On August 2, 1919 Teresa Catherine Teichman was born in this room, sixth
child to German Catholic parents Ferdinand and Francis. Her mother died
several years later in childbirth with her eleventh. Teresa was to come and
go from her birthplace in Scotland Texas throughout her life.
On July 17, 1940 Teresa married Robert Carl Hajovsky and the couple
eventually settled in a separate house on the property, while her father and
younger sister, Helen, lived in the original structure.
Shortly after completing her family of six, Bobby, Tommy, Theresa, Carolyn,
Richard, and Mary, Teresa's father passed away in the same room where
she was born.
Robert Carl died in 1968, Bobby Joe in the 90's, Teresa in 2005, Mary in
2008, and Richard in 2010. The rest of the family is scattered and no more
Hajovskys reside in the Scotland or Windthorst area. However, the Hajovsky
house still stands, in disrepair, but standing none the less.
My goal is by August 2, 2019, open the place as a memorial to my mother,
father, and siblings. The question is can I keep the house standing or will it
be replaced by a garden. To do this much clean up is needed and I will be
selling off excess items.
Extended family members and lifelong friends still reside in Scotland and
Windthorst. They loved my mother as an aunt, community servant, devoted
church member, and for her special skills in cooking and sewing. I invite all
to come to this page often as I expand upon the story.
Thank You, Carolyn Hajovsky Dormier
child to German Catholic parents Ferdinand and Francis. Her mother died
several years later in childbirth with her eleventh. Teresa was to come and
go from her birthplace in Scotland Texas throughout her life.
On July 17, 1940 Teresa married Robert Carl Hajovsky and the couple
eventually settled in a separate house on the property, while her father and
younger sister, Helen, lived in the original structure.
Shortly after completing her family of six, Bobby, Tommy, Theresa, Carolyn,
Richard, and Mary, Teresa's father passed away in the same room where
she was born.
Robert Carl died in 1968, Bobby Joe in the 90's, Teresa in 2005, Mary in
2008, and Richard in 2010. The rest of the family is scattered and no more
Hajovskys reside in the Scotland or Windthorst area. However, the Hajovsky
house still stands, in disrepair, but standing none the less.
My goal is by August 2, 2019, open the place as a memorial to my mother,
father, and siblings. The question is can I keep the house standing or will it
be replaced by a garden. To do this much clean up is needed and I will be
selling off excess items.
Extended family members and lifelong friends still reside in Scotland and
Windthorst. They loved my mother as an aunt, community servant, devoted
church member, and for her special skills in cooking and sewing. I invite all
to come to this page often as I expand upon the story.
Thank You, Carolyn Hajovsky Dormier
 |
In the early sixties my family moved
from their four room farm house in
Scotland TX to a four room town home
in Windthorst TX, six miles away. This
was where we attended school, and
both mom and dad were employed.
Mom was as one of the original cooks
when the school went modern and
added a cafeteria. For a short while
Dad was employed as janitor and I
spent many after school hours helping
him sweep up the classrooms. To this
day I have still to figure out how he
managed to clean up the mess I left
behind before the school bell rang the
following morning. From school janitor
he went to pig babysitter. See blog
post.
The house in Windthorst, altho the
same size as the one in Scotland had
two amenities we had not had
before--indoor plumbing and a
telephone. However we missed our
"real" home and every summer
planned to move back. The plan
never seemed to work out.
To be continued.
from their four room farm house in
Scotland TX to a four room town home
in Windthorst TX, six miles away. This
was where we attended school, and
both mom and dad were employed.
Mom was as one of the original cooks
when the school went modern and
added a cafeteria. For a short while
Dad was employed as janitor and I
spent many after school hours helping
him sweep up the classrooms. To this
day I have still to figure out how he
managed to clean up the mess I left
behind before the school bell rang the
following morning. From school janitor
he went to pig babysitter. See blog
post.
The house in Windthorst, altho the
same size as the one in Scotland had
two amenities we had not had
before--indoor plumbing and a
telephone. However we missed our
"real" home and every summer
planned to move back. The plan
never seemed to work out.
To be continued.
MORE:
 |
In an effort to give mom the big house she always wanted, dad had the farmhouse we were raised in moved
next to the farmhouse that was mom's childhood home. One room on the older house was torn down for the
project and a distance of twelve feet was left between the two structures. This space was to become "the
addition" that created the den.
Every summer during my high school career we would travel as often as possible to the "house" in an effort
to make it livable. Money was scarce and mom took a summer job as a cook in a local restaurant. Her
paycheck went for groceries and other needs of a growing family. Little was left over for renovation. My best
memory is splurging for wallpaper that gave the look of wood paneling mom envied in other homes. Flash
forward almost half a century. Theresa and I offered to paint the real paneling in mom's den to lighten up the
room. An invalid mom, almost in tears, stopped us.
"I always wanted this," she said.
After years of saying so, I gave up on the possibility of ever moving "home." It was in 1968, I graduated from
high school and went to work for Johnson and Johnson in Wichita Falls folding hospital supplies. I came
home from work one day to find the house in Windthorst half empty, most notably the piano missing. I
realized that this was finally it.
Also that summer my dad started showing signs of a personality disorder. Coming home from a date,
everyone else in the house already asleep, I found a note that didn't make any sense. It was like the notes I
try to write in my dreams, getting the first few letters down then just jumble. The next morning I asked mom
what it was about. She said dad had come home from work, something wrong, and couldn't talk. Frustrated
he tried to write out the message, and that did not happen either. We had never been big on running to the
doctor, so I imagine he finally was able to calm down and they just went to bed as usual.
By this time my dad had ended his non-career of odd jobs and was employed at the local Air Force Base as
a plane mechanic. Things were finally looking up for my parents as the job had benefits and frequent pay
raises. The older three siblings were out of the house and on their own. Theresa Marie had married and was
a mother. I was engaged to an airman. But dad's behavior grew increasingly puzzling.
On my nineteenth birthday, mom along with her brother and sister-in-law, tricked dad into going to the
hospital. Earlier he had been in for kidney stones and had walked out in the middle of the night, never
minding the fact that the hospital was thirty miles from where we lived.
Brain tumor, surgery, he was gone less than a week later. He had moved mom home, but was unable to start
the construction on the connecting room before he left her. To be continued.....
next to the farmhouse that was mom's childhood home. One room on the older house was torn down for the
project and a distance of twelve feet was left between the two structures. This space was to become "the
addition" that created the den.
Every summer during my high school career we would travel as often as possible to the "house" in an effort
to make it livable. Money was scarce and mom took a summer job as a cook in a local restaurant. Her
paycheck went for groceries and other needs of a growing family. Little was left over for renovation. My best
memory is splurging for wallpaper that gave the look of wood paneling mom envied in other homes. Flash
forward almost half a century. Theresa and I offered to paint the real paneling in mom's den to lighten up the
room. An invalid mom, almost in tears, stopped us.
"I always wanted this," she said.
After years of saying so, I gave up on the possibility of ever moving "home." It was in 1968, I graduated from
high school and went to work for Johnson and Johnson in Wichita Falls folding hospital supplies. I came
home from work one day to find the house in Windthorst half empty, most notably the piano missing. I
realized that this was finally it.
Also that summer my dad started showing signs of a personality disorder. Coming home from a date,
everyone else in the house already asleep, I found a note that didn't make any sense. It was like the notes I
try to write in my dreams, getting the first few letters down then just jumble. The next morning I asked mom
what it was about. She said dad had come home from work, something wrong, and couldn't talk. Frustrated
he tried to write out the message, and that did not happen either. We had never been big on running to the
doctor, so I imagine he finally was able to calm down and they just went to bed as usual.
By this time my dad had ended his non-career of odd jobs and was employed at the local Air Force Base as
a plane mechanic. Things were finally looking up for my parents as the job had benefits and frequent pay
raises. The older three siblings were out of the house and on their own. Theresa Marie had married and was
a mother. I was engaged to an airman. But dad's behavior grew increasingly puzzling.
On my nineteenth birthday, mom along with her brother and sister-in-law, tricked dad into going to the
hospital. Earlier he had been in for kidney stones and had walked out in the middle of the night, never
minding the fact that the hospital was thirty miles from where we lived.
Brain tumor, surgery, he was gone less than a week later. He had moved mom home, but was unable to start
the construction on the connecting room before he left her. To be continued.....
 |
Here is a map of Scotland Texas as I remember it from
my childhood. The seven by three block city area is pretty
much the same now as it was then, with a few more houses
and even a couple of side streets constructed the last forty
years. There is now a traffic light at the dangerous
intersection by Catholic Church. The old schoolhouse is
gone, torn down in 1969 and replaced with a modern
building. Classes ended there when my oldest brother
Bobby finished first grade. I remember many happy times in
the hallowed halls which I will share later.
Hajovsky house is marked by the star, just on the edge
of town, city in front, country in back. No wonder I am a
confused person, as I can't say if I grew up city or country.
The three green shaded blocks were part of our property
which we called the city blocks. The darker green was our
twenty acre farm. Sometimes we had chickens and cattle,
and sometimes we didn't. But we always had the stock tank
(pond) that was our swimming hole. In the winter when it
froze we had a skating rink. When not swimming, we were
catching crawdids or gathering limestones to carve out
artwork.
The three boys from my best friends' house were our
daily playmates during the summer. We rode imaginary
horses but shot real cap pistols. Sometimes we played
"pocket knife" sitting in a circle and going through a series
of knife throwing moves. If the blade did not stick in the
ground your turn was over. The winner was the first to
complete all the moves. I still remember most of them, but I
don't think I would teach my grandchildren. One was to sit
with your back to the others and toss the knife in the
middle of the circle. And sometimes we would play
baseball, which is another story to long to be told this time.
From this map, it looks like we may have been the
richest family in Scotland. But far from it. At least money
wise. But rich in heritage and memories. to be continued
my childhood. The seven by three block city area is pretty
much the same now as it was then, with a few more houses
and even a couple of side streets constructed the last forty
years. There is now a traffic light at the dangerous
intersection by Catholic Church. The old schoolhouse is
gone, torn down in 1969 and replaced with a modern
building. Classes ended there when my oldest brother
Bobby finished first grade. I remember many happy times in
the hallowed halls which I will share later.
Hajovsky house is marked by the star, just on the edge
of town, city in front, country in back. No wonder I am a
confused person, as I can't say if I grew up city or country.
The three green shaded blocks were part of our property
which we called the city blocks. The darker green was our
twenty acre farm. Sometimes we had chickens and cattle,
and sometimes we didn't. But we always had the stock tank
(pond) that was our swimming hole. In the winter when it
froze we had a skating rink. When not swimming, we were
catching crawdids or gathering limestones to carve out
artwork.
The three boys from my best friends' house were our
daily playmates during the summer. We rode imaginary
horses but shot real cap pistols. Sometimes we played
"pocket knife" sitting in a circle and going through a series
of knife throwing moves. If the blade did not stick in the
ground your turn was over. The winner was the first to
complete all the moves. I still remember most of them, but I
don't think I would teach my grandchildren. One was to sit
with your back to the others and toss the knife in the
middle of the circle. And sometimes we would play
baseball, which is another story to long to be told this time.
From this map, it looks like we may have been the
richest family in Scotland. But far from it. At least money
wise. But rich in heritage and memories. to be continued
It was never a secret that my mother and father were cousins. However, living and growing up on opposite ends
of Texas in the 20's and 30's they never met until my adult mom traveled to the Austin area to work as a household
aide. As the oldest girl child at home, only seven, when her mother died, Mom took on the responsibility of cooking
and sewing for her three younger siblings. These skills she mastered and relied on all of her life to get through
rough times. My dad on the other hand was a "city" boy, who joined military service by enhancing his age by a year
or two. He eventually retired from the Air Force as a Master Sargent and co-pilot.
Since I do not remember my dad's tour of duty I have been trying to piece together the puzzle of their eventual
settling on the family farm. With the help of an Aunt and documents I have found in mom's memory box, the picture
is finally taking shape. Mom talked often of time in Puerto Rico. On my last trip to Texas I found a series of letters
written by my dad while he was on the island, before mom joined him in 1940. It surprised me to learn that dad tried
to discourage her from going. But by forming an alliance with the wife of dad's service buddy, the two women
eventually prevailed. My oldest brother was born in the Carolina's and my sister in Biloxi, Mississippi. The brother
between them and the rest of us were born in Texas. I am still trying to find out if dad was between bases or out of
the country in the mid 1940's. I was the fourth child, born in 1949, and never traveled from the Scotland area until
marriage.
Most of the population in the area were dairy farmers with the exception of the postmaster and local store
owner. Dad supplemented his service pension with odd jobs and by being an early version of an "American Picker".
Mom, who first cared for her siblings, then most of her newborn nieces and nephews, followed by hiring out as a
maid, was pretty much defined as a domestic when her brood came along. We had chickens, cow, pigs, cats, dogs
and a variety of rescued wild baby animals. Since mom and dad were schooled in other skills, farming never was our
lively hood. So the land was a magic playground, filled with all sorts of wonder and mystery. We even converted a
field for baseball. When those pesky Texas stickers took hold of the towns ball park, the little league players would
re-schedule their games at our place. My husband recalls the time his older brother returned from a game with the
story of playing in somebody's pasture. So many stories yet to come. Next page 1968, the year everything changed--
of Texas in the 20's and 30's they never met until my adult mom traveled to the Austin area to work as a household
aide. As the oldest girl child at home, only seven, when her mother died, Mom took on the responsibility of cooking
and sewing for her three younger siblings. These skills she mastered and relied on all of her life to get through
rough times. My dad on the other hand was a "city" boy, who joined military service by enhancing his age by a year
or two. He eventually retired from the Air Force as a Master Sargent and co-pilot.
Since I do not remember my dad's tour of duty I have been trying to piece together the puzzle of their eventual
settling on the family farm. With the help of an Aunt and documents I have found in mom's memory box, the picture
is finally taking shape. Mom talked often of time in Puerto Rico. On my last trip to Texas I found a series of letters
written by my dad while he was on the island, before mom joined him in 1940. It surprised me to learn that dad tried
to discourage her from going. But by forming an alliance with the wife of dad's service buddy, the two women
eventually prevailed. My oldest brother was born in the Carolina's and my sister in Biloxi, Mississippi. The brother
between them and the rest of us were born in Texas. I am still trying to find out if dad was between bases or out of
the country in the mid 1940's. I was the fourth child, born in 1949, and never traveled from the Scotland area until
marriage.
Most of the population in the area were dairy farmers with the exception of the postmaster and local store
owner. Dad supplemented his service pension with odd jobs and by being an early version of an "American Picker".
Mom, who first cared for her siblings, then most of her newborn nieces and nephews, followed by hiring out as a
maid, was pretty much defined as a domestic when her brood came along. We had chickens, cow, pigs, cats, dogs
and a variety of rescued wild baby animals. Since mom and dad were schooled in other skills, farming never was our
lively hood. So the land was a magic playground, filled with all sorts of wonder and mystery. We even converted a
field for baseball. When those pesky Texas stickers took hold of the towns ball park, the little league players would
re-schedule their games at our place. My husband recalls the time his older brother returned from a game with the
story of playing in somebody's pasture. So many stories yet to come. Next page 1968, the year everything changed--