A Portrait of the First Born as a Child

© 2012 by Robert Lewis Barrett. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 05/14/2012

ISBN: 978-1-4685-5372-7 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4685-5371-0 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2012902989

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

CONTENTS

ACKNOWLEDGMENT

MY DEDICATION

A Portrait of the

First Born

as a Child

ACKNOWLEDGMENT

To thank my friend who has helped me thru out as she was in one state and me 800 miles away in another. She gave me help as she could read my writing when I could not and managed to make it say what I wanted it to. I could not have done it without my number one partner, Tina F. Kennedy. I am lucky to have her already working on my next novel and hopefully on the next. All my thanks—Robert

Technical Assistance Graphics, Layout, Composition provided by Jeremy Morris, Tech. Spec.

MY DEDICATION

All my books and novels are dedicated to my wife. She has been my anchor for all these 55 plus years. We were lucky to have been born in the 30s, educated in the 50s and therefore received the equivalent education to an associate degree today. This also gave us the work ethics we shared as we had only each other when we were married. She worked as I did and stayed at our home as I traveled the world working. Maybe that helped in the early years as she only had to put up with me a few months a year. She’s the love of my life and I knew her before I met her. I had dreamed of what she would look like since I was 13/14 years of age. The only thing missing was her face. On 09/02/1956 I met her and finally saw the face i’d searched for all those years. She had some doubts about me but I knew she was the girl i’d marry. No power on earth could keep that from happening. So about 3 months later she gave up and said yes, she’d marry me. Now my life was complete, I had my lifes partner, my lover and she would be the mother of our children so now I could go and do all the opportunities that would come my way. She would have her own career, be a homemaker and mother of our daughter. She seemed to handle all of it with her usual grace and dedicatition in addition to being a loving and helpful wife and my best friend. She always gave support and advice in all we worked to achieve in our years together. She was always a good christian, a perfect lady on all occasions and all her friends revered her as she lent a hand, loving and comforting. When ever the event needed words to soothe and console, she was there. Ever the lady she could move among all peoples with a smile to raise your spirits and to help you tote the log of your burden. I have always been extremly proud to be her husband and she has and always will be my one and only love. All my love, Robert

My Wife

Polly Marie Janele Beam Barrett

Married Me December 24, 1956

A Portrait of the

First Born

as a Child

As the song says I was born early on one frosty Mornin Cherryville, NC. The date was the 10th of May, 1937, a first year for a lot of very important things to start. For me, it was the first day of my life and a harbinger of things to come. I was my mother’s first child, and she had a difficult pregnancy. The doctor had put her on bed rest months before. I recall others saying she didn’t do as ordered, continuing to work in the textile mill, Rhyne Houser #2. All the family worked at the same mill, which ran 24/7/363, closing only Thanksgiving and Christmas Day. It’s to never be known, if my mother had done as directed by the doctor, would my birth have been easier on her and less damaging to me. You see, I was a breech baby. I never turned over in the womb and so my feet would emerge first, instead of my head, which is as it should be. Doctors at this time were not aware they could intercede and turn me around before delivery. Another unfortunate occurrence almost cost me my life. The umbilical cord was looped around my neck. As the doctor pulled, the cord strangled me and if he hadn’t gotten me out and rectified the problem, I would have died or been severely retarded, due to the oxygen being cut off from my brain. I also had a heart murmur, which is just a faulty valve. No one can say if it was a result of the difficult delivery or purely genetic.

Being the first born male child was a really big deal to my mother, her sisters, and my grandmother. My father and grandfathers also thought so. Later in life, I would learn I was not the dream my parents had. They had been pulling for a girl, having picked out a name, Robin Lynn. I was, however, received with great acclaim by all family relatives as a progenitor of the family tree. I could marry, and carry on the family name, something that was highly desirable at that time. My station in life would have been rated upper lower class! My parents, aunts, and grandmother all worked in the textile mills on 3 different shifts. We lived on the Mill Village, rental homes for employees with families. My maternal grandmother lived with us, making us eligible for a mill house, which required 3 or more people. My two aunts lived with my maternal grandfather and grandmother. In actuality my maternal grandparents lived together with my two aunts, making it four. But, who’s counting?You had to pay rent for the house, and it was a minimal house, as were all mill houses. A coal stove to cook on, and a coal heater for the winter months. Life was hard, but family and friends made life good for nearly all concerned. The entertainment was the moving picture shows, the radio, and the local baseball, football, and basketball games.

Women were homemakers, in addition to working in the mill, and therefore cooked, washed, ironed, sewed, and planted gardens and flowers. The men worked in the mill, worked on the car, mowed the lawn, trimmed the trees, and did all the repairs and maintenance on the houses. In summer they would fish, in winter they would hunt deer, and most were content to a point. Everyone wanted more, but realistically, they knew this was as close to good as it would get, some traumatic event was all that could propel them to greater heights. Few knew that event would come in 1942. My mother’s father carried me around like a prize he’d won at the County fair. I was too small to remember him doing this as I was two or younger. My father’s family built and worked at another mill on the other side of town. My father’s parents were a mixed pair, as my grandmother had not been married when my father was born. He always said he was a woodlands colt, but was a strong-willed and a strong-bodied man who had nothing to start with. His aunt, Rosie Barrett, ran a boarding house, and she took him to rear. My grandmother would much later have four girls and another boy. Her then-husband was not much of a family man, but more a man about town type. My father worked for the city as a boy of 9 years old, hauling mud from the city streets with a 3-sided box with two handles affixed to it and pulled by a mule, great way to start a life right? He naturally fell in with the wrong crowd, but even so, everyone had to work, good guy or bad guy! He took whatever job he could get and gained a reputation as dependable and a good worker. He tells a story about the time he went to town and went in a café to get a coke. Two half-drunk men who knew him and his reputation as a good worker, which they were not, attacked him, roughing him up and throwing him out of the café into the street. He got up, put his hat back on, walked up to the café door and reached into the box the café kept their wood for the stove in. choosing a good piece of wood, he went back in and beat the hell out of both of them. He left, putting the wood back in the box. That was the last street fight he ever had in that town.

I was an only child for four whole years, until my brother was born in 1941. For me, those were the good years. I had all the attention I could desire. King of the Roost was I for four years, and more. At the age of four, my life started to take a downward turn. First, I had tonsillitis that required an operation to remove my tonsils and adenoids. No problem until we moved to a better mill house. While playing on my very own slide, swing, and seesaw, my appendix burst. I was on the swing at the time, and felt extremely hot. I swung higher to cool off. Bad move on my part! The exertion of energy was highlighted by a feeling of total fear and despair. I was fainting, but did not know it, not knowing what fainting felt like. My mother saw me out the kitchen window, and was about to tell me not to swing so high when I passed out, falling off the swing. She raced to me, and feeling my elevated temperature, picked me up and took me inside. Afraid I had contracted spinal meningitis, which was going around, she called for an ambulance (this was long before EMS or the Rescue Squad). The ambulance took us to the hospital and it was a good thing they did, as the poison from my ruptured appendix was leaking into my abdomen and would have set up a massive infection, and I could have died. The hospital doctor knew what my problem was immediately and rushed me into surgery. He removed my appendix and all the fluids associated with the rupture. Convinced he had successfully solved my problem, he sewed up my incision and sent me to recovery. I stayed overnight, and my mother never left my side. My father and aunts came to see me as soon as they got off work. After another day in the hospital, the doctor said I could recuperate at home. An ambulance was ordered and my mother and I rode to our house. I was on a stretcher, and upon arrival at our house, two ambulance attendants removed me from the ambulance. My mother unlocked the door, holding it open for them to bring me into the house. We had three steps leading into the house. As fate would have it, the two stooges dropped me off the stretcher. My incision was torn open, resulting in an emergency ride back to the hospital, lights and siren all the way.Another doctor rushed me to surgery and closed the torn incision, doing a horrible job. Being only a small lad at the time, it didn’t appear to be such a big scar, but in later years, it looked like I’d suffered a major gunshot wound. Those were the days when doctors were treated in a God-like manner, and no mere mortal questioned their word or their actions. The only break we got was no bill for the ambulance trips to or from the hospital. Thanks a lot! Nowadays, of course, that could be a $250,000 to a million dollars settlement, with the ambulance company and another $250,000 to $500,000 against the surgeon. I was alive and had a nasty scar, and that was all we got, besides I’m sorry!

I recovered, and for my fifth birthday, the parents, aunts, and grandparents all got together and bought me the bike I wanted, with a big metal basket on it. When asked why I wanted the basket, I justified it by saying I could put groceries in it so my mother didn’t have to carry them home from the downtown store. Actually, I wanted the basket to carry the local papers I intended to get and sell. I wanted to make some money!

In the interim between 1937 and 1942, several major incidents had occurred. My brother was born May 3, 1941. On December 7 of the same year, the Japanese bombed Pearl Harbor, and we were in the midst of WWII. It was the world against Japan, Germany, and Italy. I figured everyone would want a paper each week, as few had radios, so I should do well. I’d found out from the distributor that the paper was put out every Wednesday on the steps of the Church. The paper sold for 5 cents, but all his boys paid was 3 cents, keeping the profit of 2 cents, It made sense to me. I put aside my 25 cents allowance for a couple of weeks to build up my reserve to buy the papers. I had to wait for my birthday and kept spending all my savings for the picture show, popcorn, a coke, and chewing gum. You know the essentials for a nearly 5 year old. When I finally got the bike and the following Wednesday arrived, I only had 49 cents to buy papers. I went, and of course, everyone was much older than me, and had all the nearby territories claimed, but that was to be expected. I decided to just go further than they did, and establish my own territory. I bought 16 papers and started off.

I rode about 1 ½ miles o the East until I was out of everyone’s territory. I went to the door of the houses to ask if they wanted to buy a paper. I figured since they were far from town, they would be glad to get a paper delivered to their home. I was right, and I sold all 16 at about the first 20-25 houses I visited. I made sure to tell them I’d be back the following week, and they all said they’d buy from me whenever I did. Now I had my territory and with all the money I’d made, plus my allowance, I could expand on my next go-round. I had 80 cents plus the 1 cent I had left over, and my 25 cents allowance. That gave me $1.06. I could go to the movies for 15 cents, buy popcorn for 5 cents, a coke for 5 cents, and still have the 81 cents I’d earned to buy papers, resulting in the purchase of 27 papers. I did as planned, and got the 27 papers. Now all the others wondered how I’d established such a route. They were only buying 30-40 papers each. I delivered as promised, and the people bought as they’d promised. I went even further on my route, and sold out quickly. I figured I’d struck the big casino on this newspaper deal! The further I went, the more houses I visited, resulting in more papers sold. This was a real goldmine to me, and it would take me as far as I was willing to go. Now the paper came out between 3:00-3:30, and it took me a while to pedal to my area, so I usually got home by 5:00-5:30. When asked where I’d been, I just said selling papers. They probably assumed I was selling them downtown, and they didn’t know how much money I had made. I now had a bankroll of $1.35. I spent my allowance and the following Wednesday I asked for 43 papers. The distributor wanted to know what I did that I was getting more papers each week, and I replied that I was selling them. What else? He just shook his head, took my money, and gave me 45 papers. Now the other kids were really giving me the fisheye. I told them I had a guy at the mill who took 10-15 papers each week, and that curve ball really threw them off.

I pedaled to my area and picked up the additional customers that I needed. Some would wait on the porch or in the yard for me to come. Some would even tip me an extra 1-2 cents. One lady gave me a dime. She was my favorite customer, and I always thanked her, big time! Now another problem arose! I sold all my papers and now had $2.33, but I didn’t get home until after 6pm. Everyone wanted to know why I was late. I proudly announced I’d been selling papers and made $2.33. They all wanted to know how I had done that, and I explained that I’d been doing it since getting the bike and how where I was selling them. They were dumbfounded, and it seemed to me, they didn’t know what to say. My mother took my face in her hands and kissed both my cheeks. She said, I’m so proud of you, but you are doing far too much for a boy of 5, and it seemed to be a lot of work. I told her it was fun and reminded her of all the money I had made, turning 49 cents into $2.33 in just three weeks. I explained that I couldn’t expand my area any farther, as that was all my basket would hold. Tears ran down the faces of my mother and my aunt as they told me I’d done more than enough and shouldn’t do more. I gave my mother $1.00 and she asked what it was for. I told her it was for her, so she didn’t have to work so hard at the mill. She scooped me up, hugging and kissing me profusely. My aunts then did the same. My mother said she’s put the money up and save it for me. I told her I didn’t need it, that I had given it to her! She stared at me with a mother’s eyes full of love and said Okay, then I’ll use it to buy the milk for the week, how’s that? I told her it sounded great. She told me it was time for me to wash up and eat my supper. I did so, and after I’d finished, she produced a Snickers candy bar and said it was just for me. I thanked her and ate it all.

My father was employed at the mill. He worked two shifts, 16 hours a day, and I rarely saw him. He’d come in, wash, eat, and go to bed. We had dark cloth over all the windows, so you could not see the light from outside. It was wartime and such measures were necessary. Dear ole’ Dad not only worked two shifts four days a week, he was building a house for us all on James Street. Grandma had saved enough to pay for it, but Daddy took no pay, of course, so the whole family, including me, kept working.

We got away from the Mill Village and all lived in Grandma’s house. No rent, so we had more money. My family also owned the lot next door, a really nice place with a running stream and lots of trees, trees full of squirrels. Squirrels were good eating. Daddy had built a bridge across the stream with two trees for rails and unsawn lumber for steps. He also built a large chicken coop and got Mom’s uncle to give us some chickens and a rooster. We kept an old broom by the door to beat the rooster off as the eggs were collected.

My mother and father could cut the head off a hen with an axe or hatchet. That was usually Sunday dinner fare. When Daddy was not there, as was the case so much of the time because of working in town and away, my mother would say she was going to get a chicken ready on Saturday to be cooked Sunday morning. That meant killing and plucking the chicken. My first experience was getting the chicken for dinner I told my mother I’d do it. She said okay, but warned me not to get blood on my clothes. Blood on my clothes, indeed! I knew how this was done. I’d watched them many times before. I got the hatchet, some old newspapers, and a couple of kitchen matches. I went to the coop and picked out a poor-egg-laying hen, the way they did it. I opened the door, grabbing the broom and swatting the rooster a couple of times. I got the hen by her legs, wings flaying and all, and took her out to the big stump where I’d left my gear. I took the hatchet and laying her neck on the stump, struck a might blow. She was wounded but not dead. She was all over the place, bleeding, flaying, and making noise. I’d seen Daddy do this also, and he’s just grab a wing and wring the bird’s neck. I attempted to do the same. I managed to get hold of a wing, but couldn’t wring the neck. Desperate to end this, I grabbed the hatchet and grabbed another wing, and putting my foot on the bird, I chopped until the head came off. The chicken still flopped around, so I sat down on another stump until she stopped. I then proceeded to pluck the bird. Large bird, small hands, but I got the job done. I then tied the legs together with twine and hung the bird on the branch of a tree. I rolled up some newspaper and then struck a match and lit it. I used the burning paper to singe off the pin feathers until the bird was smooth. I threw the head into the stream and checked myself out. No blood on my clothes, but I washed my hands and the hatchet in the stream. I even washed the bird. After cleaning up, I took the bird and the hatchet to the house. I returned the hatchet to the box we kept the wood in for kindling. I had some newspaper left, so I wrapped the bird in it. I gave the bird to my mother, who inspected it, and said I had done a very good job. She then inspected me. She looked at me, hugged and kissed me, and told me what a good boy I was helping her so much by getting the bird. I told her anytime she needed one, just tell me. I already collected the eggs each day and had never broken a single one. She called me her little man, and said she’d tell Daddy how good and helpful I was when he came home. I went to see Grandma and told her all I’d done, and she said she knew I could do anything, that I was a very smart boy. Then she and I rocked in her big rocker Daddy had made for her. It was large enough that she could rock with me or my brother sitting next to her, because she couldn’t always hold us on her lap. We were too heavy. Grandma had an old peach can she spit her snuff into. Mother and my aunts didn’t dip, just Grandma. I asked her to give me some, but she said I was too young. I was a big boy, and while Grandma sewed, I went to the kitchen and got a can with cocoa powder in it, and using one of Grandma’s empty snuff boxes, I put some in it. I then went back to rock with Grandma. When she took a dip of her snuff, I took a dip of mine between my lip and my gum. It tasted sweet, but strong. I had my own little spit can, so when Grandma spit, I spit. My mother came to cut up the chicken and watched me rock with Grandma. She saw Grandma take a dip, and just shook her head, but then she saw me with a snuff box, and taking a dip, and she stood frozen as Grandma and I spit. She rushed over to take my snuff and spit can then chastised my grandma, asking how she could give me snuff. She thought it was the nastiest thing Grandma had ever done. Grandma was startled and didn’t understand why her daughter would say such things to her. A heated discussion followed as I was led to the bathroom and made to spit out all I had in my mouth, followed by brushing my teeth.

Suddenly the conversation turned to me as Mother asked where I had got Grandmas’ snuff. I told her the whole story, and she sat me down on the couch and told me never to do anything like that again. I told her I just wanted to be like Grandma, and she held me tight as she told me that sometimes I was too smart for my own good then she explained why I shouldn’t do such things. I was a trifle mystified, but promised to never dip snuff, chew tobacco, or smoke, at least not until I was out of school, anyway. I promised, and things returned to normal.

My father had planned to become a machinist and went to school 10 miles away, three nights a week. When the war got underway, rationing of gas, sugar, coffee, rubber, and lots of other things, a good friend and mentor named Pop Halstead found out that there were lots of little-known-of jobs for men who were good workers with good records. Pop got my father, his half-brother, his brothers-in-law and they all went to Tennessee to sign up to work on a Government job there where he worked. Unknown to them, this was also classified as a defense project and this was the biggie. Oak Ridge was where the research for the Atomic Bomb would be conducted. The hours were brutal, but the pay and additional ration coupons made it about the best job a man could have plus, they were defense workers.

All the men lived together in a house built in a small city, just for the workers, only ½ mile away. They sent their money and ration stamps and coupons, all they could, home for their families. Daddy had always been the strong, deliberate one in the crew. Pop was old, but a good man. The half brother was a good man, to, but not a leader. The two in-laws were drunk every chance they got. Daddy was now the reliable and dependable leader of the family. He was in familiar waters, as he’d taken the role of father and big brother to all his siblings and his mother. He was a strict disciplinarian, and kept the four girls on a short leash. By this time, he was a tee-totaler and married. Getting married was the best thing he’d ever done.

My mother was one of the most beautiful women in that small town, as were her two sisters, to a lesser degree. Their father was retired and kept his girls virtuous and at work. They all three gave their father their paycheck each week and he determined how and where all the money was spent and distributed. Dad married my mother after a lengthy and secretive courtship. She had been warned that Daddy was a bad boy, a drinker and womanizer, so therefore they had secret rendezvous. That was just what a lady of virtue wanted, to tame the rebel. She wanted to save him from himself, to entice him to cross over to the other side of life. So, naturally, he fell into the trap rather easily. He would chase her till she caught him, but only on her terms. Her mother knew what was going on, but chose to with hold her judgment. The father was outraged, and ordered her to stay away from him. So, what’s the natural outcome of such a scenario? He picked her up one night, and she left with her suitcase packed with her meager belongings. They were off to see the Justice of the Peace and married life! Unable to return home, as her father had forbidden either of them to darken his door again, they rented a mill house and began their life together. Not much later, Grandpa heard from his friends that ole’ Dad was a pretty good man and would be a great addition to the family. With a little prodding from Grandma, the two sisters, and others, he invited them back to his house.

A couple of months later Grandpa was telling everyone that Dad was a real good man and a great husband to his favorite daughter. He even became a bigger fan when I was born, his first male grandchild. As I said before, he had no problem taking me with him wherever he went. He wanted all to see his grandson. When Grandpa died, they all got together for family and economic purposes. Dad had a third grade education, and Mother went through the 12th grade, so Dad made the money, and Mom handled it, all their long life together. I guess that’s where I got my talents from, as my mother had no problem letting me handle money, mine and theirs, before I went to school. She’d give me money and send me to pay the grocer, the utility bill, the furniture payment, and she taught me how to count and make change. Later, when someone asked why she treated me this way, she said from the day I was born, she always knew she could count on me to take care of myself and them. She said I was clever and quick, and she relied on me to take care of any task I was given. She was proud that I took care of my brother with the same dependability I displayed on other tasks. She regretted that my health plagued us all, but that as I overcame each time, I became stronger and even more reliable. She worried about my brother, but always knew he would be okay.

So, there we were, the war was going on, Dad was away doing what he should, and I was with Mom, Grandma, my two aunts, and a younger brother, which made me the man of the house. No one argued with me since I’d do all the man stuff, bringing in buckets of coal from the snow, take my hatchet and split wood for kindling, do my paper route, collect eggs, kill a chicken when one was needed, and fix anything that was broken or needed a drop or two of oil. I would bicycle to wherever to pay bills and collect the groceries or anything else we needed.

Dad and his crew came home about once every six months. They had few tales to talk about since their work was so secretive. They never knew what they were a part of until it was over. Everyone was proud of them and others in our town that had helped in this monumental project that in essence, saved the world and millions of American lives.

I started school, and loved it. It was my kind of place. I also loved the fire drills we had each week. The school had a spiral slide made of galvanized metal and it was a real thrill to slide down. I made straight A’s or E’s, I don’t remember how the grading system was back then. School was easy for me. I soaked up all they had to teach, like a sponge. I graduated 1st grade at the top of my class, and spent the summer doing my usual duties and a few new ones. Mother said it would be a good thing while during my travels on my bike, doing my usual errands, I should see if I could find any scrap metal or rubber, since they were needed for the war effort. If I found any, I should take them to the collection area at the Fire Station. It didn’t matter how small, all would help out and it was our duty to do so. The women in the mills saved the bottle caps, and even the aluminum foil off cigarette packs. Our town was very patriotic and I could find little to collect, but I did find some. Before summer was over, I had spells of fatigue, debilitating exhaustion, a fever, and vomiting for no apparent reason. My mother took me to the doctor who ran tests and said he was certain I had been stricken with Rheumatic Fever. Needless to say, it was the worst of news. My father came home alone, to confer with Mother. The doctor said the only treatment was total bed rest, and sulfa drugs, the antibiotic of the day. After they talked, it was decided Dad should go back to work and the family would take care of me. The doctor explained the sulfa drugs I had to take would purge the calcium from my system, thus keeping my hip and leg joints from locking up. He forgot to tell her it would also ruin my teeth. They would become soft and decay rapidly. Unknown to me, I would have upper dentures by the ripe old age of 13.

Another occurrence that saddens me greatly is that at the time, the doctors believed ultra violet light would kill or weaken bad bacteria and viruses. This was, of course, hogwash, but the doctor had a 2-foot ultra violet fluorescent bulb installed in his waiting room, and told his patients that 15 minutes under the rays of this light, 3 times a week, would aid in the treatment of any and all ailments and diseases. The stairs to his second floor office were at least a 45 degree angle. When I think about my mother having to carry me in her arms, up the stairs, 3 times a week for 15 minutes under the light, I’d like to punch the doctor’s ticket. It was hard enough on her at home, where I was bed bound and she had to carry me to the bathroom several times a day. We had a very serious talk, at which time she explained to me as only a mother could, that I had to obey the doctor’s orders, and under no circumstances was I to walk. She was afraid if I did, she would lose me to the disease, and our love was so great, I promised I’d do as she said. She said even if I made a mess on the bed, it was okay. She said she could always clean or replace the bed covers but she could not replace me. As I said before, we were of limited reserves, and we had to pay the doctor, buy my medicine, and pay for three round trip cab fares a week to go to the doctor’s office. She got the school to send all my school work to me, and I did the entire 2nd grade in my bed. I passed with an A, as usual. The teacher emptied our limited library and I read all the books they had. I also loved to read comic books. I particularly like the classic illustrated comics, as they were all great literary works, such as Treasure Island, Last of the Mohicans, Call of the Wild, Moby Dick, and so forth. I was only allowed one a week, because they cost 15 cents each, regular comics 10 cents each. I had no income, so there was a limit to how many new books I could get. People at the mill would give Mom all their old magazines, and I would read them from cover to cover. Yes, 1944 was a hard year on us all. It seemed the war would never end, and the rationing was getting everyone down. It was also a banner year for Dad, receiving a bonus and putting the money in the bank at Oak Ridge. Mom had told him to do so, and she’d live on what she and the family made. He disagreed, but did as she had asked him to do. Mother had a master plan, and she was willing to bite the bullet when money could not buy you what you wanted because of rationing and shortages. She chose to go cheap now, and wait for the war to end and things returned to normal. Then, she’d have enough money for Dad to build us a house next door. I tried to be as good as I could, knowing the stress my mother was under. Being 7 years of age, I didn’t know how the debilitating effects the sulfa would have on me, so when the year in bed was up, I was the happiest child in that town. My mother told me I could get up and she walked with me through the house. I was a little wobbly at first, but quickly got my land legs back. I dressed myself then mother and I had breakfast together. I saw the sparkle had returned to her eyes, something I hadn’t seen in over a year. She told me she would wash my bed clothes, since I wouldn’t be in bed all day anymore, and washed the dishes. I went to the closet to get a broom, and started sweeping. She told me I didn’t need to do so it may be too much too soon. I told her I was fine and wanted to sweep the entire house. I hadn’t done any work for a year. She relented, and let me sweep the whole house. Then she made me lie down on the sofa and take a rest for one hour. I was tired, so I gave her no argument. Within a week, I was back to normal, but my mother refused to let me resume my paper route, and informed me that was final. She also kept me off my bike for about a month before she let me resume my normal chores. It was so great to be up and about. I felt I would burst with joy. The war was almost over, so things were looking up. Summertime and the living were easy. Daddy would be home soon, as they had completed their assigned task. Little did they know the huge buildings they had built were now running 1,000 centrifuges to make Uranium 235 for the three bombs that would usher in the age of the Atom and end the World War!! Over the horizon, a new house of our own, a bigger bike for me, and a new .22 rifle would also be presented to me. We’d also have a car again and could travel, going places like we used to. Mother and I had gone on the Iron Horse, the train, several times, but it was nothing like going in your own car. There were lots to look forward to. Daddy came home with the crew and his bonus check. Needless to say, my mother was very happy he was home, as was I. I have to tell you now that Dad was not the push you on the swing, toss the old ball around, long walks in the woods at which time he’d impart pearls of wisdom to me type of father. This he definitely was not. He only spoke when he had something to say, generally orders or instructions. This is not to say he had no love for his sons, he just didn’t show it. He was hard to get close to, very hard. I found it easier to just go with the flow and not ask a lot of questions.

He built our house, and we moved in. It was great! My brother and I had bunk beds he had built for us. I got the top, of course, with all feeling my brother might fall. I sometimes heard my mother and father converse when they didn’t know I could hear them. They would talk of their time apart, me and my illness, the job Dad had been working, and then private talk. At such times my father would mellow, and always called my mother Jane. Odd, as all the other relatives and I do mean all, called her Eva. All of her friends did also. I figured out that Jane was my father’s private name for her, and she always called him Lewis. His middle name was George and he hated it. I never knew why. He used the G for his middle initial with no problem, but never used or answered to George. His near and dear male friends might, on occasion, call him Lew, but pronounced Lou! Dad lived up to his word, as always, and built a dog house, with a cable to make a dog run, and brought home an American Bulldog. He was black and white, and Dad told us the dog’s name was Pat. I was to take care of him. He would be solely my responsibility. I also got a small Montgomery Ward Stevens .22 rifle, single shot bolt action, and a box of 50 shells. He told me I’d have to buy the next box, so I needed to learn to shoot straight. Dad gave me my first lesson, the safety story, and handed me the book of instructions, along with a small cleaning kit that used twine, patches, and oil. He told me to read it, do as it said, and since we had woods behind our new house, we could use rabbits and squirrels to eat. A dove or coot would also be welcome at the dinner table. I took the rifle out and started shooting at squirrels. There were a lot more squirrels than any other game. Daddy being home didn’t eliminate any of my other chores, so I was kept busier than ever before with the dog and learning to use my little rifle. One of my father’s aunts asked him what he would do if I shot someone. He lit up and said he’d beat my ass! Dad knew I’d never shoot someone, as he’d told me not to. Ha!

Our house was built up in the rear with wood columns. It got as high as 4 feet and you could see the floor joists. Each squirrel I killed, I cut off the tail and nailed it to the floor joist within my reach. There were dozens of tails there as I mastered my rifle. I still had lots of shells left, and we’d had squirrel stew several times. I’d shoot them, skin them, and gut them, giving that to the dog, and Mom would freeze them until she had enough for a good pot of stew. It took 6-8 squirrels to make a decent stew and my mother knew how to make it delicious! I only got the chance to shoot 20-30 rabbits, as they were quick and hard to spot. They were very fast, and if I didn’t get a good shot, I’d pass on them for a squirrel. I got a few coots and doves. But they were few and far between. They were hard to see in the treetops. I was on the back porch, having just finished cleaning my rifle, when I heard our neighbor screaming. I went to see what was up, and I saw a large dog, foaming at the mouth and running wild. My mom appeared out of nowhere, and picked me up, taking me into the house. When I asked what was wrong, she said it was a Mad Dog, and his bite would kill me, giving me Hydrophobia. I told her I’d shoot him, but Mom told me no. She called the police, who had already been called by someone else. They shot him with a shotgun. Mother said if I was ever cornered by a mad dog to try to get a water hose and turn it on him. Water was supposed to terrify them. I asked if I could maybe just shoot him, as that’s what the police had done, and she said perhaps I was right. I told her not to worry. If I could hit a squirrel, I would certainly be able to hit a dog. She said only if I had the rifle and a chance to use it. Mother took me to the doctor for tests, as my health was still an issue. Several times she told me to go to the waiting room and read while she spoke with the doctor. I surmised it was about the tests they’d done, but I was only half right. Years later I found out she asked the doctor if a change of climate would help, or even cure, my ailments. He told her it would have to help, but couldn’t promise it would cure anything. He referred her to another doctor who was more of a child’s doctor. We now call them Pediatricians. She spoke with him after he had received all of my medical records. He told her nothing would cure the heart damage, but a constant warm climate and daily sunshine would help my body recuperate and aid my physique by allowing more growth and body mass. He didn’t see any downside to moving, but was convinced a temperate climate would aid in all possible ways that would be beneficial to my body. I was told later that we would be moving to Homestead, Florida. I knew where it was, as Daddy had been there twice over the years. He had gone with his friends in 1926 and left when a powerful hurricane hit the area. He returned in 1936 and left after an even larger hurricane hit the same area. Years later, when I was going back and forth to Alaska, I used to kid him that in 1946 the state wouldn’t allow him to move back. That was the year we all moved to stay. He joked they didn’t mind as long as he stayed for the hurricanes he would cause.

The war was over, and changes were rampant all over the U.S. People were no longer content with their station in life and had found they could change to a better life. The GI’s had the GI Bill to help them do better, and others had money like never before. They had made big bucks in National Defense work, or had just been able to accumulate more because they had nothing to spend their money on during the war because of the lack of goods and services. Now people had opportunities they’d never had before and a lot were taking advantage of them. We were part of that group of people who wanted more and were willing to relocate to get it. My illness was only part of the reason we moved. The entire family knew of all the opportunities available in Florida, and Dad had first-hand knowledge from people who had already moved to Homestead. They were relatives and very good friends. A few letters and Dad had work and a house we could live in until we could get on our feet. We didn’t leave without funds. We sold our house, plus Mom had banked Dad’s money, so we were flush and ready to go, post haste. Dad got an open trailer about 20 feet long and put all we were going to take with us on it. Later, we’d look at the pictures we made of it and laugh, as it looked like the Beverly Hillbillies! We had to give the dog to a friend and move the chicken coop over to Grandma’s lot. That was all we had to do, besides pack and go. We decided to leave in the early summer, so I’d be out of school. I would graduate the 3rd grade at Cherryville, and never go there again.

New home, new school, new friends, new sights to see, and it was all exciting to me. I guess the folks had a mixture of excitement and foreboding to leave the only home they’d ever known since birth, approximately 41 years for Daddy, and 36 years for Mom. Mom’s dad had been born here, as was her mom, so more than 100 years by far in this town. A move of 800 miles south was a real big deal, especially since it appeared we’d cut the cord, so to speak, and it was going to be the root hog or die!

This was not so unusual for North Carolina folks, as they never considered failing as an option. Therefore, they generally succeeded at whatever endeavor they chose to undertake. We would not be the exception to this rule! In retrospect, we were highly successful by any measurements. We packed up and after the house was sold, we were ready to go south. We had a 1932 Chevy 4-door sedan. It was a pretty good old car, and with a trailer hitch on it, and Mom’s ham biscuits and chopped ham sandwiches packed for the trip, we were ready. There were no fast food restaurants and few restaurants of any kind, except in the downtown areas of towns, so out on US1, there were only a few, but lots of gas stations. Now I should say service stations, as they pumped the gas for you, checked the oil and water, the air in your tires, and washed your windshield. How about that? There were maybe five motor courts, no motels, on that length of road. Motor courts were individual little buildings that housed X amount of beds and a full bathroom. The cost was pretty steep, as there were so few of them, and the higher class of travelers would fill them up early! They usually charged by the head, but the not so popular, out of the way places charged a flat rate for all you could pile in. Mom and Dad knew from friends there was a decent one, near South Georgia, that was usually clean and had at least two double beds in each building. The cost was about $5 a night. They provided two washcloths, two full-sized towels, one regular bar of soap, and one roll of toilet paper. It was located in a damn scary place off the road near the wetlands of the river, with two large factories, which ran 24/7/365, within sight, which lit the place up like a Christmas tree with all the lights. One produced Rayon, the other gunpowder. The smell was terrible! With no air conditioning and one window fan, it took a good hour to get used to the smell so you could go to sleep. We were up and on our way early the next morning. Dad ate biscuits and sandwiches, apples, peaches, bananas, and cheese crackers from noon till night, but insisted on a real sit-down, store bought breakfast. We ate at a couple of really good home-cooking places, each marked carefully on our map. We had eggs, ham, bacon, sausage, biscuits, coffee, griddle cakes, toast, and jelly. Breakfast for the four of us cost about what the motor court did, because we knew to eat enough to last all day, because that was it, except for whatever Mom had left in the food basket.

Reading this now you would think we were dirt-poor and hard-up on our luck. Actually, being who and what we were never occurred to us. Some people had more money than we did, but that didn’t make them any better than us. We lived, slept, ate, traveled, and worked like everyone else. We were happy to be alive, together, in good health at the present time, and going on the biggest adventure of our lives. We had no clue there were different classes of people, different only because of the amount of wealth they had. There was no radio in the car, so Mom would sing, and we’d join in sometimes, even dear old Dad. We saw all sorts of things we’d never seen before, so we never tired of the trip. We only had one bad night. The second night in Florida somewhere, we had to cross a river approximately 500 feet across, that’s almost twice as long as a football field. They were building a new concrete bridge and were using the old wooden one to send cars across one at a time. Now it was windy, rainy, and dark, around 9pm. When it came our turn to cross, the police spoke with Dad because of the trailer, but I guess they decided to let him give it a try, or either he told them he was going to do it. Dad had a habit of letting his opinion be known in no uncertain terms. Either way, after we’d gone about 50 feet, we could feel the bridge move from side to side. Mom was scared, but tried to hide her fear, so as not to scare us. At first, I thought it was pretty exciting, but then the bridge shook and moved. The rain was coming down really hard, and here we were all alone, only half way across. Dad slowed to a near stop in order to downshift, so he could control the car and trailer better. We stopped breathing until he started up again. We thought the car had conked out. The middle was by far the worst part, and Dad even said to sit still, we’d be on the other side soon. We made it across, and my dad pulled over to rest up. Mom decided we needed to find a restroom, so Dad went to the nearest service station. Mom pulled a sweater over her head and took off for the ladies room. Dad asked if we needed to go, but we told him no. He didn’t either, so we waited until Mom came back. She slid across the seat, hugging and kissing Dad. He responded and she asked if my brother and I were okay. We said we were fine.

The rain was fierce, coming down in bushels, and we had the old vacuum-operated windshield wipers, which moved so slow you hardly knew they were clearing the rain away so we could see. After another hour or so, Dad gave up and pulled into a roadside picnic area, the kind with a table and charcoal grills. There were other cars there and a Semi, and we turned off our engines and got as comfortable as we could, then tried to sleep, or at least rest. We were there until about 3am. The rain stopped and after a quick review of the map, Dad said we could rest for another hour then we’d make our breakfast stop and be on our way south. If all went well, we’d make Homestead in the late evening. We could look forward to staying in or new house that night. Real beds, furniture, stove and refrigerator, electricity, and two, count ’em, two bathrooms. Tuck and I would sleep upstairs, Mom and Dad downstairs. We’d have separate full-sized beds. It all sounded really good to us. We were expected, so our relatives had stocked our kitchen with foodstuffs, ice for the fridge, fresh, cold milk, and cokes. The stove was electric imagine that, with four burners and an oven, real uptown stuff. There would be plates, cups, saucers, bowls, flatware, glasses, and kitchen cloths and towels. We had bed linens, pillows, blankets, sheets, and a real live, working radio. It would be so nice to start our new life with all these items being furnished for us. It really gave our new life a kick start. We had all the windows down in the car because it had turned warm and sunny. We got on just fine. About midways through the state, we had an interesting experience that we joked about for years. We kept seeing orange groves and signs all along the road that read All the orange juice you can drink-10 cents. Dad finally succumbed, and stopped at a stand in an orange grove. We got out, using the free toilet, and Dad ordered four glasses of orange juice. We got a little cup that held about 4 ounces. The man filled each one with cold OJ. It was delicious, and we told him we’d have some more. He said it would be another 40 cents. Dad reminded him that the sign said all you could drink for 10 cents. The man smiled broadly then said that’s all you could drink for 10 cents. I thought my parents were going to get on this guy’s case, big time. Instead, they looked at each other and started laughing. The man laughed with then, and asked if we were new to Florida. Dad pointed at the license tag on the trailer, and the man called us Good ole’ Carolina Folks! Dad told him we’d seen his signs for miles and never dreamed that 4 ounces was all you could drink for 10 cents. The man said it had worked for many years and most folks went along with it. The others got really mad. Reaching under the counter, he produced four 12 ounce paper cups. He filled each to the rim and told us to drink up, welcoming us to Florida. He shook hands with my dad, walking into the grove and talking. We drank our orange juice and when Dad came back, he bought a bag of oranges for $1. Walking back to the car, he showed us all a knife the man had given him. It was long and thin, a pocket knife, with pearl handles on each side. The blade was thin and 4 inches long. They were made especially to cut citrus fruit in half. I wanted one and asked my dad about it. He said he’d never seen one before, so he didn’t know if you could buy them at most places, or just that area. As to the cost, he had no idea. I thought I’d get me one someday.

When we arrived at our house, we realized it was next to the local airfield. The noise was minimal and occasional, so no bother to us. It was neat to watch the Piper Cubs take off and land. The house was in excellent condition, needing no work. It had all the amenities associated with a house which had been recently occupied, the owners moving on to bigger and better. It was on a corner lot with a circle drive and in the center of the front yard was a huge Royal Poinciana tree. When in full bloom, it was a beautiful sight to behold. They grew leaves and huge orange flowers that ran the entire canopy of the tree. It was a little messy when all