CASSIE

George’s parents were Fred and Cassie.  I had never met either one of my paternal grandparents as they were both dead by my recollections.

Cassie Chamberlain had begun life as Cassie Kinney in Lubec, Maine somewhere around August 1889.  Her father, Millard, was born in Maine and her mother, Mary, was born in Canada.  There were at least 10 children born to Mary and Millard.  Four of those children had died by the 1900 census.  Herbert, Lettia, Cassie, Nellie, Lizzie and Dorice remained.  I can remember visiting Herbert and his wife Arlene in Maine.    Lubec was a lengthy drive so we did not visit often.  I only remember visiting Lubec one time to visit with Uncle Herbert and Aunt Arlene.  I remember being impressed by their pet parakeet.  The bird was allowed out of the cage all the time and would eat out of their hands and fly around the house landing wherever he felt like.  He even landed on top of my father’s head.  By this time George had already begun to lose most of his hair and the bird was sliding around up there.  Apparently the trauma caused the bird to get excited and the bird took a dump on my father’s head.  The rest of us thought that this was so funny and the adults were claiming that it was good luck to have been chosen by a bird as a bathroom.   But it must have felt pretty uncomfortable and my father did not share in our amusement.  Later, when I was in my teens, Herbert had died and his wife moved not far from us to Clinton, Massachusetts.  She hinted that she might like to live with our family but by that time my father had taken in so many of my mother’s relatives that he had to say no to the one relative of his own who was looking for family to stay with.  Aunt Arlene did come to visit all the time and she was the one who first cooked dandy lion greens for us.  She had been insisting that they were actually good to eat and cooked some for dinner one day to prove it.  But they really didn’t tast very good and were so bitter that I wouldn’t eat them.  Maybe they are good and my aunt was just a bad cook, but I never ate them again.

Lettia Daley was the only other one of Cassie’s siblings that I ever met.  Aunt Let, as my father called her, was the one that he always referred to as his favorite aunt.  She always took him shopping for Christmas and Birthdays.  Aunt Let would buy him what he wanted and help him pick something for his parents.  One time he had taken money he had saved for his parents Christmas gifts and he and aunt Let went to Boston to shop.  During the course of the trip, which probably included a trolley trip and lunch, he apparently lost his wallet with his money.  I think it was meant as a lesson in taking care of my belongings and be aware of my surroundings because he always claimed that someone picked his pocket and stole his money.  But he never went into any detail about that part of the story.  But he did admit that he was very upset and crying.  Aunt Let replaced the money for him and he never forgot it.

Cassie, it seems, was a fairly sensitive woman.  She was very active in civic groups and in her church, Glendale Baptist.  Like her father, Cassie seemed to aspire to be a poet.

I was told that Cassie was a woman of small stature who wore glasses and frequently walked determinedly with her head down.  According to one favorite story I was told, the elastic in her underwear broke one day while she was coming out of a store and down some stairs.  Since her head was down, she saw them fall.  But she was so focused on what she had to do, she merely bent down, picked them  up, stuffed them in her purse and kept on walking.

Cassie was married in 1907 to a man named John McMahon.  That marriage did not last and they were divorced.  August 1, 1914 she married Fred S. Chamberlain and they  lived in Everett, Massachusetts by 1920 when George was born.  Cassie was always supportive to my father, writing constantly while he was in WWII.  When my father was discharged and bought the house on Reed Avenue, Cassie went to live with him.  She attended my parent’s wedding in 1947 and continued to live there until she died.

Cassie died quite suddenly on March 3, 1951 while she was hosting a church supper.  Some records assume have Cassie born in 1889 while others suggest that she was born in 1890 or 1891.  Apparently the woman in her was good at keeping everyone guessing about her age.  But calculating the fact that she was 59 years, 6 months and 15 days old when she died suggest that Cassie was probably born in August 1891.  

Shirley

My mother, Shirley Myrtle, was born February 29, 1924.  I have no idea who thought of the name Myrtle but I always thought it was a somewhat cruel thing to do to a kid.  At the time of Shirley’s birth, Calvin Coolidge of Vermont was president and the country was in a period of material prosperity which would not last for much longer.  There were 48 stars on the American flag since the states of Hawaii and Alaska had not yet been accepted into statehood.  Coolidge didn’t really have much to do as president and it was Hoover who became president in 1929 that got blamed for the stock market crash that sent the country into a tizzy. 

Like my father, Shirley too had been born in Everett, MA.  Like George, her maternal family originated from Maine and she was there frequently throughout her life.  She also graduated from Everett High School and was active in Glendale Baptist Church.  She took her church and faith very seriously but I am not sure who fostered this in her.

Circumstances of my mother’s birth always seemed somewhat mysterious to me.  I remember one time being told by my aging and somewhat demented aunt, that she didn’t understand why my grandmother was so mean to her.  My aunt insisted she never told anyone about “the baby.”  We had always believed that when Shirley was born her mother was married to a man named Robert McLaren and so it was assumed that Shirley’s birth name was McLaren.  However, my grandmother did not live with this man for long and my mother never seemed to have any recollection of the man who was her biological father.  This is where it is unclear when my mother’s biological parents married because in 1930 my grandmother, then known as McLaren, was living back with her mother and step-father but 6 year old Shirley was not listed as a household member in this census.  Then Shirley’s 4th, 5th, 6th and 7th school report cards dating from 1933 through 1937 have her name as Shirley Culloton, which was my grandmothers maiden name.  By 1933 my grandmother had divorced Robert McLaren and remarried Kenneth Pinkham.  Shirley was adopted by Kenneth in 1937.  Shirley always called Kenneth “daddy.”  There seems to be a good deal of information that was kept secret from Shirley and the rest of us, and was possibly taken to the grave.

It has been somewhat difficult to know much about Shirley’s early and perhaps unstable years because she spoke little about it and did not complain.  My maternal family appears to have always been working class people.  However, in 1929 the stock market crashed and most people in this country were affected by that event.  A child the age of 4 would have, most likely, been at home in the care of her mother.  But it seems likely that Pauline obtained work so that she could care for the needs of herself and her child.  Putting together bits and pieces of what little my mother spoke about, it seems that her grandmother, Nellie, was most frequently the primary caretaker.  Although my grandmother always called my mother “Shirley,” my father always called her “Toy,” a nickname she claimed was given to her by another child she used to play with.  My mother told me that she used to play with this little girl who could not pronounce the name Shirley, but since she always associated my mother as a playmate, the child started calling her “Toy” and the name stuck somewhat.  Also, apparently my mother spent a great deal of time playing with my aunt Evelyn.  Evelyn was the daughter of my grandmother’s sister Catherine and she too was cared for by my great grandmother while her parents were working.


I did not usually hear stories about my mom being anything but a model child and that was the person I though I knew.  Then that theory got flattened when I had the measles.  Measles and chicken pox were common childhood diseases when I was a kid.  My parents had both had measles as children.  The theory was that the child needed to be kept in bed and the room needed to be kept somewhat dark.  This could be pretty boring if you didn't have someone like my father bringing stuff to entertain you.  Apparently Shirley was pretty bored when she suffered through the measles.  It was believed that light and things like looking at books etc. might make you go blind.  So she was left alone in bed with nothing in particular to do.  That is when she was able to climb into the closet undetected and cut paper doll clothing out of my grandmother's coat.  Shirley was apparently pleased with the clothing she had made but her mother was not pleased with the altered design of the coat.

Like my father, Shirley was raised an only child.  However, she did have a half brother for a short time.  Apparently my mother was fairly young and the infant was still considered a newborn.  As my mother told it, her aunt Marjorie had come over to visit and went in the babies room and came out crying and saying that the baby had suffocated in his blanket.  I had always suspected that this may have been a sudden infant death.

Both my mom and dad lived through the great depression but it always seemed to me that Shirley was much more affected by this than was George.  Throughout my life, Shirley continued to be extremely frugal and tended to hoard pretty much everything that passed through her hands.  We saved milk bottles, string, paper, tin foil and almost anything else.  But we cannot blame the depression for everything because there are many people in my family who have similar behaviors, including myself when I don’t pay attention carefully.  After my mother’s death it was left to me to clean out her home and each room was an adventure and a curse.  She had saved every receipt and eventually had to share her bed with the file boxes that the receipts were filed in.  Can we hear it for medication and counseling?  

My mom graduated from Everett High School in 1942.  She appeared to have been a pretty conscientious student.  When I was a little girl and we were going to the cottage, there was a nightly ritual where my mother dug pine needle splinters out of my feet because I was always running around barefoot.  It was one of these nights when my mom told me that she had always dreamed of going to nursing school.  But by the time she graduated, she had little money and WW II was in swing.  She ended up taking several correspondent courses in shorthand, typing and bookkeeping and went to work at Monsanto Company and later at Malden Electric Company.  She worked primarily as a bookkeeper.  Shirley became active in the U.S.O., going to dances etc.  I found pictures of my mom with some fellow dressed in a Navy Uniform, but I do not know who he was and my mother never spoke to me of dating or any boyfriends she had prior to my father.  I don’t know if she ever spoke with my brother about these things.

I had often been told that the 29th of February was considered “Sadie Hawkin’s Day.”  Rumor had it that on that day the woman could ask the man to marry her rather the more acceptable way of the man doing the asking.  But even though she was born on that day, this was never the course of action Shirley took.  I once asked my mother why she had married my father.  Her answer to me was simply “he asked.”

Once my little family moved away from Everett there always seemed to be maternal relatives living with us, especially my grandmother.  This was often stressful for their marriage.  George would tell me that “your mother is a good woman and I love her.”  But with my maternal grandmother there and often complaining about my father, it seemed that my poor mother frequently found herself stuck in the middle and trying to keep the peace. 


It's interesting how we view the people in our lives.  I've learned it is possible to love someone but not always respect them and vice versa.  It is also possible to love someone but not always like them very much.  And it's amazing how all those feelings change and develop over a lifetime.  As a kid my dad was always my favorite parent because he seemed to be a lot more fun.  George seemed more worldly, smart and able to see people for who they were.  I saw my mom as somewhat gullible, serious, always trying to please and not always aware if people tried to manipulate her.  My opinions vacillated though.  When I later read things Shirley had written, I learned that she did pay attention and knew me a lot better than I ever thought.  I learned that the culture of her day contributed a lot to what she felt her place in the world was supposed to be.  I learned that George was better able than Shirley, to just get past the hard stuff.  I think I finally learned they were human and so was I.  Boy am I a quick study!




          

George

 Although a rather ill matched couple, George Owen and Shirley Myrtle Chamberlain were my parents.  It doesn’t sound as though my mother considered other alternatives because once when I asked why she married George, she said “because he asked me.”  Both had been born in Everett, MA, like me.  However, I think that George was probably pretty comfortable living in the city while Shirley was more the “country bumpkin” type.  Both had been only children.  It seemed that George’s mother was pretty devoted to him probably because his parents were together and his father was a good provider.  Shirley’s mother was busy trying to get what she felt they needed out of life because it seems that she and Shirley were pretty much on their own during the early years of Shirley’s life. .  George was the artistic one, outgoing and jovial.  Shirley was the earthy one who spent much of her time trying to please and be accepted. Both George and Shirley attended and graduated from Everett High School and both were active members of Glendale Baptist Church.  However, George was 4 years older than Shirley so although they knew of each other they had never hung around with each other or dated.  That didn’t happen until probably around 1946 after my father returned from WW II and they were married June 21, 1947.

Their wedding was a pretty big affair with the reception held in the church hall.  My mother's gown was hand made by my grandmother and it was beautiful 

 

with a long flowing train.  They spent their honeymoon in Atlantic City New Jersey where 

my mother, who never liked eating anything with vinegar, got sick and spent much of her 

honeymoon throwing up with my father alone in the bar getting ice.  She insisted that it 

was because she had eaten spaghetti that had probably been made with a ketchup/

vinegar based sauce. But when they returned home my mother ended up having to have her appendix removed.  Because she was going to be laid up recuperating for awhile, she actually went back home to live with her mother because she would not have been able to go up and down the stairs on Reed Avenue.  This may have also been part of the reason why I was not born for two years after they got married.  My mother always told me that I was late being born.  I don’t actually know when I was supposed to be born but she said that when she finally went into labor she had just sat down with a cup of tea.  Although everyone was excited by my upcoming birth, she claims to have looked at her belly and said that she had waited long enough for me to get myself ready and I was going to have to wait until she finished her tea.

My parents did not fight or argue that I was witness to.  As a matter of fact, they didn’t spend much time communicating with each other at all.  Later in my life I would begin to realize that there were certainly divisions between them that were never resolved and they, for the most part, were quite separate individuals rather than a solid couple.  However, during the early part of my life I unified them and others did not get in the way.  Certainly, when the 3 of us lived alone in that house on Reed Avenue things were pretty good as far as I was concerned.  

GEORGE

My father was born in Everett, MA on February 2, 1920 and spent most of his early life there.  At the time of his birth Woodrow Wilson of Virginia was president.   The country had only a few years before George’s birth, become involved in WWI despite President Wilson’s efforts to keep the US neutral.  This was a time where individualism was valued but also the period in which we were first introduced to the concept of income taxes.  But shortly after George’s birth, Harding was elected as president for a short time because this president died in 1923.  

George graduated from Everett High School and went on to a 2 year preforming arts school called Curry College.  While in high school he participate in school plays and was apparently president of his high school drama club.  He was apparently always interested in music and performance.  His family went to church at Glendale Baptist

 

Church and they were all pretty active there and in civic organizations around the city.

After graduating, George apparently wanted to go into some area of the preforming arts.  He had jobs as a radio announcer, acted in numerous plays, sang with the Shubert Club and in 1939-40 he formed a 15 piece band named Buddy Laine and his Orchestra.  Acting requires memorizing lines and following direction along with lots of practice, practice, practice.  Announcing is another story.  A friend of my father’s once was joking with my father and told me a story about one of George’s auditions.  Announcing is sometimes impromptu and requires reading something you may never have read before.  George was given an advertisement that he was supposed to read on the air about some sweaters. The sweater’s were made of alpaca, the fur of a type of
small South American llama and it would have been pretty expensive in those days.  Apparently George was not familiar with this particular type of wool and read the commercial for “alba ca ca” sweaters.  The station thought that people would be turned off to wearing something in the animals digestive system rather than the soft fur off its back.

In 1939 shortly after getting started in his adult life, World War II broke out and in 1942 George ended up in the army being shipped out to a war zone.  In those days George lived with his mother and must have spent more time traveling to Lubec and Machias, Maine than we ever did after his mother’s death.  George met a girl in Lubec, and, as was often the case when men were going off to WWII, George asked her to marry him.  The two were married in SC about a week before George shipped out.  Apparently most of his relatives did not really like this woman and probably for good reason.  While he was overseas she ended up having a baby girl.  She eventually wrote him a letter explaining that she had been dating an older man prior to meeting my father.  But the two had broken up and she learned that she was pregnant.  This was not something that she had made George aware of before they got married but someone in the family must have let him know after the child was born.  Probably not the best timing.  It must have been devastating  news to get while in a war zone.  To make matters worse, she later died from complications resulting from surgery and by the time he returned home he was a widower.  I do not know the child’s name. 

While in the war, George was again active in doing plays and organizing performances for the troops.  His army unit was apparently one that was often attached to other units and sent to various European cities.   

When George returned from the war he ended up back in Everett.  He bought the house on Reed Avenue and he and his mother lived there.  My father became active in Everett political life and because he had been injured in the war he became active in the Disabled American Veterans.  His injury involved having lost his teeth when he was hit with shrapnel.  Until I was about 10 years old I had never seen my father without his teeth so I was blissfully unaware of the situation.  That is until he had a bout with diarrhea that my maternal great grandmother said could be cured with a tablespoon of cinnamon.  I've never downed a spoonful of plain ground cinnamon and don't think it's a very good idea after seeing my father drop his teeth and spend about a half hour trying to gargle and rinse it all off of his lips and gums.  When I was little my maternal grandmother made me a little uniform that looked just like my dad's DAV uniform except that it had a little skirt.  Every year the DAV would hold an annual poppy drive where they would sell plastic red poppies as a fund raiser.  My dad wasn't much of a salesman so I had to go with him and I would be the one who made the most money

In the middle 1940’s the Big Band Era, although changed somewhat, was still upon us and George again led his Buddy Laine Orchestra.  My dad always told me that the name Buddy was a name that many men had when they came home from the war.  George told me that during the war they all referred to everyone as their buddy because they weren’t always with the same guys and didn’t always know everyones name.  

Around this time he also got involved managing singers in what he called the Star Agency.  Lorraine of my haircut obsession, was a client of Star Agency.  It was during the time that George was traveling around New England with the Buddy Lane Orchestra that he started to date Shirley.  There were lots of benefits available for veterans after WWII.  One of the benefits that George utilized was the ability to rent a small cottage on Lake Winnepassauski in NH.  George had a "gig" at Weirs Beach during the summer so he and his mother stayed at these cottages.  By this time his mother, Cassie, was working in a dress factory.  As luck would have it, Shirley's mother, Pauline was her forelady.  Perhaps because she wanted to impress the boss, Cassie invited Pauline and Shirley to stay with them.  Perhaps because she thought that George was fairly well off financially, Pauline accepted.

George continued with his career after getting married but after I came along Shirley did not like the fact that he frequently had to travel and she convinced him that he should get something that brought in a weekly paycheck.  He continued to manage several acts but at the same time took a job cutting meat in a butcher shop.  This was not exactly something he was suited to and later he went to work for the city of Everett.  After working on the campaign of Governor Sumner Whittier, George eventually went to work for the State of Massachusetts as an insurance examiner.

Although George did not continue with his acting or preforming career he never lost the urge.  By the time I was 9 years old George had become involved with SPEBSQSA, Inc., an organization of men whose hobby was singing in the barbershop quartet style.  For most of the rest of his life our family was involved in some aspect of this organization.  George sang in several choruses and also several quartets, and he was active politically in the organization.  I never considered George to be much of a singer.  Unlike my mother and I, he could, as they say, carry a tune, but his was not a vocal quality that people wanted to pay for.  However, his sense of humor and performance abilities were his strong suit.  He helped a number of quartets with what was called the category of stage presence and frequently emceed at quartet shows and contests.  His own quartet claim to fame was named the “Harmonuts,” four middle aged men who tried to sing funny songs while wearing striped old fashioned bathing suits.      

George always had an easy going, somewhat dry sense of humor.  He was outgoing and usually jovial.  However, he had a pensive side that always threw me for a loop until I read a book about WWII veterans called “The greatest generation.”  Men returning from WWII apparently didn’t like to talk much about their experiences and post traumatic stress syndrome was not part of the DSM back then.  I remember my father getting a somewhat blank look on his face for no apparent reason and he would seem to be in his own world.  When there was a thunder storm, my dad would take a book and go down into the basement by himself.  When I asked why he exhibited this strange behavior, the only thing he would say is that he never liked the loud noises or thunder after coming back from the war.

Throughout his life George was a rather tall, thin man with dark hair and brown eyes.   He claimed he was approximately 6 feet 2 inches.  I’m not sure when he started loosing his hair but in most of my recollections he was already bald.  My father used to tell me that “men who are bald in the front are thinkers and men who are bald in the back are lovers.”  He said that those men, like himself, who were bald all over “think they’re lovers.”

But my dad seemed to be very attached to me and frequently doted on me.  Given his fondness for the dramatic he thought my childhood modeling was something to be proud of.  It was my father who took me out trick or treat while my mom stayed to hand out the candy.  I remember being a clown, a cat and a cowboy.  George and I would frequently sing while riding in the car and I am still very fond of some of these songs.  My favorites were “My Funny Valentine” and “Hey there, You with the stars in your eyes” and  "Old Cape Cod."   And I still remember the words to them all.  He also attempted to teach me how to sing harmony but at age 4 or 5, singing the tune while someone else sung the harmony threw me off and I went right along singing whatever my father did.

a cottage on a pond

Apparently prior to my birth my maternal grandmother either purchased or bartered to obtain a small vacation cottage on Arlington Pond in Salem, NH for $2100.  Imagine that price.   Because my mother was a stay at home mom after having me, we had the advantage of being able to go to this cottage for a good part of the summer and my father and grandmother  would show up on weekends.  It took what seemed to me to be an eternity to get there when, in fact, it was really only about an hours drive.

The cottage was actually just a small cabin with cold but running water.  The only heat was from a stove in the kitchen area plus a space heater in the back, both of which had a small kerosene tank attached to the side.  They had to be lit with a match.    Nights in NH were pretty chilly even in July and August so these were frequently used at night.  The camp was next door to another cottage owned by my grandmother’s sister and her husband.  None of these cottages were very big or luxurious, but I loved it.  

You entered a front door, into what looked to be a porch of some kind.  By my time it had been made into a bathroom.  The room had only a sink with a counter and the toilet which faced the door.  When you opened the door you were in a mud room that looked at the road so if you forgot to close the door you could watch  people and cars go by.  From the mud room you took one step up to the kitchen with that stove that both heated and cooked.  I loved it when my mother toasted my bread by laying in on the cast iron burner.  On the other burner was a big tea kettle where water was boiled and often poured into the one sink which was large enough for me to sit in so that I could get a bath.  We were in NH in the summer of 1954 when hurricane Carol arrived.  Although we were not on the coastline, we did experience wind damage and power outages.  Those kerosene stoves may have smelled a little funny but they didn’t go out when the electricity did.  We were a very popular destination in the neighborhood that year. 

From the kitchen you walked straight into a bedroom where both of my parents and I slept.  This room had the most creative closet.  The closet was actually the wall to this bedroom with a door cut in.  On the other side of this wall was another bedroom with the same set up but the door was on the opposite end of the wall so that the closet was formed by leaving space enough to hang clothes between the walls of the two bedrooms.  I thought that it was great that I could climb in the closet from my room, walk the length of the wall and out into the other room to visit.  Beyond the 2nd room was a screened in porch and next to it was the living area with the second stove.  My grandmother’s room was a small one off of the living room.  The place was a tiny box structure but that was okay.  There was a pond in the back.  It was confusing for some people because we always referred to the side with the water as the front of the house and the side facing the road as the back.  Large white pine trees surrounded the house so there was never any grass but the pine needles smelled wonderful.  

I didn’t wear feet pajamas during the summer but that didn’t mean my feet didn’t suffer. I almost never wore shoes but rather walked around barefoot in the pine needles which felt soft.  Unfortunately, that meant that at bath time my mother often found a lot of pine needle splinters in my feet which she insisted on picking out of my feet with tweezers or sterilized needles.  To me it didn’t seem as though she showed much mercy.

Plenty of kids were in the neighborhood and we could pretty much run wild.  Unlike today, it just didn’t seem necessary for your parents to have you in sight every minute because other parents could be trusted to keep you in line.  I had a summer best friend named Donna and we had row boats, paddle boats, and rafts and spent most of the day  in or on the water.  I’m sure the water was probably pretty cold but it never bothered us.

Neither of my parents were swimmers but other parents in the neighborhood tried teaching me.  However, I objected to getting my face wet and this stood in the way of my initial success.  There was a raft in the middle of the pond and it looked like fun when I saw the other kids pushing each other off etc.  However, the adults were insistent that if I wanted to play out there I had to get there by swimming and no amount of cajoling would convince anyone to take me out on a boat.  I eventually gave up trying to convince them and learned to swim using the dog paddle, a stroke that is tough on the arms but minimizes the amount of water that gets in ones face.  One time my grandmother was out watching me and didn’t realize I had learned this, so when I went out over my head she came running into the water.  I had to tell her that she was “not supposed to go in the water with your clothes on!”  She actually didn’t like going in the water with her bathing suit on either.

I was probably between 3 and 5 years old when I mastered the dog paddle.  It wasn’t until I was 6 or 7 years old that my parents tried putting me into proper swimming lessons.  By then I had gotten pretty comfortable in the water so I never found it important to improve on my technique.  Although I can use pretty much any stroke, I have always been disappointed in myself at not working harder and learning how to swim properly.

At camp, like home, we had two stores in opposite directions but within walking distance and where there was candy or ice cream to be had.  One of these had a walk up window and was almost exactly across from the public beach.  We all had our own beach to swim in,  but as some of the kids got a little older we would head to the public beach to sit in the sun and see who was there.  I was usually the youngest until my brother came along, so  some of the girls were interested when some older boys showed up with bicycles and took up a space on towels next to us.  These guys got the bright idea of washing their bikes by driving them into the water.  We decided to run in for a swim and get their attention.  I apparently got their attention because although they let the older girls jump in, every time I got in water about my knees one of the boys would pick me up and deposit me back on the towel commenting about me being too young to go further out in the water.  I protested by getting up and heading right back into the water where I would again be picked up, kicking and yelling, and brought back to be put back on the towel.  Although my mother had used "time out"  once on that step at home, I guess this was when I really learned what it meant because I had to give up and sit by myself until everyone came back to get their towels.  I was finally able to talk my friends into going to the store and then on towards home where I could at least get in water above my knees.

My first home

The city could be a fun place to live when you’re a little girl.  Our house was dark brown and it had a small yard with a detached garage.  My mom and I would go out the kitchen door and into the yard because we had a rope back there that was the equivalent of the automatic clothes dryer.  Even though they may be a bit scratchy, I still love the smell of sheets that have been dried on a clothesline.  I had a sandbox in the yard where I played while my mother hung the clothes.  

I don’t know why I remember this, but Thursdays were trash collection day.  As far as I was concerned people in the city had pretty terrific trash.  I found dirty, smelly, old dolls as well as broken doll houses and I would drag them home.  I suspect that a few of the neighbors may have actually had a drinking problem but the colored and weird shaped bottles they threw out were very pretty.  I could only pick through trash on my own side of the street since my mom wouldn’t let me cross the street.  

But periodically my mom would help me cross the street so I could play with the kids who lived in the house across the street.  We could walk down to the bottom of the street where there was a cobbler shop with a bubblegum machine out front, and shake it to see if any gum would fall out.  We kids usually got along fine but I had a sensitive streak and didn’t really like getting so dirty that I found it uncomfortable.  The kids knew that, so if they didn’t want to play with me anymore, they would threaten to draw on my face with crayons like they did their baby sister.  Back then parents didn’t worry if the kids were outside by themselves without supervision.   I often stood on the curb crying and screaming for quite awhile before my mother came to cross me back to my side of the street.

As I got a little older I got more freedom and was able to go on my own to the variety store.  There was one at the bottom of the street, almost across from the cobbler.  To get to the other you had to walk up to the top of the street and go left.  I considered these the “candy store” because I wasn’t interested in anything else.  I could actually get penny candy for a penny and candy bars were a nickel back them.  But what did I know about money.

With my new freedom came responsibility such as the time my mother gave me a quarter and sent me to the store to buy bread for supper.  My question to her was not what kind of bread she wanted but rather “can I get some candy?”  She told me I could only buy candy if I had money left over after buying the bread.  The first store had run out of bread so I bought a candy bar and headed on up the street to the other store where I found a loaf of bread cost 21 cents.  Bet you already noticed that my nickel candy bar left me a little short so I bought some more candy and went home with no bread and candy on my breath.  I suspect my mother had bought bread herself at some time, so nothing I said would convince her that she had not given me enough money and that I bought the candy only after I found that out.  I ended up being told to sit on the 3rd step in the front hall because I was not getting any supper.  My mom stood her ground but my dad snuck me some crackers because  I’m sure that even with all the candy I had eaten, I might have starved to death.

My family attended a Glendale Baptist Church where my parents had spent much of their youth and had numerous friends there who grew up with them.  Those friends had kids the same age as me.  Among these children was a boy my age who everyone referred to as my boyfriend.  We would frequently chase each other around the church and get into things when the adults were boring us.  My father and this boys parents sang in the choir so we often spent Sunday afternoons having lunch at their house.

In some of my parents paperwork I found a dog license from October 1952 registering a black mongrel terrier named Pepper.  I do remember having a dog for a short time but then one day the dog was gone.  My parents gave me that age old story about having to take the dog to a farm because it would be much happier there than living in the city.

I lived on Reed Avenue until age 5 until shortly after I started kindergarten.  We could walk to school but often the lady across the street would drive us.  I don’t remember much of kindergarten other than those pictures I drew for my parents on manila paper.  I was no artist but I was proud of my art work so I never wanted to fold the paper and ruin it with creases.  One particularly windy day my art work began to rip.  I became quite upset but none of the kids would stand in front of me to block the wind.  For some reason my ripped picture made them laugh which made me cry or vice versa.  By the time the neighbor arrived to drive us home I refused to get in the car because I was so upset.  The neighbor drove slowly beside me until I realized my picture wouldn’t make it home if I didn’t get in that car.

Shortly after this event, but not related I'm sure, my parents sold their home and decided to move.  I became a kindergarten drop out. 

1949 + a few

I’ve often wondered when it is that children become aware of things that they will put into long term memory.  Some things just don’t make an impression and some do.  I don’t remember ever having my diapers changed although it obviously must have taken place because no one ever told me that I was so smart that I was born “potty trained.”

I was born in 1949.  Truman was president and my father had returned from WWII only a few years earlier.  Television was a technology that had been developing but in the U.S. they were just becoming available for people to have in their homes.  Older friends and relatives spoke about how, for entertainment, they sat around listening to the radio at night.  However, by the time I was able to remember, we owned a TV.  It was very small, the picture was in black and white, and it was sometimes hard to see the picture through all that white fuzziness that looked like falling snow.  Still, I think my mother must have been one of the first parents to utilize the TV as a babysitter so that she could get things done around the house.  I remember straddling the arm of the sofa and riding along with “The Lone Ranger,” a radio turned TV show  and “The Cisco Kid” with his sidekick Poncho, a 1950's western.  

We lived at 29 Reed Avenue in a city just outside of Boston, MA until I was 5 years old.  I remember the house fairly well.  It was a dark brown cottage/bungalow that was much like a house I bought later on.  A stairway faced you as you walked in the front door and to the right was a room we called the “parlor” where the sofa and chairs were covered with plastic.  This was a more formal area for company or when I was able to sneak in and bang on the piano.  No one actually played the piano.  The room behind the “parlor” was what we used as a living room and that was where that TV and my trusty red naugahyde steed were located.  

The next room back was the kitchen.  We weren’t high enough up the social ladder to have a dining room and so always ate in the kitchen.  I sat in a high chair and the only meal I remember eating was breakfast.  Breakfast made a big impression on me because of the toast.  You see, I had 2 piece pajamas that snapped at the waist and had feet and a flap in the back.  Unfortunately, whenever I ate toast the crumbs would manage to slip down into the crevices between the snaps and I found myself sitting on crumbs.  No matter how fast I jumped down from my chair and dropped the flap, the crumbs would always beat me and slide down to the feet of my pajamas.  For me there was nothing worse than walking on toast crumbs and getting them stuck between my toes.  After breakfast I don’t think my mother had a problem convincing me to change out of my pj’s and into my play clothes.

If you walked in the front door and up the stairs, at the top, you would be facing the door to the bathroom.  This room held significance for me because it was where I would watch my father shave.  It held significance for my mother because it was where she was forced to call for help getting the door off the hinges when I locked myself in and cut my own hair.  You see, my father was the agent for a female vocalist who I knew only as Lorraine.  I loved her somewhat unusual, short, boy type haircut.  My hair was fine and extremely curly, so I felt that a makeover hairdo just like Lorraine’s was in order.

There were 3 bedrooms upstairs but the one at the other end of the hall, although furnished, was unused.  My father had purchased the house when he returned from WWII in 1946 and he and his mother lived there before he got married to my mother.  By the time I was born, my paternal grandmother, Cassie, had died and this had been her bedroom.

My bedroom went off of the hallway and my parents bedroom was actually off of mine.  I got used to hearing my father snore.  I don’t remember my bed but I do remember the toy box that was at the foot of my bed.  Th toy box was covered in blue and white vinyl with pictures of cowboys on top.  (What was with the 1950's fixation on cowboys?)  I remember taking all the toys out, getting into the box and closing the cover to hide from my mother.  My toys were all over the floor around the toy box but I was so smart that I never seemed able to figure out how my mother always knew where to find me when she finished making the beds.

In general Reed Avenue was a happy place for me.  My maternal grandmother didn’t live with us then so I didn’t, at the time, know of her dislike for my father.  My paternal grandmother was dead and I had not been told that she disliked my mother.  So it was just me and my mom and dad and that worked for me.  

I get started

There was a time when people played games with each other in the flesh rather than online.  At night they read by candlelight because there was no prime time TV.  And transportation was by 2 feet or 4.

My life actually spans a period of time that has been a wild ride with respect to a lot of things like technology.  There was always a TV in our home but I spent the first 2/3s of my life never having used a computer.  But I have had the privilege of watching many of these things unfold.  And, I have also been blessed by personally knowing and loving a number of generations of people.  Some gave me a sense of the past while others give me a sense of the future.  I needed only to listen to their stories.  Their stories were not always told in a neat package so I have had to fit some of the pieces together depending on time and place.  I can't say unequivocally that everything is 100% correct, but I believe it.

My daughter once gave me a blank book called "A mother's legacy."  My brother once asked me to write down stories that I had been told by my great-grandmother.  And my nieces were always asking me to tell them what their dad was like when he was a kid.  I'm sure they just want to make sure I don't take this stuff with me when I kick the bucket.  I'll obviously try to be sensitive to everyone, although the dead relatives probably don't much care.

So, this is especially for my family.  Let me know how you like it.