Before Memory
My parents were greatly disappointed in me when I was born. Their first child, David, was a boy. They hoped that the next child would be a "mellow," cute little girl, but Richard came instead. As they waited for the third child, they thought, "Surely this one will be a girl," but James was another active little boy. At this time my father was in the Navy, and he was gone almost all the time. It was hard for my mother to care for three boys ages three, two, and one. When my parents learned that my mother was pregnant again, they desperately wanted a "soft," supposedly easy-to-care-for little girl. Wishful thinking led to tunnel vision. They carefully selected a girl's name, but gave no thought at all to a boy's name. Then I arrived, and what a disappointment, the fourth boy in five years! They took me home from the hospital without giving me a name. Relatives, friends, and neighbors were unimpressed with me, "just another boy," and the only gift I received was a pretty pink Kimono from a neighbor. My mother would not think of letting a boy wear a pretty pink Kimono.
A month after I was born I was finally given a name when my father blessed me in church. The name he gave me came as a complete surprise to my mother and brothers. Soon after giving me a name, my father left Utah to try to find work in the East. I was walking before he saw me again.
For eleven long, lonely months my mother struggled to care for her four little boys. We lived in a small apartment in a government housing complex called "Salt Lake Airport Village." The only heat in the apartment came from a small pot-bellied stove and the kitchen stove. Both could burn coal or wood, but the fuel had to be hauled to the apartment and broken in small pieces. This was a difficult and dirty job, but there was no one to help my mother so she did it herself. Since none of us could be left alone, my mother would put me in a little red wagon and the five of us would take a trip to the main fuel bin. Then she would load the wagon with wood or coal and haul us back.
The stove was too little and inefficient to keep the house warm during the night. The house was poorly insulated, and it got very cold my first winter. Since it was so cold, my mother had me sleep with her to keep me warm. I nursed a lot at night. I never did like the bottle, and I nursed until I was nine months old, then went straight to a cup.
We had few guests, and my mother longed for an adult to talk to. Her family was living in Texas. My father's mother lived only 40 miles away in Provo, but Grandmother was afraid to drive or take a bus. Once Uncle Eldin and Aunt Irene took my mother out for the evening, having arranged for a baby sitter. That was truly appreciated. My mother's Aunt Viola visited occasionally. Uncle Marc and Aunt Jane came, but since we boys usually had colds they didn’t come in the house to visit. On the 24th of July, the 100th anniversary of Pioneer Day, there was a big celebration in Utah. My mother got us all on the bus to go into the city, but then she realized that she just couldn't handle four little boys in a crowd, and we returned to the miserable apartment without every getting off the bus. My mother cried.
With almost no money, going anywhere with the four boys was difficult. She had to take us all with her when she went grocery shopping, but could not afford to buy any treats for herself, or us. Once she tried to take us all on the bus to see my father’s mother. My mother had heard that all children under five years old could ride for free. The bus driver was rude, "What do you think this is? Only two free children to an adult!" We could not afford to go. My mother cried again.
Without a washing machine it was difficult to do the laundry for all of us. My mother had to put the clothes in the bathtub and get in and stomp them clean. She then would hang them out to dry, unless it was so cold that the clothes would freeze solid. She would then have to bring the clothes in and let them dry all over the apartment. One day my father surprised her by sending a brand new washing machine. We lived in a poor neighborhood, and not one of the neighbors had a washing machine, either. They all came over to look. One neighbor who had six children confided in my mother that her husband would have spent the money on himself. My mother felt fortunate.
Finally my father sent for us. It was almost Christmas, and my father was lonely and discouraged. In his spare time he had been unable to find a cheap place to rent that would allow a family with four small boys. Then my Uncle Reed and Aunt Peggy invited us to stay with them in Columbus Ohio. This was to last until my parents could find a place of their own. So off we left for the East.
We went by train. My mother decided to get a train compartment for the family, a compartment with a bathroom. She brought my high chair with its little table so that we could eat all our meals in the compartment with the food that my mother had brought with her. There was no reason to leave the room, and no one did until we reached Chicago.
Chicago was a problem because we had to change trains there. How was she supposed to carry all of the luggage, the food, the high chair, and four little boys all at the same time? She asked the porter to help her, but he walked away saying, "Anyone dumb enough to bring four small boys across the country all by herself is too dumb to help!" I never did like Chicago.
She decided to carry me and drag my brothers to the center of the station, where she sternly told us to "stay put," and hurried back for the rest of the things. By the time she returned there was a big, angry crowd around us. Two or three policemen were in the crowd. Loudly they were saying things like, "How could a mother be so terrible as to abandon such beautiful boys? We must find her!" My mother rushed back to us and tried to explain to the policemen about the problem she was having and how no one would help her. The crowd dispersed, muttering about an irresponsible mother. No one offered to help. One of the policemen sternly warned my mother to "never do that again as there were people just waiting to kidnap children." Then he too walked away, leaving my mother alone with her small children. Together we carried our stuff to a quiet corner of the dirty station and ate our lunch while we waited for the train to Columbus. I never did like Chicago.
My parents were greatly disappointed in me when I was born. Their first child, David, was a boy. They hoped that the next child would be a "mellow," cute little girl, but Richard came instead. As they waited for the third child, they thought, "Surely this one will be a girl," but James was another active little boy. At this time my father was in the Navy, and he was gone almost all the time. It was hard for my mother to care for three boys ages three, two, and one. When my parents learned that my mother was pregnant again, they desperately wanted a "soft," supposedly easy-to-care-for little girl. Wishful thinking led to tunnel vision. They carefully selected a girl's name, but gave no thought at all to a boy's name. Then I arrived, and what a disappointment, the fourth boy in five years! They took me home from the hospital without giving me a name. Relatives, friends, and neighbors were unimpressed with me, "just another boy," and the only gift I received was a pretty pink Kimono from a neighbor. My mother would not think of letting a boy wear a pretty pink Kimono.
A month after I was born I was finally given a name when my father blessed me in church. The name he gave me came as a complete surprise to my mother and brothers. Soon after giving me a name, my father left Utah to try to find work in the East. I was walking before he saw me again.
For eleven long, lonely months my mother struggled to care for her four little boys. We lived in a small apartment in a government housing complex called "Salt Lake Airport Village." The only heat in the apartment came from a small pot-bellied stove and the kitchen stove. Both could burn coal or wood, but the fuel had to be hauled to the apartment and broken in small pieces. This was a difficult and dirty job, but there was no one to help my mother so she did it herself. Since none of us could be left alone, my mother would put me in a little red wagon and the five of us would take a trip to the main fuel bin. Then she would load the wagon with wood or coal and haul us back.
The stove was too little and inefficient to keep the house warm during the night. The house was poorly insulated, and it got very cold my first winter. Since it was so cold, my mother had me sleep with her to keep me warm. I nursed a lot at night. I never did like the bottle, and I nursed until I was nine months old, then went straight to a cup.
We had few guests, and my mother longed for an adult to talk to. Her family was living in Texas. My father's mother lived only 40 miles away in Provo, but Grandmother was afraid to drive or take a bus. Once Uncle Eldin and Aunt Irene took my mother out for the evening, having arranged for a baby sitter. That was truly appreciated. My mother's Aunt Viola visited occasionally. Uncle Marc and Aunt Jane came, but since we boys usually had colds they didn’t come in the house to visit. On the 24th of July, the 100th anniversary of Pioneer Day, there was a big celebration in Utah. My mother got us all on the bus to go into the city, but then she realized that she just couldn't handle four little boys in a crowd, and we returned to the miserable apartment without every getting off the bus. My mother cried.
With almost no money, going anywhere with the four boys was difficult. She had to take us all with her when she went grocery shopping, but could not afford to buy any treats for herself, or us. Once she tried to take us all on the bus to see my father’s mother. My mother had heard that all children under five years old could ride for free. The bus driver was rude, "What do you think this is? Only two free children to an adult!" We could not afford to go. My mother cried again.
Without a washing machine it was difficult to do the laundry for all of us. My mother had to put the clothes in the bathtub and get in and stomp them clean. She then would hang them out to dry, unless it was so cold that the clothes would freeze solid. She would then have to bring the clothes in and let them dry all over the apartment. One day my father surprised her by sending a brand new washing machine. We lived in a poor neighborhood, and not one of the neighbors had a washing machine, either. They all came over to look. One neighbor who had six children confided in my mother that her husband would have spent the money on himself. My mother felt fortunate.
Finally my father sent for us. It was almost Christmas, and my father was lonely and discouraged. In his spare time he had been unable to find a cheap place to rent that would allow a family with four small boys. Then my Uncle Reed and Aunt Peggy invited us to stay with them in Columbus Ohio. This was to last until my parents could find a place of their own. So off we left for the East.
We went by train. My mother decided to get a train compartment for the family, a compartment with a bathroom. She brought my high chair with its little table so that we could eat all our meals in the compartment with the food that my mother had brought with her. There was no reason to leave the room, and no one did until we reached Chicago.
Chicago was a problem because we had to change trains there. How was she supposed to carry all of the luggage, the food, the high chair, and four little boys all at the same time? She asked the porter to help her, but he walked away saying, "Anyone dumb enough to bring four small boys across the country all by herself is too dumb to help!" I never did like Chicago.
She decided to carry me and drag my brothers to the center of the station, where she sternly told us to "stay put," and hurried back for the rest of the things. By the time she returned there was a big, angry crowd around us. Two or three policemen were in the crowd. Loudly they were saying things like, "How could a mother be so terrible as to abandon such beautiful boys? We must find her!" My mother rushed back to us and tried to explain to the policemen about the problem she was having and how no one would help her. The crowd dispersed, muttering about an irresponsible mother. No one offered to help. One of the policemen sternly warned my mother to "never do that again as there were people just waiting to kidnap children." Then he too walked away, leaving my mother alone with her small children. Together we carried our stuff to a quiet corner of the dirty station and ate our lunch while we waited for the train to Columbus. I never did like Chicago.
posted by Nectar | 12:54 PM
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