked but I wasn't listening. On that gloomy day I hid out in the woods and bawled. I couldn't ride, swim or climb trees anymore, just doomed to learning to sew— embroider— learn to be a lady. They probably hadn't even missed me when I returned home. With all those freckles no one ever noticed if my face was clean or dirty anyway. Then I turned to books— reading anything.
      Our nearest neighbors were a couple of old men in their 70s, half mile away. Uncle George and Dudley Hutton. They had a strawberry patch, mulberry trees and an attic full of treasures— books and books. "Little Women", all of Louisa May Alcott, "Ishemeil", "Self-Raised", "Uncle Tom's Cabin", Shakespeare….For picking berries and cleaning their house, Ima and I got a nickel each and attic privileges. They had a trunk full of beautiful clothes, Uncle Dudley's daughter (Julia). We could dress up in them and I could take the books home to read. We had a beautiful summer 'till we made the mistake of telling Mom the old boys had bed-bugs in their beds. When we made the beds, we had just been smashing the ones that didn't get away. I could still sneak over and borrow their books. They were dear old fellows. Mom had the excuse that school was starting so as not to hurt their feelings.
      That was my first year in high school so to avoid the walk to and from school, I stayed in town with Grandpa and Grandma Hack. Grandma was a strong disciplinarian. There was good and bad, nothing in-between. "You are a lady you will behave like a lady". Grandpa was my "soft touch". Being his first grandchild might have helped, I don't know. When I'd want something special I'd go out to the barn office. There were always other men there I'd pull on his coat tails. He'd say, "Now wait a minute, "Neenie", wait outside for me." So maybe I'd sit in a horse stall for quite a while, but it usually paid off.