Autobiography of an Ordinary Couple Facing Extraordinary Circumstances

By Dr. E. R. Buckler

This work includes the life story of two people in love, who faced insurmountable obstacles to that love. It also contains the life story of both so the reader can evaluate life choices that may be helpful to anyone faced with similar choices. Perhaps the reader may even avoid counterproductive choices anticipated and avoid a huge amount of heartache thereby. The inclusion of career changes, unfortunate or otherwise, may be entertaining as well as informative. This may not only be an entertaining read but a source of helpful information about the dreaded bipolar disorder.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Trafford Publishing
• Release date: Mar 1, 2012
• ISBN: 9781466917521

Dr. E. R. Buckler

Dr. Buckler is a first-time author who, with his lovely bride, faced some lifelong challenges. This autobiography contains some of these challenges and how they coped with them over a sixty-five-year period of married life. This work contains some ways of coping that may be useful, as well as entertaining, to the reader.

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Autobiography of an

Ordinary Couple Facing Extraordinary Circumstances

Dr. E. R. Buckler

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© Copyright 2012 Dr. E. R. Buckler.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the written prior permission of the author.

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isbn: 978-1-4669-1753-8 (sc)

isbn: 978-1-4669-1754-5 (hc)

isbn: 978-1-4669-1752-1 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2012903355

Trafford rev. 02/24/2012

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CONTENTS

WILMA

EVERETT

WILMA

EVERETT

WILMA

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WILMA

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POSTLUDE

WILMA

It was on June 21st 2003, only one day after my 76th birthday and nine days before my 56th wedding anniversary that I died.

You may be wondering how I can tell this story if I am already dead. I will explain later, but let me tell my story as best I can.

It began 76 years ago when I was born at home in Grandma Berry’s house on the farm.

My mother was only 16 years old when I came into the world weighing in at only 2 pounds and some odd ounces. I was apparently bluish in color and breached so the midwife had to turn me around before I could make the grade. Most of the people involved didn’t hold out much hope for me but my Grandma Berry declared that whatever others thought, she would see that this little thing wouldn’t die. She proceeded to wrap me in a blanket, place me in a shoe box, and shove the entire makeshift Ohio Bed into the oven of the old wood burning stove in her kitchen. Actually she set the box on the open oven door. Boy that heat sure felt good.

Shortly after I was delivered my aunt and Daddy Daryl, came home from church. I don’t remember much about my early childhood except my daddy raised ducks and geese in our back yard. I really don’t think he raised them for pets but I was always making pets out of them. I don’t know how he managed it but he had some Mallards among the flocks. I learned, later much to my surprise, that Mallards were supposed to be wild.

I really used to love to feed them by hand, but sometimes an over aggressive goose would decide that I was food. Then I would run screaming into the house.

Momma, momma, that duck is eating me.

My little mom would try to console me with her rather juvenile concept of what consolation meant. I don’t believe she ever developed a sense of what parenthood really meant but I do believe she loved me in her own unique way.

Many times, when my mom and dad were gallivanting about to one party, dance, or other event, I would be pawned off on my Grandpa or some aunt. I really enjoyed going to my Grandpa Berry’s house in St. David. I was always, it seemed, engaged in my favorite activity, gathering eggs each morning in competition with some of my cousins. The hens were allowed to run wild all over the place, and it was quite a challenge to find them in every nook and cranny in the barn, chicken coup, shed or even in the fields.

One day I came upon an old collie bitch cowering in a back alley in downtown Abingdon. I really felt sorry for her so after I patted her on the head and offered a few soothing words, she followed me home. I knew that my mom wouldn’t allow animals of any kind in our home so I conspired with Grandma Nellie to hide the dog in our basement.

The next morning, when I went down to feed and care for her, there she lay with thirteen little collie pups nursing on her teats. I was elated and so was Grandma. But, what would mom say when she found out?

I remember my mom swearing at Grandma and threatening to kick her out of the house if she didn’t get rid of the dog. The only problem was it was not our house. It was Grandma Nellie’s house.

It wasn’t long before friends and neighbors were scrambling to help us find homes for the puppies. I really wanted to keep them all. They were so cute. The problem was finally resolved when the real owner of the dog found her at our house. I did a lot of crying over that.

The high points of my visits to St. David were my fishing trips to the old strip mine ponds, with my Grandpa Berry. We would always go out into the vegetable garden to dig up worms for bait. I wasn’t a bit squeamish about allowing those slimy little critters crawling across the palms of my hands.

You slimy little wormy, I would say to the worm as if it could hear me. How do ya’ have any fun jus’ crawlin’ around eatin’ dirt all day?

Sometimes I would be so engrossed that my Grandpa would have to interrupt me.

Wilma, have you got enough worms yet? He would say. Those fish won’t wait forever. Shake a leg and get a move on. I want to get home with our catch before supper.

In a minute, Grandpa. I would respond. Those worms were so fascinating I just really wanted to know more about them. I expect my Grandpa was somewhat amazed at my lack of squeamishness while playing with them. I soon had a can about one fourth full of wigglers and we would set off on our fishing mission. Most of the time we fished in the old strip mine ponds but sometimes we would make a day of it and go down to the Spoon River to fish.

My mom and I lived with Grandpa and Grandma Oscar and Nellie Clendenen in Abingdon. My mom wouldn’t let any responsibility of raising a daughter stop her from going anywhere she wanted to. After all she worked very hard at the overall factory and when she had leisure time she took full advantage of it. Consequently, I spent a lot of time with my Grandpa and Grandma Clendenen. In fact, they practically raised me.

Grandma Nellie was very unsophisticated and never went beyond the fourth grade in school. She sure had a gutter vocabulary though. I can remember her cussing and swearing at my mom and my mom would cuss right back at her.

Sylvie you little whore, Nellie would say. I just knowed you was screwin’ ’round with that feller last night. Why don’t you stay home and take care of your ‘itty’ girl?

I remember hearing this argument quite often. No wonder I inherited a rich barroom vocabulary at such an early age.

Grandpa Oscar would say, Come on Wilma let’s go out and dig up a little garden plot.

I would do almost anything my Grandpa asked me to do.

"Grandpa, can I plant some radishes today?’

You sure can, honey. He would reply.

Sometimes we would plant squash, eggplant and onions. Ummm! One time we even planted turnips. Yuck!

We spent many hours digging, tilling, and weeding our little garden plot. I think those were probably the happiest days of my life. I was to remember them later when Grandpa died.

I had so many cousins. Some of them were my friends before I even knew that they were my cousins. I never met a person that I wouldn’t make friends with. I was never bashful about going up to a complete stranger and striking up a conversation almost instantly.

One day when I was quite young tragedy struck. I don’t remember the exact incident but I remember my mom screaming at the top of her voice,

My baby, my baby what have I done?

Apparently she had left a hot iron on the ironing board and, I being the inquisitive little urchin, pulled on the iron cord and the hot iron came down burning my left arm from the crook of the elbow to the back of my hand. I really can’t remember the pain at the time but I sure remember the after effects. Eventually they decided to perform a skin graft from my abdomen. That was not only painful but I had to remain in a body cast for nearly six months. This was devised to keep my arm snug against my abdomen until the graft began to take, then I had to undergo further surgery to separate the part of the graft still attached to my abdomen. It was considered unwise to remove the donor skin completely until they were sure it was beginning to heal on my arm. I really hated that long stay in the hospital. They kept feeding me warm milk until I just got completely sick of it. To this day I still don’t like milk. When the final surgery was complete and I had entered puberty I discovered that part of the skin graft came from my lower abdomen and pubic hair began to appear on the back of my hand. It didn’t bother me much because I just assumed that it was natural for a girl to grow long, coarse hair on the back of her hand.

I used to go downtown, just a few blocks, to the auction yards at a very early age and watch the auctioneers selling off cattle. On these excursions I was usually accompanied by at least one if not several, of my cousins. I remember my mom giving me a quarter for cleaning house. I spent the whole thing on skating, a movie, and a bag of popcorn. Imagine getting so much for so little today.

Then tragedy struck again. I remember some people calling my daddy Windy because he was always telling long stories. Perhaps some were even true, as I believed they were no matter how outrageous. My daddy was very jealous of my mom and perhaps not without reason. They both went to the dances quite frequently on Friday and Saturday nights. One night they went to the Avalon dance hall in Galesburg and left me with a friend’s baby sitter. Of course the usual drinking had some in an upbeat mood and others in a sour mood. Witnesses said that when they left the Avalon Dance hall with friends at midnight, Daddy, though at first favorable, had refused to stop at the Tavern, west of the Galesburg city limits, and had appeared angry as he drove away alone. It was also brought out, by the newspaper reports, that Daryl’s car had collided with another car and he had abandoned his car, leaving the scene of the accident. After that he had gone to a friend’s house purportedly to pick up some shotgun shells and go duck hunting on Sunday with some friends. When they all got together and drove to our house, my mom got out of the car and went to the front door and knocked. Apparently the door was locked. My daddy opened the door as mom knocked. When she entered the house, daddy slammed the door shut and said,

God damn you, I’m in bad and I’m going to take you with me.

One of the men in the party shouted, He’s got a gun! The others did not see it. A shot was fired as mom ran through the dining room toward the back door screaming as she exited through the back closed screen door. The first shot had shattered her left arm.

One of the men ran to the front of the house and observed daddy placing another shell in the gun. He placed the butt of the gun on the floor, leaned on it and shot himself.

Unfortunately, this was only the beginning for my poor mom. She was an only child too and had no one to turn to except the Berry family. Apparently the insurance, if any, was not adequate to cover her long stay in the hospital for many weeks to heal physically as well as mentally. The Berry family said it took all the resources to have a proper funeral for my dad and apparently no one of the Berry family even came to visit her while convalescing.

Although my mom recovered quite well, except for the badly deformed elbow, and began dating again soon after recovery, she was never again close to the Berry family. This did not diminish my closeness to them because she was quite liberal in allowing me to see them and actually encouraged it. My mom soon went back to work at the overall factory to be able to support me herself and contribute to Grandpa and Grandma Clendenen’s support.

As with all children I was forced to go to school, sad day. This severely limited my relatively carefree life and I sorely resented it. I never did learn to like school, probably because I was never really good at academics. Some of my teachers were also my mom’s teachers and they couldn’t figure out why I did not perform as well as my mom. You can imagine how I felt when they reminded me of it.

Wilma, why don’t you study like your mom did? She did very well in school because she applied herself.

Well I’m not my mom, I thought. I just don’t know why people always compare me to her. I was never a good student in school. With all the tragic interruptions in my life and just being plain bored, I could not hold a keen interest in school. This was moderated somewhat when I happened upon good teachers who took a keen personal interest in my problems and me. I can remember Mr. Daniels way back in first grade. He told me I had potential to become a movie star and encouraged me to take up tap dancing. When he implied that he might take me to New York sometime, my mom put her foot down, big time.

I distinctly remember my mom making me wear those, thick, brown, woolen sox that came up to my thighs. Not only did they wrinkle and sag, they itched like crazy. Finally I decided that they were too much and I always went down to the basement after arriving at school, and took them off. I would usually stash them in some obscure nook or corner then retrieve them and put them on again before returning home.

Before my daddy’s death, he had worked in the shipping department of the Globe Superior Company. Grandpa Oscar worked at the pottery plant. Grandpa Oscar developed silicosis in his lungs as a result of the dust at the pottery plant and shortly after daddy’s death could no longer work. As time went on his condition worsened and he became bedfast. Then one day I went to his room to talk with him and he lay there with that look of abject terror in his eyes. He tried to talk but it was obvious that his breathing was terribly limited. Then he began gasping for air and climbed up the window drapes next to his bed, hand over hand. This struck me as odd because of his weakened condition. Then he collapsed back on to the bed and uttered his last breath. This was only the first of several times I would witness death first-hand. I sure miss my Grandpa. He was such a kind, gentle man. What a horrible picture he left in my mind. It remains there to this day.

In the seventh grade I took up baton twirling in earnest and marched with the school band. This almost made school tolerable.

Then came the first major move. My mom had a lot of friends in Galesburg and decided to move there. This, of course, meant that I would not get to see my friends in Abingdon as often. It was so easy for me to make friends, that it didn’t take long to make more of them in Galesburg.

The fact that mom had to commute to her job in Abingdon didn’t seem to matter. This did change when she got a job at Gales Products, manufacturers of outboard motors in Galesburg. They manufactured motors and parts for Evinrude as well as other producers.

My mom’s dating habits left me alone much of the time, with strict instructions to keep the house clean. When I got sidetracked and failed to keep the house up to her standards, it meant the application of the belt or razor strap to my backside.

I spent many weekends down on the farm at one Berry or another. During the summer I really enjoyed those good old farm cooked meals at Grandpa and Grandma Berry’s place. I especially remember enjoying watermelon and homemade ice cream.

I can remember spending much time with my cousin Darlene. I would go out to pick blackberries with her. Most of the time I would eat what I picked but Darlene wanted to take them home and make pies out of them. I really liked mine with sugar and milk.

We learned to cook together in our back yard. We made a fire pit out of bricks and got a skillet and fried potatoes.

We both dreamed a lot about becoming movie stars some day. Very lofty goals, wouldn’t you say? We even dressed up in grown-up’s clothes, make-up, and the works. My mom always tried to provide me with pretty clothes. When Darlene and I were in a school play, she didn’t have a pretty dress to wear so I just loaned her one of mine.

One Sunday, Aunt Bessie got a big Easter egg for her secrete pal. I found it and shared it with Darlene.

In those days the farmers would rotate from farm to farm, helping each other get in their crops. They only expected a good meal from each farmer’s wife while working at that particular farm. This not only furnished the women a chance to get together and gossip, but furnished fellowship for each of the families. Of course the children, including myself, wandered around the place seeing what kind of mischief we could get into. Sometimes we even helped with various chores around the place. No one farmer was particularly wealthy but most survived the depression, with government loans.

Back in Abingdon and Galesburg, Grandma Nellie became a permanent fixture at our home. She was always busy, bless her heart, fixing some home-cooked meal, mostly pork-n-beans from tin cans and fried potatoes. Mom was mostly appreciative of her efforts, but Grandma perceived it differently. My mom dated many men, of different circumstances but this privilege was denied Grandma Nellie. This didn’t keep her from wearing her heart on her sleeve so to speak. She fed almost every ‘bum’ that happened by our house. I firmly believe that the word got around and there were plenty who believed there was a hearty meal to be had at our house.

Shortly after moving to Galesburg my mom met James Larson, her future husband. He was a strapping six-foot hunk until he was drafted into the army. Apparently, during a hitch in the south pacific, he acquired some kind of parasite that practically destroyed his health. When he came back he was a shadow of his former self. He had lost a tremendous amount of weight and was stooped over like an old man. Then he developed emphysema from many years of smoking.

Although James’ mother was reasonably wealthy, because her husband had invested wisely in real estate, she soon lost much of her wealth because of Jimmy’s drinking and gambling, probably to blot out his pain and self-pity. He was an only child, just like me and my mom, and his mother never seemed to have the will or the power to control his spend thrift ways.

James was good to me but my mom was jealous of his attention to me. He never did anything that could be considered improper, but mom generated all kinds of suspicions about his relationship with me. I really couldn’t understand her attitude. Jimmy seemed to be somewhat amused at my mom’s attitude but his attitude toward me became cool. I didn’t really care as long as he left me alone but he did sometimes come to my rescue when my mom was particularly harsh to me because of some alleged infraction. I just never could seem to clean house well enough to satisfy her. Whenever Jimmy became totally frustrated with my mom he would simply walk over to the legion hall bar, we lived only two houses away, and tie one on.

Jimmy’s mom was an invalid when my mom and Jimmy got married and we moved into her home. She could stand on her two feet by the bedside for short periods of time, but she remained in bed most of the time. The job of caring for her fell to me because my mom worked full time. She wasn’t hard to care for since she could roll over in bed and thus prevent bedsores from occurring. I only had to go up twice a day and feed her and help her on the commode. She seemed to be a little icy in her demeanor toward me but was always polite and, I think, thankful for my care.

I really began dating in earnest after I turned fourteen. Most of my dates took me to Lake Storey, the Dairy Queen or to a movie. Later I began to go to the dances at the Roof Garden in Galesburg, with my girl friends or Donnie Knutsen. I always pronounced his name with a hard ‘K’.

One time, one of my cousins and I were fooling around and the topic migrated to sex. I was embarrassed but he insisted that it would be fun and there was no danger at our age. He was probably right, but one thing led to another until we were experimenting. I guess there was some penetration and although it haunted me for many years, my virginity remained intact.

On one of my dates, tragedy struck again. This was to be an evening of skating with my friends. I really loved to skate but some jerk tripped me on the floor and I cracked my head a good one. This resulted in a severe concussion. I was taken to a hospital, and when I awakened from my coma I couldn’t remember a thing. I didn’t even know my own mother when she came to visit me. Apparently I had suffered from some trauma-induced amnesia and it took about four months to begin to recall faces and put names to them. No one will say to this day, for sure, whether this incident contributed to the mental problems I suffered later on in life. In my opinion, there may be a direct link.

After I recovered from the amnesia, I began heavy dating in earnest. I was really looking for a good time, anything that would get me out of the house and away from my mother’s domineering ways. Several times I became quite serious about older fellows who were not really serious about me. Maybe that was a good thing because I really was not ready for marriage just yet. Anyway, after getting dumped a few times, I began to be a little more selective and perhaps overly cautious about whom I dated.

School was a real drag for me and after a serious bout with pneumonia I got a doctor’s excuse to skip gym permanently. I chose the easiest subjects in school and decided to just get by as easily as possible. Frequently missed days at school, with some respiratory problem or other, really broke up the continuity of my schoolwork and only further served to discourage me from any strenuous academic activity. I stayed in school, only at the insistence of my mom, but I detest any form of strenuous exercise even to this day.

My frequent illnesses didn’t hinder me from dating as much as possible. I wasn’t ready for marriage, although with the threats from my mom removed I probably would have married, a marriage that certainly would have ended in disaster. Most of my dates to Lake Storey with some hunk I had latched onto, were accompanied by hoots and jeers from other couples at the lake. Most of the couples, especially at night, were engaged in a lot of heavy necking and petting. Couples were always accusing each other of doing things we would never consider doing. In those days the overriding fear was one of becoming pregnant. It was a powerful deterrent. I suspect that some couples did become sexually active but I sure wasn’t going to risk the wrath of my mom by becoming pregnant. I never really became seriously sexually involved until I met my future husband.

I had offers of marriage several times before I met Everett, but again my mother’s threats against my dropping out of high school prevented me from risking any serious commitments. You must understand that this was during the latter part of world war two and there were many service men, both local and out-of-towners who were available for dates. One Joe Martini had promised to return after his hitch in the army and marry me after I got out of school. I think he may have been really counting on this because of his infatuation for me. His family was quite wealthy and I guess that really impressed me. When I failed to receive any communication from him I just got on with my life and vowed not to make any tenuous commitments again for a long time.

I continued dating, after I had met my future husband. I knew he would probably be jealous, but I really didn’t want to curtail my fun and I was sure he wouldn’t mind if he knew nothing about it. I began to date an older man who had a flower shop in Galesburg. He was quite sophisticated but wanted only to have a good time as well. One night, after some heavy necking and petting on our front porch, he informed me that I had aroused him and would I please take a handkerchief and jerk him off. That blew it for me. I told him I didn’t ever want to see him again. What a jerk! No what a moron! I just didn’t realize what an effect I had on men. I was about to swear off men forever and become a spinster. The only thing about that was I would have to endure mom’s hospitality for quite a few years longer than I wanted to.

EVERETT

I don’t know how long I had lain on the floor.

In the dim, shadowy slivers of light from the street vapor lamp filtering through the drapes, I could see her gliding, ghostlike, through the dining room. As she reached the back door, I heard the hesitant click of the latch, and I stirred ever so slightly. She stopped, turned, and waited, as though undecided as to whether I was awake and aware of her presence.

It was just after midnight. The floor, just inside the front door, was becoming quite hard and uncomfortable as I lay there under the sheet. It was not cold, but the sheet felt comfortable and gave me a sense of security.

She had wandered out into the street, only partly dressed, and knocked on the neighbors’ doors, complaining about abuse. It was then I had taken up this position at the front door to keep her from repeating the episode. It was nearly three days now since either of us enjoyed a full night’s sleep, and she appeared to have as much energy as ever.

I wished I could only put a handle on her problem, classify it, and give it a name. It was frustrating to know the bizarre behavior patterns and yet not know what to call them. What was the cause? What was the remedy? What should I do now?

It’s amazing how two people, the only children of dwindling families, came together. Perhaps it is due to fate, or more probably due to divine guidance.

But first let me tell you a little about my life so you can more easily relate to how Wilma and I impacted each other’s lives for nearly sixty-five years.

I was, as I said before, an only child. I can’t remember much about my early childhood. I remember my natural father coming home once with a chocolate rooster for Easter. My only visual recollection of him was that he seemed tall and dark of complexion with dark hair. I learned later that his name was Cecil, and old photographs of him in his Army uniform reinforced most of my memories.

It was during the First World War that he contracted diphtheria and died. Now I can remember only what was told to me afterward. The actual funeral has been effectively erased from my memory.

Years later I learned that my Aunt Mabel went up to Chico each year on Memorial Day to put flowers on his grave. She was his only sister. When I was in High School I would go up with her. Now I don’t even remember what cemetery his remains are in. Just recently, my son-in-law, Robert, took us up to Chico to try to find his grave. We discovered that there wasn’t even a marker. Strange, how did Aunt Mabel even find it?

My next recollection of my childhood was of my Grandpa Buckler. His first name was Joe, but I always knew him as Grandpa.

One time I was playing with a small gray kitten in our back yard when we lived out on Pennington Road. There was a small six-inch well casing sunk into the ground for water but as I recollect, there was no pump installed. I knew kittens had an instinct to climb when frightened, so I reasoned that if I slipped the kitten down the well, he would climb out and be okay.

I can still remember as if it were yesterday how his little claws squealed against the metal casing as he slipped further and further from sight, mewing all the way. Then I became frightened. What had I done?

My Grandpa appeared on the scene with his bushy white mane and black handle bar mustache. It didn’t look good for my backside.

It did look good for the kitten, however, when grandpa lowered a long piece of barbed wire into the well and retrieved it. It was none the worse for its harrowing experience.

I remember enjoying the tangy taste of green-onion tops in the garden. I must have eaten a lot of them, because my mom would say, You stink like a wop.

I didn’t know what she meant, but she later told me that I would go around saying, T’ink a wop.

Some of the most delightful culinary treats my mother used to make were prune and raisin balls. I don’t know how she made them, but I sure can remember the taste. No amount of nutritional engineering by the most sophisticated of artists has ever been able to duplicate that taste. Often, after a hard day of play, I would come in and ask for them. My mom would go to the old icebox and retrieve a couple for me.

She also made an indescribable popcorn ball, which was kept in the icebox.

Once while sprinting barefoot on our front lawn, I stepped on a honeybee. Boy, that hurt. I can remember my mom pulling the stinger out with a pair of tweezers. I was sick with flu-like symptoms for two days.

My mother used to carry me around on her hip with one arm around my belly. What a ride.

One time we were getting ready to go somewhere in an old convertible sedan. I don’t know whom it belonged to or what model it was but I sure remember those wide running boards. The seats seemed to be almost two stories off the ground. Well I fell out and landed with my legs just under the car behind the front wheels just as we were backing out of the driveway. My mother screamed, stop, and apparently whoever was driving came to a stop just as the tire touched my legs. An inch or more further and I would have two crushed limbs.

My mother had moved to Arkansas City, Kansas, after the death of my father, to live with my Aunt Ada. Aunt Ada was just going through a nasty divorce from her husband Ray Webber about the same time my Mother met my future stepfather.

One of the most disgusting memories I have is of an incident that occurred shortly after I met my two cousins. I can’t remember their ages, but I remember Harold, who was much older. One night while he, Billy and I were supposed to be sleeping together, he said,

Come closer. Let me whisper something in your ear.

I obliged, thinking it must be a secret he wanted to keep from Billy. When he was close enough, he spit into my ear through his teeth. I was furious, but about half his size. I could do nothing but fume.

Another very vivid recollection is when I came upon my mother in the arms of my future stepfather. I felt betrayed. As I recall, this was probably the first time I had ever seen two adults in such an embrace. I don’t recall thinking about my natural father or his absence. I just recall feeling ashamed for my mother. Was it jealousy? I don’t know. After they were married, he became my absolute father figure, and I came to love him as if he were my natural father.

All these events became intertwined with circumstances dictated by the beginning of the Great Depression of the thirties. It seemed as if there was a constant struggle to provide food on the table. My mother had married a family of four girls, and I had acquired four sisters. My stepfather had just been laid off from a good job on the railroad and seemed to migrate from job to job, mostly auto-parts stores or service stations. During this period we moved no fewer times than my dad moved from job to job.

I can recall my first day at kindergarten. I was scared to death by all those kids. It seemed as if every kid in the world was there. How could I ever find my way home again?

My sister Barbara was the same age as I and attended the same class. She took the change calmly and seemed to weather the storm very well.

Well, it was not without compensation. What with my teacher’s soft voice intoning the necessity of keeping the choo-choo on the track as we cut out figures spirited on paper, and her soft humming at nap time, the first day was rather uneventful.

Then came my big break-the rhythm band. I was given a little paddle with a rattle on it. I was supposed to hit it on the palm of my free hand, which I did with gusto. Our little band even boasted wood blocks with real drumsticks, ratchet sticks, and one huge bass drum. Oh, how I envied that bass-drummer.

Rhythm came easily to me, and it was not long before I was advanced to the wooden blocks with a pair of drumsticks all my own.

Then came my really big break. We had practiced over and over for a special night—parent’s night. In fact, parents were busy making special uniforms for the occasion. Then the bass-drummer got sick. Miss Votter asked me to take it.

I practiced hard the next few sessions, and then the big night came. I was bursting with pride. I wanted badly for my parents to be pleased with my performance. It was the ultimate. I didn’t think I could ever again experience such bliss and happiness. I didn’t miss a beat.

One day my folks had to go to town to do some shopping. We had a telephone with a party line. I believe our ring was two short and one long. My mom and dad had decided that I was old enough to remain home alone.

Mom said just before they left for town, Son, now remember we may call you to see if you are all right.

I was happy and proud that they would trust me to remain at home. I don’t believe they were gone half an hour when the phone rang.

Was it two short and one long? I thought. No, it couldn’t have been. It must have been two long and one short.

It continued to ring; I continued to puzzle over it. Finally it stopped. Then, in about fifteen minutes, it began again. I just couldn’t decide if it was our ring or not. It continued to ring incessantly. I ran and hid behind the couch.

Someone must be after me, I thought.

When my folks arrived home again, my mother questioned me about it.

I said, It just didn’t sound like our ring.

I strongly suspect, though I put up a brave front, that my mother sensed my fears, and she wisely refrained from pressing the matter.

Then there was the time I was left alone to play out in the back yard. For some reason the clothesline pole fascinated me. I just knew that if I climbed high enough on it, I could see forever. I turned my thoughts into action.

It was a disappointing destination. As I began to slide down, my right ankle at the shinbone end caught on a protruding nail head. My flesh covering the shinbone was ripped open clear up to the kneecap. What a mess. My tears flowed almost as profusely as my blood. I have a scar to this day to remind me of that escapade.

Then one night—I believe it was around midnight—we were awakened by a sound like I had never heard before. It was a little like the sound of a crushed tin can when we would stomp our foot down in the middle of it and walk around with it clamped to our shoes, sounding like shod horses, only infinitely louder.

Then a young girl came knocking on our door with blood all over her face. Looking back in retrospect, I can understand her shock from what we later found out was a rather serious accident, but even at that age I could tell she was drunk.

I was not allowed to go out to see the wreck, nor did I really want to. I can only remember my reaction to being awakened in the middle of the night, disgust at her bizarre behavior. I had no sympathy for her at all. I still don’t to this day.

It seemed that our whole family was cursed with accidents at this place. I remember my twin sister Barbara, trying to climb up on the birdbath. It tipped over and fell on her. There were no broken bones, but she was bruised pretty badly. That old birdbath was made out of concrete and very heavy.

In keeping with our bad luck, Barbara again stepped on a nail protruding out of a board left on the ground. It went right through her foot and the blood spurted like a fountain.

Soon we would move again, this time into a huge, gray two-story house out in the country south of town. The process of making new friends started all over again.

One teenager, who lived on a dairy farm a couple miles