C.S.A. /Cow Sh*T Alley

By Rudolph O. Blume

This book is basically a true story about the adults and kids who lived and grew up on Brooklyn Avenue, called at that time Cow Sh*t Alley, during the 40s and 50s. Its about the joys and sorrows, love and hate, and above all the experiences good and bad; the agony and pleasure of growing up in this very special and unusual place.
These are the people that shared my younger years and have become the finest people Ive ever had the pleasure of knowing. Even though we have had our differences, they are all unique in their own way and I grew to love them all.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Jul 16, 2014
• ISBN: 9781499041293

Book preview

C.S.A. /

COW SH Insect.jpg T ALLEY

Proud to Call It Home!

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Rudolph O. Blume, Jr.

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Copyright © 2014 by Rudolph O. Blume, Jr.

Illustrations by Rudolph O. Blume, Jr.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Rev. date: 07/10/2014

Xlibris LLC

1-888-795-4274

www.Xlibris.com

635920

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY THREE

CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR

CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE

CHAPTER TWENTY SIX

CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN

CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT

CHAPTER TWENTY NINE

CHAPTER THIRTY

CHAPTER THIRTY ONE

Special Thanks to

Janet Pizzuto, Lornalin M. Rose, Jeff Hockenheimer

and Buddy Anthony

INTRODUCTION

I joined the navy just after my 18 th birthday. Boot camp was very demanding and had our days filled with classes or marching on the field. However, after lunch, we had about a twenty minute window to relax which we took advantage of in a small alley on the side of the chow hall. There I would tell stories about my growing up on ‘Cow Shit Alley’ to a small group of men who really seemed to enjoy them.

Well, a year later, I found myself aboard a destroyer in the South Pacific, patrolling the shore lines of Vietnam. We would stop Chinese Junks from time to time and search for weapons being smuggled to the Viet Cong. Sometimes late at night I would go out on deck and admire the black silhouettes of the war filled mountains of Vietnam.

One night, I thought of boot camp and how the sailors used to enjoy my childhood stories. I made a promise to myself as I admired the view of that beautiful country that one day I’d write those stories and have them published.

I have thought about it from time to time over the years, but as an engineer, I never seemed to find time to write. On my 67th birthday, I realized that I didn’t have much time left. It was now or never, so I took pen in hand, and three years later, I published my first novel, ‘Cow Shit Alley.’ It’s the first of three I hope to write; this one is from birth to puberty. The next, volume two, will be of my teenage years, and the last, volume three, will be of my time in Vietnam. Originally, I planned to write about my teen years first, but after careful thought, I realized this story needed to be told first.

CHAPTER ONE

Y our mother had a little monkey, Dad said, as he walked in the front door. My two sisters, Shirley, six, and Carol, five, were settling in the living room, anxiously awaiting the good news.

It was August 14, 1943, and World War II was in full swing. Our armed forces had just scored some major victories in the Pacific, and the tide was slowly turning our way. What a great way to celebrate our wonderful success. Me, I was born.

Aww, Mom didn’t have no monkey, Shirley snapped.

Well, he looks like a monkey with all that black hair on his head, Dad smiled.

What’s his name? Carol asked.

His name is Rudolph Otto Blume, Jr., Dad replied.

That’s a horrible name, Carol complained.

Yeah, interrupted Shirley, That is horrible. We can’t call him that.

Well, that’s his name, Dad insisted.

I know, Shirley said, "let’s call him Nunnie.

Yeah, Carol agreed, that’s a good name. Let’s call him Nunnie. And Nunnie it was.

During the war, food wasn’t all that plentiful and certain things like sugar had to be purchased with stamps. Songs like Moonlight Serenade and Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy filed the air waves.

We lived in a one-bedroom shotgun double on Annunciation Street, one block off Tchoupitoulas Street, which runs along the Mississippi River in New Orleans. We had no electricity or inside plumbing, so the only music we heard was from a passing car or the neighborhood bars, which were quite popular in those days. We took baths in the summer on the half enclosed back porch.

Dad would fill a 30 gallon tub from a spigot in the back yard next to the outhouse, which had a flushing toilet. He would heat some of the water first. My sisters and I would share the same bath water. I got to the bath first because Mom said I was the smallest. Shirley and Carol always protested, claiming the water was always yellow when I got out.

Mom was a religious woman who ruled her house with the fear of God, and made us go to church every Sunday. She claimed He could strike you dead just by raising His right hand. Dad on the other hand, just used his leather belt.

My Dad was proud of the fact that he finally had a little boy. He was an outdoors man who loved hunting and fishing and now, he finally had someone he could share his greatest love with… or so it seemed.

As the months and years passed and I started to grow, I also started wanting things. Only having two sisters to look up to, I started wanting what they had. Every morning, Mom would help them get dressed for school. She combed their hair and placed bobby pins and barrette clips in them. Naturally, being a baby, I wanted what they had. Right down to the bow ribbons in my hair. However, Dad was a man of principles and had a hard time understanding my unusual desires. He would just shake his head in disbelief and say something’s wrong with that boy, and walk away. To him, boys just didn’t want those things. To make matters worse, I had to have paper and pencils just like my sisters did for school. Now there’s nothing wrong with that right? Wrong!

When I started using my left hand to write with, he really threw a fit. He’s an ole’ southpaw, he complained, throwing his hands up in the air. Southpaw’s can’t do anything!

The distance between him and I grew farther and farther apart, and would remain that way throughout my teen years. Needless to say, Dad never took me hunting.

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CHAPTER TWO

A couple of years passed and my sisters started taking me outside to play. We’d go around the neighborhood swapping comic books with the other kids, or selling the sand we had colored from the left over Easter egg dye at Easter for buttons. Using buttons in place of money was fairly common among kids in those days. We’d buy jacks or pick-up sticks, or even sticks of c halk.

One morning after breakfast Mom and I were in the kitchen. My two sisters were lying in their twin beds reading comic books from a stack on the floor between them. Here, Mom said, breaking off a small piece of chocolate from a large bar. Want a piece of candy? I took the small piece from her hand and watched as she placed the rest in the top cabinet. The piece was so small I could hardly taste it.

She then took the flat iron from the stove where she’d been heating it, and headed for the front room. Keep an eye on your brother, she told Shirley and Carol, as she passed through their bedroom. I’m going in the front room to iron this blouse. When she returned to the kitchen a few minutes later, and saw the chocolate on my face, the kitchen chair by the cabinet, and the empty wrapper on the floor, she let out a scream.

Oh my God boy, what did you do? That wasn’t candy! That was Ex-lax! Hurriedly, she placed the hot iron back on the stove, then grabbed me in her arms and headed for the front door. She stopped in the bedroom long enough to tap Shirley and Carol on their heads. I told you to watch him, she cried, tapping each of their heads vigorously; then hurried next door to call the doctor. No need to worry Mrs. Blume, the doctor assured her. His body will only absorb so much and the rest will go out as waste.

Mom had her hands, or should I say my diapers, full that day and into the night. But by the next morning, the doctor’s assessment proved to be correct; everything came out okay!

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CHAPTER THREE

B ecause we had no electricity, bedtime usually came early at night. A few weeks later, Mom and I were lying in bed. Dad had just finished tucking Shirley and Carol in for the night, and was entering the front room where we slept. The dark walls began to light up as he entered holding a kerosene lamp. There was wallpaper glued to the ceiling that had come loose in some spots. Mom and I were watching the paper move as rodents were running back and forth through it. You could hear the paper crackle as they moved around in the high cei ling.

You know Buddy, Mom said, calling my Dad by his nickname, One of these days a rat’s going to fall through that paper and land in this bed. We’ll be lucky if it don’t bite one of us; especially this baby. Now THAT got my attention. Aw, Garnet, that’s just little mice up there. If that were rats, one would have fallen through a long time ago. Dad turned down the kerosene lamp and climbed into bed.

Mom’s words were still running through my mind, as I lay there staring at the dim lit ceiling. The crackling sounds were a constant reminder of her terrifying words …bite this baby. After a