One day, little girl, the sadness will leave your face
As soon as you've won you'll fight to get justice done
Some days little girl you'll wonder what life's about
But others have known few battles are won alone
So, you'll look around to find Someone who's kind, someone who is fearless like you
The pain of it will ease a bit When you find a man with true grit
One day you will rise and you won't believe your eyes
You'll wake up and see
A world that is fine and free
Though summer seems far away
You will find the sun one day
Elmer Bernstein did not know it at the time but his lyrics describe my sister Terri to a tee. In a world where women are described as the weaker sex, I observed no such trait in my sister Terri, or any other female family member for that matter. On the contrary the little girls that became young women before my eyes were full of talent, determination and grit. “My name is Mattie Ross, of near Dardanelle in Yell County. My family owns property, and I don't know why I'm being treated like this!” Somehow in the age of seeing a movie only in theaters my sister Terri memorized Kim Darby’s line from the movie True Grit. Always having a flair for the dramatic Terri proudly recited the line to me in front of the house on Louisiana Drive. One of my first memories of Terri was her declaration that we were “moving to a mansion” as we approached the house on “H” Street in Vancouver, Washington for the first time in February, 1962.
Being the oldest child of four she was always first. Unfortunately I fear she was the first victim of our fathers aggressive parenting style when he had more energy because there was only one child to deal with for a year. But she always handled herself with the grace and determination she might have learned for our mother. One episode in particular comes to mind when we were standing in the spare bedroom at Caroline’s house and Dad was interrogating her over an incident that I was guilty of, but she clammed up and covered for me. “What do you mean you don’t remember, are you stupid?” Dad scolded her. The words “You know she is not stupid, she is your daughter” were on the tip of my tongue but I could not bring myself to contradict Dad. But to Dads credit Mom has described many times the fun they had in Florida with three kids and the stories he read, the help he offered and pride they had as parents of beautiful, healthy kids.
As a clever entrepreneur, seeing the popularity of the Batman show, Terri started a Batman Fan Club, and charged a quarter to attend meetings. The meetings were held in the basement in the H Street house. I believe Mom gave me a quarter to attend one but I wound up using that quarter to fill my pockets with candy before that particular meeting. Yes, even her brother David, was excluded from a meeting for not coughing up the required two bits before entering the basement meeting space.
I seem to remember both Terri and I being early risers. One particular snowy morning found us on the sidewalk in front of 815 E 24th enjoying the dark, cold frozen landscape and with headlights of the cars passing on Fourth Plain Boulevard lighting up the falling snow as we built a snowman together in the front yard before school.
Sometime in the late ‘60’s “Cray-Pas”, the soft oil pastel crayons were all the rage, and an art assignment was actually suggested at home for all four kids. We were to scribble all over a canvas and then fill in the spaces between the scribbles with different colors. I was worn out and bored with the whole affair in about a half an hour but Terri took several days to intricately complete a large canvas that, when completed, many likened to an abstract Picasso.
That canvas would hang in Dads den for dozens of years. The bedroom she shared with Karen on Louisiana Drive often had an easel with a canvas in process. The one I remember is two ethereal figures, and blue background, the male distinguished by a blonde moustache. She thought about the moustache for several hours before applying just the right amount of paint for a ‘60’s look.
Terri took up the flute in 4th or 5th grade and is a very competent instrumentalist and musician. Early on she took lessons at Eddie's Music in downtown Vancouver. I remember her walking out of his shop in tears more than once. He was quite a task master and she, a perfectionist in her own right, was frustrated at his demands for perfection from a beginner. The family attended several of her concerts at Mac High. One piece in particular that grabbed me was a jazzy, soft rock composition called “Ala Barocca”. So much so that I made a request for the score to my own band teacher in the eighth grade. Unfortunately the score was out of print by the time I made it to junior high. It might have been high school when she started doubling on the piccolo. I seem to remember her practicing the piccolo solo from The Stars and Stripes Forever, doing a very nice job on it. I don't remember being at a concert where she played it, but I know that she worked quite a lot on that piece.
Both Terry and Steve joined Dad in the choir loft at Columbia Presbyterian Church. It must have been junior high and high school when Steve and Terry and Dad sang in that choir together. I'm not sure why I didn't get the invitation. I was only a year younger than Steve. But anyway, that was another musical event that happened every week for a few years at least. I distinctly remember the blue robes, the black music folder, and Dad and Terry and Steve belting it out while Karen and I sat in the congregation. Might have been around that time that Terry received a birthday present from Dad. An albumn of Elvis Presley singing his favorite hymns. I think it was a heartfelt gift from Dad but fell very flat with Terry. I don't know that she was an Elvis fan at all and Elvis singing hymns certainly wasn't going to be high on her list of things she wanted to listen to. But I distinctly remember the picture of Elvis and a church in the background on the album and her rather deflated response to it.
Terry, like the other drivers in the family, learned to drive on a 1963 Studebaker with a three on the tree and manual, everything else. And I don't remember any events with that car, but the other car we were driving at that time, Dad’s car, was a 1958 Cadillac Coupe de Ville. Huge car, but automatic power steering, power brakes, so you could get around in it pretty well. But I do remember one evening we were leaving Dad's house, going down 29th towards St. John's. And St. John's almost crisscrosses from northeast to southwest across 29th. So when you approach it from the west, the right-hand corner is very difficult to see. So we were acting as lookouts for Terry as she was going to cross that intersection. So we're looking out and we say, ”Go, go, go step on it !” So she steps on it and just peels out because there's a bunch of gravel in the intersection, And Jack said, “You know, if that car had gotten a grip, you would have hit the cop car that just went by”. Quite a moment, but I don't remember any other incidents with Terry driving.
And Dad did hit a home run with the Volkswagen that he bought Terry. Well, he bought all of us, really. Terry was a chauffeur of sorts back then. I remember one time she's driving out of the driveway at the house on 99th street and she's of course has got a four-speed and clutch and she's pretty competent on the clutch by that time after driving the Studebaker but she stalled that Volkswagen about five times in a row in the driveway of the of the house. Steve and I are looking at each other and looking at Terry and what's going on and oh, she left the parking brake on so no big deal.
Our stepfather was an amateur photographer and Terri, having a flair for fashion and the drama of it all, didn’t mind spicing up the impromptu family portrait with a mildly provocative pose for the camera in that very driveway.
After the Volkswagen met an unfortunate end, Dad bought the kids, mostly Steve, a 64 Pontiac GTO. Oh, boy. What a car. I don't remember Terry driving that car very much at all. And by that time, I believe her and Jack were getting ready to get married. And then... She bought a sea green superbug that I loved. Sunroof, four speed. I love that little bug. And one time we were buying some Coast Guard mandated accoutrements for Jack's boat. We needed an oar and some life jackets. I can't remember where we bought them, but on the way back to her place I poked my head up out of the sunroof and pretended as though I was rowing the car with that oar going down Mill Plain Boulevard. Those were some fun times. I think I had Steve's Thailand t-shirt on that day.
Terry and Jack got married, I believe it was 1975. Taped as a groomsman for the wedding, I was busily getting dressed in the basement bedroom on 99th Street, when Terry came in and said, “Hey, Dave, would you run and get the flowers?” And I said, “Terry, I'm getting dressed. I can't go get your flowers.” I don't know how I thought me getting dressed to be a groomsman was more important than her having her flowers, but I believe Steve went to the florist to pick up the flowers. Terry's wedding was a fun event with Karen in the brides party and I in the grooms. But it was unfortunately marred by maybe the most immature moment our father ever foisted on Terry, at least. He refused to go to the wedding if his mother was invited. So Edris was uninvited by Dad. What a bitter conflict to be involved in as a young bride, having to manage the very immature behavior of your dad, whose beef with his mom was lifelong and didn't ruin the day, but certainly cast a pall on Dad and Terry and the moment, even though Dad did give her away. The other moment I remember distinctly was Sue Chapman walking in to the bride's side of course, so I escorted her to her seat and she looked at me and she said, “ David, you simply look dashing.” I thought that was the most romantic thing anybody ever said to me up to that point. I'm sure she didn't intend it to be romantic, but I was quite touched by that comment.
Afterward they moved into an apartment on 33rd Avenue in Vancouver and it had a pool and I didn't mind going over to their house and hanging around in the pool and having a good time. There's a picture of me in that pool: must have been 1976, 77, something like that and that's a snapshot that sticks out to me from that era.
In 1980, a little girl named Kameron was born into the family. Jack and Terry were such proud parents, and when we heard the news that Kameron had been born, Steve and I were living with Dad on H Street, ran over to the hospital. The moment we saw Terri all three of us started to cry. We hugged Terry while she laid in her hospital bed, and just cried. Very, very touching moment of Terry bringing a new life into the world after... three years earlier, losing our little sister to a traffic accident. Very poignant moment, indescribable emotions and emotions I didn't expect. To make the connection between that new young life coming into the family and certainly not replacing, but offering hope for the future.
By that time Terri and Jack lived in Orchards and I very often visited them on Sunday afternoons and just hung out, watched football with Jack while Kameron played on the floor. While I was still in college I convinced Terri to let me have a party in their house while they were out of town. It was rather low key but we had taken to flipping bottle caps all around the front room. I thought we cleaned up pretty well afterward but Terri was picking up bottle caps here and there for weeks afterward.
In the blink of an eye there are three kids in the Hurley clan and one afternoon we are in the backyard at Dads house. I am busy playing hide and seek with Kameron and Jacquline while Terri and Dad visit with Uncle Ernie. It might have been that afternoon we are back at Terris house reading stories. And, tragically, inconceivably, somewhere along the way, the fun loving, innocent as the driven snow, Uncle David, entered the lexicon of the Hurley family as a scapegoat. If there was a ruckus or something broken, Kameron and Jacquline, when interrogated, learned to recite the phrase “Uncle David did it”….Life is just unfair.
Further out of Battleground, in the foothills of the Cascades, a ranchette became Jack and Terris permanent domicile. Terri hosted many birthdays, Halloween parties and reunions over the years at that very scenic spot. In the early days, on a clear night, one could make out the lights of Portland in the distance. Over time the forest in the back 40 grew and screened the view. In recent years Terri said goodbye to Jack and Dad.
Not coincidentally the ranch is very near Mountain View Cemetary. In recent days her granddaughter Kaylee honored the dear departed by playing “Taps” at the grave of her great grandfather Roger.
In every season when one speaks to Terri they hear her fearlessness, grace and grit.