| Bob's Story... continued Children are often the product of their surroundings. My parents were poor much of their lives. Dad's life could have been very different had it not been for the Great Depression, but all our lives take such turns unexpectedly. I will write more about that for my parents' page, but I raise it here because I feel lucky to have been a kid in a poor working-class family. My first 5 years were during WWII, which impacted everyone. We moved a lot (15 places before I got out of grade school) and were usually in cities where Dad could get factory work. We ended up on a farm, but I always felt like a city kid. Over the years, I've discovered that the worst places we lived were really the best for a young boy. My parents never had the time to hover over me, and poorer parts of cities are full of exciting things that would scare the bejeebers out of most parents today. The parenting style back then was a hearty "Go out and play", and I could be gone for hours. We kids learned to entertain ourselves well, building things out of junk (which was readily available) and inventing games. We had very few "toys", so we made them. A pair of clamp-on roller skates and an orange crate could easily become a scooter, or even a wagon. Our roaming area was defined by how far away we could still hear a parent yelling for us (and somewhat beyond that range). Sure, there was danger, but remember that most accidents happen IN the home, and a LOT of kids drown in their own bathtubs. My earliest clear memories are of Burlington, IA, which means I don't remember the first half-dozen places we lived. I tried to help my mother establish where we lived, in what order, but there were just too many moves to keep track of. Dad went ahead of us to get a job at the Ordnance Plant in Burlington, and we followed along after he got a place for us. Later, we lived in government trailers along with other plant employee families, and then in new government rowhouses that seemed huge and luxurious by comparison. I went to pre-school that accompanied the trailer park. At some point, we lived in part of a nice big house right on Prospect Park, which is where I learned the joys of sledding. From there, Dad bought or rented a small plot on the edge of West Burlington, with a minimal house. I thought it was great because there were animals out there, and we had a garden. I had a pet bunny, who had to share food with an occasional wild rabbit. I started in the First Grade a short walk from there, at age 5. While we were there, a huge explosion at the Ordnance plant shook the whole area. Dad was working, but far enough away to avoid injury. To Moline Evidently Dad found a better job in Moline, IL, and we moved there, to a second-floor "apartment" with an outside stairway for access. I still remember the address: 737 1/2 23rd St. I know it was a poor place for adults, but it was fabulous for me. There was a cramped attic that was good for nothing whatever except kids, so that was MY personal space. The house was at the top of a dead-end street with a woods uphill from it... another great place for a kid. There was a rope swing on a tree part-way up the hill, which meant we could swing way out over the lower level. Exploring in the woods was a continuing adventure. I remember an icebox on the landing at the top of the outside stairs, and I do remember the iceman hauling a big block of ice up the stairs on his back. I played with kids on my street and on the next one, and with others I went to school with. Grant School (still there) seemed like a mile away to a kid, but when I went back as an adult, it was less than 3 blocks. Funny how that happens while you're gone. We attended the nearby Congregational Church, and I sang in the big kid's choir. We were in Moline when Harry Truman was running for election against Thomas Dewey, and expected to lose badly since he only became President because FDR died in office. Dad was a Democrat (union guy - Teamsters) so naturally I 'was a Democrat" too. Truman did his famous whistlestop train tour of the country and stopped in Rock Island. Dad and Mom took me to see him, and a good story developed. I remember being the only kid at school who thought Truman would win, and took a good razzing for it, until the election and Truman actually won. To 5th Avenue We moved again in Moline, to 5th Avenue, about the same distance on the other side of Grant School. We lived on the 2nd floor of a house. 5th Avenue was a busy highway. Not far behind the house were the railroad tracks, and not far behind that was the Mississippi River. There were businesses on our block... Al's Delicatessan, and across the street was a music store run by the parents of Louie Bellson, the famous drummer married to Pearl Bailey. I still have the violin Mom and Dad bought for me there. I learned to play and practiced hard, but that was to end not long after. Moline was just plain fun for me, but I know it wasn't for Mom and Dad. Dad worked at several plants there... Diamond T, welding dashboards on trucks, for Herman Nelson fan manufacturer and at a licorice factory (I liked that one best). Mom was for a while a waitress in an old-fashioned diner (the kind made from railroad cars) and she wore a coin whatchamacallit on her waist for making change. I remember her being excited that she waited on Morton Downey (no, the FATHER of the one with the TV mouth) a very big singing star in the 30's and 40's. WWII ended while we lived on 5th Avenue. Big songs I remember then were "Over There", "When Johnny comes Marching Home Again", and "Mares eat oats". About the only toys I had were a chemistry set, a lot of comic books, and some marbles. Comic books were traded all the time with other kids, and marbles were won and lost in contests. I came close to injury or death a couple of times; a car hit me, but I was carrying my violin case in front of me and it just scuffed the case. Being a complete know-it-all (I know... that hasn't changed) I was sure I knew how to swim without ever having been in the water, so, upon starting a swim class at the YMCA, I just jumped in (for some reason, we all swam naked), immediately sank and had to be pulled out by the woman instructor. Later, after I learned to float really well, but still not swim, I was in the outdoor pool at Riverside Park, and floated toward the middle of the large pool. When I raised my head I found that I was a long way from the edge in every direction. I still remember starting to sink and thinking that when I get to the bottom, I'll kick hard and come back up fast. Well... one sinks very slowly, and, not getting a decent kick, I rose slowly to the top again. I waved my hands and tried to yell, but sank back down again. In a poolful of kids, guards have trouble telling who is in trouble and who is just clowning. I was pulled out unconscious but alive. Life for my parents during those years was not very happy. Occasionally we returned to Iowa for a visit, on the bus, and relatives who were farming seemed more successful, which I know made my mother unhappy. Dad had a drinking problem. I don't think it affected his work, but it was certainly a part of my parents being unhappy. It's always difficult to know if drinking is a cause of unhappiness or an effect... perhaps both. Back to Iowa One day, in perhaps 1948, I was told that we were moving to Iowa. I don't remember the move itself, but I do remember selling all my comic books at a little stand on the corner, for 5 cents each. We moved to a farm near Amish (Joetown), where Dad had a job as a farmhand, on a dairy/turkey farm owned by John Dayle Yoder. We lived in a small farmhand house there. The farm was a new and interesting experience to me. I went to a one-room school a mile or so away, taught by Glen Gingerich, certainly one of the last of the old-time schoolmasters. There were maybe 15 kids in the 8 grades, some Mennonite, some not. Teacher got me off to a "great" start. I asked to go to the bathroom, to which he replied "We don't have a bathroom, we have an outhouse" or some similar smart crack designed to make it clear that I wasn't in the city any longer. Over the next few months, I discovered that I wouldn't be studying violin any longer, and that my new school had a lot of dumb kids. Even in 4th and 5th grade, I usually won the spelling bees. The bright part of a week there was our weekly Saturday evening trip to Wellman in our '37 Ford coupe (I don't remember us ever having a car until then). I was given a dime and sent to the theatre... to the kid's show. There was a newsreel and a couple of cartoons, followed by a serial like Captain Marvel or Tom Mix. "Come back next week to find out how he gets out of this impossible situation." I suspect Dad went to one of Wellman's many taverns, and I have no idea what Mom did. Wellman was no city, but it was a lot closer than the farm, and was also nicely rowdy. Dad seemed to know everyone there, and had a brother (Glenn) and a sister (Irene) who worked and lived on main street. I remember the pool hall/tavern, but I clearly remember the old barber who occasionally cut my hair. He would grab my head in one hand and the clippers in the other. His hands shook something awful, but they seemed to shake in unison because the cut wasn't jagged. I would fall asleep on the way home, so those return trips only took a few seconds for me. The move to Sharon Center We moved again, when I was in 7th grade, I believe, to a farmstead south of Sharon Center... a most unusual place - an old Amish farm in the Rhodes family. There was a big old house and a smaller one where we lived. No electricity or running water. Dad didn't farm there, but took a job working for Yoder Feeds. I walked about a half-mile to the Sharon #5 school, another one-roomer with 11 or 12 kids, right across the road from the church we went to... the Sharon Evangelical United Brethren. I remember two teachers while I was there... Katy Fry and then Mary Brenneman. School was OK. There was a decent hill out back for sledding, and we would haul water out to make it icy. There was a barbed wire fence at the bottom of the hill, challenging us to turn before we got there. Within the same week, two of us (me and Robert Miller) didn't make the turn. Amazingly, both of us cut an eyelid on a barb but our eyes weren't hurt. I do recall being intrigued by an Amish girl in my grade, Sadie, who was beautiful in a dark Amish fashion. However, at the church was another girl even more intriguing to me... Joyce Miller, most certainly the pick of the girls at our church. She lived in Iowa City, but we were as much a "couple" as kids that age can be. Together, we were the "lead pair", which also meant that we could never, ever be alone together. Even when we both went off to camp in Cedar Falls, other kids were always following us, which sort of turned into a fun game. The church provided occasional activities for kids that were a great break for me. We kids played basketball (and a little spin the bottle) at the old, empty Sharon High School building, and played softball a few times in Hills. I got the job of mowing the church cemetery, and soon added the one at the Grout Church not far away. Good hard work that I took pride in doing well. My time outside of school and church was spent alone, exploring the farm and wishing I had someone to play with. There was a most unusual incident during the time we lived at this place. Mom woke up one morning to find a note from Dad, in which he said he was going to Chicago to find his daughter Elaine (from his first marriage). Until that time I don't think I knew he had a previous wife, much less a daughter. Dad phoned in a day or so, and said that he had found Elaine, even though she had married and naturally had a different name. He was home in a few days. And again... Part way through the 8th grade we moved again, to a small farm about a mile away, where the Emery Rhodes family had lived until Emery took on a farm owned by Omer Schliecher (sic) on the prairie south of Kalona. I walked and biked the now-longer distance to school for the rest of that year. This house was modern and luxurious by comparison, but just as isolated. Dad was selling livestock feed for Yoder's, and his route was in the West Liberty area. He had a nice new Ford pickup for the route, and I went with him once in a while. He also sold Wynn's Friction Proofing on the side, and that was just fun. He had a small device with weights that forced a bearing down on another bearing spinning in a cup of oil. He would ask the farmer for his oil (every farmer had his favorite oil) for the test, and would add weights until the top bearing was smoking from the friction, then add just a couple of drops of Friction Proofing. It would immediately smooth out and stop smoking, even with more weight. He also had a great sales technique involving a pull-meter. He would get the farmer to hitch his tractor to the pull-meter, which was attached to a study tree, then to tractor-pull as hard as possible. They would record how hard the tractor pulled. Of course, farmers are proud of their tractors and each thinks theirs is the strongest. Then Dad would put Friction Proofing fluid in their oil, run it for a while, and guarantee the farmer that if the pull didn't increase by at least 10%, the treatment was free. It always worked, but the demonstration took quite a while, which made it tough to make much money at. Kalona High School In the fall of '52, I started to high school in Kalona. I rode the school bus until I was old enough to drive (which seemed like forever). Kalona was a pretty lame school, with a very limited curriculum. In 4 years, we had one choice... Typing or Bookkeeping. To be fair, they did allow a choice of HomeEc or Shop, but no boys or girls moved. No lab course, no foreign language, and most of the courses we did have were nappers. Kalona was big on music, and short on sports. We did build a baseball diamond one year. Another guy and I went out for football in our senior year. The team was poor enough that we both started in the first game. By the end of the season, I needed to get in one more time to get a letter. Despite losing 62-0 to rival Wellman, the coach didn't put me in. I certainly made some friends during those years, but no close friends. I was always a farm kid who missed out on most of the action. Our graduating class of 1956 numbered 15. |
