The View from the End of the Road: An Autobiography

By Jerry Wheaton

This is the life story of a family branch rooted in America in 1636 represented by a man who graduated from Colgate University, New York Medical College during World War II and Harvard with a post graduate degree who learned the practice of medicine in a small coal mining town with a young family doing medical procedures that would be impossible today. He, with the support of his wife, spent an innovative problem solving Air Force career that included many incredible situations, Vietnam War combat, hospital construction, medical quality control, Physician Assistant and Nurse Practitioner training. This was followed by cost effective public sector practice and administration as well as corporate medical practice and administration followed by retirement and active resident participation in a continuing care retirement community with a structured approach to resident participation.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Aug 16, 2020
• ISBN: 9781663202055

Jerry Wheaton

Born 1921 in Utica, New York, graduated Colgate, New York Medical College and Harvard; small town practice in the fifties, then Air Force duty in many places in the world to solve problems maintaining an innovative approach in a regulated environment followed by corporate and government medical positions and a continuing care retirement.

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Copyright © 2020 Jerry Wheaton.

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ISBN: 978-1-6632-0138-6 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-6632-0139-3 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-6632-0205-5 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2020911882

iUniverse rev. date: 07/31/2020

Dedication

To my sister Nancy, my daughter Anne,

and my best friend and editor Rhoda Bobb

who with her computer literate daughter

Lisa were a constant source of help

encouragement, and inspiration.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

On several trips back to New York State to see my sister Nancy, her sons, and their families, I told stories about some unusual episodes in my life; recounting what I could remember about a number of situations that occurred over the years. When I returned to California, I kept in contact by E-Mail. This book would never have been started without the urging of my sister who told me her sons asked to have me write those anecdotes with the further suggestion to write about my life. It would never have been finished without Rhoda Bobb’s editing, with suggestions chapter by chapter and her encouragement for me to continue writing. Appendix A is a short summary of the course on handwoven fabrics that I put together and taught in Saudi Arabia to new arrivals. When the manuscript was sent to IUniverse, their personnel helped steer me through several revisions with suggestions and directions for things the publisher required, such as an appropriate cover illustration and a subtitle. There is an art group here in the retirement community where I live who were asked if they would consider painting a scene to illustrate the title, The View From the End of the Road. When the group agreed, a cash prize was offered for the winner of the competition. The result by Pierre visually represents the title. Formatting, justification, pagination, and putting the chapters in book form were done by Lisa Thomas whose technical computer skills never cease to amaze me.

CONTENTS

Acknowledgements

Prologue

Chapter 1     The Early Years

Chapter 2     College Years

Chapter 3     ASTP Medical School

Chapter 4     Internship to Practice

Chapter 5     Nelsonville

Year 1

Year 2

Year 3

Year 4

Chapter 6     Nelsonville to Active Duty

Chapter 7     Harvard

Chapter 8     Japan

Chapter 9     Okinawa

Chapter 10   Davis Monthan

Year 1

Year 2

Year 3

Chapter 11   Vietnam

Vietnam   TET Offensive To AFLC HQ

Chapter 12   AFLC Wright_Patterson AFB

Chapter 13   Wichita Falls, Texas

Chapter 14   Surgeon General Office (SGO)

Chapter 15   Norton AFB, California

Chapter 16   Riverside County Health Officer

Year 1

Riverside County Health Officer   Year 2

Riverside County Health Officer   Year 3

Riverside County Health Officer   The Last Years

Chapter 17   Al Khobar, Saudi Arabia

Chapter 18   Taif – The First Years

Chapter 19   Al Hada to Nuevo   Road, Perris, CA

Chapter 20   1989 - 1993

Nuevo Road to AFVW CCRC

Chapter 21   1993 - 1995

Chino, Ruth’s Death, Marriage to Pat

Chapter 22   1996 - 1999

Youth Authority

Chapter 23   1999 – 2001

Chino to Sacramento

Chapter 24   2002 - 2005

Sacramento to Retirement and Travel

Chapter 25   2008 – 2009

Copper Canyon

Chapter 26   2010

Colorado – South Dakota

Chapter 27   2011

Montana Trip

Chapter 28   2012 - 2014

Chapter 29   2015 to September 2017

Chapter 30   2017 - 2018

Chapter 31   2019

Epilogue

Appendix A

PROLOGUE

An Assumed Scenario

Emmeline Lina Atwell Wheaton turned to face her husband, slamming the phone receiver back in its cradle with her left hand, viciously stabbing a Lucky Strike repeatedly in the large ashtray by the phone with her right hand.

Earl, Jerrold is getting married in two weeks.

She was thinking, this is not what I planned; the thought set off mental pictures, stately gray stone Grace Episcopal Church, polished golden hued pews, sun streaming through the large stained glass windows. Earl’s voice brought the room back in focus.

Why so soon? Where?

Evidently that Margaret Diel he’s been dating is pregnant, that’s the why the rectory of St. Francis de Sales church, since she is Catholic, but he is not, is the where. Damn! Why was it not one of the Kernan girls or the daughter of any one of the well-established families in our church?

Earl grunted.

He’s going to need engagement and wedding rings. Will you take care of that?

Lina headed for the closet by the front door to get a coat.

I’m on my way to our jeweler now. We were planning to give him a European tour when he graduated from Colgate, that’s out now; that money we put aside, he will need to get started.

Two weeks later, Earl, Lina, her sister Louise with her husband Paul Quackenbush were sitting on straight wooden rectory chairs. Lina looked across the aisle where Mae Waite Bachelor Diels’ father in law, Francis from Syracuse sat with his daughters, Peg’s brothers, and Jack Bachelor, politician and Utica Sheriff for many years. Sisters Nellie and Mollie were on straight backed chairs set in two short rows.

Catholic weddings are not comfortable, and less so when it is a mixed religion wedding held in the rectory. Catholic ceremonies were designed to leave a lasting impression. They do! The music started; John Alfred Diel began walking toward the tableau of waiting priest and wedding party, with daughter Margaret in wedding finery on his arm, projecting the picture of a successful businessman and proud father. Delivering his daughter to her position next to her bridesmaid, Alfred turned and sat down in the chair next to Mae; Jerrold stepped over next to Margaret leaving Earl standing alone with the ring.

The priest welcomed the families before opening the wedding ritual. Locating the ceremony in the rectory, in no way meant it would be short; a Catholic ceremony drives home the dictum, ’til death do us part! The words, almost the same as those in the Episcopal ritual, were easily followed; but the length of the ceremony was longer than Lina expected. I now pronounce you man and wife may God watch over your union.

This concluded the long ceremony. Jerrold kissed Margaret; they turned, as the priest announced all were invited to a reception at the Diel home, to begin walking to the rectory door. They were smiling at each other as they made their way to the car through a shower of rice, Earl was holding the back door open. Mack, one of Jerry’s Colgate friends, drove, his girlfriend, Helen, in the passenger seat. Earl directed him to the Diel/Bachelor four story brick house on Howard Avenue. With a head start they arrived first, the house-maid let them in, remaining at the door to welcome arriving guests, take coats, and direct guests to the living room.

A large buffet was arranged on a long table against the back wall where John Diel was opening Champaign; Alfred took care of the men. Lina and Louise drifted over to Helen saying they passed through Watertown on their way to and from the river; the conversation blossomed, Mae and Nellie were included. Lina saw Mollie walk to the kitchen saying she needed to ensure there would be enough food for everyone but clearly uncomfortable in this setting. The men, invited by Alfred, picked up filled Champagne glasses, lit cigarettes or cigars and drifted into the library; their conversation revolving around business, current politics, and the coming election.

Margaret disappeared upstairs to change clothes leaving Jerrold with the men; Earl sat in a corner with an orange drink, not yet allowed to have alcohol or smoke, in public. In about an hour, Margaret (she preferred to be called Peg) came downstairs dressed for travel; Jerrold, called Jerry by everyone, joined her; saying goodbye, they left for their pre-planned honeymoon destination in another shower of rice. Mack had the model T Ford running. They stepped in and drove off. When they had left, Mack and Helen excused themselves, followed by others. This left only the Diels and Batchelors to relax in their own home with Mollie joining the family from the kitchen.

In the meantime, Peg and Jerry, in the model T had made it over the bridge crossing the Barge Canal, continued through North Utica on the road to Barneveld; known by Welch immigrants as Remsen, where the Welch immigrants tended to buy and settle farmland. Jerry drove slowly through town. He was looking for a hotel with covered garages in the rear, to protect the new Ford. Finding a small hotel with a garage, he pulled over, parked and went in to see if there was an available room. There was, and he registered as Mr. & Mrs. Jerrold L. Wheaton of Utica, New York A few minutes later he emerged, handing Peg the room key, to go to their room while he parked in the garage and brought up the luggage. A knock on the door and an open up told Peg it was Jerry. Walking in with a bag in each hand, he put Peg’s on the bed, where it would be easy for her to reach, his own on a luggage carrier in the corner.

Jerry, we haven’t really had a chance to talk, everything has happened so fast, we need to do some planning, so that the changes bearing down on us will be manageable.

Jerry went to his bag, undid the tan leather straps, opened it and pulled out a bottle of wine with an opener tied to the neck. Opening the wine, he looked around and found two glasses in the bathroom, filling both, he handed one to Peg.

OK, let’s look at the situation. It’s April: I graduate in June; our baby is probably due in September.

I can stay at Howard Avenue with mother and dad while you finish at Colgate.

I don’t want to be a burden to them by landing us and our baby in their midst. They already care for Aunt Nellie and Aunt Mollie. Where do we go with a new baby and how do we live?

My pal at Colgate, Jack Hanson, has asked me to come to Boston with him to work for the John Hancock Life Insurance Co. His dad is a Vice President. He said he will have positions for us. I think he sees us eventually as partners in an insurance brokerage firm. I know he recently talked to his father about this; he encouraged Jack to get me to come. Mom and dad have given us money they set aside to send me on a world tour following graduation; that is the money we are now using. I’ll take good care of it. There should be more than enough to see us through that period. You know my Dad has a good business as a cheese broker. He wants me to come to work with him after graduation but negotiating with farmers for their cheese for resale at a higher price on the wholesale-retail market, just doesn’t appeal to me. The idea of interacting with other people to sell them something that they really need, for their own protection, does have appeal. I would like to go to Boston with Jack and learn the insurance business.

Peg sipped her wine, put it down on the nightstand to reach for her purse, rummaging through the contents for the cigarette pack that always seemed to be at the bottom. Taking one from the pack, she lit it with a lighter, a Christmas present.

Outside of the weekend house-parties at Colgate, I’ve never been away from my family. Being here, just in Barneveld, seems strange. How long would we have to live in Boston? I don’t like being away from my family.

Peg, I don’t know, but I guess it would take at least two or three years to learn the basics of the business and the different company routines that must be followed. Jack tells me the housing market in Boston has fallen to a reasonable level. I think we could find a decent rental at an affordable price. Remember, I will be a salaried employee while I’m learning the business. Also Peg, Boston, has enough historical sites to keep us busy during our free time. It should be an interesting few years with much to learn from local oral history, as well.

Alright Jerry, but when you get back at Colgate, find out from Jack’s dad, if you can go to Boston to start working following graduation staying there alone until I have our baby in September. I will ask Dr. Holden if he will take me as an obstetric patient. I plan to go from the hospital to Mom and Dad’s to recuperate. The only problem I see in the future is, I will have a hard time leaving with the baby to join you, for not only mom and dad, but aunt Nellie and aunt Mollie will have become attached to the baby! Anyway, I will join you after the new year in January.

Peg, I’ll find out from Jack as soon as I get back to school and let you know. I’ve never stayed in this town before and don’t know where to eat. When we finish the wine, I’ll go down to see what the proprietor recommends.

Alright it’s getting late, but we have another decision, what are we going to name our baby, if it’s a girl or if t’s a boy?

I haven’t given it any thought Peg, what about you?

Yes, I have, if it’s a girl I would like to name her Nancy Anne and if it is a boy, he should have your name.

I like those names and it would great to have my name carried on.

Peg stubbed out the butt of her cigarette in an ash tray.

That’s settled, why don’t you go down and find out about a place to eat while I freshen up. I’ll be ready when you get back since I didn’t eat much at the reception, I’m hungry!

Jerry finished his wine, put the glass down and started for the door.

Ask her for a place that serves a good home cooked meal

Peg called from the bathroom just as Jerry reached the door.

I will and I’m locking the door.

Going down the stairs he found the proprietor behind the registration counter. Where would I find a place to eat that has ‘home cooked’ meals.

Why not here? You kids are just married, aren’t you?

Jerry nodded yes, grinning.

I’ll have dinner ready in about two hours, why don’t you get into comfortable clothes,

Jerry was wearing his wedding suit.

Come down a little early. Incidentally, you and your wife can call me Mrs, Wheeler.

Her invitation sounded like the answer for them for it had been a long, not always comfortable, day. He wasn’t looking forward to searching for an unknown restaurant in a strange town.

Thank her for the invitation.

He turned and went back upstairs to the room, knocking, telling Peg he was back.

We are going to eat here in a couple of hours. The proprietors name is Mrs. Wheeler. She noticed I was wearing my wedding suit and suggested a change into more comfortable clothes. She suggested we come down a little early to give her time to show us around.

They went downstairs to tour the premises, Mrs. Wheeler kept up a steady conversation.

Her husband had worked in an Adirondack lumber camp. When he was hired he began to search for a place for them to live. He found this small hotel that could be easily operated by one or two people and invested their life savings. They moved in and ran it as a hotel. He logged during the week and helped at the hotel, giving them two sources of income. Mr. Wheeler had weekends off and was able to come home after five or six in the late afternoon. One day he was helping fell a huge hardwood when a gust of strong wind suddenly hit them making the tree fall away from the planned direction, catching and severely injuring Wheeler. He did not survive those injuries. Jerry and Peg reminded her of those wonderful days, that was why she had asked them to dinner.

When they sat down at the table Mrs. Wheeler asked for a blessing. Jerry said the appropriate words. She then started to get up from the table, Peg immediately asked if she could help. The women disappeared into the kitchen. The meal was served in courses. The meat looked like beef but had a different flavor. Jerry asked if the flavor was from the meat or a marinade she had used for seasoning, learning it was venison.

Mrs. Wheeler said this was the last meat from a buck deer she shot from her back porch last fall.

I wanted to conserve as much edible meat as possible so instead of butchering myself, I hired a local butcher to dress out the deer. He let it hang for a couple of days before bringing it down to cut and package for the freezer plant.

The antlers had 12 points on each side; the butcher wanted the head.

May I have the head? I want to take it to a taxidermist for preservation and hang it on my wall.

Yes, you can have it, I don’t want it.

The butcher told me he would take care of disposing the inedible remains.

Mrs. Wheeler changed the subject.

Where were you married?

Peg responded by telling her all about the wedding, the reception, and a little about her family.

Jerry and I drove here directly from the reception.

Dessert was a good cheese with crackers and dry red wine. The conversation switched to village information; when Jerry couldn’t suppress a yawn, they excused themselves.

Thank you, Mrs. Wheeler for such a delicious meal and a very enjoyable evening.

They headed upstairs to bed.

Jerry was the first to wake in the morning. He leaned over to kiss Peg, who opened her eyes and then took him in her arms. I dreamt we were in Boston and I found I wasn’t afraid for you were with me. Jerry grinned.

It is time to get up.

They dressed and went downstairs to greet Mrs. Wheeler and have breakfast. They thanked Mrs. Wheeler again for all the extra things she had done to make their visit memorable.

It was my pleasure. You let me recall the wonderful days I enjoyed with my husband.

Jerry put their bags in the back seat of the Ford rather than on the rear luggage rack for it looked like rain.

Peg got into the drivers’ seat to set the spark and throttle levers on the steering wheel while Jerry inserted the crank giving it several turns before the engine fired. Peg cut back the levers to the drive position and slid over into the passenger seat, letting Jerry drive back to Utica although she was perfectly capable of driving herself. They reached the Howard Avenue house to find Mae and Alfred sitting on the front porch, expecting them. Jerry carried Peg’s bag into the house saying hello as he passed his in-laws on the porch; entering the parlor, he greeted Aunt Nelly and Aunt Mollie who were sitting there talking before climbing the stairs to the second floor and Peg’s room. Returning, he sat down with Peg on the porch to tell Mae and Alfred about their experience. How fortunate they had been to find Mrs. Wheeler’s small hotel. They talked about their plans. Peg was told she could stay at Howard Avenue as long as she wished. Both now, and after the baby was born. Peg told them she wanted Dr. Gordon Holden to deliver her baby. Jerry stood up. Goodbye everyone it is time for me to get back to college; kissed Peg.

I will write and let you know whether the John Hancock job offer is still valid.

He went down the steps, walked to the Ford at the curb. He set the levers for spark and gas, inserted the crank. The engine fired with the first turn. He waved goodbye, starting the drive back to Hamilton and Colgate to finish his senior year, get his degree, (Summa Cum Laude and Phi Beta Kappa) and make sure all the plans he and Jack had discussed were still possible.

Arriving in Hamilton he drove past the Colgate Inn, up the divided street to the Phi Psi house where he parked the car behind the house on a stretch of oiled dirt with several other cars. He got his bag and walked to the side door where the stairs would take him to the second floor and his front room. Walking in he saw his guitar and banjo propped in the corner, immediately remembering this was Monday and he had a gig at the bar that night. Monday nights were slow, but music brought in passersby and helped the bottom line, besides, his beer was free when he played.

After the reception Earl Levi Wheaton, Lina, and son, Earl Atwell Wheaton drove back to the Wheaton house on South Street; a house built by Levi, Earl’s father, for his wife, Elida. Young Earl went up to his room to escape. Lina and Earl walked into the parlor and sat in their usual chairs; Lina lit a cigarette, inhaling, feeling the calming nicotine effect.

Earl, our younger son is going to college at Colgate next year; we will be alone in this big house. We spend almost half the year at the cottage; why do we keep this house? Why don’t you put it on the market? We can keep the duplex on Linwood Place; half is rented to that young doctor, Gordon Holden, the other half we could give to Jerrold and Margaret; they need a place to live. You know Roy has been asking us to join him in Florida during the winter. With our savings, the rental, and house sale money, we should be alright financially. Anyway, think about it, see if it would work for us. If we want to stay in Utica over Christmas, we could always rent an apartment for a lot less a month than the upkeep of this big house.

Paul and Louise have their own cottage near our boat house; we have many friends at Thousand Island Park. Most of them spend summers at the river and winters somewhere else, mainly in Florida or California; trains are reliable. Our newspaper is full of that new cross country road being built all the way to Santa Monica; I’d like to drive on that new road to California in the Stutz when it is finished.

Earl stood up.

I’m going to mix myself a drink, do you want anything? Yes, I’ll have some bourbon and water

Earl walked back to the Butler’s pantry that had a small copper sink inset in the wall. He reached over the ice box to the cabinet where he kept alcohol to take a bottle of aged bourbon off the shelf. He selected two highball glasses, filled each with chipped ice from the block in the ice box, added a jigger of bourbon to each and filled the glasses with water from the sink. He walked back to the sitting room with a glass in each hand being careful not to spill. Handing one to Lina, he sat in the chair next to her.

What else are you thinking?

I’m thinking it’s time for us to change.

Earl chuckled,"

That new road sounds interesting; you can drive, I’ll go as a passenger to change tires for you! I’ll call Bill Sexton, my real estate broker, to set up an appointment for this afternoon.

Later, in the evening during dinner they chatted about the past day’s activities.

Sexton thinks he could get a good price for the house in the next six months. He tells me all the new building is taking place further uptown. South Street will soon not be the desirable location it is now. Your idea came at the right time.

Lina, processing the information, thought the sale timing seemed right.

Why don’t you check with other realtors to see if you would get the same information.

By the end of the week Earl had the same information from three different sources. After again discussing it with Lina, he called Bill Sexton.

Bill, put the house on the market when you think it is right time.

Early summer would be the best choice.

A choice that fit nicely with their plans. They would be at the Wellesley Island cottage and could let the cook and one maid go when they left, leaving one maid here to let the realtor show the house. Young Earl would be going to the cottage with them and leaving for Colgate in September. If the house sold before that, they could store the furnishings they wanted to keep and sell the rest.

June arrived, Jerry graduated Summa Cum Laude and was invited to join Phi Beta Kappa. The ceremony, complete with the Pomp and Circumstance music, was attended by both the Wheatons and Diels. Peg and Jerry elected to accompany Earl and Lina to the cottage, rather than return to Utica. Peg, now six months pregnant, was still able to enjoy life at the cottage, swimming from the dock almost daily; fishing and shore dinner trips in the 28 foot gray marine engine powered boat called the Water Wagon, known by its’ distinctive Ford automobile horn that sounded something like Kaa-Hoog-a with the hoog part, the loudest.

Shortly after a big July fourth celebration at Thousand Island Park, Earl received a telegram from Bill Sexton stating two offers had been made He suggested Earl make counter offers by telegram. He did and another telegram arrived stating the buyer had accepted the higher counter offer but would like to delay possession until October. What luck! They could get Earl off to college, decide what they wanted to keep, store, or give to Margaret and Jerrold. During August Peg was getting uncomfortable; they decided it was time to go back to Utica.

Lina, Peg wants to go back to Utica the last week in August; I think we ought to close up the cottage to leave at the same time. We have a lot of things to do before the buyer takes possession in October.

Lina agreed and they hired a man to winterize the cottage, turn off water and electricity; they packed the car and started for Utica. When they arrived, he called Charles Griffin of Griffin and Hoxie Wholesale Grocers. (Charles had married Levi Wheaton’s sister Cornelia)

Charley, do you know a reliable individual who might be interested in buying the remainder of the furnishings of 24 South Street?

Charles did have someone in mind; the referral was made.

By the time they had taken Earl to Hamilton, registered him at Colgate, and paid his first year tuition, everything was settled. A furnished apartment was rented in a small apartment house at the corner of Kemble Street and Clinton place for three months across the street from Bill Sexton. They planned to leave after Christmas to join Joe and Roy Atwell with their wives in Florida.

They would return to Utica on their way to the river next May. The rest of their things were placed in storage.

Meanwhile Peg was getting more uncomfortable every week, then every day and finally she knew she had started labor, called Gordon Holden and told him she was on her way to Faxton Hospital. Gordon delivered a boy, Jerrold Levi Wheaton Jr. on September 12, 1921.

CHAPTER 1

The Early Years

Mom said I entered this world, crying on September 12, 1921, as Dr. Gordon Holden delivered me, a large baby boy. Mom named me Jerrold L. Wheaton after my father called Jerry or Wheat by his friends. I was also called Jerry, never Junior; once in a while, Jerrold, when one or the other parent lost patience with me!

1.jpg

Jerrold L. Wheaton Jr.

When I decided to write a story of my life after it was requested by family members, memories came flooding back. The first, a cream colored paving block floored wide alley between two yellow brick walls leading to an open courtyard surrounded by buildings, with a small one story cottage built in the courtyard called the hidden-house. I have a faint mental picture of what must have been a combined dining/living area with a long table where dad sat at one end next to French doors opening on the courtyard. My highchair was on the side of the table to dad’s left and mom sat at my left to help me eat. It must have been a Saturday or Sunday morning weekend breakfast, for I would have been asleep when dad left for work on week days.

This was a special day; it must have been the fourth of July. Dad was home. He took me outside on the patio and lit little balls with a cigarette lighter, throwing them in the air where they exploded with a loud bang; Dad called them cherry bombs.

Jerry, you’re scaring the baby.

Mom kept telling him to stop for the noise frightened me, but he kept it up until they were all gone, obviously enjoying himself. Next, dad lit what looked like a tan square, that as it burned, turned into a light yellow -brown thing dad called a snake. When it got dark, I was allowed to stay up, unusual, for I was usually put to bed while there was still light. They took me out to the courtyard where dad lit a white cone sending a fountain shower of different colored sparks into the air. Then he took a bunch of gray wires, to stick them between the paving stones. He lighted them, causing a shower of white sparks. Dad held one back, lit it, and let me hold it saying not to touch the burning part or it would hurt me.

Jerry, be careful, don’t let him touch the hot wire.

The next memory was riding on dad’s shoulders while he walked down the hill to a park at the bottom of Beacon Hill to a white pedestal where dad would lift me down and then hold me back up with one arm while he pressed a lever to get a stream of water for me to drink.

On another park trip, probably a holiday. Mom took me into a wooden shed to put me into a bathing suit; she let me play at the water edge. Dad came over to sit on the sand where he built a sandcastle for me. Later, dad dug a hole in the damp sand, filling the bottom with flat rocks, filling it up with small pieces of driftwood. He lit a fire and when it burned to coals, put dishes of food mom brought in a big basket into the hole, covering it with damp seaweed. I must have started to get fussy, for mom picked me up to go back to the wooden shed where she changed me back into regular clothes. My recall stops, I must have gone to sleep.

The last thing I remember about those first years was a time when mom put me in the back seat of a black square four door car (probably a model T Ford), closed the rear door leaving me on the back seat while she ran to the house for something she had forgotten. A group of men walking down the sidewalk spotted me and stopped. One of them had a big wooden instrument his height, another had a small wooden one held under his chin. The third held a shiny horn and the fourth had a black stick he blew into. They started to play. It frightened me. I started to cry, sobbing by the time mom returned. She dropped something in the hand of the horn player, opened the car door to quiet me down, before starting off on whatever errands she had. That is the last I can remember from Boston days.

The next memory is a duplex on Linwood Place. (I later found it was owned by my grandfather, Levi Wheaton, whose South Street four story brick home was on the corner of Linwood and South, a stone’s throw from the duplex. It was painted a dark olive green with a front porch divided by a lattice work screen.

Thy now allowed me to stay up longer. Dad would come home from the office. Mom would have dinner read. I would have eaten by that time. After dinner, dad would pick me up to walk into the living room to sit in a big chair next to a table holding a crystal radio receiver mounted on a piece of wood. He put something on his head over his ears with me in his lap. He would turn the knobs, causing it to squeal and squawk until he found an intelligible sound from a radio station.

At Christmas Dad brought home a long brown metal cased radio, a Stromberg-Carlson, with a big 18 inch diameter cone shaped brown speaker that he connected and placed on top of the new metal radio case. (I knew the make, shape, and speaker for I found them in the garage attic years later.) When he plugged it in and turned the knob, one station after another was clearly reproduced without the squawks and squeaks of the crystal set. The radio was played music of all kinds. Music became part of my life. Dad taught me to learn and appreciate all kinds; but he preferred either jazz or classical. This must have been the day before Christmas for I was put to bed early.

When I woke the next morning, a decorated Christmas tree was in the living room with many colored packages underneath. I could see the back yard from the living room windows where there was a big pile of snow. After I had finished eating and toiletry, mom put me into a warm snow suit with a hood tied under my chin and brought one of my presents (too big to be wrapped) out from under the tree. It was a small toboggan with a tan padded cover. She put on her scarf, coat, hat, and gloves. Dad was already in warm outside clothes. He picked up the toboggan, Mom picked me up; we went into the back yard where Dad put the toboggan n top of a slide; Mom put me on it, telling me to hold each side before giving it a push sending me down the slide screaming until I came to a stop against the back fence. I evidently cried so much they did not try again. That toboggan moved with us for years. Nancy used it when she was old enough to go outside in the snow with me.

John and Frank, my uncles, mom’s brothers, had come to the house after I had gone to bed to help put up and decorate the Christmas tree, assemble the slide set dad had bought me, (dad was great with books, drawing and music, but hardly knew one end of a wrench from the other). They banked the slide with snow to make a continuous slope from the end of the slide to the snow surface. The recall ends. I assume when we came back in, mom got me out of the snowsuit to let me go to sleep.

Later we moved to an apartment in a building on the corner of Kemble Street and Clinton Place where my grandfather and grandmother stayed when they returned to Utica from the cottage on Wellesley Island in the St. Lawrence River. They sometimes stayed a month in Utica on their way to Florida where they usually spending winters at Miami Beach with grandmothers’ brothers and wives until the 1929 stock market crash. After the crash they would rent an apartment for six months and spend the other six at the river.

Grandmother bought my clothes at Brooks Brothers until the stock market crash. Our lifestyle changed! When they returned from the river to the apartment, Grandmother would call Lena Schuler, a fine seamstress, ro come in and make our clothes. Older clothes would be recycled and fitted for me. New suits and dresses were made from bolts of cloth for the adults. I remember she would set up a long table with her sewing machine at one end. One edge of the table showed inches marked from 0 to 72. Paper patterns were used to cut suit and dress parts. These were then basted together temporarily until fitted to the person; then sewn usually with a lining. Her work not only equaled but was better than garments for sale in stores at double the price.

Dad rented the apartment on the right hand side of the first floor of that apartment building in 1926 when I was almost five, moving us from Linwood Place to register me in kindergarten at Kemble school, one of Utica’s better schools, in September. A short time before school started, Mom argued with school authorities to get me accepted in September because I would be five ten days after school started. When they learned I knew the alphabet and had started to read, they registered me. My reading skills were another gift from dad. The skills learned from dad helped me to over-achieve in the years ahead. He would spend about an hour with me when he came home from work, before diner. He would put me on his lap to read the comics out loud, explaining the stories. He had me repeat words as he read pointing to them. I began to recognize letter combinations as words. Dad would recite the alphabet to me, having me repeat it letter by letter as he pronounced each one, prompting me when necessary as I recited.me .

Mom walked with me to school, after dad left for work. It was about a long city block up Kemble Street. She would return to the kindergarten entrance to wait for me to come out just before noon to walk me back to the apartment. Mom would make my lunch before putting me down for a nap. I usually woke about 3 to 3:30 in the afternoon. My bedroom was at the back of the apartment with a window facing the street and sidewalk giving me a clear view of the kids returning from school about four o’clock in the afternoon. One winter day I opened the window, called to the kids making faces. They responded by throwing snowballs at the open window. Several landed on the carpet. Mom heard the commotion and yelling, came in, threw the melting snow out the window, closed it to scold me then whack my rear! The next year I started first grade and walked with the other kids to and from school.

At Kemble school lower grades were on the first floor. The entrance on the far side of the building was a double door opening into a wide hallway lined with garment cages enclosed on three sides by a heavy wire mesh on wood framed walls. Coats, overshoes, scarves and other clothing were either hung or shelved on the wooden side. School rooms were to the left side of the hall. Each room, except kindergarten, had rows of old wooden desks. They were openwork black cast iron frames holding slanted wooden boxes with lids that raised up, with a shef beneath for books and papers. There was an inkwell in the far right upper corner, empty for first grade. Desks were assigned alphabetically. Wheaton was always in the back right hand row where it was hard for me to see the black board. This was not a problem during the first two grades when the teacher was able to effectively verbally present all the material. By the time I reached third grade the teacher needed to illustrate mathematical concepts on the blackboard. My first arithmetic test was failed; I came home in tears.

Dad wore glasses. The right lens looked like a bottle bottom. Mom told him I couldn’t see the blackboard when he came home from work. After breakfast the next morning, he phoned the optometrist who took care of him and was told to bring me in right away. He got the car; we drove downtown to the optometrist’s office on the second floor of an old building. The optometrist was an old gentleman who was very thorough. When he finished the examination, he told dad I had what they called a lazy right eye, that I used my left eye primarily. He gave dad a black disc on a stick and told him to set up a single small light at one side of a room. I was to sit opposite on the other side with all lights off except for the one small light. The he gave me a series of eye exercises to do with my left eye covered with the patch stick. The rest of the diagnosis was myopic astigmatism. With prescription glasses I was able to see clearly for the first time. When my teacher learned about my visual problem, she moved me up to the front row. However, those first few months were critical to understanding the basis of mathematics. I think I must have developed a mental block after that one failure for I never really understood mathematics. A subject of increasing complexity that would be needed later. That lack has repeatedly been a major problem for me during my productive years. I learned to memorize procedures, when necessary, that let me squeak through in college. The old insecure feeling occurred again years later when I was studying statistics at Harvard graduate school.

When I entered fourth grade, aged nine, the year after the market crash, our lifestyle had changed but school was the same. My teacher that year, a slender older lady, named Miss Price recognized my insecurity and lack of self-esteem. She began to praise my reading comprehension and my ability to quickly understand material presented in class. That lady set me on the path to success. She made me believe there was nothing I couldn’t do! She would say:

If there is a written description to follow, read it. You will be able to do it.

I owe her a debt that can never be repaid! In later years I had charismatic instructors with a wonderful command of complicated subjects who made lasting impressions, but fourth grade teacher, Miss Price, was the person responsible for who I am today.

Dad frequently drove to Hamilton weekends while Colgate was in session to see his brother Earl who was in his third year. Dad graduated from Colgate the June before I was born. Most of the time, he would take me. It was a delightful ride, especially during spring and fall. The fruit trees in spring, bloomed on every farmers land. Those planted orchard style showed pink or white masses of blossoms. During fall the sugar maples presented a spectacular display of yellow, orange, red and deep purple, with patches of green from pines. When we arrived in Hamilton, Dad would drive past Colgate Inn to turn into the street to the college. A landscaped park stretched between the one way streets liberally sprinkled with sugar maples decked out in a variety of colors. He would drive to the Phi Psi fraternity house almost at the point where the road turned left up the hill to the college buildings. Dad would park in an area behind the house. We entered through a side door climbing steps to the second floor. Earl’s room was a large one in front that looked out over the campus on the hill. He had a large desk, lamps, and a comfortable bed. One end of the room was taken up by his drum set. The drums were banded with shiny steel with the drumheads showing marks of heavy use. Earl played drums in the college orchestra and the marching band.

On the way home dad would stop at one of the farmers’ roadside stands to get a gallon of cider with whatever fresh vegetables looked good. I was always given a small cup of cider to taste. We would arrive home to carry into the kitchen what dad had bought. Mom would put the produce away and pour some of the cider into a smaller bottle that would fit in the ice box to cool.

Uncle Earl arrived at the Clinton Place apartment one day the next spring riding an Indian motorcycle. He sold his drums to buy the Indian. He put me on the little seat directly behind him telling me to hang onto him and zoomed away. Once more I was scared; when the frightening ride was over, it was so vivid in my mind that as the years went by, I developed an aversion to all motorcycles.

In summer, Grandmother (Gram) would drive to the apartment the day after summer vacation started to pick me up to drive the river. Most of the time she would have left Grandpa at the cottage to drive to Utica, for they usually opened the cottage in May. She would spend the night with us to leave early in the morning to get to Fishers’ Landing. Before the last ferry left for Wellesley Island just before sunset. We arrived in plenty of time, even with a couple of gas stops. The last gas stop to fill up the Stutz with less expensive gas than that available at the river or on the island was at Watertown. So that there would be plenty of gas for side trips from the island.

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Peeling Paint of the depression years, Gram and Nancy on Porch

Gram drove the big car slowly down the ramp to the barge lashed to one side of a tugboat. The deckhand chained the bumpers front and back to big iron ring bolts in the barge flooring to keep the car in place, preventing it from rolling if there were high wind and waves. We were required to get out of the car to sit on benches with life jackets within easy each underneath. The tug tooted its’ horn three times, signaling departure. Deckhands released ropes tying us to the dock; we eased away into the channel where the tug picked up speed.

The tug turned out of the channel to headin for Wellesley Island main dock. There was just a small breeze; waves were only ripples; we made good time. The tug tooted three times announcing landing before easing into the dock slip specially made to accommodate barge and tug. We got back in the car. Gram kept her foot on the brake while the deckhand released front and rear chains then releasing the hand brake, she eased the big car up the wooden ramp to dry land. The start of another wonderful summer at the cottage.

My room on the second floor was on the right side of the hall at the end. A window facing the Fulmer cottage let me see both cottage and the big sand box where we played. I think grandfather Wheaton had the sand box made for me out of stout 2 x 6 boards about five feet square filled with sand to about three quarters of their height. It was placed on a level area next to the sidewalk to the kitchen screened side door, so anyone working in the kitchen could see us playing in the sandbox.

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Cottage with fresh coat of paint

Across the street was the three story Fulmer cottage where Richard (Ritchie) Usher, my age, spent the summer with his grandmother Mrs. Fulmer and her brother, a retired physician called butts, because he usually had a cigar in his mouth. Ritchie had an older brother Jack and a younger brother, Herbert, nicknamed Herbie. Jack was old enough to caddy at the golf course; we saw very little of him. He would be home for dinner and then out on a date with one of the girls here for the summer. Ritchie and Herbie played with me every day in the sandbox along with any other kids that came along. I met John and Doug Lindsey, sons of boat builder, Jack Lindsey whose father had the big boat building/ repair shop on a small island named Hub. It could be seen just to the right of our property, about a mile from away. Hub Island was just before the Narrows, a narrow passage between Wellesley and neighboring Murray Hill Island to the big bay bordering Grindstone island.

I wanted to learn how to swim. Gram didn’t go in the water. She tied a rope around my waist; showed me how to dog paddle; threw me off the end of the dock. I came up spluttering, began to dog paddler back to the safety of the dock. Later, Jack Usher showed me how to do the crawl using a scissors kick for there were almost always waves. A flutter kick left your feet kicking air half the time. A scissors kick kept your feet in the water moving you rapidly forward. We taught ourselves to dive. Granpa had a diving board installed on the remains of the old dock at the farthest point where water was about 12 feet deep, I became quite good with the jackknife, but the board was too low to do a decent swan or other tricks.

In the afternoon all the kids would come down to the granite rock shelf above the ruined dock. There were the two Owens boys from up the street, Jean Yehle the daughter of Judge Yehle who handled the family Syracuse business and Georgia Stanton whose father was an Army major. Jean lived about two blocks away. Georgia’s father rented a cottage next to the Fulmer cottage every summer. Her mother and aunt were teachers who had the summer off. The Owens brothers lived in the cottage next to ours on Highland Avenue. John and Doug Lindsey would occasionally join us and whatever kids our age who happened to be in the area. After swimming we would lie on the wide flat pink gray smooth granite shelf in the sun; by the end of the summer all were shades of nut brown.

One of my jobs was to use the hose to sprinkle the dirt road in front of the house in the late afternoon when arriving cars from the mainland could kick up clouds of dust if the surface was not wet. Another job was to carry empty milk bottles down to the dock with a note telling Mr. Rawshaw, who delivered milk from his Grindstone Island herd of dairy cows by boat, what we wanted. He also would occasionally have small wooden baskets of berries, strawberries, blackberries, raspberries, and blueberries. Once a month Gram would come to the dock to pay his bill.

Every morning the ice man, driving his horse drawn sawdust covered wagon from house to house would stop out front. Leaving the reins loose on the seat to climb down he picked up a 50 pound block with ice tongs to set it down on the grass by the kitchen door and to wash off the sawdust with our hose before carrying it in into the kitchen to lower it into the top of the wooden ice box.

Another chore was to keep the drinking water pail full. The water that was piped to every house was not potable, it came from a three story high twenty foot diameter standpipe on the highest point of this end of the island. There were a number of wells in the Thousand Island Park area that produced fresh potable water. The well I used was located at the side of a house on the next street to the east of Frontage Road. At first, I would put one pail in a wagon. to pull it to the pump to fill the pail to lift it in the wagon to be hauled back. As I grew stronger, the load increased to two pails. When I was in eighth grade, I was able to carry two pails of water. The drinking water pail was always surrounded by glasses with a water scoop hanging from the bail..

When Nancy got old enough to come with us every summer, gram would pick us both up to make the trip. Nancy learned housekeeping from Gram, doing what she could to help. Monday was wash day. In those days, sheets were ironed. In the kitchen there was a big copper washing machine with attached wringer. A mangle. These were brought out to the center of the floor on wash day. All the women who happened to be at the cottage would help in the washing and ironing process.

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Louise Atwell Quackenbush cottage and our

boathouse with boat still out of the water

Mom and Dad a several very good friends, one couple were Jim and Louise Brown. One summer when I was about ten Louise and mom were at the cottage. My grandparents were not there for Granpa Earl had been sick and they were still in Utica. A telegram arrived for mom saying her father had died. She hurriedly packed to drive back to Utica, leaving Louise to take care of me. Mom returned in about ten days. In later years I learned my grandfather Diel, mom’s father, had committed suicide. These were depression years. He was in the wholesale hardware business. As business decreased, less and less was sold, until sales did not meet expenses. Grandfather kept his salesmen on the road, paying them out of his pocket until he ran out of money. It was then that he chose suicide.

Grandfather Diel had a shop at the back of his garage. When I would visit them on weekends at their Sunnyside Drive house in Utica. He would take me to the workshop on Saturday or Sunday afternoon to patiently teach me the use of each tool, but more important, how to use it correctly. His training started me on a life-long hobby fixing up old houses for profit with wood working aa a hobby

Before the depression years, the stock market kept going up; people had plenty of money. We all wore god clothes. Dad had money saved to buy 120 acres of land that included a barn, milk house and farmhouse from Harry Roberts, a land developer who years before had bought several hundred acres to subdivide. I believe dad was his first customer; our families became life-long friends with Tony Roberts my best friend. The land Dad bought had been purchased in the early 19th century. An early deed stated the land was purchased in 1829 but the house was not built until 1830. It was built with materials obtained on the property, except for nails, bolts, screws and other materials that could not be fashioned on site. The house timbers were solid walnut, cut from a grove of old trees on the property. The dirt floored basement walls were large rocks chipped on site to fit; originally they were not cemented. There were two small windows on one side of the cellar where the stone foundation openings measured 24 wide, 36 deep and 24 inches long; the width of the walls. The area around the house was approximately three of the 120 acres. The original farm had been 320 acres.

Dad negotiated with an architect, Jack Byce, to remodel the farmhouse. Jack acted as architect and contractor. He hired skilled men to do what was needed when it was needed in the remodeling plan. Dad took mom with me to see the farm. He drove up Kemble St. to the Parkway East where he turned left (east) driving about four miles to an intersection on the right; a dirt road named Tilden Avenue that went straight up the hill, one mile, to a spot that was almost flat. The farmhouse could be seen ahead to the left when you neared the top of the hill. Turning into the old driveway to the house and barns, he parked out of the workers way. We would walk to the front door that opened into a hall at a right angle to the door. When you stepped through the door you saw a lath wall with traces of blue milk painted plaster. A set of old steps went from the right wall end up to the second floor.

It was early fall; the workers were rushing to finish the job before winter set in. We would drive there every few days following the remodeling progress; the air became nippy. When the stairs and railings were installed, I was allowed to climb the stairs to see what would be my room. It was a corner room with windows showing the back yard on one side and Tilden Avenue on the other over the porch roof to a line of maple trees along the road.. It had a large clothes closet with deep storage shelves, a built-in bookcase five feet wide with four deep shelves. When I left for college there was no room for an additional book. There were other books stacked on a closet shelf. The room next to mine was my sisters’. It was the same size wih a view of the front lawn and the valley and mountains to the north.

Before we moved from the apartment, Uncle Roy Atwell, grandmothers’ brother arrived with his daughter, June, two years older than I. They got off the train in Utica on their way back from the Lake Placid Club to New York City. June would have nothing to do with me. She spent her time following mom around. When it came time for them to leave, dad drove them to the station with Uncle Roy in back with me and June in frot.. On the way Uncle Roy gave me a 50 cent piece, the most money I had ever had! Whispering, he said:

Don’t say anything until you get home.

We stopped at the Utica railroad station where a porter took their bags. Roy told him the train and seat numbers then sat down on one of the long wooden benches with curved backs to wait. We didn’t wait long befor the train was called; they said goodbye and left. I showed dad the fifty cent piece. He said it might be too large for the slot in my Piggy Bank, but he