This document discusses a collection of family stories called "The Story of Us" that was compiled by multiple family members sharing their personal memories and perspectives. It includes introductions from Sharilyn Wendleton and George Wendleton sharing some of their childhood memories growing up. George then discusses further correspondence with his sister Sheri, where she provides feedback on his writing and encourages him to share stories from his own perspective and experiences rather than trying to retell hers. Sheri shares some difficult parts of her own life story as examples of things George could write about from his own life.

1. Family Chapters

2. Introduction
FamilyChapters
ConversationsandFamilyDiscussions
TheStoryof Us
Family Chapters, Conversations and Family Discussions, were put together as a combined
effort for family members and friends to help tell The Story of Us. A historical perspective from
a number of people that were there, lived the story within their perspective, and contributed their
own views and insightful response’s as to what occurred during a number of family and personal
circumstances over many years.
Indeed, the stories described here come from individual insights, quotes and evaluations that
are proposed to be indicative of their views and not necessarily one individuals view see through
the eyes of another; therefore, because they are a result of a collective reflection and a separate
personal past memory, in addition to, those Ideas, insights, and observations from the many, it is
my hope that, any and all memoirs are intended to bring the best out of all those depicted here as
those in a commemorative method; so, to honor everyone as their memorial deserves.
I would like to dedicate this collection of personal stories as a tribute to our family and
friends honored here for the benefit of all those that just may want to take the time to expand and
re-evaluate what is here later to appreciate the prominence of our history, heritage, and life story.
I would like to thank all of those that took the time to share their story’s as well as achieving
their persistent patience to support me in discovering the story’s within our individual view point
for love, courage, hard work, and perhaps even times of tragedy, anxiety and fear; which, may
have perhaps left disturbing opinions of discomfort to some; therefore, drawing from an
enhanced perspective which may benefit and reverse those anxieties through a credible fact
finding pursuit within the real truths which better explains our story that is designed to honor all
of us as well as those individuals in the story we tell.
My personal thanks to my sister Sheri, cousin’s Peggy, Connie, Nellie in addition to others
for helping me get started on this quest to bring “the story of us” to everyone that may discover
these stories to be an outlet of family historical value, as well as, a hope to assist those that look
into the past so they can have the opportunity to benefit their future through the answers of those
family chapters, conversations and family discussions we told here through…
“The Story of Us”
George Eugene Wendleton

3. Sharilyn Myrtle Wendleton
Introduction Years
1953 - 1960
(The Memoirs of Sharilyn M. Wendleton)
I have a collection of fond memories from my childhood while living so close to the dairy
farm where our father worked in Del Mar; and, if the wind was just right one could smell the
scents and the pleasant sounds of the dairy which made it my home and my wonderland; more,
these memories are held in an enchanted place that are scattered throughout my synaptual bites
and pieces of memory spread miraculously across my mind, and, not un-like the memory on a
computer, these memories sit dormant till a special sound, smell, or mere suggestion from
another, in their remembrance, would perhaps trigger that recall and imaginably other tributes of
another period in time which made it a fantastic trip through a life phase to revisit and join
together in its celebration in thought and all the while exploding into what would sound like an
orchestra of colliding sounds and incredibly colored pictures building up and then softly finding
its powerfully gripping crescendo leading through and pulling toward that magical morality that
the physical senses within our mutual emotional reactions reside; then, rewards us with an
extraordinary far-reaching feeling of magnificence while moving back to this moment in time as
if we never left and as each instrument evokes its place and settles into the embrace of a
symphonic pause the natural surroundings of all that is pleasing to the heart and an irresistible
invigoration to the senses formulate a memory; is that not boundless, then, when that happens, I
can still smell and feel the mustard plants and wild turnip flowers brushing against my legs as I
run around and keeping clear of the big green tumbleweeds still growing and attached firmly at
their base I clear the green tumble weeds and abruptly stop… I can see tiny white and blue
butterflies floating around the multicolored blooms that often tickles my arms and caressingly
touch my face as I meander effortlessly through the fields laughing and floating through the
scrub brush; then, as one memory would attach itself to the next with an abrupt intemperance and
like a stiff wind, I’M chasing my sister Nita and brother David as they ran ahead trying to get the
kite to soar higher and higher up in the sky chasing the clouds and moving in consort with the
wind as if it were companion to the birds; then, some days, we would just sit and feel the warmth
of the sun warming up our bear arms and legs as we would listen closely to the melodic sound of
meadowlark singing from a fencepost and then, eventually with time, dreaming up some game to
play together to pass the time in a congenial and pleasurable way till amidst those warm
wonderful days when watching a black and yellow striped bumble bee, listening to its buzzing
sound while hollowing out a hole in a wooden fence post are vivid and wonderful moments, the
smell of the creosote mingled with the horse manure wafting around us on a warm breeze
holding our attention for what seemed hours as it would overcomes my senses in another worldly
simplicity, at least, till Mom would call us for dinner.

4. Indeed, these are some of the countless memories that lay mitigated in a secured relaxation
within a relative actually of protected files at the ends of my mentally guarded synapses awaiting
its new smell, soliciting sound or reminding recall from family or friends; but, now and then, as I
pull the best of them as well as those that are perhaps not so good I find relief in the gentleness
and innocence of those days, and, I am reminded that these memories of another time and place
are, imaginably, the buffer between bitterness and a more composed desire which made me the
person to whom I have actually became.
Certainly, there is sometimes another factor of life and the memories of our time which are
clouded in a shroud of misplaced memories locked in an obscure place and like a thief in the
night as it steels even our fondest of memories from us in the end as it did with my Mother, we
just may lose the file to an unreachable place relentlessly moving from one ambiguous reality to
the next avoiding our beckoning embrace and taking that which is ours never being able to see,
hear, touch or smell those timeless memories ever again; then again, I believe in my heart they
will be shared with all who will listen; however, are guarded, as a failsafe, at the heart of the
Universe; gently protected by armies of angels to be relived in the presence of God our Father
and judged for their worth in the wholeness of his plan of love and happiness; therefore, why I
entrust in this reality and share it with others as I may relive them as well in a new wonderland.
These are my memories of a more simple time. I share them with you now, as I believe they
are to be shared and not amassed to hold in contempt or disregard, in hopes, that one day you
will see someone, within that person that is the reality of me and that person I have become, who
is perhaps more than the sum of his or her existence on this physical plane.
Indeed, I hope you see the captive spirit that lies at the heart of each and every one of us,
begging for the freedom to live, to get out of the file, to feel, see, and smell the greatness of our
memories as we pass them on and as God planned for us to live, see and feel with love and
kindness: however, if you don't believe in God... well, that’s OK! Just remember that he and I
love you, and, actually, there's not a damn thing you can do to change that now, so how do you
like them apples...
Love to all and to all, my love…
Sharilyn M. Wendleton
SWchills
swchills@aol.com

5. Introduction
The Aftermath of my Opinion
George: After writing the initial passage of her introduction to my sister, “Sheri”! I knew that
I would have perhaps unleash the influence in her monster as I applied my message to her
through that email that I sent; she persisted in her philosophies and concepts of how I was
changing her point of view and altering the perception of her story and as she persisted in going
to places one never goes, in her observance, appropriate in the opinion, steadfast in her belief and
persistence in that she gave me a lesson in writing; yet, in that one moment, she spoke clear,
meaningfully and flawlessly; up till now, then in the next moment, a fledgling message with a
steadfast warning that “Plagiarism is an illicit, illegitimate act of word theft and punishable in
most circles by the law of the land and perhaps also the world of the frustrating insistence of
other writers”; all the same, for someone who had just told me a story of “Leaving their last beer
in the freezer and finding it frozen” was by now giving the monstrous impression that she was
merely reminding me to leave her story alone and “to write your own story”! Certainly, she was
indorsing a model of an inexperience drinker as she babbled on! OK there was a time when I was
called a retard too and I really don’t like it when anyone tells me how too… But, let’s think
before writing… I’M about to meander into a moment of indifference, I’ll stop here… That too
is another story yet to be told and left for later; however, listen to this…. And I quote from one of
the few women with the last name of Wendleton and a Monarch in her own world of psychosis
goes on to exclaim!
Sheri: “I see what you are going for here George… But, it just isn't workable! This is
exactly what I was afraid you were going to do and that I didn't want you to do!”
“The Monster”

6. George: OH Boy! Here it comes, the inevitable verbal Ass Whipping!
Sheri: What I mean is…You can't! Write about how I feel or what I saw; because, you can't
feel it and you didn't see it, at least through my feelings or my eyes. You just end up taking my
words and cleverly sticking them in your own words and feelings about that stuff and passing it
off as my feelings, which, they are not what I feel and you can’t be me or feel what I feel or see
what I see!
George: Get the picture my irresponsible brother?
Sheri: You need to write about what you saw and how you feel about those things; so,
simply, it is an act of feeling it from YOUR OWN heart and not by cajoling your emotions off
of my sensitivities; even, if it is something as simple as "I don’t remember much about my Dad,
but"________________________". You full in the line, you can do that, right?
George: Do you get the picture further my ill-advised brother?
Sheri: Here are some more examples…
Sheri: Say this as an example: he, being our Father, was a big man, he smelled funny, his
shoes were always polished and the laces were always tight... Whatever you remember! And if
you don't remember any of that maybe you should just write about Growing up without a Dad
and how that affected you. Tell the story about how I made you go to school one day and you
got so mad you broke every window in the house because you didn't want to go and I ultimately
had forced you.
Sheri: Tell the story of how you met your coach and started playing football, talk about living
with Uncle Bud, or living on the farm at aunt Mildred's and having your head shaved the second
mom left the house even though she said not to do that! Talk about all the freaky stuff, the scary
stuff, the happy stuff, the funny stuff the sad stuff ... that happened to you. I want to "SEE
YOU"... All the stuff I missed because my head was so screwed up trying to shape everyone to
my perspective which they didn't fit into that box that I put everything while they all pushed me
out of their lives. You can’t rewrite the past sweetheart, but you can tell your story
from your heart about it.
Maybe you turned out ok; however, I am not so sure about myself. I can see ME, pretty
clearly now that I am fat, sick, and alone at 63. It’s not that great of a story, which is why I write
all this fru, fru stuff about bumble bees and tiny butterflies. I have no Idea how I am going to
survive from one day to the next it is a balancing act one part of me here, the other there.... I
don't even have my own car anymore and can’t afford to get another one... but none of this is
what you wanted to hear is it. George, maybe we didn't turn out so "OK". But, in the end all we
are is our stories. Who is going to know you if you don't write yours?
Yes, we were poor; we had nothing but dirt, rocks and sticks to play with. Both of our parents
were alcoholics. Daddy got fired for drinking on the job... A LOT! HE finally drank too much,
got himself hurt, landed in the hospital, contracted hepatitis, got cirrhosis of the liver, and died
within 3 years of his stupid and irresponsibly bad accident; because, he just wouldn't stop
smoking and drinking! He left us without a penny to our names, a pot to piss in or a window to
throw it out of (as mom would put it). AND WE WERE FUCKING POOR! Oops, I said that
twice, once a little too forcefully, but true! Everyone treated our mother like a whore! And
everyone expected the same type history of carelessness as my mother from me. Mom was
really glad when I married Larry Markov; it got me off her hands. So what if he didn’t really
love me and he only married me because he got me knocked up. So, what if he was never

7. faithful to me, not one damn day of our marriage! He also brought home the clap and gave it
to me when he returned from Vietnam, and made me write his girlfriend a “Dear John letter” for
him while our baby was asleep. So what if his first act as my husband was to rape our 16 year old
baby sitter after she got out of the shower while I was at work. So what if I was mistreated every
single day and was miserable for nearly 20 fucking years. Who cares? I was a respectable
married woman far away from her home and the people that may have perhaps been there to
assist me when I needed it... And finally who cares if even my own kids treated me like shit and
got away with it because I had no one to back me up. Now they are grown up and far away and
no one has to know how fucked up it all was because I am so great at writing Fru Fru.
SHIT! I left my beer in the freezer and now it is frozen solid... no more beer for me tonight.
I love you George, Write your story, mine is a shit ball of regret and loneliness.
SWchills
swchills@aol.com
The Solid Reply to a Disturbing Memory
George: I truly don’t remember that, I do remember Mom breaking windows on just about every
window in the house and Ben’s camper because our Dad took me to a bar in San Jesidro, but
maybe, just 1 window after the fact because of that school thing! There was a time that I kicked
out the windshield in the old ford. I kicked it out because Mom took me to Edna Kinigan’s yet
another notorious person and place more suited for a prison camp location or juvenile hall,
indeed a place of high grade punishment… Edna, though she was someone’s mother and quite
possibly their wife or family member, was a very unpleasant and offensively intolerant woman
bent on psychologically making one feel worthless and insignificant as she puffed heavily her
smoke like a fire breathing dragon with that cigarette in her mouth all while shouting her
insensitive and obtuse demands while moving quickly toward you with a belt or tree switch to
persuasively get her way; moreover, she never had anything to say that was nice,,, about
anything or anyone,,, always something degrading or humiliating and I do remember quite
vividly her arrogance and that smug superior aggressiveness something I hope to never leave a
memory such as this or any scandalous, indecent and offensive impression on anyone that I will
ever know for them to recall later in their life as I have here; so, truly, that is how some of my
stories will be and I hope my impression doesn’t hurt any ones feelings because I would never lie
about the reality, realism and outright authenticity of our life, or time with others in our family
and that which was really and actually our story.

8. * Managing the Quality of our story

9. * Managing the Quality of our story
George: I'M not shocked or mad at the fact that you are asking me to write about me and,
really, I have plenty of stories about me that I will write about and within these stories of me that
will perhaps be good ones, bad or indifferent ones and I will remember it as what I went through,
what I felt like, and some of the things that, like you, I had to endure to get through the times of
living my life from the early days all the way to now living with my companion a woman that
works and in the true sense of the matter is a great relationship, OH! Can’t forget Ruby… Our
Dog! I'M also wondering what I'M going to do when the doctors say I'M OK to go back to work
and at 60 no one hires me after over 40 years of working and losing 3 retirement funds because
of divorce and crappy attention to keeping track of the thousands of dollars I lost as a result of
trusting other people with my hard earned money; additionally, the real estate that I owned and
after divorcing Peggy... Which I look back in retrospect as one of the many irresponsible things I
did; I have to say, that was one of the drivers that assisted in the losses I sustained and all the
while losing more than just money.
I'M going to stop there, and I have, just as you had in the past, put my beer in the freezer and it
was the last one and it is now frozen... Frustrating right!
Family Chapters – Conversations and Family Discussions – The Story of Us
This written work is going to be just that. A collective number of stories and conversations
that come from all of those that give us the message in the story from their perspective and, I
guess, adding my twist to the story by my thoughts through editing and correcting grammar and
perhaps adding in my perspective to what your perspective was and I agree, that is wrong, and
thank you for reminding me that what you are writing is your perspective and when I add to that
perspective I assure all the proper citations will be placed; therefore, I will have communicated
the perspective of those that are writing and then conclude one perspective as the writer
in association with what was shared by others. I get it, and I also see what you went through with
Larry, and it's tragic that your irresponsible first husband Larry did this, I'M a man, I know what
a lot of them do and how senseless they can be; however, estranging your sons was a dastardly
attempt to win faith in those that were too young to understand and as we look at who did the
distancing, from my perspective, he needed, and may still need a mid-course correction in his
perspective for:
1. Taking advantage of my sister
2. Lying to you and all of us
3. Being an overall ignoramus needing to be corrected (Did I already say that?)
4. The worst, lying to your children to gain an upper hand to get them to believe one thing when it’s another... I
guess that was like me changing your words and robing you of your perspective.
I guess if we explore, in the final analysis, we had to move from grandma’s house as my
mother’s siblings connived and didn't share the wealth with a struggling sister after our
grandmother’s death and it really didn’t have anything to do with “Broken Windows”. The irony
is, I always thought that was wrong and why our mother left nothing in her death but gave us
everything she had and would ever have while living was our wealth of family; moreover, one of
the great examples of that selflessness was in that she gave her burial plot to her brother, one
who gained from our grandmother's building contract estate and perhaps sold it to Stanly Davis
because he was an accomplished contractor. When you read my perspective of this and some
other things you may be shocked at what you hear and you may have your perspective smashed
by the truth, thus, why I'M trying to solicit those perspectives so an opinion is not written, just
the truth.

10. * Managing the Quality of our story
George: Thank you for being my sister. “63, fat, sick, and alone” your perspective… mine;
on the other hand, is that your 63, less attractive, like me, sick, like me, but! We are never
alone... I have pictures, great memories and yes, some not so great; but, as long as we stick
together, family is family, a bloodline thicker than water and not someone we met in time, spent
some time with and then was set aside like a sour glass of milk, that example was already tried
and didn't work. i.e. The Shannon's thought I was a little retarded... That's a laugh, I graduated
from High school, I was a football star, I went to college, and I have a degree in Environmental
Science and have done well in business and life, even with the malady of family interference...
Retarded! OK, they were wrong, I forgive them though... I did all this on my own, but, I did
have inspiration about not quitting from my Mother, my Coach’s and other fatherly figures;
moreover, not letting the opinions of others keep me from getting to where I was going. It’s our
time to tell and tell it before we are gone. I love you too Sheri, didn't we used to spell your name
(Sherrylin) [Sherilyn] {Sheri-Lyn} - I still spell my name (George) [Georgie] {Buddy} <George
E> - Hay! Peggy said David (Pete) was not an endearing nick name for our brother...
I'M nerves now! Buddy / Pete - I think maybe, Buddy was derived from Uncle Bud, was there an
Uncle Pet? Or is there a story that goes with this? "I will let David tell you that story" Quote,
Peggy Ziebarth Sylvester.
We did good Sheri, we are the last three standing out of seven, we live OK, and we have a
past that tells a story and wither it is bad or indifferent it is one that leads us to future generations
that will perhaps learn from our misfortune and our grace to bounce back and balance the ball.
Indeed, I just want to shear it so the truth is known so after we are gone people will not have
to fill in the blanks with conjecture and read between the lines that are an opinion in someone
else’s insight. Great words from a retard right!
Love forever Sister, Your Brother George…
"George the Retard" “WE ARE” The United Three!

11. * Notes from Sheri
Sheri: Don't feel too bad about how you were “labeled” by "The Shannon's" George. It made
you a much less credible witness just in case our "Uncle" got caught being a pedophile. That
entire branch of the family had a much sicker existence than we could have imagined. I probably
would not have known had it not been for that last summer we stayed there and our uncle tried
his pedophilic hand with me... he was a real Creep! Fortunately, he gave up once I kicked him in
the gonads and smashed him in the nose then screamed so loud he thought the neighbors were
going to hear me. I am quite sure that our Aunt knew about him, his pedophilic ways and all the
while as he was trying to force me she had you and Tammy by the hand walking you back by the
goat pens, rabbit hutches and duck coops with her so she didn’t have to see and hear what she
perhaps knew could happen. I told Mom once we got to go home that fall. She told me not to tell
anyone or it would "break our Aunt’s heart"... I didn’t have the heart and couldn't tell mom that I
thought our Aunt already knew. Had I done that, it would have broken our Mother's heart;
however, she never sent us there again though, so they could deal with their own sickness.
Above and beyond, I have been stunted and repressed since the first grade when my teacher
flunked me for staring out the window, not pronouncing, my consonants [R, T, TH, S, SH, and
L's] correctly, and arguing with her for misspelling my name (Which has always been Sharilyn)
Mom always spelled my nick name "Shari" and Daddy always spelled it "Sherry" Thus, the
confusion over spelling and pronouncing my name. I have actually done research on it because
that is a sore spot with me. The name is actually Jewish and is spelled "Sherilyn" and it is
"Sharilyn" on my birth certificate, pronounced the same as "Marilyn"; still, being laughed at,
ignored, rejected, ill-used and passed over leaves a mark on one’s sole and that seems to
be visible today. It’s hard to overcome that type of early labeling and perhaps why I got placed in
every class and at every school after as being in the "slow learner" category. The only year I got
a break and actually started bringing my grades up to normal was when I was In Spring Valley.
Indeed, I tried to get along with everything when I came back to IB and had to go to Mar
Vista again but the teaching establishment had already decided I was stupid and labeled me as
white trash, unlikely to succeed and only good for one thing. I'm not even going to go into that,
it is a useless argument.
As for my kids, I never discussed my relationship I had with their father with them. I never
discussed with them any of the things he did, or how he treated me while we were in private. I
am thinking that when they were in private together he would say things to undermine their
respect for me, tell them things that were "shaded in his favor". It still breaks my heart to this
day, but ... I’m retarded too right! It just wasn't, and still isn't, appropriate to discuss one’s private
life and relationships with your children. My sons do a lot of inappropriate things because that is
perhaps what their father chose to teach them to do. I try not to judge them for that because I
love them but at the same time I have to protect my own self-esteem and moral awareness. I'm
not saying I'm a blameless or innocent bystander, I did a lot of things wrong too in the act of just
trying to stay sane and rational while having a little control over my own life; nevertheless, that
doesn't make it the correct way to handle things; so, here I am, there they are and that's that.
The story of “Pete”, it was not a nice method one would think of in the image of our brother
through a misinterpreted nick name and I have never heard the whole story and don't know if I
care to hear why it is not endearing, it wouldn’t diminish the fact that I love my brother and don’t
really care for the why in the matter; but, it did have something to do with bedwetting; I tend to
think, it was a different time... David endured a lot too, maybe more then you and I.

12. We had to move from 969 Emory Street to Georgia Street, because the house was unsafe to
live in. It had been structurally compromised by termites, was inundated with cockroaches,
infested with mice, and ... oh yes, Grandma made a mint selling the land to contractors who built
apartments on it. Grandma didn't have much left by the time she died but it was still wrong that
Mom didn't get much more than a few broken knick-knacks and meaningless trinkets that the
others just throughout. The Glendenning/Shannon's did the same as our mother with her sister
things after husband Jim died. She got nothing but an old button box, that broken hat tree they
threw on the fire, and a few pictures. I have an original typed document (on rice paper). Stating
that when Grandpa died, he left everything to his only son, (obviously he expected his
daughters... all six of them... to marry well and for their husbands to take care of them) so I don't
know how our cousin Stanley ended up with the construction business.
The Ziebarth Clan

13. * Notes from Sheri
Sheri: I have a long history of Abandonment issues, probably one of the reasons I have no
desire to "try relationships again". If your milk is sour, mine has powdered to dust, and blown
away in the wind. I am terrified of "retirement". I have only the subsistence wage of social
security I have earned and that isn't enough to pay for groceries let alone some place to live. I
tried to look out for myself by purchasing that motor home but Randy stole that, trashed it, and
put it on the side of the road so bank of the west could repossess it. (Talk about your spoiled
milk!!!). So now, I can't even buy a car, let alone an old trailer to live in. I will hold on to this
job as long as I can walk and they don't find a reason to "let me go". These "Memoirs" are great
George. I don't know “who” would read them besides us; they are a good way to release that
which has been dormant sitting in our head to somehow… Reach the future of our family;
however, I'm thinking I need to pump out a Novel before I end up on the side of the road with no
place to keep this volume of paper I have stored here. If I have nothing else left, I have a great
imagination. I can keep myself entertained for hours thinking of ways my life could have gone if
not for... whatever, its retrospect. I could probably write this as a story if the truth didn't keep
getting in the way. There are just too many people left alive who would sue my pants off for
writing the truth; but then, I could keep writing all day, but my dogs want to go out and I need to
go get some food for us. Maybe I will finish the story of how daddy got hurt when I get home.
I love you too Georgie. Don’t lose faith; it is all that stands between us and the nothing.
As we stand in the something there is a place that is between here and the nothing…
“THE REALITY OF HOPE”
Sheri M Wendleton

14. * Notes from Sheri
T rytouseaS ottishaccentwhilereading,itmaymakeyawonder!
Certainly, I thought that maybe one day our grandchildren or even our children's
grandchildren would want to know a bit of our history, demons or not we did come from the
loins of perhaps a Germanian, English, Scottish or Irish King and Queen... I truthfully recognize
that my children will have an interest and maybe even others that wonder about the Wendleton
name and even those others associated with our heritage through many years and many names.
Sheri: Yes, our heritage is rich with European blood; Germany, England, Scotland, France…
Perhaps even some Jewish bloodlines are present. Unfortunately, as much as some of our family
insists that we have Native American blood, I have found no hard evidence of this. Mary Tucker
is registered as “White” and born in Illinois on all of the documents I have found for her and she
was the person they believed to be ½ Native American. I guess the only way to be sure is to
have a DNA check done but those are expensive. The evidence they claim is that they were
living on the Chengwatana reservation in Pine Minnesota, but although it was Chippewa land, it
was inhabited by many white families, and neither Mary nor James were born there. I have been
speaking with several of our distant relatives; Ed Davies, from Grandmothers side of the family,
Kay Snider, from our Grandfathers side of the family, Karen Wendleton – Jones, from the
Wendleton side of the family. Also, David Wendleton, a cousin who lives in Washington, has
done extensive genealogy work and has much information. He also has spoken to Karen
Wendleton and worked with her research. I have gotten old photos, and confirmed many
bloodlines with their help. I did a lot of work on “Ancestry.com” before it got expensive but the
church website is free, so I use it now and it is more up to date.
According to Karen Wendleton – Jones research, David Wendleton (Wandalkan) our
forbearer, was of German Decent. Rather, he was from a very small kingdom called Hanover
and in quoting Karen and her work: Hanover was composed off about 39 independent states,
located between the Netherlands and Denmark. Hanover’s geography was dominated by the
German Plain, which slopes down from the highlands on the south to the North Sea. It is easier
for me to make a copy of her work and bring it to you than to try and rewrite the whole thing and
to claim it is my research. That would be plagiarism, a sin tantamount to murder in the circle of
writers.
Three of the older children, including our forbearer, Archibald, were also born in
Hanover. The rest of the children were born in Missouri. Names on land deeds were spelled
“Wendleton” instead of “Wandalkan” and eventually, even the name on David’s grave was
changed from Wandalkan to Wendleton. We are, indeed, unique; so, there you go.
I Love You “Little Brother”.

15. George’s Critical Psychology
George: After realizing and perhaps knowing that we have some questionable relatives with
some unique and dark backgrounds one can only speculate to what went on early in those stained
days in what we now call “The Past”; subsequently, they are in the moments, days and years for
which we validate our reaction to the essentials in this story’s indispensable psychology
expressed within our heritage... Truly, the psychology of those that took part in these
“Incomprehensible and Dastardly Things” can answer the question to some of the enquiries as to
why there was 2 boys playing with fire and the lies that were told so the real motive for it was
never acquired and maybe the real cause for my troubled complications with urinating in my bed
or even why I regularly emptied my bowels in my pants instead of in the toilette till I was 7 or 8
can help in our quest to answer these questions. Oh yes! This inane but important realization
within some of my earlier years and the random physical violations initiated on me and perhaps
some of those in our family remain privately isolated in our own perceptual indifference stuck in
the dark reality of our own awareness in having this horrendously awful psychotic events silently
imprisoned within our thoughts that perhaps can shed some light on the disgraceful and
miserable nature in the psychological behaviors of that time or maybe even the darkness over
bigger concerns that the bathroom, bedroom closets, and other isolated and out-of-the-way
hideaways opened the door to what was perhaps a dark place in the psyche for the deranged acts
of darker activities from darker individuals.
Actually, in the days we were displace from our mother and; in her defense, she was just
imaginably putting back the pieces of the puzzle in her depressed, dispirited and dejected
lifestyle involuntarily put on her with the departure of my Father; consequently, she conceivably
found that for each advancement found another calamity would lay in wait or had fallen by the
wayside and would augment the hopes that we would be OK as another door might open! But
after being pushed out with, conceivably, no place to go, family took us in and wheeled their
powers of family influence and scanty values upon us and without a doubt, in my younger point
of view, life at the Shannon’s were some of the most difficult days of my life in being away from
my Mother, my friends, and the world that I found comfort in... I just wanted to run away so
many times, running away from that dark sinister boogie man and nightmarish unwanted caller
that moved secretly in the dark quietness of our rooms and the boogieman was not just picking
on the girls... I still often question the morality and decency of this dark figure, he was an
uncivilized and quite peculiar individual lacking self-control and was truthfully a dirty old men;
however, let us remember he was someone else’s father and husband but still quite the atypical
individual and now just a memory in the darkness of our memory.
Categorically, there were other dark, psychologically diminished and unbalanced individuals
that perhaps may have fallen victim to that same deprived act; my cousin Lee was an unfair
manipulative, devious, obese, and a senselessly rude bully as an individual and there was a
reason for this; but, not only was he these examples, he was obtuse in his own way as he
suggested I was “just retarded” and while he was a sobbing sniffling child when he needed to get
his own way it is a memory that sticks out; I’M sure he is quite different today as an adult, at
least, one would thing that… Their whole family were as damaged goods as the word describes
and just as deceitful as their experiences to get their simple-minded way and those were the days
that were not so great and we were unfairly subjected to a dark time and the dark side of those
family customs; however, if we look at the time and all of the pathological evidence of
"circumstance" all of which holds no physical evidence today other than the stained
psychological traumas that haunt some of us within our minds through corrupted memories.

16. Indeed, it is an excessive methodology to perhaps map the generation of wrongful profiles
that inhibited our own self-indulgence in our life as a weak and dark moment in time;
furthermore, for some of those folks that where there to transform and contaminate family
siblings and young children rather than instill a normal standard of living ethics with morality in
family behaviors so that they imbed the social habits that gave us some well-defined moments of
actually receiving a respected set of qualities rather than the depression that resulted then and
persists in haunting some of us now and as the misery from inequality and the hopelessness of
living in an abnormal reality became the norm because that is all the predator in them recognized
and for the reason, that morality of the disparate, pedophilic, sick malady in one individual was
the sum in those of us that fell prey to that immorality and fell and had become a lifelong victim;
unfortunately, we all had experienced a dark time and I’M sure others before us were subjected
to and took it on as something perceived as “The Norm” in family customs and actively took on
and also acted on these ugly behaviors which lead to other behavioral anomalies that correlate
with that darkness; moreover, having the invisible or undiscovered victims that are still hiding in
the horror of being violated are still bewitched by its repulsion and still may attribute their
malady to those times in a secretive storage of memory never questioned or explored.
Sheri: I am well aware that the man who our mother’s sister married was a sick bastard, I
think; perhaps, Tammy may have escaped his emotional irregularity and consequently his
abstinent influence. I know for a fact, from other testimony, even Tommy and Jimmy were
victims of his deranged mind. I think that Nancy got the worst of it as she was the weakest, but
all of the older girls were fodder for his uncircumcised psychotic pleasure. Lois once told him
she would “cut off his balls with a kitchen knife” if he didn’t stop peeking through the bathroom
window while she showered. I don’t think he tried anything with her; she was a strong willed
person. He took me for the quiet, mild manor young girl and took it for a weakness… his
mistake! I’m glad his departure came and went. I even went to his funeral to celebrate his
departure reveling in the fact that there would be no more victims of his sham. I have been
wronged by many people but he is the only one who, in my heart of hearts, I have never forgiven
but need to let go. I know he was that despicably wrenching character and if the chance came for
a second time I would watch him die again if he were not already dead.
The Road Home

17. “Where are we from W here have we gone ”
George: The Islands of the British Empire and the background home we originated where the
families from which Wendleton came and was eventually aligned with the families of Jenne,
Ziebarth, Davies, Shannon and Glendenning; certainly, they were all but 1 from England,
Scotland, Ireland and Wales or English/Scottish/Irish/Dutch Welsh decent and the only other
was German or our Mothers side, the Ziebarth’s; so, all and all Sheri, we come from a Hodge-
Podge of blood lines that were a people that eventually became Americans and scrapped for their
Autonomy and gained it while leading a simple life; however, the fight didn't end because we
that are still here fight for it.
The British Iles My American Daughter Germanium Europe
Courtney Wendleton
So, where does this bring us now... It brings us to a point in time where we can look at 223
years of freedom as Americans and to stare down at our ancestors that got us here and made us
partly who we were then as hard working immigrants and who we would perhaps finally become
as the ones that came from those that started it all... But, more specifically, those people in the
last 116 years from 1900 till 2016. I decide on these dates because these dates are
probably easier to look back and find the stories that are really just about us, and, as I realize,
who wants to read about us?
Undeniably, in those days, I was certainly so eager to return to a neighborhood away from
that uninhabited nest of corruption based lifestyle living with the unscrupulous vice and immoral
self-indulgence to get back to where we had an improved reality with those like our Mother,
Richard, real families on the block to interact with; moreover, Myself, Sheri and Tammy for a
better, and perhaps more family like realism to remember as a great moment in time rather one of
a dark presents of ghostly apparitions dancing across our memory and the boogie man invading
our privacy.
Justifiably, we did find this new world of better family ties and a neighborhood of real people
not following the traits of bad habits that some backward society bent on the insurrection of
reality or darkness is practiced was our new home. Indeed, weather one said it to be un-natural or
strange that Richard Evert and my Mother were in the wrong in having their own dishonest
relationship because Richard was already married and had his own family there was, at least in
their minds, a certainty that it was right for them; however, after it is all said and done one has to
compromise in the conclusion, for better or worse, it was wrong and there was one party to the
complicity that got hurt and regardless of the situation she faced and the good will we received
as a result of this relationship it was wrong…

18. The Harwood Days
George: I really loved it there. It was a world in itself and governed by the excitement we
could bring to the table of the adventures of Harwood Street game rules; likewise, this moment
in time, in its self, was an adventure all of its own image, at least for me, the whole block was
like having a new family, again, at least for me, I got close to all the guys and Girls on the block
as we would play softball and football in the street, at night we played hide and go seek and
sometimes people got lost. Tom Sprague, Tom and Jim Wilson, Glenn Crooks, Teresa, Paul, Tim
Blanchard, and Anell and her sister Melony; but, I also remember one of their cousins “Rhonda”
(that is another story) they were the Powell’s; heck! Even the Seacors weren’t that bad and that is
why this moment in time was an adventure story “The Harwood Days” what a great time…
We had someone that was a great friend, problem mediator, and great artist. Glenn Crooks
was the all-around child psychologist for all of the kids on the block because he knew everything
that was happening on the block… That is how much everyone trusted him and he never sold us
out or used anything against any of us but had his own opinion on how to solve an issue. I can
remember, and no one has ever heard this story ever… I had a girl that I really liked when I was
about 15 or 16 and we snuck into Glenn’s Garage and went to the top of that giant thing he got
from a donut delivery truck where he put his art gear; nevertheless, we were up there fooling
around and we didn’t know Glenn was in there… But, while he was sitting undetected to our
intrusion he wrote sketches of our activity and after we were there and finished fulling around we
snuck out with no afterthought that Glenn was there. The next day Glenn came to me and asked
me to come in and see him. He told me it wasn’t right to sneak in to his sanctuary, his private
studio, his reserved space of retreat because it was his… He went on to say he would be glad to
share it but in the future to ask first… Indeed, we did learn lessons and we did share those
lessons with each other because we were family and we had no secrets from each other.
I did ask Glenn about the sketches; of course, we stayed fully clothed; however, it was an
artistic journey depicting two people sharing themselves in moments of intimacy and adoration,
respect and esteem. I’M not sure where these sketches went or if he still has them… All I know
is that I was able to learn two lessons … don’t sneak around and don’t take advantage of a good
thing.
Glenn still lives in the house we all grew up with his wife, dogs, and the great memories of
our pleasant getaway on Harwood Street.