The small home was built in 1945 by the Phillips Petroleum Company, and it resides in a neighborhood that is known as Philview Camp. There were a lot of firsts and lasts, beginnings and endings that occurred within the walls of this home.
The original house was small. In fact it only consisted of 2 small bedrooms, 1 bathroom, a kitchen, a small living room, small breakfast nook, a dad, a mom and 2 young boys, and eventually a baby girl….. it was a happy family. It was home, and it still is.
Tonya’s Dad was employed by Phillips and one of the benefits they offered to their employees was that they could rent one of the company owned houses as long as he worked for the company, for a whopping $16 a month. Now you might think WOW!, only $16 a month for rent? But keep in mind Dad’s hourly pay was only about 58 cents an hour back then!
In 1958 Phillips agreed to sell the houses and her parents bought the house for about $2,000. Tonya was 3 years old when she can remember her dad working on an addition that was being built on to the house. By the time the construction had been completed the small home had nearly doubled in size. It had an extra bedroom, an extra bathroom, a dining room and a nice large living room.
If the walls could talk they would tell you stories about those that lived under the roof. Such as the 2 young boys that grew up to become responsible young men; graduated from high school, married and moved into homes of their own, beginning lives of their own. How the dad worked hard to earn an honest living in order to provide a roof over his family’s heads, sadly he only lived about 6 years after the completion of that new addition to the house, leaving his wife to raise a 9 year old daughter, alone. There would also be stories of the grandkids and great grandkids that came to visit and how each of them was spoiled in their own special ways.
There would be stories of great neighbors. Like something out of a Norman Rockwell painting most summer evenings, for as long as Tonya can remember, they would all sit on their front porches in the evening, visiting with one another and watching as cars and life goes by. Many of them either lived next door or across the street, and had lived in the neighborhood as long as we had. They were extended members of our family.
These stories are just bits and pieces, little things, but all precious memories to those of us that lived there.