Ralph Dittmer

A Typical Sunday:

Every Sundays was very similar when I was growing up. They usually began by walking to church, and attending Sunday Mass at Saint Pascal�s Church in Chicago. When I was in the early years of grammar school, we were expected to attend Sunday Mass at eight o�clock a/m with our school class. Sixth to eighth graders went to nine o�clock Sunday Mass. Each grade sat together in the front pews of the church, and the Catholic Sister . who was our teacher for that particular year sat in the rear of our group to supervise. We only had one teacher for the year, and this Sister taught every subject to us during the year. During Mass, there was strict discipline observed. We were not allowed to talk, walk around, laugh or fidget. If someone was being noisy or not paying attention to the ceremony, the Sister would leave her seat, and immediately reprimand the student. We observed the same discipline while we were in the classroom also. Sometimes on Sundays, my mother and father went to this Mass, but usually they went to the later 10:30am Mass. The later Mass had Benediction following the Mass, and Mom and Dad liked to attend this.

After church services and after breakfast, the family usually gathered in the living room. We would read the newspaper, read a book, listen to the radio, play the piano and sometimes just plan what we would do for the rest of the day. When I was a very young boy I might play marbles on the rug, or play with tinker toys or Lincoln logs.

Many of these Sundays, during the war, the marines from the college would visit our house. They considered our home, their home away from home. This was very exciting to have many marines visiting our house, and listen to all their stories. As I approached fourth or fifth grade things began to change a little. The war was over or almost over. The marines were gone and, my folks had a little extra money, and they allowed Hank and me to go to the movies. We almost always went to the Liberty Theatre on Fullerton Ave. To get to the movie we took the Addison St. bus to Central Ave. Then we took the Central Ave. bus south to Fullerton Ave. Then we took the Grand Ave. streetcar to the theatre which was just a few blocks east of Kimball Ave.

The Liberty Theatre usually had two western movies preceded by three to five cartoons. Some Sundays Hank and I would stay and watch the movies a second time. After the movie we went home, and would spend the rest of the afternoon listening to programs on the radio or playing games. The games we played were checkers, cards, marbles and monopoly. Outside games were �tag�, �kick the can�, �hide and seek�, �croquet� , �horse� , "softball" or "football".

Bedtime for the grammar school children was about eight or nine in the evening, depending how noisy we were. It did not matter whether it was summer vacation or school days. Sometimes from our bedroom window, in the hot summer months I could hear all the other kids playing in the street and having fun.

Most stores and shops were closed on Sundays. The only stores that were open were a very few restaurants, and naturally, most taverns. Although there were a few restaurants open, most people ate at home then. I never ate in a restaurant until I was in my second year of high school. Television was very expensive then, because it was a new form of entertainment. Only few people owned them. Our neighbor, Chuck Cahill, bought a TV, and once in a while they would let a few of us sit in their living room and watch the TV, if we were quiet. They almost always watched baseball. Computers did not exist except in the minds of science fiction readers.

The favorite boy toys were lead soldiers, Lincoln logs, tinker toys, wooden blocks, trucks, tanks, bat and ball, football, tennis rackets, marbles, and roller skates. Sunday evenings were the worst part of the week for many young boys. When I went to bed I knew we were going to school in the morning. Oh, how sick I used to feel when it was late on Sunday evenings. It seemed to come entirely too soon as far as I was concerned. Many Sunday evenings I told my Mom,� I feel sick Mom. I don�t think I�ll be able to go to school tomorrow.� Somehow that never worked out for me.

Scooters:

When I was a boy growing up in the city of Chicago a scooter was very popular. Almost every kid on the block owned a scooter. My scooter was a very simple one. It had roller skate wheels and a rear brake that sometimes helped stop us from getting into too much trouble. The brake was a small lever by the rear wheel that we pressed down with our heal. We had many races up and down hills.

Sometimes we built our scooters. We used a 2x4 for a base to stand on, a wood apple box nailed to that, and a 1x2 on top for handlebars. We nailed roller skates under the 2x4 for wheels. They made a lot of noise and were fun to crash. For many years the scooter had vanished. It was almost like it never exited. Today in December 19, 2000 the scooter has re-emerged and is more popular than ever. The only difference is the scooters that are being sold today are much smaller and are very expensive. It seems wherever you shop there are scooters being sold. I have not seen many kids riding these new machines.

The other very important thing in my life at that time was my bike. It was a junker I found in an alley. I brought it home and repaired it. It had fat balloon tires and no fenders. I didn't even know how to ride a bike yet. I began riding this when I was in third or fourth grade and didn't give it up until I was in second year high school. I rode it everywhere I went. I rode it to the store, to school, to church and sometimes I rode it just to enjoy myself. When I was young my Mother only allowed me to ride it from spring until winter, however as I got older, I rode it often during the winter months. It was almost like a friend to me. I oiled the chain and bearings and, fixted flat tires and replaced broken parts, and washed it.

The Praire:

This is the description of the playground that my brother and I had when we were young. The prairie was located about two city blocks east of where our home is. It began at Austin Ave. and continued east to Central Ave. The north/ south borders were Addison St. to Belmont Ave.. We began playing here at the approximate age of five or six. Hank was only four or five then. In the spring the field was typical of any other field. It had little growth and the grass and weeds were low enough to see miles in either direction. However in the middle of summer the grass and weeds grew very tall. By July the grass grew and weeds more than a foot or two over our heads.

Many people used this field as a short-cut to a near-by shopping area at Belmont and Central. Because of this there was a path about a foot or two wide that went diagonally completely through the field. If we walked thirty feet into the field we couldn�t see houses or people. It was like being in a jungle to us. Sometimes we would bring our dog, and we would chase rabbits or other days we would catch snakes. There were other days we would find cigarette on the street and find a secluded spot there and smoke all the butts. Other times we just enjoyed walking through the fields. The dog we had was a collie/shepard, named Lady.

I was possibly in first or second grade when a neighbor told me she had a dog with pups. She told us if we wanted one we could have it free, but we had to wait six weeks until she was old enough to take from the mother. Hank and I begged our parents, and finally they agreed to let us have her. Eight weeks later Hank and I brought the dog home, and we spent many days running and chasing with her. When I was about twenty three, she finally had to be put to sleep.

Every spring we usually spent many hours at the college parking lot flying our kites.

Some days there would be a few dozen boys and girls flying kites until suppertime. After supper Hank and I washed and dried the dishes. It probably was a simple task, but it seemed terrible to us at the time. While we did the dishes we usually listened to the radio. When we reached ten or eleven years old we began to fish at Lake Michigan by ourselves, and also at the Des Plaines River at the forest preserve. We rode the bus to Lake Michigan, but we rode our Addison Street bus to Pueblo St. Then we walked the rest of the way to the river.

Fire at College:

One Sunday afternoon Hank and I were walking south along Austin Ave. from Addison St. At this time I was in my fifth year of grammar school and Hank was in his third year. We had nothing to do and it was a very hot summer day. Sometimes we would throw a stone at a moving car and pretend we saw someone else do it so the driver didn�t chase us. We began to pick up old used cigarette butts and I had a book of matches in my pocket. We went to the prairie and found a nice secluded spot that was hidden from anyone traveling along Addison or Austin Avenues. We lit a few smokes and become dizzy like many times before. Soon our supply of butts ran out and we were looking for something else to do. We walked down Austin Avenue, at Wright College, and while we were walking we began to light matches and throw them on the ground.

As we passed the college we threw a few in the bushes to see them smoke. It was great fun. Now we were walking west on Roscoe St. past the college, and we heard a loud commotion. I turned to look back, and saw a huge bush on fire. People were yelling, and we heard the sound of fire engines. Then we heard what we hoped we wouldn�t hear. A person was yelling to others, �stop those two boys. They started the fire.� We began to run and we were very quick. A few people were right behind us, and they were getting close. We turned into an alley behind Cornelia Street, and I knew the persons chasing us were close behind. I told my brother to climb in a garbage can and hide, and I did the same. It was dark and the smell was bad, but it was better than getting caught. In the darkness I could hear people talking, and the sound of their footsteps seemed to be right next to me. I held my breath because I thought they might hear me breathing or my heart that was beating fast now. It seemed like hours went by before the voices disappeared. I peaked out of the garbage can to see if anyone was still around When I was sure the coast was clear, I climbed out of my garbage can and, went to the can where Hank was hiding and told him to get out.

The college had a huge stone parking lot that was not paved. Many times we also used it for a short cut when we went shopping at Belmont and Central. We rode our bikes there, flew our kites in spring, played handball against the huge brick wall, played marbles in the parking lot, and spent many hours just walking around the area. As a matter of fact, most of the kids in the neighborhood used this lot to practice learning to ride their bikes and fly kites.

Swimming in Lake Michigan:

There were a few times Lake Michigan tried to capture me, and only by the grace of God did I escape the quick and violent waters. One time when I was about twelve or thirteen years old I went fishing with my brother Hank and A good friend Russell. We awoke about five in the morning on a beautiful July morning. Russell would tie a string on his toe and throw the end of the string out his attic window. Then, in the morning Hank or I would pull on the string to wake Russell up. Then, after getting dressed we left our houses with dreams of catching a great number of fish. We boarded the Addison St. bus, which only came every hour at that time, and rode to Halsted or Broadway Street. The bait shop was near the corner and we bought a few dozen shiners and a couple dozen night crawlers. I rewmember the noise from all the pumps that were in the fish tanks, and the heavy smell of bait-fish and other bait. Then sometimes we walked the rest of the way, about two miles, to the lake or if a bus was near we would take the bus the rest of the way to the harbor. Now with our bait in hand, and with great excitement, we began to set out our poles. Our conversation was the same as any other day when we went fishing. We were sure we would catch many fish, and we talked about catching the jumbo perch. Hours went by and we did not even get a bite. We ate our lunch, which we prepared the night before and were beginning to get tired of fishing. We began to throw stones in the water like any kids would do, and finally we decided to go swimming.

First we removed our shoes, then our shirts, and finally we rolled our pants legs as high as we could. Each one took their turn diving and swimming back to shore. We had a few contests to see who could stay under the water the longest. After a while we took a cane poles and threw it far into the lake and we raced for it. This was great sport, which we continued for very long time. Unfortunately, Lake Michigan has a habit of being very unpredictable and could change quickly. The waves were getting higher and the current stronger but we didn't realize it. Hank threw the pole far into the lake and we all dived into the water racing for the pole. I turned and saw Hank turn around and head for shore and thought it was funny. Russell and I kept swimming and soon I noticed that Russell, who was a very good swimmer then, turned and was swimming toward shore. I was determined to retrieve the pole and be the winner, yet the wind kept blowing the pole father away. Finally, I caught the pole and turned toward shore, and was shocked and scared when I saw how far I swam and how far it was to shore.

I began to panic and the wind and waves kept pushing me as I cried out for help. The only persons near were my brother and our friend and they kept yelling at me to keep swimming, and telling me that I could make it to shore. The waves now were high and the wind was blowing a cold breeze in my face as I kept swimming. It seemed like an eternity, but finally, after drinking many mouthfuls of water, I finally reached shore and Hank and Russell helped pull me out of the water. I lay on the rocks for a long time before I caught my breath. Then we all sat on the rocks looking out into the lake and laughed at how much fun that was. We didn't swim any more that day instead we took the bus home and soon forgot our narrow escape from our great friend, Lake Michigan.

The Marines:

This was during the Second World War. Just before and soon after Pearl Harbor when we had blackouts or "Air Raid". The "Air Raids" were simulations of an attack from the Germans or Japanese. A sirine would sound and all lights in the neighborhood had to be turned out, and everyone had to close their curtains so no light could possibly be seen outside. Everyone had to return to his or her homes, or find a dark place and stay there until the air-raid was canciled . The idea of the "Air Raid" was, if we were invaded, the enemy could not see any light, and would not be able to bomb our homes. We never knew when we would have an "Air Raid" , and we never really knew if this was a real attack or just a mock attack. Fortunately, we in America have never had to experience a real attack. After a short time, �captains� that were driving in military jeeps with army radios mounted in the back seat, would inform everyone in the neighborhood that the alert was over, and we could return to normal. This was a very exciting time for us, always wondering whether war would soon appear at our doorsteps.

During these years of war, many local colleges were taken over by the military for training. Wright College was used for marines. I don�t remember how many years the marines

Wright College is only a half city block from our home,
therefore My brother Hank and I spent many Saturdays and Sundays
at the college talking with the soldiers.
We heard many stories about their battles, their fears, their families and how
they missed their families at home. We shared their packages they received at "mail call".
Hank and I were interested in all the delicious candy, cookies and cakes that they got.
We had to keep our distance when they drilled with their rifles.
Yet, sometimes they allowed us to march behind their formations, but not very often.
Those days were probably at the close of the war.

They were old fighting men to us, not young boys just beginning their lives.
Many visited our home on weekends when Hank and I brought them home with us. Yes,
we were always bringing boys home, and Dad and Mom always treated them as family.
Some had breakfast, or lunch with us, some just sat in the living room reading the newspaper,
some sat and wrote letters to friends or family, some played our piano or my Dad's guitar or their harmonica.
Some were sad, some tired and some just had fun, kidding with Mom and Dad,
A few were shy, and some just seemed worried, at times some even napped on the couches.
During the summer months, they played games in our back yard or just sat on our swing to rest.

When I was trying to learn to ride a bike, I would take my bike to the school where the marines were training. There was a high curb that ran a long distance and it was easy for me to get on and off my bike. Many times the marines helped me, and finally taught me to ride the bike. Another experience, which always comes to mind, is when a couple of marines taught me how to tie my shoelaces. My shoes were untied and they were laughing at me because I couldn�t tie my shoes, and then a couple of marines took the time to teach me.... Strange things a person remembers

Another day was one Saturday afternoon, after the drill, I was talking to one homesick, scared marine who was being shipped overseas the following Monday. He was going to a movie, and I begged him to take me. He said he would if it was all right with my parents. He came to my home and talked to my parents and they gave their permission. The movie was a very dramatic war movie. I have never seen this movie since then. After the movie, I somehow thought, I would never see this marine again.

Hank and I talked to many marines that were shipped overseas, and never realized that many would never return alive. These were our heroes when we were young.....Supermen.

A few times after the war, soldiers came to our home and thanked Dad and Mom for sharing our home with them.

Grade School:

The first few years of school were probably the worst years of my life. I was not a good student and my grades were terrible. Never in my life was I as depressed as when I attended grammar school. I had no interest in school at all. I went to school at Saint Pascal�s Catholic school, taught by Catholic Sisters. It was located at Melvina Street and Irving Park Road in Chicago.

The pastor was Father Heimsath, who most people considered very conservative and strict. He was a fire and brimstone, old-fashioned German priest. All the children were scared of him, and it was very rare when he would have a smile. Once a month, he would go to each class and pass report cards to the students. This gave him a chance to reprimand any students he thought were not working hard. My report cards were always bad, but some unknown reason, Father Heimsath always told me to keep trying, probably, because my conduct grades and religion grades were always very good. I always sat in the last seat in the last row of the classroom and my grades were possibly the worst in every class I was enrolled in.

More about Father Heimsath and Saint Pascal�s. Our family was very poor then, as were many families during those years. The church would send packages of food and clothes to our home to ease the burden of poverty. However, my father would always send the packages back to the parish. He would tell the pastor to give the food and clothes to people who really need them. He was an extremely proud man. Later, I decided to enter the seminary. Father Heimseth always paid the tuition for any student that entered the seminary. When I entered Quigley my father allowed me to accept the tuition payment. There were many people who did not like the pastor, yet I thought he was a fair person. A good example of why I liked him is when I was in fifth or sixth grade; I wanted to become an altar boy. I studied all the Latin prayers for a year or more, and never learned them as well as I should have. The Sisters would not allow me to become an altar boy because I couldn�t master the Latin prayers. A year passed and one day I went to the rectory, and asked to speak to the pastor. I explained that although I studied all the prayers, I still could not learn the prayers perfectly, but I want to be an alter boy. He listened patiently to me and finally told me he would talk to the Sisters. A week or two later I was invited to the alter-boy meeting and was accepted as an alter-boy. I was not a very proficient alter-boy, so the Sisters usually had me serve the six thirty a/m Mass during the week.

I remember walking to church in the early winter mornings. The days after a heavy snowfall seem so beautiful at that hour. I would walk in the middle of the street in the tracks of a car that had passed shortly before me. I would be so tired yet it was very invigorating to be walking to church at that hour after a snow. It seemed so cold and it was so very quiet. It seemed so light, and yet I seemed to be very lonesome walking alone at that hour. If a car passed me on the street, I seemed to feel a little more comfortable. It made me feel that I was not alone. Walking to church during the spring was different. It was always very dark and sometimes scary. Sometimes I would become afraid of the dark, and I would run all the way to church. It was always a good feeling to see another person, who did not seem to be a threat, walking ahead of me. Unfortunately, that was very rare at that hour.

First Grade Grammar School:

Sept. 1942. It was the first day of school for me. The Second World War is still in progress. I am walking to school for the first time with my sister Regina. The excitement is overwhelming. I am so excited knowing I am finally growing up. Now, finally I will be doing what my older brothers and sisters have been doing and talking about for so many years. Regina leads me to a classroom and introduces me to my teacher. I don�t remember her name, but she was a Catholic Sister. A few minutes later we are led to the church where we attend mass. We have to attend mass every morning before class. I am familiar here because I attend mass with my mother and father every Sunday.

Anyway, after mass we march back to school and the Sister explaines what school is going to be like. She tells us when we have a milk break, which is very important to me. She tells us about the classes she is going to teach . After what seems like hours, we have our milk break that lasts about ten minutes. When class resumes she asks everyone to write down their name and address. She explaines, if we don�t know how to spell our name or our street, raise your hand and she will spell it for us. I think that would be nice. So, I begin to write. I am proud that I can spell my name, but I can�t figure how to spell my Street, so I raise my hand to ask the sister how it is spelled. She finally sees my hand raised and when I ask how to spell Eddy Street, most of the kids in class are laughing. I can hear kids saying how dumb this guy is. I don�t know why until the teacher spells the street. I realize how simple the name is to spell. Other kids have street names like Newport, or Addison or even Irving Park Blvd. Those are really hard names to spell. The Sister orders everyone to quit laughing and I am embarrassed and ashamed.

After that, I never ask another question in class until I was in 2nd year high, and even then it was very rare when I did. I always find a seat in the last row and never raise my hand again. I often wonder if that is why I always feel uneasy talking in front of a group of people. Who knows? I guess it really doesn�t matter. I hate the next 12 years of school anyway. One of the happiest days of my life was when I finally graduate from high school. My Mother and Hank came to my graduation and immediately after the ceramony we come home, I change my clothes and Hank and I go fishing at the DesPlaines River. College? Are You Kidding?

Belmont Harbor Log Ride:

Hank and I were fishing at Belmont Harbor on a beautiful summer day. The fish were not biting and we decided to walk around the harbor area. We had already tied our fishing poles and dumped the extra bait into the lake. We started to walk toward the bus stop at Michigan Avenue when we saw a huge log floating in the harbor. This was a telephone pole.

We laid down our tackle boxes and fishing poles, removed our shoes and socks, removed our shirts, rolled up our pant legs and We dove in the harbor and swam to the log and began pushing it to shore. The lake water looked inviting to us at the time. This was all innocent, but now we had a better idea. Why not take a ride on this log out of the harbor and into the lake? This could be our boat. That is just what we started to do. We tried and finally hung on to the large log and began paddling with our hands towards the open water.

We were having a great time and were at the opening of the harbor to the lake when we heard someone calling us. It was our brother Robert who just happened to be walking along the lakefront that day. We paddled back to shore and received a long lecture from him about how dangerous the lake really is. We thought we were safe, but if our raft had entered the open lake we probably would have been in lo of trouble, and we were only minutes away from the danger. Bob never told Mom or Dad about that day. (Thank God)

City Dump:

This day began like many other hot, Chicago, summer day. My brother Hank, Junior, Russell and I were wandering the city streets. We were having a good time throwing rocks at the college windows. We were chased from here and were walking down the alley when we began talking about the water hole located in the city dumps. We came to the corner of Melvina Street and Eddy Street and saw the horse drawn garbage truck stopped on the side of the street. The garbage men were eating lunch and had the oat-bags on the horses. We decided that it might be great fun to throw stones at the horses and make them walk away, which is what we did. As we were chased from there we again began to talk about the deep pond in the city dump. We had heard many tales about huge fish, man-eating reptiles, and piranha fish, which were in this pond, and how people go there and dissapear in the black water. We discussed the possibility that there was no bottom to this pond or that it could be possibly hundreds of feet deep. Our stories seemed to drive us to our destination.

We three got our bikes and began the short ride to the city dumps to check this pond site. This was located at the corner of Diversey Ave. and Nagle Ave. It is now The Brickyard Mall. The dump was between Diversey and Fullerton Ave. at Nagle Ave. in Chicago. The dump had a six-foot fence surrounding it and a strand of barbwire on the top. We parked our bikes and climbed over the fence. Barbed wire was no obstacle for we were used to climbing fences with this wire. After a short walk we spotted the pond. It seemed very scary and the water was black. I began to walk into the water very cautiously wondering if I would finally find the hole that would drop to eternity.

To my surprise, the water was shallow and seemed to only be waist deep. I called Hank, Russell and Junior and told them to join me. Hank and Russell followed, but Junior had new shoes and decided to remove them before he entered the pond. While we were swimming in that filthy dirty water, Junior stepped on a broken bottle and was crying. He was hurt and bleeding badly, and now we also knew we would be in big trouble if our folks knew we were swimming in this pond. We rode our bikes home and Junior had to confess to his Mother what happened and where. His father took him to the doctor, and he had his foot stitched and also got a tetnus shot and naturally, a whipping.

While he was at the hospital, Hank and I were worried that he would tell his mother that he was with us. Fortunately for us he didn't. I don�t think my parents would have forgiven our stupidity. I often wondered why none of us were affected with any terrible disease from swimming in a pond located in the city dumps. Maybe we did. Anyway, we never went back to that pond that had no bottom and was filled with terrible man-eating monsters.

Chuck Cahill at the Lake:

One bright summer day my neighbor took my brother Hank,me and Russell Korth downtown for a visit to the aquarium

and also the museum. After a long ride on the Addison Street bus we finally arrived at the aquarium. Hank, Russell, and I were not very interested in looking at fish and the likes. Instead we decided to wait outside while Chuck and his wife went inside the aquarium. which was next to Lake Michigan. There were six or eight concrete steps that extended from the lake water up to the street, which was probably ten feet high. The water was rough and the waves would splash upon the bottom three or four steps. It seemed like fun to play �chicken� with the water. As the waves were low we would run down to the bottom step and watch for the next wave to come to shore. Then we would run up the steps to find dry ground. We did this for quite a while until the lake played a trick on us.

I was on the bottom step and when I looked up at the lake there was a huge wave almost upon me. It had to be six feet or more high and rolling toward us at great speed. I remember yelling at my brother and Russell to run for their lives. They were already three or four steps higher than I was. I ran as fast as I could but the lake caught me at the fourth or fifth step and completely covered me. I could not breathe and the strength of the retreating wave was pulling me down the steps. By now I was on my stomach and was trying to hold on to the concrete steps but the wave was too strong. Finally, after what seemed an eternity, the wave retreated past the last rock and I was laying on one of the bottom steps. I pulled myself up and ran faster than I believed possible until I reached the top rock. When I caught my breath I looked at my brother and Russell and we all began to laugh.

We thought it was really funny but we decided to quit playing chicken with Lake Michigan. My neighbors came out of the aquarium and wondered why we were all wet and we told them we just slipped in the shallow water. The day was sunny and hot and a short time later we were dry, and we almost forgot the fun at the lakefront.

Bost Trip to Michigan City

When I was in sixth grade, my job was delivering newspapers for the Northwest News. I delivered papers once a week, and collected money once a month. It was a great income and I had a large route. All my customers were the stores at Belmont and Central. I delivered papers until I started high school. I earned about fifteen dollars a month, which was a lot of money at that time. Also, I got free tickets once a year for a boat ride, which went across Lake Michigan to St. Joe Michigan, and returned in the evening. I took the trip two years. Once I went alone and once Hank went with me. They were exciting. They had a band playing music, people were dancing, gambling was allowed after we were a few miles away from shore, and food was plentiful. The lake was always so beautiful to me.

Recently I talked to my cousin Paul Dittmer, and he also sold newspapers, and got free tickets for the same ships. He took the same trips two or three years.

During these years I did many odd jobs for neighbors and store owners. One job I remember was removing coal from a basement of a store. The owner converted his coal furnace to a gas furnace, and needed to remove all the coal from his basement. Other jobs were picking weeds from yards. We usually got a nickel for every bushel we picked. In the winter we shoveled snow from the sidewalks. But my main job was the newspaper delivery, which I did for three or four years. It sure seemed a lot longer. I quit my newspaper job when I started high school.

Oklahoma Vacation:

When summer vacation finally arrives and school is finished, my brother Hank and I are allowed to visit my sister Rita who resides in a small town in Oklahoma. These were the last four years that I was in grammar school. Early in the morning, we ride the Addison Street bus to Clark Street. We take the Clarke St. streetcar to the train station. There we board the Santa Fe train that takes us twelve hours to Tulsa, Oklahoma. My brother-in law and my sister Rita meet us at the Tulsa train station and drive us to their home. This year we board a bus and ride it about fifty miles to our vacation home in Skiatook, Oklahoma.

Skiatook is located about fifty miles north of Tulsa, Okla. It is a very small town and the main street is only two city blocks long. It reminds me of the small towns that are viewed in the western movies that are so common-place today. The only difference is there are no horses seen on the street. It has a movie theater, a gas station, a five and dime store, and a general store. The general store is also a drug store, a grocery store, a hardware store, and the complete north side of the building is a feed mill. The mill is a great place to visit and meet people. Almost every day you meet Indians and cowboys sitting outside who talk to us. The Indians are from the reservation located a few miles outside the town. The store is also a great place to meet real cowboys that like to joke with my brother and me, and tease us because we are city boys who talked funny.

My brother-in law, who actually resembles the handsome gamblers in many western movies, works at the general store every day from seven in the morning until six in the evening. We take this trip almost every summer. We love the west and especially Oklahoma. These trips are special to my brother and me. I ride many horses during these visits, and have become a pretty good rider. While we are here we spend a few days at rodeos. We also go to the Indian reservation and watch many Indian dances and various Indian celebrations. They always introduce the Indian princesses and chiefs to any new visitors.

During the summer we go on turtle hunts in the woods, and a prize is offered to the group who catches the largest and the most turtles. Some of the turtles are as large as a pie tins. We walk in the woods at night with a flashlight to find the turtles, which are usually on shore near the creek. Also, in the summer they have a rattlesnake hunt and the winner is named during the Fourth of July celebration. This is one activity we never became part of. During the week they keep the largest snakes in a glass cage, displaying them in the window of the, one and only, local gas station in town. Every few days we walk to the station to see the snakes. I am always worried that one will somehow escape and bite me.

This summer my brother in law is teaching Hank and me how to shoot a twenty-two rifle. He brings us to a secluded area by Bird Creek that is a few miles outside the town, and we spend most of the day shooting at targets. This is my first experience of handling and shooting a gun.

Sometimes during our vacation we visit my brother-in-lay�s father. who is about seventy years old. He is well groomed and always dresses in expensive and fancy western clothes. He has a full head of black hair that was always combed to perfection, and is usually covered partially with a Stetson hat. His fingers are very long and the nails are as perfect as any lady�s would be. This gentleman talks in a very low and quiet tone, and I always have to listen intensely in order to hear him. He owns hundreds of acres of pecan trees, and also owns the only general store in town. He also owns many buildings in Oklahoma City. Mr. Greenwood earned all his wealth from gambling. He was a professional card player during the early nineteen hundreds and worked at almost every saloon in Oklahoma. He still carries a small derringer in his sleeve that he says he needs for protection.

It seems like there are oil wells everywhere here, and we usually visit a crew while they are drilling for oil. We spend hours watching the crew work their drills that clang and bang; sounding like a loud drumbeat that never stops. The drill bit is huge, at least twenty feet long and about eight inches in diameter. There is a crane on a truck with a large chain attached that is used to lift the huge drill. The crew consisting of five or six men, always seem tired and very dirty from the hard work. While we watch them drill, we are always hoping they will strike oil. Some of the rigs we visited finally stuck oil within a few weeks of our visits, but we never are on the site to see the excitement of oil gushing, and the crew capping the new well.

My brother in law keeps a horse for a friend that he feeds and waters. The horse was named Star, and is kept in a field a few miles from town. He needs fresh water every three or four day, and it is my responsibility to drive to the field and bring him grain and water. Hank and I also groom the horse, saddle and ride him every few days. He is a very spirited bay Quater-horse that stands fifteen hands. Sometimes when a rodeo is held near the town we bring Star and, I ride him during the show. My brother, Hank, helps the cowboys with many of the chores while I am riding, and sometimes we are part of the rodeo show and we love every second of it.

Oklahoma is an important part of Hank and my life. The train ride home is not as exciting because we already miss all the excitement, and we know that soon we will be back in our dreaded school. After a few days home the excitement of our vacation is gone and we are back to our routine of going to school, doing dishes every night, scrubbing the kitchen floor, bathroom floors, cleaning the toilets and bathtubs every week. We listen to our favorite programs on the radio every night, go to the movies on Sunday afternoons, weed the yard, and various other activities. Now all we can do is dream about our next trip to Oklahoma next summer.

I have to give a special thanks to Mom and Dad for allowing us to visit there. Also, I must thank my sister Rita and my brother-in-law Bob for the many special summers that will forever be in my memories. My thoughts are with all these special people who provided me with the greatest memories during my youth. Forever, Thanks

Early and Grade School Years: