Carrie

Carrie Amanda Norris
1864 - 1943

I recently wrote that I had been in touch with a relative who found me via the Internet. I have been filling her in on information about our family members. Rather than go into lengthy repeats about relatives that I had already written about, I referred her to the Story Telling Place on the wonderful blog, Time Goes By by Ronni Bennett. I had stories published about my cantankerous great-grandmother, her son, (my grandfather), and his daughter, (my mother).

When I told her to read these stories it dawned on me that I had not written a story about the woman who was the most influential person in my life, my maternal grandmother, Carrie Norris. And Now I intend to remedy that omission. This is for you, Judy.

Carrie was the oldest of 5 children born to an Ohio Civil War Veteran, George Clark, and his wife, Janette. Because Carrie's father had been severely wounded during the war he was never well after he returned. He had been taken prisoner by the Rebels and they thought he would not live so they turned him over to the Yankees.

George Clark had a hard time making a living because of his lingering weakness. To say that they were poor was probably an understatement. In spite of that, money was found to give Carrie piano lessons. When Carrie's 13Th birthday arrived she was given a choice of presents. She could have a new dress or another series of music lessons. She chose the lessons.

Carrie chose wisely because the money she made giving lessons and playing in the orchestra in later years provided the means to buy a very large tract of land on which 4 houses, a restaurant building and some cabins had been erected. The property was at the mouth of a canyon known as Red Rock Canyon. The frontage was on the main street, Colorado Avenue, on which tourists drove to get to Manitou Springs and to Pikes Peak. It was near the Garden of the Gods. You get the picture; it was strategically positioned to be a perfect place for a cottage court catering to tourists. This was a very farsighted purchase.

The property was further divided by railroad tracks that, at one time, went to the gold mines. When the mines closed the tracks were left in place. The houses were located between the tracks and the mouth of the canyon. The lower half of the property was divided by a creek that ran through the middle. A bridge connected the two properties. There was an additional side acreage that was undeveloped and could only be reached through the cottage court. Through the years this area was rented to various men who planted vegetable gardens. At one time the grocery store owner across the avenue pastured his goat there.

Carrie moved her family into the largest of the houses and intended to develop the land when the crash of 1929 occurred. She was devastated and didn't know how she could get the money to improve the property. In desperation she rented the front half of the property to a man who assured her he could make a go of it. Instead he built a lodge building and skipped town owing everyone for the materials. Carrie had no choice but to move into the lodge, a building she hated to her dying day, and take over once more.

I call Carrie a Renaissance woman. She not only took over a hopeless situation, but made a successful business of it. More cabins were built, the restaurant was leased out and a camp ground was established on the back half of the property. This later evolved into a trailer park. (See my story on James Jones in the Story Telling Place on Time Goes By.)

I entered the world while all this was transpiring. I lived on that property until I was married and even lived in two of the houses for a short time in later years.

This is Carrie's story and now it becomes mine as well. Therefore, from now on I will refer to Carrie as Nama, a name I gave her. I can't explain why I named her Nama. Possibly, because I had 2 living grandmothers and 2 living great grandmothers when I was a toddler. Too many women called 'grandma' became confusing. Perhaps I heard a child call their grandmother Nana and I misunderstood and thought they said Nama. Or it is possible that Nama was an easier word to say than grandma. I will never know, but she was Nama to me until her dying day.

When my mother was 2 years old the family followed one of Nama's brothers to Colorado. He was tubercular and had to leave Ohio for a dry climate. Colorado Springs had a hospital for TB patients.

After arriving, Nama played the organ, leading an orchestra with her head, for the background music for the silent movies. She continued giving piano lessons and raising her two children, eventually buying the cottage court.

Nama was an avid rock collector and had such an extensive collection of fossils and semi-precious stones that my mother donated her collection to the Geology department of Colorado College after her death. I can remember listening for hours as she explained her collection to tourists who came in to register and ended up spending fascinated hours listening to her. One favorite rock in her collection was a very large smokey quartz crystal. It looked purple in some lights and everyone seemed to be entranced by it.

My father was an irresponsible playboy and Nama ended up supporting Mom and me. My grandparents bought a tour car to set him up in the business of driving tourists up Pikes Peak. He sold the car and left my mother for another woman when I was three years old. As a result, Mom and I moved in with my grandparents in the Lodge building. And that is where I grew up. Nama was more mother to me than my Mom. Mom fell apart after my Dad left and I had to turn to Nama. Then Nama set my Mom up in business and I was still dependent on Nama for attention. Until I was ten years old I really felt like Nama was my mother and my mother was like a big sister.

I digress. This is Carrie's story. The Great Depression hit when Carrie was trying to save her property. Colorado was the pathway for the dust bowl farmers leaving their destroyed farms for California. Colorado Springs was in the middle of that migration. The back half of the cottage court became a sea of tents. Some were only there for a night as the families pushed on, but others were there for weeks as the men hunted for work to provide the funds to continue on to California. Many families did not have money to pay for their tent spots and my grandmother never pressed them for payment. She told them that when they got to California and back on their feet they could send the money. I honestly don't believe that a single person failed to send the money back. My mother was still getting cards from the people Nama befriended long after her death.

While we were better off than many families, I never felt that we were. Nama knew that many of our neighbors were hungry and she gave parties in the lodge every Saturday night. They were always potluck and people brought what they could. If they could not contribute anything they were always welcomed and never made to feel guilty. The parties had different themes. A costume party was called a 'tacky party' because no one had money for costumes. They all had old clothes, so there was a surfeit of hobos at those parties. There was always dancing after dinner and Nama was the pianist accompanied by anyone who could play an instrument. This was probably the best meal that some of them had all week and the only entertainment for most of them.

To say that Nama was beloved by all who knew her would not be an exaggeration. There were two exception's, because no one is perfect. My father and step-father were not her best fans. I know it was because she provided for their families and their guilt was responsible for their resentment. Funny how that so often happens.

Carrie Norris, was a remarkable woman and I was so lucky to have her for my grandmother, mentor, and comforter. Thank you, Nama, for your loving care.