(Note: The most recent assignment in our Writing
Class was to write a narrative describing our activities during our early
childhood. This was inspired by the sharp contrast with the childhood
experiences of this generation, particularly because of the immersion in
technological devices.)
In 1947, when I was six years old, my parents
moved from Three Rivers, Michigan, ten miles north to Moorepark, a village of 500 people located 15 miles
south of Kalamazoo on old Highway 131.
They wanted to make a go of it
running a General Store, selling basic groceries. Across the Highway to the
east was a Methodist Church; (My family never went to church); across the
street to the south was a gas station and Gunsmith Shop run by Bergie
Hughey. To the west was a Post Office,
and across the street from the Post Office was a one-room schoolhouse.
Our living quarters were located just behind
the store, separated by a curtain. We lived in one big room. My parents’ bed was in the northeast corner;
my sister, Jean, three years younger, and I slept in small cots in the
southwest corner, next to the couch, easy chair, and big, wooden radio. In the northwest corner was the kitchen with
a hand pump over the sink because we had no running water. Next to it was an ice box that used ice
blocks delivered once a week. Next to it
was a primitive stove .Near the kitchen were two large, lead tubs for laundry
and our baths. My mother hung clothes on a clothes line. The two-seater outhouse was just outside.
At night, we huddled around the radio listing
to series like “The Shadow,” “The Lone Ranger,”
“The B Bar B Ranch,” and “Amos ‘n Andy.”
During this time, I attended a one-room
school, Grades 1-8; I was a student there from Grades 1-4, when my parents gave
up, and we moved back into town, Three Rivers.
Mrs. Steininger, a tall woman with gray hair
and glasses, masterfully taught us, about 45 kids in one room. There were 5-6 kids in each grade; she made
it work by having the older ones teach the younger ones. I looked forward to going to school.
(Incidentally, years later I went to a
Psychic Reader who said that in my former life I was a Jewish professor at a
German University, and I in the late 30’s, I was caught in a round-up by the
Nazis, placed in a truck with other people, and a gas hose was attached to the
back of the truck, and we were asphyxiated.
She said that several of my family immigrated
to the United States. She said that I
came back rather quickly (1941), and one of my sisters became my teacher. I often think that Mrs. Steiniger was my
sister in my former life.
Yet, when I think about it now, I do not
recall that she had a German accent, and
how could she have gotten certified to
teach so quickly?)
On most summer days, my friend Nino, from a
large Italian family down the street, and I would head for The Swamp. He often proudly told me that his name meant
“young bull.” Across the street from the store behind the church were large
fields, and behind them were woods and swamps and streams. We would head out with our bows and arrows,
our knives in scabbards hanging from our belts, and small knapsacks on our
backs, carrying our lunch—baloney and mustard sandwiches, Twinkies, and a
canteen of water.
We hunted bullfrogs, shot at snakes, and
threw rocks at the fish, and played cowboys and Indians. We swam at The Pit, an enormous sand pit, its
large, almost vertical banks sloping into a warm pool.
Looking back, I realize that it was so much
fun because we were free to do as we wished, no restrictions imposed by parents
or teachers.
After four years, my dad and mom realized
they just couldn’t make it running the store.
People tended to go to the larger stores in Three Rivers for groceries,
and only came into our store for a few items, like milk and bread and cold cuts.
We moved back to Three Rivers. My dad took a job as a butcher in a nearby
grocery store, and my mother proudly became a secretary at Continental
Can. She was proud because she had
graduated from high school and had taken typing. I entered Huss Elementary School in the Fifth
Grade. I was wondering how I would do in
school, moving into a city of 10,000 people.
I was amazed that I did perfectly all right, often raising my hand to answer a question. Mrs. Steininger did her job.
Although bullying was not widespread, as it
seems to be now, a couple of guys messed with me because I had moved to town
from the country. One day in the
restroom while I was washing my hands, a couple of guys came in and called me
“Country boy.” I grabbed the nearest guy
by the front of his shirt, slammed him against the wall, and said, “You better
stop fucking with me,” while the other guy took a step back and when I released
the first guy, they were out the door. From that day forward, I was accepted
and often picked early on for pick-up games in football, softball, and
basketball.
On Saturdays, my sister and I would go to the
movies in the Riviera Theatre in downtown Three Rivers. For 12 cents each, we saw a double feature, a
serial, and cartons.
And so it went, almost 70 years ago.
