The Sock Monkey Tales: The Lifetimes of a Baby Boomer, Volume I-Innocence

By Catherine Connor

Take a delightful romp back through time and see the world through the eyes of your inner child. Revisit the world in the years following the end of the Second World War, to the children of this countrys Greatest Generation, when innocence, wonder, and awe were alive and well. Go back to the days of two pieces of candy for a penny, the introduction of the Hula-Hoop, and Red Ryder BB guns, the gift that every little boy dreamed of finding beneath the Christmas tree. The world of the baby boomer was a simpler place and time, a time when telephone service meant that you were a part of a party line, a handshake was better than a signed contract. It was a time when the family sat together to eat their meals and share their dreams and accomplishments, as well as their failures.

There was a sweetness to life during those decades. This book offers the reader an intimate look into the daily lives of those who lived the wonder. Recall the memories of many historical events and people. Let the child in you free to explore and reconnect with the values and people of those magical years before the birth of computers, cell phones, and television. Your vacation back in time will be one that you will always remember. Be ready to laugh and cry, but most of all, be prepared to revisit your youth and your dreams. Yesterday awaits. The sock monkey will be your guide.

• Language: English
• Publisher: LifeRich Publishing
• Release date: Sep 17, 2014
• ISBN: 9781489702951

Catherine Connor

Catherine Connor was born on January 3, 1948. When she arrived, things were very simple and straightforward. It was a time when neighbors were almost like members of the family. It was a relatively peaceful time between World War II and the Korean War. Since her modest appearance, she has spent almost fifty years as a Medical Technologist, as a Researcher hoping to help find cures for cancer and recurrent myocardial infarctions. She has also spent time supervising medical laboratories at large and small hospitals, small clinics, specialty clinics and reference laboratories. She was honored to be offered a position to set up a specialty laboratory from Johns Hopkins to follow chemotherapy treatments and efficiency at Vanderbilt, an offer she could not accept due to her son's rare genetic medical problems. Since a small child, she has always kept journals. Many of the memories in this first volume of The Sock Monkey Tales – Volume I – Innocence were detailed in those many journals. She has many diverse hobbies: Reading (Historical novels, mysteries, psychological thrillers and autobiographies), Gardening, Painting (Oils and Watercolors), Music, Writing (Prose and Poetry) and gourmet cooking. She particularly enjoys having her friends and “adopted” children join her for gourmet dinners. She is a native of Tennessee. While her career has taken her from Mississippi to Michigan and places between, she has always loved living in Middle Tennessee. She was blessed with one son who also loves to write Children's Books about Nature. She and her son live in the home built by her parents in 1959. To her, it is a piece of Heaven on Earth. Her dear neighbors from her childhood are still living next door.

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SNAPSHOT #1 – 1951

Our First Home

W hen I went to bed the other night, I closed my eyes and saw 115 Connell Street, phone number UL9-5312. (Mama and Daddy made us memorize our phone number in case we ever got lost!) The house was a white craftsman style with a stone fence separating the front yard from the street. Daddy built a white wooden arbor at the entrance from the street where roses bloomed in a riot of shades and sizes. A white wooden wheelbarrow (which Daddy had also made) stood on the left side of the front yard. It was filled with a random mix of blooming petunias. On the right side of the front yard, along the fence, bloomed a forest of butterfly bushes and white bridal wreath. The front sidewalk was lined with iris, tulips and daffodils as were the two front flower beds against the house. The front steps were painted slate gray. The columns of the porch were painted white. Daddy had a two seated swing attached to the ceiling of the porch. The front windows were framed with slate gray shutters which made the white shingles on the house pop. (Daddy made those shutters, too.) The driveway was on the left side of the house and led to an unattached white one car garage. Daddy had his workshop in the back of the garage. The left side of the drive was lined with hedges which were covered in tiny white blossoms in the early spring. They served to identify the property line. The back yard was two levels with a fence running along the alley in the back, another property line marker. The lower level of the yard started at the back porch. The clothes lines, dotted with wooden clothespins, stretched across the backyard to the driveway. The wringer washing machine stood on the back porch, parallel to two rinse/starch tubs. A white, high backed chair sat on the porch and sometimes my big brother’s blue jeans hung to dry there, a metal pants stretcher inside to remove the wrinkles and keep them creased. The upper portion of the backyard was framed on the left by the garage and a large white dog house with a fence surrounding it marked the boundary on the right.

This vision could have originated from a Norman Rockwell, Thomas Kinkade or a Currier and Ives painting. It represented peace, contentment and safety, but most of all, love. I came to this beautiful place in January of 1948. When I close my eyes, a thousand photographs go zipping through my mind like a modern day strobe light. Eventually, my mind settles on where to pause and I go back into that photo, my life frozen in time. I love these visits to that home and that precious moment with my beloved family. In all honesty, I do not want to come back to today. Can you blame me? Can you picture this idyllic place in your mind, hear the sounds of music, laughter and children playing? Can you catch the aroma of homemade oatmeal cookies baking? Does the sweet scent of the roses engulf you? Do you smell the newly cut grass?

Daddy used a wooden, metal bladed push mower to cut the grass. (There were no such things as self propelled gasoline mowers or riding lawn mowers at that time. Everyone used hand propelled wooden push mowers.) He always wore a pristine white t-shirt (I think you call those athletic t-shirts, the ones without sleeves) and a pair of starched, sharply creased khaki work pants to cut the yard. He was so handsome with his dark, almost black wavy hair, dark brown eyes, and his cleft chin. He had a mustache covering his upper lip. His grin would make your heart melt. He stood five feet ten inches tall at that time, and weighed roughly 130 pounds, all muscle.

Mama would meet him at the back door with a glass of iced tea or freshly squeezed lemonade when he had finished cutting the back yard. They were a strikingly beautiful young couple. Mother was five feet nine inches tall and weighed 125 pounds. She had light brown/blonde hair and huge green eyes that were liquid with love for Daddy. A person could lose themselves looking into those eyes.

Can you imagine that you lived in this perfect place with the most beautiful parents in the world? We had our own piece of Heaven on Earth, that craftsman house with the flowers. We had a beautiful tri-colored collie, Misty, for a pet. There was also an old black and white Persian tom cat, Old Tom, a stray, that lived in that special house. Goldie was also a resident there, a gorgeous yellow Persian tabby cat. I wish that you could go back with me to this home. I hope that this book will take you back in time, will help you to see what the world was like then. It was such a better place to be. It is where I go when I am not mentally here with you. How I wish I could take you with me on my little trips. I am willing to bet that Pa went there often, especially after he came to live with me. He was proud of that house on Connell Street and rightly so. He bought that home when Bubba was just a toddler. We lived on Connell Street until 1959 when Daddy and Mama built their dream house in Hendersonville. Connell Street was three lifetimes ago for me. Some of my happiest moments occurred while living in that white craftsman home. They are also some of the most bittersweet now.

I have walked through the front door a million times in my dreams. There was a chair and a telephone table on the left. An old radio/record player occupied the short wall shared by the dining room. (There were no compact disc players at that time. As a matter of fact, there were no 33 1/3 records or 45 rpm records. The only records available were 78 rpm ones, and they were quite heavy.) The sofa served as a room divider and faced the fireplace on the right wall of the living room. A big club chair and end table were centered in front of the large picture window. Spotless, starched white curtains with copious amounts of handmade fringe adorned the window, examples of Mama’s sewing skills. The upright piano sat in the corner between the fireplace and the club chair. In later years, a television occupied a space between the piano and the fireplace. An antique clock with a key dominated the mantel. It was ornate with a glass enclosed face and carved, gilded lions lying on either side of it. It was ebony in color. The other side of the fireplace was the Christmas tree corner from December 22 until the first of January each year. During the rest of the year, an antique rocking chair sat there.

There was a large french doored entry from the living room into the formal dining room. Again, the window in the dining room was dressed in white, starched, fringed curtains. Mama’s old Singer sewing machine sat in the corner. There was a huge dining table and a china buffet with a glass front.

A half door led to the kitchen from the dining area while another arch led into the wide hall. Our kitchen was painted sunshine yellow with white curtains on the windows and the back door. The water heater sat in the corner out of the traffic area. We had a yellow Formica and chrome kitchen table and chairs. The kitchen was my happy place. As I write, I detect the scent of Mama’s squeezed orange juice waffling into the mixture of aromas from the coffee brewing in the percolator on the stove top and the bacon crisping in the iron skillet. If I listen, I can hear Mama humming or Daddy singing Danny Boy. A door led to the pantry on the left. I loved this sunshine place.

The hall was wide. From it I could go into either the kitchen, dining room, living room, bathroom, the front and back bedrooms or take the stairs up to our bedrooms. I am not certain, but I believe that our home was heated with oil. There was a large vent in the hall floor where Bubba and I stood to get our feet warm during cold weather. I was afraid of that vent, terrified that it would break and I would fall into the black hole beneath my feet.

The front bedroom was considered the guest bedroom and it was beautiful. The large picture window was adorned with coverings identical to those in the living and dining rooms. A crib occupied the right corner of the room. It was the crib that Bubba and I had used when we were babies. It would eventually be used by Baby Sis. The bedroom furniture was from the Davis Cabinet Company from the Rachel Donelson collection. It was made of solid cherry. It now resides in Bubba’s redone room in the Hendersonville dream home.

Mama and Daddy slept in the back bedroom. It’s windows were dressed in the same finery as those in the rest of the house. The furniture in the back bedroom was also antique. The double bed was covered in one of Mama’s crocheted bedspreads. It was a lovely room.

Bubba’s and my bedrooms were upstairs. There was a landing where we would sit together. The entire wall from floor to ceiling was made of bookshelves and every inch was filled with a myriad collection. Mama and Daddy were avid readers. There was a knothole in the second step on the landing where our pet spider lived. It would always come out of it’s hiding place when it heard us come up the stairs.

The first bedroom at the top of the stairs belonged to my Bubba. It was a large room with a dormer alcove which housed his desk and chair and the blue wooden toy box that Daddy had made for him. The toy box had Bubba’s name cut from plywood, painted and attached across the front of it. It was a neat place for Bubba to store his treasures. His bunk bed sat against the stairwell wall. He had a large bookcase filled with books, magazines, the sock monkey our Grandmother, Anna, had made for him when he was just a very little boy and an old radio that only worked randomly.

I had to walk through Bubba’s bedroom to get to my room. It was the same size as Bubba’s room, but I had a full sized bed. I also had a dormer alcove where my desk sat under the window. I had a small wooden vanity with a chintz flowered skirt around it and the bench that Daddy made for me. I moved it to the dormer alcove. My toy box was at the foot of my bed. It, too had my name made from plywood, painted yellow attached across the front of it. There was a bookcase with glass doors on the wall where the closet was located. It was stuffed with books. Bubba and I did not have any windows in our rooms except for the dormer windows. In the summer it was quite warm upstairs, even with the dormer windows opened. My room had a windowed door that opened to the outside where a tiny porch and stairs led down to the back yard. That door was always locked. The window in the door did not open.

Right now, I am sitting on the landing steps, wishing with all of my heart that I could hear Bubba coming up the stairs. I am waiting for my Hero to appear.

SNAPSHOT #2 – 1951

Christmas on

Connell Street

T he holidays were a very special time for our family. Anna always gave us an Advent Calendar that we hung in the kitchen in order to mark the days until the birth of Baby Jesus. Bubba always opened the little windows and doors and read the message aloud. With each day that passed, our excitement grew. Christmas was such a happy time for us. The scents from the kitchen made our mouths water. Mama had begun her Christmas cooking; divinity, (one of Daddy’s favorites) peanut butter fudge, (another favorite for Daddy) chocolate walnut fudge, thumb print cookies with raspberry filling (my personal favorite), pumpkin pies, chess pies, oatmeal cookies, stuffed dates, coconut cream cake, (Bubba’s favorite) jam cake (a close second for Bubba), and the list continues. Most of the goodies were put in the freezer to be stored until family or friends came to visit. Mama always let Daddy eat the peanut butter fudge and the divinity all month long. Bubba and I shared the bowls and mixer beaters as well as the fudge pans when Mama was finished with them. What a treat! Bubba and I never fought over the actual distribution of the goodies, we shared everything, equally.

We had much more snow in the 1950’s than we do today. Almost every Christmas was a white one; not just a slight dusting on the ground, but a real white Christmas with five or six inches adorning the trees, bushes and every blade of grass. Bubba and I were permitted to play in the snow. We built snowmen and had snowball fights. (Bubba always won.) Mama and Daddy would scoop fresh snow into a big red bowl and take it to the kitchen to make maple syrup snow cream. (That red bowl still resides in my remodeled kitchen in the dream house in Hendersonville.) Mama would then make us all mugs of real hot chocolate with real marshmallows floating on top, not the powdered junk in the grocery aisles today. It was delicious.

Bubba and I would sit at the dining room table with a stack of construction paper of all colors and a jar of white school paste. I especially liked the paste because it smelled good enough to eat and had a little red spreader attached to the top of the jar. (Can you remember the aroma of that paste?) Bubba was in charge of the scissors because he had just turned seven on December 2, and I was not quite four. I was told that I was too little to use Mama’s kitchen scissors. I was in charge of pasting one end of the colored strips of construction paper and Bubba put it all together to make a long garland to wrap around the Christmas tree as well as to decorate the doorways downstairs. I do remember how important I felt working on those garlands with Bubba. He never made me feel like a baby. He taught me how to do things with great patience. He made me feel as though I was just as grown as he was.

Today, people go buy cans of artificial snow to decorate windows and Christmas trees. Bubba and I used a liquid material that Mama created in our kitchen. Mama gave us stencils and sponges and we took great care decorating the windows. Bubba did the taller parts and I did the low ones. Each form was made with painstaking accuracy. We wanted all of the windows to be beautiful, and they were. We had such fun decorating for Christmas. It was Daddy’s favorite holiday.

Approximately a week before Christmas, Daddy, Mama, Bubba and I would climb into our old green Chevrolet and go to the Children’s Christmas party at DuPont where Daddy worked. As an old woman, I am amazed at the expense involved for that annual party. The company had drinks, cookies, candy, stockings and a gift for every child. There was even a Santa Claus sitting on a stage. Every child stood in line for the privilege of sitting on Santa’s lap and whispering what they wanted him to bring to them. When we climbed down from his lap, an elf gave us a stocking and a wrapped gift. When all of the children had been given stockings and gifts, everyone would join together and sing Christmas Carols. The stockings were made of red net like the netting used on bags of oranges and grapefruits. Each stocking had an orange in it as well as pieces of wrapped jelly filled hard candy and a large, red and white striped candy cane. Our gifts from Santa were paddle balls for the boys and a set of jacks for the girls. Bubba and I loved the DuPont Children’s Christmas parties. I wonder if DuPont still continues that splendid tradition.

Today, everyone puts up an artificial Christmas tree before Thanksgiving, and all the stores bring out the Christmas decorations at the same time as the trick-or-treat Halloween items. I hate it, although I am guilty of putting up our tree after dinner on Thanksgiving. (I have a much different reason for our tree tradition that has nothing to do with rushing Christmas.) Daddy would bring our live Christmas tree home either two days before Christmas or sometimes on Christmas Eve. After dinner, Daddy, Mama, Bubba and I would begin the decorating. It was so much fun to watch the tree transform from a bare green tree to one alive with bubble lights, antique glass ornaments, our construction paper garlands and the silver tinsel. There was always a bright shiny star on the very tip top of the tree. Our enthusiasm for what was about to happen was at a fevered pitch. In a few more days, Baby Jesus would be born in a tiny place half way around the world and we would be able to see His Star in the East! And, if we were really lucky, quiet and still, we might just hear reindeer on our roof! It was a magical time for us. Bubba and I also knew that Anna and Pa Pa Will would be coming on Christmas Eve to help Mama with the cooking. This last Christmas before Baby Sis was born was even more special because Grammie and Gramps, Daddy’s parents, had come from Vermont to share Christmas with us. They occupied the back bedroom during their stay. Our precious little craftsman home was filled with our special family and so very much love.

On Christmas Eve night, Mama and Daddy tucked us in bed in the front bedroom. Bubba and I were so excited. We got out of bed and tiptoed to the window to watch the snow fall. It fell heavily to the ground, covering everything in a thick blanket of white. The moon shining on it made the entire yard look like a blanket of diamonds had settled on our entire neighborhood. We tried to find the Star in the East, but we could not find any stars. We were whispering to each other and Mama heard us. She came into the bedroom and tucked us back into bed, reminding us that Santa would not come to visit children who were awake. After she left and closed the door, Bubba and I started whispering to each other again, only more quietly. We wondered just what Santa would bring to our house. Bubba and I had made paper silhouettes of each other that we had carefully wrapped for Mama and Daddy, Anna, Pa Pa and Grammie and Gramps. They were Bubba’s idea and turned out quite well. After a while, I fell asleep holding Bubba’s hand. Santa could visit now that we were both asleep. And visit us he did!

Daddy worked in the Cellophane Division at DuPont. He brought clear, red, blue, yellow and green cellophane to use to wrap all of the presents. On Christmas morning we were not allowed to go into the living room to see our surprises until everyone was awake. We all went into the living room together to take it all in. It was so beautiful, all of those different colored packages under the tree, on the tree and spread out around the tree. Bubba and I just stood in the archway with opened mouths and eyes wide with amazement. Yes, we both believed in Santa Claus. We believed to our very core. Bubba and I sat down in the archway while Daddy picked up packages and called out names. Mama and Daddy delivered the gifts to each of us. They delivered the presents so that everyone had gifts to open. They always opened their gifts last.

Bubba and I must have been exceptionally good children that year because Santa left us such wonderful things. Bubba got a rifle that also had a stand with tin animals on it. When he aimed the rifle at one of the animals and pulled the trigger, the animal would spin around! Santa left me a set of doll dishes that even had little pans with copper bottoms, just like the big pans that Mama used when she cooked. The dishes were white and pink with little glasses and silverware included. Santa left us clothes, but he also left Bubba a huge package beside the Christmas tree. When he unwrapped his gift, he found a Lionel train set inside! The engine actually smoked and the caboose was the cutest thing I had ever seen! Santa left me my first Madame Alexander walking doll, Nancy. She was standing under the Christmas tree behind the big gift for Bubba. She had brown hair braided into pig tails with red ribbons and wore a red, blue and yellow plaid dress with white knee socks and little black shoes. When I held on to her hands, she walked with me! She was so special that all I could do was look at her. She was a little girl just like me.

While Mama, Anna and Grammie cooked breakfast, all of the menfolk sat down on the floor with Bubba and helped him put together the tracks for his train. Daddy taught him how to operate the controls and what to do to make the smoke billow from the stack on the engine. They did not want to stop the train to eat breakfast, but Mama put her foot down. She had Christmas dinner to put together and she wanted our breakfast done so that she could begin. After breakfast, Bubba let me try to shoot the animals and he even let me touch his train. It was a fabulous Christmas. Everyone liked the gifts that Bubba and I had made. We certainly loved what Santa had brought to us.

Bubba and I were always very sad to see our Christmas tree taken down. That wonderful aroma would be gone and the ornaments and bubble lights would be put back into their boxes and stored in the attic until the next Christmas rolled around. The Christmas tree stand would go back to Daddy’s workshop in the garage to hang on a nail on the wall.

Mama gave us sponges and a pan of water. It was our task to remove all of our beautiful stencils from all of the windows. It took us most of the day. I do not remember the ingredients of the material used to make the stencils, but it looked like white shoe polish, only thicker. It took a little elbow grease to get the stencils off the windows. It was worth the scrubbing to us because the stencils transformed the look of the house, both inside and out.

Such special times, such wonderful memories. I go back in time just to be there in that time and place. I go back to be with my beloved Bubba and the rest of my special family. Again I do not want to leave, and I stay with them as long as I possibly can, until today jerks me back to the present, a place I do not want to be.

SNAPSHOT #3 – 1952

Farmed Out

I have left the present far behind and have returned to our sweet little home on Connell Street. There is excitement in the air! I am frightened for Mama because her tummy looks like it is ready to pop like a balloon with too much air in it! Bubba and I have talked about our worries. Bubba has assured me that Mama looked the very same way before I came to be with them and she was fine. Me, I am not so sure about this whole thing. She looks like she could fall forward at any second and I don’t want her to fall on the furnace vent in the hall. It might break and Mama would be lost in that black hole. Bubba told me that he hoped that Daddy and Mama would bring home a little baby brother. I didn’t care what they brought home, I just wanted Mama to be okay.

Neither Bubba nor I had any idea how a baby came to be in Mama’s tummy and we did a lot of serious speculating with our pet spider while we sat on the landing. More importantly, just how was Bubba’s baby brother supposed to get out of there? Bubba and I were excited to have a new baby brother to come live with us, but very worried about Mama. It seemed that she grew bigger each day. This had to stop sometime soon or Mama was just going to explode.

We began to help Mama with her chores. Her chores were much more taxing than ours. We learned how to operate the wringer washing machine, how to rinse and starch clothes and then how to hang them on the clothes lines. Bubba was seven and a half and pretty tall. I was only four and a half but I was determined to help Bubba carry the baskets of wet laundry to the clothes lines. Bubba tied the clothespin apron around my waist a couple of times and put me in charge of handing him the clothespins. We managed fine, but gosh did we have to run to get those clothes down when it started to rain! I thought it was great fun. Even doing chores with Bubba was like a special game to me.

The days passed and Mama was bigger still. She tired easily and would need to sit down to rest often. She wore her hair up on the top of her head because she got hot easily, too. So did Bubba and I. It was July and there was no such thing as air conditioning. We took turns fanning Mama with the cardboard paddle fans from church.

Bubba and I discussed what we would do when Mama and Daddy went to get our baby brother. Bubba promised that he would take care of me until they came back home with our new baby brother. I had to promise him that I would be good and do what he said. That was no big deal to me, I already did what he asked. I would never disobey him because he was so grown up and smart. He had already been to school and was passed to the second grade! I trusted him, he was my hero, I worshiped the ground he walked on and I always would. Bubba would be able to manage while Mama and Daddy went to get our baby brother.

We did not get the opportunity to manage on our own while Mama and Daddy were gone. They had made arrangements with friends who would watch over us while they were away from home. I cannot remember their names, I only remember that they must have been much older than Mama and Daddy because their hair was silver. They also lived on a farm. Bubba and I had never been on a farm so this would be an adventure for us.

Was it ever! We were up at the crack of dawn, dressed and sitting at the breakfast table watching the sun rise. Our breakfast was much different than what Mama cooked for us. It took a while to get accustomed to the milk because it was fresh and tasted different from the bottles of milk the Sealtest delivery man left on our front porch. The butter was different, too, but in a good way. The jelly for our toast was delicious, just like Mama made. I didn’t like fried eggs so I only ate the buttered toast and the sausage. Bubba ate all of his breakfasts.

I followed Bubba everywhere because I was afraid to be left alone. This was a strange place and I wanted to hurry and go back home. How long could it take for Mama and Daddy to pick up our baby brother? We should be going back home real soon. That was not to be. When Daddy called to check on us, he told us that our new baby was not ready to come home yet. In truth, Mama had gone into labor far too soon. Our new baby was not due to make an appearance until five weeks later!

Bubba played with the pet dog. The dog was big and looked really mean to me and I was afraid of it. I did my best to avoid it. Bubba smoked his first cigarette behind the barn but he refused to share it with me. We got in big trouble over that experiment. Bubba didn’t smoke after that. (Bubba only smoked because the teenaged boy who worked on the farm smoked. He had coaxed Bubba into trying.)

While skipping barefoot in the grass in front of the farmhouse, I stepped on a bumblebee. The bee let me know that he did not appreciate my carelessness by stinging me many times. My right foot puffed until it was three times its’ normal size. I cried for a long time. The farmer’s wife wet some tobacco and put it in a bandage then wrapped it around my foot. Oddly enough, that helped take some of the sting away so that it didn’t hurt nearly as much as it had at the moment of impact. Thank goodness for tobacco. With my foot swollen and wrapped in a bandage, I was unable to go with Bubba to explore. I just sat on the back porch and waited for him to come back to tell me what he had seen and done.

It was while I was at this strange place, sitting with my bandaged foot on the back porch that I lost my taste for fried chicken. I loved Anna’s fried chicken but I had never given any thought about the fact that the chicken I was eating had to die first. There were lots of chickens on the farm. I helped feed them every morning and played with the babies. We had been at the farm for two weeks, Saturday was here and Daddy would be coming to take us back home on Sunday. The farmer’s wife decided to make chicken and dumplings for dinner. She went out into the back yard and caught a chicken. I was sitting on the back porch and had an unobstructed view of the entire process. I saw her sling that poor chicken around by its’ neck. Then she put it on the chopping block and swung her ax. That poor headless chicken ran all around the backyard. I ran around the backyard, bandaged foot and all, trying to catch it and hold it. It finally just dropped in the yard. I ran to where it had fallen dead and cradled it in my lap, trying my best to comfort it. Of course I was crying hysterically and could not be calmed. The farmer’s wife took me inside and put me in bed while she continued with the rest of the preparation in order to cook that poor chicken. I could not eat dinner that night and for many, many years could not bring myself to eat chicken at all. What I witnessed that fateful Saturday morning in late July scarred me for life. To this day, every time I prepare any chicken dish, I am back on that farm trying my best to catch that poor hen. Bubba did not witness the murder, he had no qualms about eating three helpings of chicken and dumplings. I didn’t fault Bubba, he was older and wiser and understood the real purpose of chickens – eggs, fried chicken and chicken and dumplings.

I was so glad when Daddy came to take us home. I wanted to see Mama and our new baby brother. I wondered if my new baby brother would be as much fun and as sweet and smart as my big Bubba. I was anxious to meet him. When we got in the car, Daddy told us that we had a new baby sister. A sister? Her name was Sharon, but she was not quite ready to come home. She was too little, she only weighed four pounds. He also told us that Mama was fine but a little sad that she had to wait a while to bring Sharon home. I looked at my Bubba. He wanted a baby brother more than anything. He didn’t tell Daddy that he was disappointed. He didn’t act disappointed. I whispered to him that surely next time Mama and Daddy went to get us a new baby, they would wait until a baby brother was ready. I did not know that there would never be a next time because Mama’s womb had turned upside down during labor. The tendons and muscles holding it had torn. She had to have a hysterectomy a few months after Sharon was born. Our baby sister had to stay in an incubator at Vanderbilt for another month while Bubba and I waited to see her. Daddy was right, Mama was very sad. It took every silly thing Bubba and I could do to make her smile, and we tried very hard.

Daddy and Mama went to Vanderbilt many times during the next few weeks so that they could check on our baby sister’s progress. The doctors wanted her to reach a specific weight before they would let her come home to be with us. I think the magic number was six pounds, but, I am not certain. Sometimes my memory tricks me now, and there is no one I can ask. Bubba and I either stayed with Mrs. Hayes across the street, or our neighbor, Joan, would come to our house to watch over us. Joan was a terrific baby sitter, she baked cookies and played games with us to make the time pass quickly.

In 1952, there were no interstates or bypasses. We went to Nashville by either Dickerson Road or Gallatin Road. It took a good deal of time to travel from Goodlettsville to Vanderbilt. Bubba and I had both been born at Vanderbilt. Of course, gasoline was much less expensive than the $3.60 per gallon charged today. Salaries were much less, too. Mama and Daddy kept to a strict budget in order to support our growing family. Anna worked at Loveman’s Department Store and brought material remnants to Mama. Mama and her Singer sewing machine made our clothes. I got Bubba’s hand-me-downs to use as play clothes. I liked wearing Bubba’s clothes.

Mama was an excellent seamstress. She made Bubba’s shirts, slacks, pajamas, coats and sport jackets for church. You would never guess that our clothes had been made at home. Bubba always looked nice. My clothes were nice, too. One of my favorite dresses was made of purple plaid, made from remnants that our grandmother, Anna, brought to Mama from Loveman’s. Bubba and I had our photographs taken while I was wearing that dress. Bubba was wearing a light blue short sleeved shirt with lassos and cowboys on it in that portrait. Mama made his shirt, too.

That portrait hangs over the desk that Bubba and I bought for Daddy when he came to live with me. It is one of my treasures. I look at it every morning and every night. It is the first thing I see in the morning and the last thing that I see at night. My son purchased a Tiffany sconce that I placed above it so that there is a light on it at all times. It hangs beside another portrait that was taken when we were even smaller. I think Bubba was about four and I was eighteen months old, both of us were again dressed in clothing made by Mama from remnants given to us by Anna. I want so much to go back to that special time and live those years again knowing how very precious each and every moment was. I don’t belong in this world, I don’t believe I ever did. I just have not been able to understand how to keep myself back on Connell Street with my beloved family. I wished I owned a Time Machine!

SNAPSHOT # 4 – 1950

Rub a Dub Dub There’s

an Architect in the Tub

M emory is truly an interesting thing. It really has no true beginning nor end. It can and does lie dormant for years, decades even, quietly biding time. When memory awakens, it jumps from one moment in time to another, all disjointed and seemingly unrelated. I can be sitting at the desk paying bills and suddenly I find myself sitting at the yellow Formica and chrome kitchen table in our little home on Connell Street watching Mama squeeze oranges for our breakfast. I can be at the kitchen sink washing dishes one minute and the next moment I am standing naked beside the bathtub waiting for Mama to lift me into the thousands of pastel bubbles with Bubba.

When we were really little, Mama bathed us together in the tub. She always had bubbles in the water. The light would catch them and they would shoot out many different colors before they popped. I love taking bubble baths with Bubba. He has such neat toys for bath time. My favorite toy is his paddle wheel boat. He winds it and then lets it travel around the tub, its’ paddle wheel turning, propelling it forward through the bubbles in the water. We play in the tub until the water turns cold and we are as wrinkled as prunes. I hate to be lifted out of those bubbles.

I have no memory of bathing before that experience. As a matter of fact, my first memories are not of Mama and Daddy, as you might think. My first memories are of my beloved big brother, Sean, my Bubba. I probably loved him from the moment I saw him. He was my teacher, my best friend, my confidant and my hero. I must have been a pest to him because I followed him everywhere. When he started to school it broke my heart because I could not go with him. Each day when we went to pick him up from school, I jumped from the car and raced to meet him. On one of those afternoons, my feet got away from me and I fell face down on the sidewalk and split open my right knee. Of course Bubba ran to help me. (I still have the scar on my knee from that afternoon.) When we got home from school, Bubba sat at the dining room table and did his homework. When he finished, he would teach me everything he had learned at school that day and would let me do his homework, too. He taught me how to write, how to read, how to add and subtract, he taught me my multiplication tables and would even give me a pencil and a piece of paper so that I could draw. He taught me how to tie my shoes all by myself. I was too young to go to school with Bubba, but he made certain that I learned along with him. You have no idea how very much that meant to me. I learned to tell time because I watched the clock on the mantel and waited for the moment that school was over and Bubba would be home. And Bubba was so very smart. I wanted to be as intelligent as my big brother, I still wish I could be that smart!

When we lived on Connell Street in the early 1950’s, the neighbors kept track of all of the neighborhood children. Bubba and I had to stay in our own yard because Mama wanted to be able to watch over us while we played. There were no video games, no malls to run wild in, no television or cell phones when we were little. Our imaginations were our sole source of ideas. We improvised a lot, and had marvelous imaginations. Bubba had a gun holster that held two cap gun pistols. The holster belt was too big for him so when he went to draw his six shooters, the holster and pistols would fall around his knees. He had to use one hand to keep his holster in place while he went skipping around the yard. (When we skipped, our horses were running.) We, mostly Bubba, cleared areas under the hedges and the butterfly bushes to make our cabin. It was neat because when we were resting in our cabin, we were invisible to the rest of the world. We were in our own fantasy land and we had no need to travel away from the boundaries of our own yard. When Bubba brought out his little wooden cars and trucks, we built towns in the dirt that had scraped roadways. I always ended up the day with just as much dirt and grime on me as there was on Bubba. I don’t know what the deal was about a baby brother, I certainly didn’t act like a little girl.

Daddy worked shift work at DuPont. He worked eight to four thirty (days) for one week, then four in the afternoon until midnight (swing shift) a week and then the graveyard shift, midnight until eight in the morning. I don’t know how he managed to adjust even though he had two days off between the rotations. He never missed a single day of work in the thirty six years he worked there.

When Daddy worked days, our household worked normally with a full dinner at six in the evening. When Daddy worked second (swing) shift, our heaviest meal was at one thirty in the afternoon. Mama would pack him a lunch and put it in his army green metal lunch box with a thermos of iced tea. The graveyard shift was tough on everyone. Daddy got home from work and we would all eat breakfast together (except when we were in school). After breakfast, Daddy would go to sleep in the back bedroom and sleep until about two in the afternoon. Mama fixed a light lunch for us all. Daddy would stay awake until after our six o’clock dinner at which time he went back to sleep until it was time for him to get ready to return to work. When Daddy worked the graveyard shift, Bubba and I had to be very quiet so that he could get the rest he needed.

When Daddy had to sleep during the day, Bubba and I did not play outside. We tiptoed up the stairs and sat side by side on the landing with our pet spider. Sometimes, Bubba would bring our little eight legged friend a small bug he had captured and we watched our spider roll it around then take it down the knot hole in the second step. I guess that was its’ home. We spent a lot of true quality time sitting together on the landing. We talked about everything children consider important. After we finished our whispered thoughts, we went into Bubba’s room.

I have traveled back to Bubba’s room too many times to count. If I could, I would live in that magical place for the rest of this empty life. Again, I cannot stay there because time pulls me back to the present, a place I no longer wish to be.

I am in Bubba’s room. He is sitting on his bunk bed with a large section of thick cardboard balanced on his lap. His feet don’t quite reach the floor. He has a little knife on the bed beside him as well as some clear cellophane, clear scotch tape (there was no such thing as invisible tape at that time), a ruler, his colored pencils and a mechanical pencil. I am sitting at his feet as usual and totally absorbed in what he is doing. He has drawn the floor plan to a house he plans to build today from sheets of white typing paper and the above mentioned items. He built a beautiful paper house complete with doors that functioned, windows with glass, closets, walls sturdy enough to support the entire structure. There were bedrooms, bathrooms, fireplaces, closets, trees outside the windows, a roof that he designed to be lifted to see the entire inside in a single glance. It took him the entire day to complete, but it was meticulously built. There was even crown molding! I sat on the floor in front of him with my legs crossed Indian style and never made a sound. The walls of his masterpiece were only two inches tall yet everything was scaled to perfection. Bubba knew from a very young age that he wanted to be an architect when he grew up. I knew what I wanted when I was grown, I wanted to watch him build his pretty dream homes. When Bubba finished with one plan, he would put it on the top shelf of his bookcase and start building the next one. When he placed his finished homes in the bookshelves with his sock monkey, I never touched them. Bubba always let me see them if I asked, but I never tried to take them off of the shelf by myself. They were so perfect, I was terrified that I would break them if I touched them. They were magical! I could not fold paper to make an airplane that would fly, but Bubba designed and built miniature houses! Imagine that. I