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Note: ROLLIE GLENIS SELF SON OF GEORGE AND CYNTHIA WININGER SELF Rollie Glenis Self was born in Martin County, IN. on Jan.4, 1919 to George and Cynthia Wininger Self. He was the ninth child of George and
Cynthia's. His mother died when he was three years old. At that early
age, he couldn't understand his mothers disappearance from their family
life, and he greived for his mother. He would look for her. One day
while his sister was fixing him a jelly sandwich he had asked for, he ran
away to his sister Ella's. This caused him to be called Johnny Cake, as
of the Gingerbread Boy who ran away. When Glen was fifteen years of age,
his father died of dropsy. During the last few days of his father,
George's life, George had to sit in a chair with a blanket around his
feet because of his legs swelling and bursting open. Just before his
fathers death, Glen was rolling himself a cigarette. His father saw him
and told him to throw the tobacco and papers into the stove. Glen obeyed
him even though his father could not get out of the chair. Another time
that Glen remembed as a boy was when he was sent out with his brother
Everett to plow. Glen was quite young to be handling a plow, and they
had stopped in the cool of a shade tree to rest. While doing so, they
entertained themselves by making coalmines in the dirt. It was not long
until their father came upon them with a switch. They had always been
around coalmines as there were several close by which their father
managed. After his father died, he was shifted to live with differant
relatives.
His first public job was delivering groceries for Elza Simon's store in French Lick. He worked at Crane Depot during W.W. 2, drove a coal
truck, also drove a cab, worked for Lily Tulip Cup Corporation, drove a
Burn City bus and worked at the dairy for the French Lick Springs Hotel.
Glen had an amiable disposition, fun loving, pulling pranks on people. On Feb. 7, 1942 he married Lura Pauline Groff and became a
father eventually to eight children, four boys and four girls. Glen
lived to see six of his children married and to see and enjoy eight
grandchildren whom he dearly loved.
Glen spent most of his first thirty eight years in and around French Lick. He moved to Bloomington July 28, 1957 where he spent the remaining
years of his life. There he worked on construction and for the Monroe
County Schools.
He died May 30, 1975 of a heart attack leaving at home two children, Tammy and Mike Self. Glen is buried in the Wininger Cemetery close to
where he was born and raised.
About a week or so before his death, he wanted to make a trip from Bloomington, down to the area where he was born and raised and to visit
relatives. His brother Everett went with him. He wished to visit the
family cemetery on the trip, and his brother Everett remarked later that
while they were at the cemetery, Glen expressed a desire to be buried
futher down the hill from his relatives graves, a grassy place to itself
that he thought was pretty. Even though to the relatives and friends
that Glen and Everett had visited on the trip who thought he seemed to
look in good enough health, in about a week or so, Glen was lying beneath
the sod in the pretty spot that he had picked to be buried.
My father Glen Self was the center of our family. Although I was only 10 years of age, and my brother Mike was only 15 years at the time of our
fathers death. He still left a memorable impression in my life. I
remember him to be always laughing and joking with everyone. I would
often sit on his lap and talk to him about growing up and getting
married. I would always ask him if he would be there to give me away at
my wedding,and to see my children when I had them. He would always say
" well you know I'll be there, I wouldn't want to miss it for anything".
But to my heart break he didn't survive long enough for that to happen.
Even though I know that he in a way he has really always been there
anyway. Maybe not in body, but in spirit. I guess for as long as I can
remember I really never wanted to believe that my father was really gone,
so I would pretend that he had run away and would some day come back. I
would always look for him everywhere that I went. Hoping that I would
find him, and he would come home. I did this until I was at least 16
years old, then I guess that I realized that it wasn't ever going to
happen. It's funny what a child can do to over come pain. But even 23
years later I still cry at little things that remind me of him. Except
now I have my mothers memorys to cry for too. I like to think maybe now
they are together taking care of each other again.
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