My World at Age 4. When I was about 4 years of age, my dad was away in WW2, like many other dads then. We lived in a rental house smack in the middle of the block, on a street named "Evans street". Mom worked in a factory all day so she had an older lady live in with us to keep an eye on me and help with the household chores. I was allowed to wander the street from one end of our block to the other, but only the block. A girl about my age lived on one side of us and two boys, one my age and one older, lived in the house on the other side. They were the only kids on my block so we became best friends. At the West end of my street lived a nice old man who, except for his white hair, looked like Abe Lincoln. He lived alone in a big old house and welcomed visits from neighborhood kids. I seemed to be the only one who visited him much. I would knock on his door and he would welcome me inside. He only lived in his kitchen and slept in what was once a dining room. There was a chair by his kitchen table that he said was my chair. If I arrived while he was eating, he would fetch me a plate and insisted I share his meal. Then he would talk to me, telling me stories of his past, answering my questions and sometimes showing me old photos of his dead wife and the family who never visited him. Once, two of my friends and I visited him. He took us to the old barn behind his house. Inside the cluttered building, he hauled a large box off a shelf and said we could have it. Inside was a large old canvas wall tent. We set it up in one of the other boys back yard and had a great time "camping out" that summer. One day he was sitting alone under a tree in his yard and just keeled over, dead. At the East end of my street, in another big old house, lived an old man and woman. I visited them even more often. Sometimes the old lady would give me a thick slice of home baked bread with real butter spread on it, sprinkled with sugar. I thought that was better than any candy bar I ever had. The old man owned an old Ford Model "A" car. About once a week or so, he would drive to a farm a few miles away, to buy fresh milk and eggs. He always drove past my house and if he saw me out, he would stop and take me with him. I enjoyed these rides a great deal. Once, on the way to this farm, we stopped at a tavern on the edge of town. The old man took me in with him and bought me a glass of soda pop and himself a big mug of beer. There, at the end of the bar, was the most fascinating and beautiful thing I ever saw. A bright, shiny box, all lit up with colored bands of light that seemed to flow along the sides, was playing music. I sat spellbound and bug eyed the whole time, looking at that box. I learned later it was called a juke box. When we got to the farm, another treat was in store. The farmer wanted to show the old man something out in a back pasture. So, they boarded the farmer's pickup truck, putting me in the back, and we went bouncing down the lanes between fields to the back of the farm. I'd never rode in the back of a truck before so it was a real adventure for me at 4 years of age. When we got home, I couldn't wait to tell my mom about my great day. Big mistake. When I told her about the tavern, jukebox and riding in the back of a truck, she forbid me going anywhere with the old man again. But, I was still allowed to visit them. One day I wandered into their kitchen through the back door. Near a wall sat a coal/wood burning cook stove. Beside the stove was a box of wood and old newspapers, used to start fires in the stove with. The wood box was ablaze. I ran into the parlor and there the two were, both sitting in their chairs, sound asleep. I woke them and they quickly doused the fire. It did a bit of damage to the wall and floor, but nothing too serious. A few days later, the old woman baked a chocolate cake for me as a reward. Another time I entered their kitchen in time to see the old man drop two white tablets into a glass of water. The tablets started bubbling furiously as I watched, fascinated. When they stopped, I asked the old man what he was going to do with it. He said it's to drink because it's good for the stomach. I asked for a taste and he let me have a sip. To this day, when I have to take a handful of pills, I often wash 'em down with an Alka Seltzer. When dad came home from the war, he bought the house the old man and woman owned. They moved away and I never saw them again. We only lived there one or two years, then moved to a farm. The neighborhood still looks much like it did back then. All the old houses are still there. The street is now paved. It was just a dirt street in the '40's. That's how it was in the early 1940's.
I enjoyed your descriptive details about your life at age four. I could actually envision some of your adventures so vividly and felt I was right along beside you exploring the world from a child's perspective. You have a talent for writing. Have you ever written a book or write professionally? My life at age four was in the 60's. Yep, I just turned 51 last month. I, too, have found memories of spending time with the neighbors on the block. It comes back to me in bits and pieces similar to the way you expressed your thoughts. Funny how some events never leave you and others slip away. I would imagine experiencing the death of your neighbor friend had quite an impact on you. It was about this time in my life that I learned we all seize to exist in our physical form at some point. I could not wrap my head around the fact that we simple stopped living and we went to a place where no-one had ventured and returned to give a first-hand account.
Never wrote professionally nor do I consider myself a writer. I'm a scribbler, who happens to have lots of memories. So, when I think back on my experiences, I scribble them down. Thanks for your comments.
Your welcome, Ike. I truly did enjoy your memorable scribbles. You are proof that you do not need to be a professional writer to write a good story. Actually, hoping to read another one about your memories during another point in your life. Like maybe in the 60s. I have a lot of first memories from this era. I could compare my perspective and memories with some of yours.
Happy to oblige. Below is some of my 1960's memories. Hope you enjoy it. Because of my constant job hopping in search of the perfect career choice, I spent a lot of time being interviewed. And some of those interviewers were mind boggling. There was Hilda the Hun. She did the hiring at a large tractor manufacturing plant 30 miles from my home. There I was, sitting in a waiting room with about a dozen other guys after filling out several pages of application form. An older, hefty looking woman in a dark women’s business suit came to the door and called my name. I noted she’s even wearing a neck tie, for crissakes. This can’t be a good sign. She was all businesslike, barking out questions rapid fire, never once the hint of a smile. Then she was silent and frowning as she shuffled through my pages of forms. “You’ll start next Monday at 11 PM, third floor machine shop your boss will be expecting you don’t be late leave now”. At another plant I was interviewed by some attractive young lady wearing a nice dress, short on the bottom and low enough on the top to hint at her finer points. At some time during the interview, she dropped her pen. It rolled a few feet away so she stood up to pick it up, facing me. I swear, I could see down her dress to her belly button. She sat back down and continued on, eventually hiring me. I said a silent prayer that I could get out of there without embarrassing myself. Hiring was usually simple and uncomplicated back then. I remember when I got hired at a small steel fabricating company. The owner and boss’s name was Bill. At the time I was unemployed because of a layoff and heard that Bill was going to take on a few men because of a large contract he had. Bill gave me an application with just a few basic questions on it. After I filled it out and he looked at it, he said “I see your from the next town downriver”. Then Bill went to his office door and yelled “Benny, come here”. A guy I presumed to be Benny came in. Bill spoke to Benny, “You know this guy”? Benny-“Never saw him before”. Bill- “Why not? He’s from your town”? Benny-“Bill, there’s 20,000 people in my town and I only know maybe a few hundred and he ain’t one of ‘em”. Benny and I both had a laugh and I got hired anyway. Somewhere along the way job applications got longer and more complicated. Some were downright silly. Why would they need to know my mother’s maiden name? One company wanted to know what wage I would need to live on. I left that blank. I was asked why I left it so and I said I needed to know what the job pays, then I’ll tell you if I can live on that. I didn’t get that job. In those days I had a “go to” job. We have a major food processing plant in my town. If I was temporarily unemployed, I would apply there. In the summer they were always very busy and I always got hired. Now, I’m happily retired and glad I don’t have to go through all the application forms, waiting and interviews.
You had me laughing through out your your interview adventure recollections . Sounds like some the ladies had vastly different attires! I have to admit, when I was young and naive, I went in for an office interview with a skirt that was much too short. In retrospect, I say what was I thinking? Back then, I just thought it was the cutest little outfit. Of course, much to my dismay, when my husband found out what I had chosen he gasped. Needless to say, for my next interview I wore a longer pleated skirt and blazer with an emblem (no tie), got the job and turned it down. So, like you, I don't even know how many interviews I went through. One thing is for sure. The automated initial process is filled with (in my opinion) all types of invasive questions way beyond the how much you expected to earn. And the maiden name bit, I suppose that is for the married ladies. Can not imagine why a male would need to provide this type of information. Also the pages and pages of an application is incredible, esp. when most want a resume anyways. Matter of fact, my husband just got a promotion going from the shop floor to an air conditioned office. I swear, the additional paperwork he filled out reminded me of a college dissertation. Speaking of change, back in the day his new uniform would have been a white starched shirt and tie, nowadays it is a polo and tan pants. By the way, my husbands name is Bill. I am going to share your Ben and Bill story with him. Sure he will get a good laugh, too! Oh I have to ask, did you make it to work on time when told to leave NOW because she did not want you to be late reporting to work the following Monday?
Yes, I made it on time. I lived 35 miles from that tractor plant. I placed an ad in our newspaper for a ride to work. Some guy from my town also worked there on the same shift. So, I paid him to pick me up. We were on the afternoon shift, 3-11pm. The first day the ride to work went well. I thought we were getting along ok. That night when my shift ended, I went to the parking lot and, no car. The S O B left me. I had to call my wife and get her to come after me. My car at the time was a '53 Kaiser block of rust. Wife had to get someone to watch the 3 kids, then pick up her mom to ride along. The next afternoon the guy called and asked if I wanted him to pick me up. When I started in on him, he hung up on me. The next ride I got was in a car with three other guys, one of which was an old school pal of mine. A much better arrangement.
I don't remember much, if anything, from age four. I know that I was sprayed by a skunk, and sometimes I think that I remember that, but more likely I remember having been told about it repeatedly. It was even in the local newspaper. Apparently, I had been playing with four black and white kittens that I had come across in back of the barn and their mom didn't think that was a very good idea.
I don't remember much from around the age of four either. I do remember going to school, which was a good walk from my house at the time. I don't remember my childhood very much at all now that I think about it. It must have been a boring childhood.
Oh, snap! To think, he called you the next day. Maybe he thought you only needed a ride to and not back, which makes no sense. Well, I guess you let him know. And I can so relate because we were a one car family for years. You point out another area in how times have changed, nowadays people list online vs newspaper. Thought, I would post this 53 Kaiser, its for sale, and it can be yours for only $2,500... I have a lot of memories from age four. Will post some later. Must say your kitten/skunk experience had to be quite the surprise for your family members. Just think, you have an early claim to fame with this story. I bet you could look up the newspaper article in the old archives.
That Kaiser in the photo looks just like my old one except mine was a two door. The drivers seat was broke, so I fixed it with a pair of vise grips. Every so often the vise grip would let go and the back of the seat would fall back flat. Then I would have to stop and fix it. It ran good otherwise. Throughout the 1960's I had a lot of old beaters. Some I got for as little as $35. Most ran 6 months. One was a '50 Buick. It had no air filter. Once it backfired through the carburetor and caught fire. I used my jacket to beat out the fire, scorching it. Car started and made it home. A '61 Ford I had caught fire while my wife was driving it. She was 2 blocks from her mom's house. She pulled up in front and bailed out with the kids. That one went to the junk yard. That's a sample of what my '60's was like.
My older brother had a Kaiser-Frazer when I was in high school. I remember that it was a beautiful car but that it didn't run well. It was a gold convertible and looked something like this, only not in so good a condition.
With those picture of old cars, I remember our red Mustang that my mother learned how to drive. She would take me with her in bringing my siblings to school. And in the afternoon, off to the car again to pick up my siblings. It was one good segment of my life because it was a good ride although the car had no air conditioner. I have not much memories of a juke box although I still remember seeing some eateries near our house playing music with the jukebox. But I didn't have an experience playing music with it.
My first car was a 1951 Pontiac. I bought it in 1958 awhile after I started working full time and saved a few dollars. I'll never forget what my mom said. "That's a nice looking car, Ike. It should last you a long time if you only drive it when you have to". "I'm 18 mom. I have to drive it all I can".