I’Ll Never Do That Again

By Laurie P. Webster

This book highlights numerous events during the Author's life, including those who did not want to see her succeed. It was written similar to a biography, which covers the period from late 1972 and all the years thereafter, up to the present time.

This tells about being born to deaf parents with no guidance about life from them or anyone else. The author was oblivious to how poor the family really was during the depression. The family began to breakup toward the end of that depression. WWII followed and was rge cause of the family splitting up more completely, never to be the same.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Nov 18, 2011
• ISBN: 9781477205723

Laurie P. Webster

ABOUT THE AUTHOR   The Author’s memory of existing began when the she was three or four years old. She didn’t realize her deaf parents were any different from any other children’s parents in the neighborhood. She has a vague memory of being poor, but then who wasn’t? Being obedient was what all children were doing. Why was her mom living in such a poor house when her dad was living in a more comfortable home? She moved over to her dad’s house. One time her dad punished the Author when she was about 13 years old for carrying on about something that upset her for three or four days. Her dad told her, “get over it.” The Author developed a calmer attitude from that day forward. Henceforth, it took a lot to upset her. She dropped out of school. What was this world about? Dad always had a job. She had to have a job too. She learned to roll with the punches. The shock was when she realized that she did not have a home anymore.   The Author had to grow up fast. She began to reason out situations as she advanced forward. Books became her guide to responsibilities, which she bravely shouldered for so many years. When opportunities appeared, she tried to decide what to do with them. She missed a few, took a few and tried as best as she could to advance along her stony path of life. Both husbands she married were mistakes. That resulted in six children.   The Author earned numerous credits, learned how to act, dress, and present herself professionally, which rewarded her greatly. She was mobile resulting in promotions and rewarding positions.   She retired after working 30 some years resulting in a retirement program that she could live with.  

Book preview

Contents

Reviews

INTRODUCTION

WHO’S WHO

CHAPTER I THE DEPRESSION YEARS

CHAPTER 2 JUST BEING A KID

CHAPTER 3 LIVING WITH DAD

CHAPTER 4 GROWING UP . . . . FAST

CHAPTER 5 LIFE IN A NEW WORLD

CHAPTER 6 I WAS ONLY 19

CHAPTER 7 RELIGION

CHAPTER 8 DIVORCED!

CHAPTER 9 MARRIED AGAIN

CHAPTER 10 MY LAST PREGNANCY

CHAPTER 11 PROMOTIONS

CHAPTER 12 FAMILY STUFF

CHAPTER 13 THE BAD AND THE GOOD

CHAPTER 14 MY DAY IN THE SUN

CHAPTER 15 I LOST AGAIN

CHAPTER 16 I’M IN THE MOVIES

CHAPTER 17 RETIREMENT

CHAPTER 18 A NEW ADVENTURE

CHAPTER 19 ISLAND LIVING

CHAPTER 20 DIFFERENT CONCERNS

CHAPTER 21 THE PASSING YEARS

CHAPTER 22 TRYING TO RETIRE

CHAPTER 2 3 A NEW CENTURY

CHAPTER 2 4 CHICKENS AND A DOG

CHAPTER 25 FOUR SEASONS

CHAPTER 26 A BREAK IN THE FAMILY

CHAPTER 27 A MINI REUNION

CHAPTER 2 8 THE HERE AND NOW

CHAPTER 29 HERE’S THE LATEST

CHAPTER 30 New Old News

APPENDIX

Epilogue If Only

About the Author

Reviews 

I’ll Never Do That Again, convincingly demonstrates the Author’s marvelous fortitude to endure all the many hardships she encountered throughout her life and to succeed in spite of many stumbling blocks, and rise above all adversities. It gives an authentic portrayal of family betrayal, ability to climb above negative influences, achieve professionally in the male dominated work force and finally describe what it is like to live on a small island. by: mb 8-2008

It is difficult for me to describe my highlight of I’ll Never Do That Again, because I have several. The poverty Laurie endured growing up with deaf-mute parents and her Mother’s ability to cope with these times as a divorced woman. How Laurie could endure the stress of raising six children without any support from her family, or husband’s with the exception of her Mother, and finally the work, beauty, and rewards she is experiencing living on a small island.

INTRODUCTION 

This is a true story that will either bring back memories or be enlightening about the past 80 plus years. How shocking to realize that so much has changed from then to now. What nostalgia!

The Author didn’t realize until late in her life that she had an innate ability to endure numerous responsibilities along with heavy stresses throughout most of her life that resulted in some failures and surprising successes. Now, late in her life, she has learned where all that determination came from. It was derived from her ancestors.

The family genealogy was compiled by the Author’s cousin, Darrell (Family Historian). It took Darrell many years of research and determination to obtain the truthful history of our ancestors. Each new discovery of actual facts of our ancestors brought increased interest and more determination to find additional information. The following is a brief excerpt from that genealogy about the early history of a French colony in Canada:

In 1650, only eight years after the foundation of Montreal by Sir De Maisonneuve, the life of the colonists of Ville-Marie at this time was very perilous. Sister Bourgeois wrote in 1651, There are more than 17 men able to fight against the Iroquois," and the superior of the Jesuits declared that the total population remaining isn’t more than around 50 French people. Our first ancestor, Jean Cicot was among these 50 people and also among the 17 men able to fight against the Iroquois.

We tremble with horror, hearing of the cruel Iroquois scalping their victims. Jean Cicot was one of these heroes and here are the remarkable circumstances according to Faillon and his history of the French colony in Canada.

In 1651, Boudart was coming out of his house with a man named Jean. They are suddenly surprised by eight to ten Iroquois who start running after them. Jean in his flight hides under a tree which has undoubtedly recently been felled, and the Iroquois without trying to search for him, pursues the other, Boudart who they see running toward his house. Nearing his house, he meets his wife and asks if their home is open. No she answers, I closed it. Ah cries Boudart, we are dead. Run quickly. As they are running toward the house, the woman, who couldn’t run as fast as her husband, lagged behind and was caught by the barbarians. Boudart, already near the house and nearly safe, is so moved by his crying wife’s voice, that he goes back to rescue her. He fights the Iroquois so fiercely with his bare hands that they can neither drive him off nor capture him and finish it by killing him on the spot. As for his wife, they keep her alive in order to kill her with more cruel tortures in their camp later. It was their custom not to kill their enemies immediately unless it was necessary to save their own life. Meanwhile, the cries of Boudart and his wife had given the alarm to the colonist, Charles Le Moyne, Jacques Archambeault and another whose name is unknown. They run there and without knowing it, fall into an ambush of forty Iroquois, hidden behind the hospital. These cowardly barbarians blocked their way, but the colonists immediately fled from them and in their flight passed rather boldly close to them. They manage to escape without accident to any of these brave colonists except for Le Moyne’s hat, which was pierced by a stray bullet. The three men get to the door of the hospital that they happily find opened.

The Iroquois retreat together, taking Catherine Mercier with them and direct their search for Jean Cicot who they had seen hiding himself under the tree. When discovered, he fought so strongly that they weren’t able to capture him. Afraid of being joined by the other French men they saw coming, they took his part of his scalp off with a piece of his skull, a fact that remarkably did not prevent him from living nearly 14 years after that day, May 6, 1651. Hence he was called le Pele Parce. Subsequently, we found Jean Cicot’s name listed in the parish registry of Notre-Dame in Montreal about his act of marriage to Marguerite Maclin, a young girl of 14 years.

Apparently the will, drive and determination that Jean displayed in 1651 resulted from what he inherited from his ancestors. Therefore, his determination and will to survive will continue to be an inherited trait carried on through his children’s survival, and their children’s survival and their children’s survival and so on. I would like to believe that.

WHO’S WHO 

CHAPTER I

THE DEPRESSION YEARS 

My name, you ask? My name is Laurie. You say that I really should write a book? Well, okay, but let’s hope I can complete this before my memory goes south. Wish me luck.

I was born in Lake Orion, a small community southeast of Pontiac, Michigan during the late 1920’s. My Mother and Father could not speak, nor could they hear. They were deaf mutes. However, they had the ability to make certain sounds, loud and clear. I had two older brothers, Ray and Sam. We three children could hear and speak. My siblings and I were absolutely sure of when one of our parents was calling one of us kids, be it either our mother, or our Father, by the sounds and tones of their voices. We siblings also knew who that parent was calling, be it Ray, Sam, or me. Our parents, having lost a couple of their senses, were much more sensitive in their other senses such as vibrations, than people who could hear sounds and speak. My mother was born deaf to hearing and speaking parents who were first cousins. Could being so closely blood related as my grandparents were be the cause of some of their children being deaf mutes? They had nine children, some were deaf, some were not. And then, would some of that deafness be inherited by future generations? If so, how many? When? The story goes that my Dad was born to deaf parents and, he, himself, was born with hearing and speaking capabilities. However, he had scarlet fever at the young age of about six months, which caused him to lose his hearing and speaking abilities. Was that true? Who knows? My Dad’s Father died from a ruptured appendix when my Dad was seventeen. Dad had one sister, Aunt Mary. She was deaf also.

My parents attended and graduated from The Michigan School for the Deaf in Flint, Michigan. And, yes, they could read and write. They knew the sign language well. Therefore, the sign language became my brother’s and my first form of communication. However, my two brothers and I began developing our own language—a verbal language. So only the three us spoke it and understood it. On Ray’s first day of school his teacher was surprised to find that Ray could speak, but not English. She heard words that she had never heard before. Apparently she accepted that as a real challenge and from that point on, with her dedication, Ray learned to speak English. When he was home, he began introducing Sam and me to this new language that people called English. English just like what other people were speaking. Could we say then that we knew three languages? That would be our initially developed language, the Sign Language, and English. I felt like a foreigner initially. That was like being introduced to another world that we knew nothing about. As we learned Ray’s new verbal language, our original verbal language began to fade into the past. Now, as I search my memory banks, almost all of our verbal language has been lost. Except one. I can still remember Neg’Glee, which was our way of saying Good Night.

Mother told me that when I was an infant, she would bathe me, wrap me up and try to put me in Dad’s arms. He absolutely refused to hold me. He would have nothing to do with me. Why not? I remember very little about my Dad during my younger years. Early on I somehow developed a frightful fear of him especially when he was angry, or upset. One day Dad became upset, because some chicken hawks were swooping down and snatching his free roaming chickens from the back yard. Having a flock of chickens was a valuable asset at that time as it wasn’t long after the stock market fell flat that left many people in the country in extreme poverty. Dad put a fence around the chicken coop to fence in the chickens. Then he placed some kind of cover over the top. That prevented those chicken hawks from stealing our chickens again.

A short time after that event, Dad built a house in Burton Township south of Flint and we moved in. It was a small four-room house with a living room that had a small rocking chair for Mother, Dad’s big chair and one stand between the two chairs. The floor was bare, void of any carpets or rugs. There was one small bedroom and one oblong bedroom. The kitchen had a small gas stove with long legs on it. A portable oven was used, the kind that was put on top of one of the stove burners. A small icebox, the kind where one lifts the lid from the top and drops 50 pound chunks of ice into the cavity; a table and a few chairs; and a small metal cabinet that was about as tall as my Mother. There were two long doors on that cabinet. The running water was just outside the back door in the form of a hand pump that had to be primed mornings. To prime the hand pump to get the water up from the well, we had to pour about a cup or so of water into the top of the pump where there was an opening and vigorously pump that handle up and down. Usually that would bring the water up. During the summer months, we would be successful at bringing the water up the well. However, whenever the temperature fell below freezing in the wintertime, it was more difficult to bring the water up, as the water would freeze in the pipe or settle back down in the well. We had to pour hot water down the pump to either prime, or melt the frozen water inside the pump. By the way, we weren’t fortunate enough to have a hot water heater in the house. There was a duckboard that went from the back door on to the outhouse about 40 feet north from the back door. The Sears catalog really came in handy back in those days. Sometime after we moved into the house, Dad constructed a separate one-car garage that stood about 25 feet from the back door of the house. The house was on Connell street, one plus blocks east of Saginaw Road, and a couple of blocks south of Hemphill Road, which crossed Saginaw Road. At the northwest corner of Saginaw and Hemphill roads was a General Motors Fisher Body Factory plant. That was where Dad eventually worked for a total of 30 years. Friends have told me lately that Fisher Body has since been demolished and removed. Some other professional building stands there now.

Mother and Ray mentioned the following incident that happened to me the summer I was three years old. My Dad purchased a new rotating lawn mower, a smooth ball-bearing, reel-type, fast-spinning bladed mower. They did not have power mowers during that time frame that I know of. One day before leaving for work, Dad told Mother not to loan the new mower to any of the neighbors. Either he was working for the WPA at that time, or for Fisher Body. Conveniently, the hours corresponded with the Fisher Body Factory whistle that blew every day at 3:30 PM. Shortly after Dad left for work that day, a neighbor who lived on Kenneth Street, that runs parallel to Connell, behind our house, came over and asked Mother if she could borrow the new lawn mower. My Mother agreed on the condition that the neighbor return it before Dad arrived home from work. The neighbor agreed. But when the neighbor heard the 3:30 PM whistle, she knew that my Dad would be on his way home. She rushed the mower back and pushed it onto the front yard where I was playing, turned and promptly departed.

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Author at age 3

Being a naturally inquisitive child, I approached the mower to investigate. What was this thing that was making that smooth, whirling sound? It looked like there wasn’t anything in there that was making that sound. I put my left forefinger into what looked like empty space where the blades were still spinning at a very high rate of speed. Suddenly I felt a sharp pain! It bit me! ! I began screaming. The local paper boy was in the area, heard me screaming, saw what had happened and went to the door of our house, banging on it to get my Mother’s attention. My Mother, feeling the vibration, went to the door. She told him to go away as she had already paid him for the week’s paper, as she thought he was trying to collect again. A neighbor, who was a nurse, heard me screaming, ran over to our yard, saw me bleeding, scooped me up, held my left arm up in the air and wrapped a handkerchief around my forefinger. Mom told me that the blood was squirting straight up into the air from my finger. My forefinger was cut off at the first joint. How fortunate that I don’t remember the incident, thank goodness. Mom told me that the portion of the finger that was cut off was dropped down one of the two holes in the outhouse. My finger mended successfully; however, a bone still grows there to this day, which needs to be filed now and then just like a fingernail. At that time, doctors did not know about sewing any portion of extremities back to where they came from. Anyway, I survived. Whew! So, henceforth, I live with a stubby finger.

Dad picked up some used lumber here and there from buildings in the surrounding area that were being torn down to provide room for newer buildings. He stored the used lumber on the dirt floor in the garage. He had some future plans for that lumber. I was about five or six years old at that time. These were the depression years and people economized every chance they had. Dad was a cabinetmaker; therefore, he had the required skills. I vaguely remember something about Dad working for the WPA and getting very little food in return. We received some flour and sugar in cloth bags and some lard.

Dad put a wood/coal-burning stove in the living room next to the kitchen wall. That was the only source of heat that we had for the house. During those bitterly cold winters, Mother got up first and built a roaring fire in the heating stove, and then she prepared breakfast. When it was rise and shine time, one by one, my brothers and I arose out of bed, rushed to that warm spot between the stove and wall to change our clothes as fast as we could. That was the warmest spot in the house. It was too cold to change clothes anywhere else in the house. I had to wear long underwear and long cotton stockings along with flannel slips and dresses. And if that was not enough to keep me warm, I wore sweaters. When I went out doors to play, or to go to school, I put on a heavy long coat, a knitted hat that was pulled down over my ears, a scarf, mittens and boots. When our shoes had holes in the soles, we cut out cardboard or, several sheets of paper and slipped it inside the shoes to keep our feet warm and dry, hopefully.

One cold snowy winter day, Christmas arrived. There was a small lovely doll carriage with a doll in it waiting for me. The doll was covered with a beautiful pale yellow silk blanket with pretty little flowers on it. The blanket was from a dress that my Mother had, which she gave to a great aunt to make a doll quilt for me. I don’t ever remember having a Christmas tree in that house. Nor do I remember ever having a doll before, either. We were too poor!

More years rolled by. During the cold, heavy winter snowstorms, we really bundled up, went outdoors and played in the snow. We would lie on our backs in the snow, stretched our arms over our heads in the snow and made angel wings. We loved to stand on the ground, looking up toward the sky, watching the floating snowflakes in total awe. The flakes would slowly drift down to the earth and were of different sizes and beautiful patterns. The flakes would land on our winter clothing, hats, gloves and even on our noses and eyelashes too. We wiggled our noses to make the flakes move. We blinked our eyelashes with the snowflakes on them.

We rolled snowballs in the snow into huge snowballs as if we were making a snowman. Then we lined them up by rolling the snowballs together all in a row, putting them in place, one snowball against the other for a total of about 15 or 18 on the ground. We made more snowballs and with great effort stacked them on top of the first row. After making a three-tiered snowball wall, our fort, we made another fort about 15 or 20 feet away from the first fort. By then, we had two pretty good forts. In preparation for our snowball battle, we needed some form of ammunition. We made huge piles of snowballs behind each fort. Then we divided equal number of neighborhood kids making two teams. Each team went behind their fort and we began our snowball fights, throwing them at the opposing team. As we were peppering the opposing team with snowballs, we had to duck now and then behind our fort to avoid being hit by on coming snowballs flying through the air at us. Many times with all the snowballs coming at us, some would hit our fort and the fort would begin to show signs of deterioration. So, we had to duck lower and lower to avoid being hit. All of a sudden, splat! We were hit! Ow! Ow! We hit the opposing team too. Both sides were hit, many times. If we saw the snowball coming at us and if we could turn our faces quick enough, we were hit on the side of the head instead of our faces. Splat! Ugh! We were hit on our chests, our sides, and our backs when we turned around. Quick, duck behind our fort! Then there was always something that would stop the onslaught of snowballs, like, our parents calling us in for a meal or; it was getting late in the day. As long as the cold weather continued, the forts usually remained and we could continue our snowball battles the next day. But, when the weather warmed up, of course, the forts slowly began to shrink, finally into puddles of liquid. Water, that is.

My beginning school days were at Little Bendle Elementary School (from first grade through fifth). I remember vaguely of sitting in the classroom and having mid-morning and mid-afternoon recesses. The playground was behind the school. During the cold snowy winters, we had fun sliding down the snow-covered hill behind the school that was two and a half blocks from our little home. There was a corner grocery store on Saginaw Street a block south of the school where the owner would let us have all the cardboard boxes and/or cheese boxes that we wanted, for free. We used all sizes of cardboard boxes, flattening the larger ones and getting in the smaller boxes. Just open them up, get on, and slide down that hill. We cut those cheese boxes in half also, got in one of the half cheese box and would slide down that hill. They became makeshift toboggans. At least two of us kids could get on at one time and go squealing all the way down. What great fun! Sometimes we would not know just where, or when, we would stop sliding, as we couldn’t see above the curve of the cheese box, or the makeshift toboggan. Sometimes we tried to pile more kids on one piece of sled, or toboggan and would begin to slide down with kids falling off from either side. Finally only one or two kids were left by the time we/they reached the bottom of the hill. When whoever remained on the box started to get up, the kids who slid off on the way down, came crashing down on whoever remained. There was a lot of squealing and laughter sliding down that hill behind the school. Those were some fun days. Once in a while someone would arrive with a real sled and slide down the hill on that. The rest of us would just stand there and watch. Sure, we were jealous of that one kid having that sled. Oh well!! Kids of all ages played in the snow. South and downhill from the school building was a pond. During the wintertime, the pond would freeze over, then the snow would cover it. People pushed/ shoveled the snow out to the outer edges of that pond allowing the kids to skate on it. We would put our ice skates on and skate to our heart’s content. Everybody took their turns trying to keep their balance, but we, too, fell down now and then. However, when the ice was thick and hard enough, some boys drove their cars onto the ice, accelerate, and then slam their brakes on, spinning dangerously, all over that pond, and stopping only when the car hit the snow bank around the edges of the pond. Of course, we skaters had to leave for safety sake. We grumbled and grumbled, to no avail. Those boys were bullies. When the weather began warming up in the spring time of the year, that ice slowly became rubbery. It then became unsafe to skate on it. That finished our skating for that season. However, it was fun walking on that rubbery ice. It had quite a spring to it.

On warm spring days, I scooped tadpoles out of the creek that ran further east of the hill where we went sledding during the winter months. There, near that creek, I found wild violets growing. They were so pretty, I thought of Mother. So, I picked a handful of them, carried them home and gave them to her. I love my Mother.

Then, just a bit further east of the creek, there was a dump where many new, huge things were just left there. That included storm drains that appeared to be new. Those storm drains were so huge; I could stand up and walk through them. There was no problem for some neighborhood kids and me to play follow-the-leader in and out of those storm drains. They were like tunnels. Sometimes we played hide and seek there, too.

CHAPTER 2

JUST BEING A KID 

There was very little food in the house. One day, little grandma (my Dad’s mother—we called her little grandma as she was small) was in our kitchen preparing a meal. I asked her what kind of vegetable it was that she was cutting up to cook. She asked me if I wanted a taste. Being a typical child, I nodded my head in the affirmative. I did not refuse food. She cut a piece off and handed it to me. I put it in my mouth and chewed it. Suddenly my mouth was on fire! I spit it out! Ugh!! It was hot! Very hot! My mouth was on fire! Little grandma laughed. She thought that was funny. I certainly did not! It was the tip end of some kind of hot pepper! Don’t know if it was something like a Jalapeno, or Habanaros (a Mexican hot pepper), but it was hot! Hot! Hot! I went out and sat on the back porch and tried to cool my mouth with a glass of water. It seemed like water made my mouth hotter. Forget the water! Tears were streaming down my cheeks. That was something not to forget! I did survive that, however. That couldn’t have been a Jalapeno pepper as she was handling it with her bare hands, I think.

The only time I remember my other grandma, (my Mother’s mother, we called her big grandma as she was bigger than little grandma,) was that on another day she, too, was visiting us. She too was standing in our kitchen preparing a meal. Big grandma was boss!! That’s the only thing I remember about her at that time.

The spring rains resulted in mud all over the place, including a very muddy driveway. I remember going barefoot into that driveway, letting the warm water and mud ooze up between my toes. That was fun, too. Some of my neighbor friends were over to our place on another day and we played follow-the-leader, barefooted again. We went here and there, down the duckboard, on through the open garage door, then tip toeing over some used lumber there. That’s the lumber that Dad had left previously, but had not yet used. Many nails that remained here and there were still there in the wood. Suddenly, I missed my footing and stepped squarely onto a nail where the sharp point was pointing straight up. I screamed, "Owwwee! and my friends ran to get my Mother. When Mother saw blood on my foot, she exclaimed, Ohh, ba’da’!" That was her way of expressing disbelief or surprise or panic when something drastic happened. Mom cleaned me up and put me to bed. Somehow Mother contacted a doctor and told him what happened to me, asking him to come see me. I was sound asleep on the single bed in the small bedroom facing the wall when the doctor arrived. He pulled on me to roll me over to face him. He woke me up! That upset me! Why would he wake me up? Upset or not, he gave me a tetanus shot in my hip. That made me more upset than ever. I recovered from that, also, without further incident. Sigh.

Just outside the back door was a peach tree. In the summer time I would climb that tree when the peaches were big and ripe, and sit on one of the branches. There I sat, eating those wonderful juicy peaches. Mmmmm, they were so juicy and so delicious. Oh yes, I’d climb trees and I would play softball with the neighbor kids and my brothers, too. Yes, I was a tomboy!

Speaking of being a tomboy, memories crept back from the dark archives of my mind to the front of my mind. There it was, I remember. I used to love playing softball. We kids would see how many more kids we could round up from the neighborhood and have a game of softball. If we had enough kids, we would choose up sides, and then see what team would be batter up first. One of the team’s captain would say, Toss the bat to me and let’s see whose team is up to bat first. The other team captain would toss the bat upside down to the first team captain. Once the captain had a grip on the bat, the other team captain would grab the bat just above the opposing team’s fist that held the bat. They would alternately grab the bat until they reached the top. The team captain’s hand that was at the top would indicate that it would be his team up at bat first. However, if the opposing team captain could grasp the very top of the bat with his fingertips and hold it there, his team would be batters up first. I just loved to be up at bat. I would tell the pitcher to pitch the ball to me just about a foot above the home plate. When that ball came across the home plate just where I requested it to be, I would take a step back and hit that ball with al-l-l-l my might. There it would go; sailing up over the pitcher’s head, up, up and away, way across the road. Guess who would be there in left field running after that ball? Oh, he didn’t like it when I was up there, hitting the ball. It would be Ray, my big brother. He hated it when I was the batter. It didn’t take long before big brother objected to being in the field, running after the ball that I hit. After a few times of that, Ray would usually disappear. What could I say? (chuckle, chuckle)

Apparently Dad never thought of purchasing a radio for us kids before. Many of the neighborhood kids had radios in their homes. We wanted one too. Somewhere along the way, Ray convinced Dad to buy a radio for us. He finally relented. At last we had a radio. Ray, Sam and I would listen to the radio often, listening to stories that we had never heard the likes of before. Like the Lone Ranger, the Green Hornet and the Inner Sanctum program. Oh yes, the Inner Sanctum program. I remember distinctly one Sunday evening I begged and pleaded with Mother to let me stay up late and listen to a ghost story on the radio. This time I wanted to listen to the Inner sanctum. That was the program that had the sound of a squeaky door and the announcer telling his audience: Turn the lights off, turn them al-l-l-l-l off! Then he would proceed with the ghost story with the sound of that squeaky door. There I sat alone in total darkness. Mom told me it was OK to stay up that late. So, I stayed up, all alone, sitting in Mother’s rocking chair with one leg under me, listening, totally engrossed in the program. There was no world out there. I was in my own little world. Nothing else existed. When the story was over, I turned the radio off, turned the light on and attempted to get out of that chair. In the process, I fell flat on the floor. I tried to get up but, again fell on the floor, splat! I was in a state of panic. What in the world is happening to me? Then I crawled on all fours, crying, almost in a state of shock, over to Mother’s bed and awakened her. I begged her to help me. I told her that I couldn’t walk any more, that I tried and tried to get up and walk to my bed, but fell every time. Mom assured me that I could walk again. She helped me up and soon the numbness from sitting on that leg the entire length of the radio program faded away. I was one happy little girl to know that I could walk again. Mom helped me walk to my bed, I crawled in, and she tucked me in. Whew!! I was glad that was over.

One hot summer day, there was a horrible storm! Then we heard on our new radio that a tornado had been through our area and through a larger area not far from where we lived. There was wind, rain, thunder and lightning going on that was really scary. It was very dark, too. When the storm was over and the skies cleared up with the sun shining brightly. Dad took us all for a ride in his old car around the countryside to see what kind and where the damage was that the tornado and storm caused. We gasped looking wide-eyed at roofs torn from barns and houses. Some were broken apart and some flattened. We thanked our lucky stars that we were saved from that kind of disaster. One Sunday Mother prepared a chicken feast for dinner. I guess that was what President Roosevelt meant when he promised a chicken in every pot for a Sunday meal in every home. People had very little food in their homes then. Anyhow, after we ate that wonderful chicken dinner, Mother left the room and Dad told me to do the dishes. Oh wow! Who? Me? Do the dishes? All those dishes? After everyone left the room, I looked around the kitchen and decided that I was not going to do the dishes. I placed all the dishes in the dishpan and shoved the pan under the gas stove that had those tall Legs. Then I merrily went outdoors to play. Well, that didn’t last long as Dad could plainly see those dishes in the pan. He called me in the house with his unique tone of voice, Ta Ta! Oh oh! I’m in trouble now. That was his special tone for me alone and he was not happy. No doubt about it, I did the dishes, for the first time ever.

One year in the springtime Mother had surgery and the doctor told her not to do any work for at least six months. So big grandma came and took her back to the great big white house on Lake Superior in Upper-Michigan. I was eight years old at the time. Soon after Mother and grandma left, school was let out for the summer. Shortly after that, Uncle Oscar (my Mother’s brother—he was slim, tall and deaf also) took me on a train to Upper Michigan where Mother was recuperating. Uncle Oscar had the most wonderful smile and was always so good-natured; I loved him right away. That was my very first time on a train. When we arrived at the Mackinaw Straits, the train engine pushed the cars into the belly of a ship, and departed, the engine stayed on dry land and the ship cruised over the waters. Uncle Oscar told me to stay in the train car. When we arrived on the other side, there was another engine that hooked on to the train and took us the rest of the way to the coastal town where my Mother was. Mom was born in that house, which was on the south coast of Lake Superior. It was a big wonderful house. It had two stories with two staircases, one in the front foyer and the other just off the kitchen. What a beautiful house! I met relatives there that I never knew existed. Grandpa, aunts, uncles, and cousins.

Shortly after my arrival, big grandma said to me, You will be going to a church summer school while you are here. I said, No way, school is out for the summer! And I am not going to a church school! I was quite adamant that I was not going to that school. She said, We’ll see about that. Well, I soon discovered that she was bigger than me. She got her way. I went to that church school for the summer where both boys and girls attended. I remember one boy in particular in that school who was frequently late. One day he came in late again, so the nun (teacher) sent him into the next room to where the priest was waiting. Soon after the boy entered the room and closed the door, we kids in the classroom could hear someone spanking the boy with a strap! That was a strong incentive for the rest of us kids to be on time for school.

When it was time for the First Communion, the church was packed to the eaves with parishioners. They were there to witness all the girls dressed in their white dresses, shoes, gloves, and hats take their first Holy Communion. I do not remember how nice the boys must have been clothed. I believe they were dressed in white suits, also. All the girls went up to the altar and knelt on their knees. The priest waited a little bit, then he got up, walked over to the first girl on the far right saying something to her. He then put something on her tongue. After that, he went to the next girl and did the same thing, and on to the next girl and so on. I was curious as to what he was saying to the girls, so I waited patiently. Finally he was standing in front of the girl next to me and I heard him say, Tell me your sins. She said, Mmmmft, mumble, mumble. Then the priest laid a small wafer on her tongue. I did not clearly hear what the girl said, because I was dumbfounded at the question that he asked. Sins?? Do I have Sins? What should I say to him? Suddenly he was standing there before me and said, Tell me your sins. I couldn’t think of what to say. I looked up at him and said, I don’t have any sins. He frowned at me and asked me again, Tell me your sins, with definite clarity. Again I told him, I don’t have any sins. I felt like, Oh Oh, now I’m in trouble with big grandma. He said, I will deal with you later, and placed the wafer on my tongue. He went on to the other girls. Strange, I never heard anything more about my response to the priest. I really didn’t know how to deal with that kind of thing.

At one time or other, grandpa used to be the Game Warden and another time, he was the County Sheriff, so I have been told. When grandpa returned home from work, he would sit in his big leather chair and rest a while. I would go to big grandma and ask, Grandma, can I go see Grandpa now? She would always say, Grandpa is resting. Do not bother him. Go on out the backdoor and play. I remember seeing grandpa only once, sitting in that big leather chair, dozing. Poor memory? Big grandma used to call me in to the kitchen now and then, tell me to sit down at the table, and give me a dish of rhubarb sauce with some toast. I don’t remember eating there at any other time, or a meal with anyone else. Big grandma always insisted that I be quiet and go outdoors to play, frequently calling me pest! I played in the back yard with Darrell, my cousin whose Father owned the shoe repair shop in Flint. Darrell was there that summer too and two more cousins who lived a couple of lots over from big grandma’s house. I remember visiting their mother, my Aunt Virg (my mother’s sister). Frequently, when big grandma was doing things in her kitchen, I would go in and again ask what she was doing. She would be cooking foods that I had not seen being prepared before and was just curious. The only answer that I would get was, Oh, go outside and play or, stop being a pest. I was just asking. Oh well, I tried.

Big grandma & grandpa had a camp out in the country with a small, shallow creek running beyond the back yard. I don’t remember grandpa being there. But then, maybe he was. Oh, now I remember. Grandpa was there. Now, that was a fun place to be. Just think, a camp deep in the woods with a creek running behind it. The water was never very deep. Darrell and I used to go swimming in that creek. That water was really cold. I did not sink! Wonderful. We sure had fun there. The big folks frequently played cards in the afternoon and evenings. In the evenings we kids used to watch the adults playing cards from the upper bunk. Hmmm, come to think of it, if I remember correctly, grandpa was playing cards too.

Summer vacation was soon over and we went back to our homes in Flint. Somewhere in this time frame, my Dad was not around anymore. One summer day Mother gave some money to me and told me to go to Hamady’s Grocery Store, which was just over a block away and across Saginaw Street to buy a loaf of bread. I proceeded to Hamady’s, entered the store, and on the way to where the bread was on display, I had to pass by all the fresh fruits and vegetables, which I don’t remember ever having in our home. While passing the celery and lettuce section, a lettuce leaf was lying on the floor. Possibly someone had dropped it unknowingly when they selected a head of lettuce from the counter. Anyhow, when I was getting closer to the bread display counter, I kept thinking about that lettuce leaf on the floor. I thought to myself, That was a piece of lettuce, or was it? Was it really a piece of lettuce? It was green like lettuce, hmmm. Money is green, too. I just had to turn around, and go back to where that lettuce leaf was. Yup! It was still there. I quickly scooped it up in my hand from the floor and held it tightly in my hand.

I bought the bread, paid for it and halfway home I opened my tightly fisted hand to see what was there. Oh, my goodness!! An honest to goodness five-dollar bill! Oh my gosh! Oh my gosh! A five-dollar bill! I never saw so much money in all my life! Oh, just think of all the things that could be purchased with that five-dollar bill! A dress. Oh yes, we could buy a dress for me. And there would still be some money left. Or, just maybe we could all go to the movies. I’ve never been to the movies in town before. Oh Joy! I ran the rest of the way home. I showed the five-dollar bill to my Mother and using the sign language, I signed to her, Just think of all the nice things that we could buy with this. But that was not to be! Mom told me, Take it back to the store and give it to the store manager. I begged. I pleaded. I cried. Please don’t make me do that, I begged some more. However, she insisted. Crying all the way back to Hamady’s Grocery Store, I obediently gave the five-dollar bill to the store manager. He assured me that if no one claimed it, he would give it back to me. I returned home with a broken heart. Later that day, someone knocked on the door. Mom and I went to the door and found a young couple claiming the five-dollar bill. They stated that it was all the money that they had in the whole world. They just couldn’t thank Mother and me enough. They assured me that I would get my reward someday. What a sad, sad day that was for me, for us! Oh well!! Here today, gone tomorrow! I wonder if and when I would receive my reward??

One night I couldn’t sleep, so I got out of bed, went to my Mother where she was sitting in her rocking chair in the dark. I tapped her shoulder, but she waved me off. She shushed me signing, Don’t move. I could see that she was entranced, staring at the front door. I followed her look toward the front door and saw the shadow of a human with its hand on the doorknob. I quickly asked Mother, Who is that? After a few minutes, she told me, That’s my uncle. An uncle? Who’s uncle? I never did find out who that uncle was, and why it was such a ghostly figure. I could see right through it!

There was a little girl living with her mother across the road from us. One day she wanted me to play house with her just like her mother does with her lady friend. When I found out just what she meant, it just did not seem right to me, so I left, never to return to that house. I wanted no part of it. Sam tried to do funny stuff to me way back when, but no way, not for me. Maybe that was why whenever Sam picked on me, Ray would say, Sam, you leave her alone! She didn’t do anything to you so, just leave her alone! Ray was my savior, my bodyguard. There was a family with a couple of little boys that lived on the corner, next door to the little girl across the street. The youngest boy must have been about a year and a half, or two years old. He had his own babyish way of saying Chicken. It sounded like a cuss word to me and we laughed at him every time he said that word. We would even purposely ask him to say Chicken, just so we could hear him say the word, then laugh at him. He pronounced the c like an s. You figure that one out. We thought that it was so funny back in those days. Kids will