"EVERY ONE OF THEM WAS DEAR TO MY HEART"

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MEMORIAL DAY, 2012

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REMEMBERING CLOVIS HIGH SCHOOL CLASS OF 1951

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It was September, 1939; the weather was still very hot and school had been going for five days. I was only five years old and too young to go to school---or so I thought. I was busy out on that hot sidewalk in front of our laundry, riding up and down killing red ants along the sidewalk. I simply rode over them with my front wheel on my BIG tricycle. I had a vendetta for ants, ever since getting caught in an ant bed when I was three, and almost eaten up.

We had taken over the laundry in the summer of 1938 and my mother worked in there finishing shirts. Times were hard and there was no one to look after me.  Whether Mom felt sympathy for the ant population or worried about me out there alone, I'm not sure, but one day, five days after school had begun, she cleaned me up, dressed me, and as we went over to La Casita school to visit Mr. G. the principal, to inquire about starting me to school a year early, she probably said to me: "Try to look intelligent."  Mr. G. then sent us over to 8th and Pile to see the Main Man, Mr. B. I remember his office, his impressive look, but nothing that was said. When we walked out of there that day, I was the newest member of what would become the famous CHS Class of '51.

Arriving back over at La Casita School, I wound up in Miss T.'s first grade class, sitting at a double desk with Jimmy B. Not even being able to tie my own shoe, I was certainly at a disadvantage. Didn't even know where the bathroom was, never heard of recess, and nearly in tears I whispered my problem to Jimmy. Raising his hand and pointing to me, he said: "He needs to go to the bathroom." She said: "You take him, please."

From that day forward, J.B. was a good friend all through the 12 years in school. We re-established contact in the early nineties and always sent Christmas cards, with letters enclosed. He had become an avid golfer. He lived in California. Once when discussing the loss of several Class of '51 members that year, Jimmy wrote something that has stayed with me: "EVERY ONE OF THEM WAS DEAR TO MY HEART."

By starting to school in 1939--a year early-- it became my good fortune, as stated earlier, to become a member of a special group of people---a very bright and talented group, a warm and caring group, a very-successful-in-the-world group.

Non-members of the class---spouses---have commented on their feelings about the class reunions. J.R. passed away in 2009 and his wife wrote me: "I felt more at home at the CHS Class '51 reunions than I did at my own class reunions." Others have said the same thing.

The class lost J.B. back in the late 90's, as well as many others in the early years of this century.  Wanda S. and I, one day a couple of years ago, were trying to update the list of passed classmates, and did so as best we could.

Sadly, Wanda herself passed away several weeks ago. She should especially be remembered on this Memorial Day, along with our other classmates. She always had the class at heart....always. We owe the success of the 2006 and 2008 class reunions mainly to her.

We cannot list them all here; we don't even have a complete list....but let's remember J.B.'s words: "Every one of them was dear to my heart."

Do sit down Monday..................and remember our friends, by name.

            We Remember Them

In the rising of the sun and in its going down,

                   we remember them.

In the blowing of the wind and in the chill of winter,

                   we remember them.

In the opening of the buds and in the rebirth of spring,

                   we remember them.

In the blueness of the sky and the warmth of summer,

                   we remember them.

In the rustling of the leaves and in the beauty of autumn,

                   we remember them.

In the beginning of the year and when it ends,

                   we remember them.

When we are weary and in need of strength,

                   we remember them.

When we are lost and sick at heart,

                   we remember them.

When we have joys we yearn to share,

                   we remember them.

SO LONG AS WE LIVE, they too shall live.

          for they are now a part of us,

                   as we remember them.

Credit to:  NMGA

       

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BY MIL

5/26/12

           

Sent from my iPad

           

THAT INCOMPARABLE "CONEY ISLAND CAFE!"

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CLOVIS REMEMBERED!
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First thing I remember, on moving to Clovis in the spring of 1938, was that big, tall "Hotel Clovis." It was the tallest building I had ever seen, and was said to be, at the time, the tallest between Dallas and San Francisco. It was then only about six or seven years old.

The SECOND THING I remember is that fantastic smell permeating Main Street between Second and Grand. It was emanating from a small cafe on the west side of Main, just south of the Janeway Drug and several doors north of the Mesa Theater. It was the smell of onions (and surely green bell peppers) cooking on a grill in the window of the Coney Island Cafe and mesmerizing everyone around. One can smell it even now, almost.

I realize it now... looking back and all, they were ADVERTISING, pure and simple! Not to worry, they knew what they were doing! The grill being at the window, and covered with simmering wieners, onions, bell peppers, warming buns, and a big pan of chili…… it tended to get people's attention. Especially hungry little boys!  They would put their noses up against the window, as if to smell more of that smell through the glass, and watch...and drool. I know!

Ask any Clovis old-timer who is still around those parts now, about our beloved home town, and usually one of the first things they will mention is the old Coney Island Cafe.

In those days, before Burger King, Wendy's, McDonald's, and all the chains, people didn't eat out as much. There weren't that many restaurants then and certainly not as much money. One day after work, circa 1939, my dad decided to splurge and take the family out. We went down to the Coney Island, parked nose-in, as it was before parallel parking, and Dad went in. He came out with this big sack full of coneys (hot dogs), with a kind of orange greasy stain on the sack where one or two of our coneys, liberally filled with chili, were already soaking though the brown paper sack.

We drove out 10th Street to Hillcrest Park, went over to the well-kept sunken flower garden, and there somewhere we sat down with a jug of tea, potato chips, and ate that sack of hot dogs. Then we went over to the ZOO and looked at all the animals.  "Biggie entertainment" you're thinking. Well, don't knock it! There was, in those days, no TV, no twittering, no tweeting, no texting, no FacePlace, no emailing, no computer games, no Denver Post funnies until Saturday, and Fibber McGee and Molly didn't come on until 7:30 p.m. We didn't even have a $5.95 a month telephone! Entertainment was scarce.

So, the family had a very good time that afternoon or I wouldn't remember it 72 years later. Those hot dogs, one doesn't forget!

One of my dear and loved CHS classmates (now gone), and I used to correspond a lot. Often he would allude to that little cafe and marvel at how they could put out such a good product: wiener, mustard, onions, chili, bun, all for 15 cents. Regarding special coneys like sauerkraut or other type dogs, I can't remember. Actually, whatever other food they may have sold, if any, I don't remember that either.

Our excellent guest writer, R.S. really has Coney Island down. Here is what he says: "No matter how hot it was in Clovis during the summer, nothing held us back from going to a movie at the Mesa Theater on a Saturday and then stopping back by the Coney Island for one of Gus's originals.

Or during school season...galloping down Main Street from Junior High to the Coney Island (about fourteen blocks one way), scarfing down a couple of 15 cent coneys and a "Big Orange," and then arriving back at school just as the bell was ringing at one o'clock. If my memory serves me, there weren't a lot of fat people in our class!" (Wow, is R.S. after my job!?)

If some entrepreneur would go in there south of Janeway Drug (or its successor) and open a modern-day "CONEY ISLAND CAFE," for old time's sake, dozens of folks still around from that day and time...would go there regularly to eat! One stipulation: The grill must be at the front.....IN THE WINDOW!

(Writer's Warning:   So far, everyone who has read this has rushed out to get a hot dog!)

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BY MIL, & R.S.
5/20/12
(Dedicated to classmate J.W., who loved Coney Island Cafe.)

"ELMER'S TUNE" AND "THE PERILS OF NYOKA!"

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CLOVIS REMEMBERED----I LOVED THE LYCEUM THEATER!!
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If there is any other phrase that evokes 1940's memories in my mind like the "Walking Liberty Half Dollar," it is "The LYCEUM THEATER." Few places in my hometown of Clovis were, and are, dearer to my heart than the Lyceum.

You see, on Saturday afternoons, during the 40's, at about 1:20 p.m., this theater began its program, movies for youngsters. It consisted of a one-hour western with the hero, usually in a white hat, and the "mean men." That was followed by a mystery/detective movie, of about the same length; if we were lucky, we'd get a good Charlie Chan film.

These were followed, maybe, by a "Donald Duck Sinks Nazi Subs," or another cartoon of some kind. Maybe a good old Roadrunner! The big event of the afternoon was the fifteen minute"serial," like "Batman," or "The Green Hornet and Kato." My all-time favorite serial was "The Perils of Nyoka." Vaguely remembering this title, (which I called "The Pearls of Nyoka" when I was a kid), I Googled it last year and came up with a clip, and Kay Aldridge as the name of the actress playing Nyoka. I had remembered her for 70 years as that cute lady in the khaki shorts---not to worry, they were the old-fashioned baggy kind.

This drama was set in Africa, and Nyoka met all manner of near-death close-shaves, ending each episode. One biggie was: she was tied to a table with a giant blade swinging over her, getting lower and lower, and then the screen would fold together....until next Saturday!

In those days, I worked all week after school and on Saturday morning at my dad's laundry.  When 12:55 p.m. came on Saturday, he gave me a Walking Liberty silver half dollar and I left for the five block walk to the Lyceum, arriving ten minutes before the show started at 1:20 p.m.  I got there early---- (none of this "This is where we came in" stuff.)

The curtains were drawn; they were kind of golden with the lights dimmed. The theater was playing the same tune it played week in and week out, year in and year out----its music library apparently had only one tune, though it was kind of catchy and relaxing: "ELMER'S TUNE."  They played it only as an instrumental piece even though it has nice words. I quote a stanza here:

The hurdy-gurdies, the birdies, the cop on the beat,
The candy-maker, the baker, the man on the street,
The city charmer, the farmer, the man in the moon---
All sing Elmer's Tune!"

There was something neat about sitting there, eating your 10 cent popcorn, listening to "Elmer's" and relaxing---waiting eagerly for a great afternoon of entertainment…. and just think, between movies you could go get a 10 cent coke to wash down that  popcorn! Hmmm. Today the movie, the popcorn and the coke would cost you: movie---$7.00; popcorn---$3.50; and coke---$3.50. That would be $14.00 today. It cost me 30 cents.  

R.S. reminds us of some things I had forgotten: "Remember the Saturday afternoon bicycle drawings with the big wire drum onstage, going round and round until the lucky winner was announced. Also, the occasional performances by Jimmy Allman's tap dancing girls who took classes in his studio, located across the alley behind the Lyceum. All of those things---the bicycle drawing, the tap dancing, the movies---a bargain at 10 cents!" (Thanks much, R.S.!)

There was no March of Time news at the Lyceum---anyway, not on Saturday. They did have an occasional James Fitzpatrick Travel short, a "Cowboy Serenade" short, or a singalong, with the bouncing ball. (Clovisites were not enthusiastic singers.)

On week nights in the 40's, the Lyceum would show regular full length "B" movies, or even older "A" movies on their second time around. "Swanee River," (Stephen Foster story) played there in 1940, and it is said people were weeping. Another to certainly weep at was  "The Fighting Sullivans," which I saw there in about 1943,  and never forgot.

In the late 40's a high school friend and I would slip off downtown on a winter night, park in front of Anthony's, and walk across those cold red bricks---lining Main Street--to an old movie at the Lyceum.

Back when I was about nine or ten, it was always hard to leave the imaginary world of that movie theater, and walk outside into the cold reality of broad daylight. To ameliorate this back-to-reality-let-down, we would go into all the stores: Anthony's, Penney's, Levine's, Barry's, shopping but not buying. We also went to Woolworth's and that's where we usually parted with 20 cents for their great ham salad sandwich.

In closing this tribute to the old Lyceum, I want to relate this to you: We-- even the young U.S. citizens---were tired of WWII. Too many boys had left who would never come back from that war. If you weren't here then, you don't know the feeling. Everyone was touched by some loss. One Saturday afternoon, about the middle of August, 1945, at about 4:20 p.m. in the afternoon, I walked out of the dear old Lyceum Theater, site of many happy hours; I immediately saw that Main Street was totally blocked at 4th and Main, half a block from the theater.

I made my way down through the crowd to the corner of Barry Hardware. There was a KICA, CLOVIS radio van parked right in the middle of the street, under the stoplight.  There were crowds of people converging from all around: the announcer began to speak over the loud speaker and the crowd quieted! I almost weep to remember that afternoon. He was saying: "THE JAPANESE HAVE SURRENDERED!! THE JAPANESE HAVE SURRENDERED!!" "Oh, joy," I said to myself! "No more wars!"

(Writer's note: the Lyceum Theater opened in 1921. Its purpose was to host vaudeville shows and show movies.  An early "talkie," "Chinatown Nights," starring Wallace Beery, was shown there in 1929. The famous John Phillip Sousa, beloved King of Marches, played there in the early days with his band. The old theater, closed in 1974, was obtained by the city of Clovis in 1982, and has been renovated and restored as a performing arts venue.)

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LONG LIVE THE LYCEUM THEATER!
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"Perils of Nyoka" clip:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EjfBUnI7OCw&feature=youtube_gdata_player

"Elmer's Tune" clip:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KmM0_Ilaww8&feature=youtube_gdata_player
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BY MIL
5/24/12

HOW MIL GOT WET AND NEARLY FROZE...

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A Short Story By the Writer of Mil's Place
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Friday afternoon last, at about 3:45 p.m., I was sitting at my work station, mulling over and making notes regarding future posts for my readers on Mil's Place. The weather had been kinda weird lately ---hot, hot, hot, and then several days ago, as they used to say
down in Dawson County, "it turned off cold," Cold enough several nights for really good
sleeping. The weather, as you will see, plays a big part in my story.

Anyway, when writing, I get absorbed and enthused, often paying little
attention to my surroundings--- least of all the weather. The front and back doors were open, I knew that.  The light through my window here on my left was bright so I knew it was sunny outside.  Being rapt about what I was doing, that was about all I knew about my milieu, that Friday.

I must digress slightly here, to tell you this: When I had a  bad cough and cold in February, my dear wife had come home one day with two pairs of "lounger pajama bottoms," with the idea that while recovering and writing, Mil would have some nice thick, soft plaid flannel  bottoms to "lounge in." (One of my strong suits is lounging.) To be sure you get the picture, these were first class, one gray plaid, and one blue plaid-- PJ bottoms. Thick flannel. I would probably  have gone unnoticed anywhere out in public in these--- might have even seemed "dressed up!"

So, early that day, being rapt in my writing (did you catch that subtle hidden alliteration there?)  I decided to don a pair of those loungers for the day, the blue ones I think. Anyway, aren't writers and artists supposed to be a little quirky, some way or other?! Completing my ensemble was a nice thick bright orange tee shirt by Harbor Bay, the best you can get, and my favorite thick black socks.

Okay, so I was sitting here writing, and suddenly the light outside my  window darkened and the back sliding screen door, having been left unlatched by the wife earlier, sounded like it opened. I raised up and looked, and sure enough it was open---it was the wind! We're talking sudden high wind. Takes a really big wind to blow a screen door open! Hmm, I thought. Then blam, the wind blew my front door shut, violently!

Then splat, splat, splat... is that rain hitting my window? Can't be...hasn't rained in ages around here. Ping...ping...ping...IS THAT HAIL?  Ding-dong. WHAT, THE DOORBELL??  Who is OUT IN THIS WEATHER? I'll bet its that FED X guy bringing our tomato planting kits. Oh, heck, I've got get up...so comfy too.

I went to the door, there was the tomato fertilizer kits box next to the house, but it would GET WET there. But worse, today's Albuquerque Journal was lying five feet out from under the porch where the wife had tossed out of the driveway on leaving for piano practice at D.s house. It was beginning to pour (I'm serious) and HAIL. The newspaper was already wet somewhat, and I had to have (AH-CHOO) the mulberry pollen count for Thursday, on the back of page...wherever... you know, there with the weather stuff.

The sudden onset and power of that storm required a quick decision on my part. I opened the door and the screen, ran out in my stocking feet, orange tee shirt, and warm blue plaid lounging pajama bottoms, with the idea (1) I'd grab that paper quickly, and (2) on the way back into the house, grab the tomato box. In my haste, I forgot Murphy's Law and Robert Burn's "the best laid plans of mice and men gang aft agley." Because, you see, I forgot to turn that little latch release which unlocks the screen, for entry. Not only that, but being in those PJs meant I had no keys dangling off my Levi's, or that spare one in my change purse.  And we have never been key hiders like my neighbor with the fake rock. In the vernacular of the day, I was...stymied.

Not to over-embellish my story, but the rain really started pouring, and the sound effect of the hail, about marble size, hitting my truck, the garage door, and the gutter around the roof, was deafening. The rain was blowing in sideways and our front porch is only about five feet deep. The storm had a cold wind with it. There I was, stranded. And drat, I had been so handy to LATCH the back screen earlier, when it blew open. Otherwise, if there had come a lull, I could have gone wading around to the back and simply opened the screen and walked in the back door, wet. There were no options, except that  the wife would be home in an hour, maybe, because after practicing, she is wont  to go to Trader Joe's (they have a lot of weird food in there.)

It was pouring, and encroaching by the minute on my tiny dry space. My feet were wet and the loungers wet to the knees. I found an old rug out there and wrapped up in the tiny thing. Had I been in court and on the stand, I would have easily sworn: "Yep, Judge, it rained two inches, no question, trust me, Scout's honor." The  floor of the porch showed about one foot of dry cement left; there I was standing, but the rain was splattering in on me.

WHEN...MIRACLE!!! Through the heavy downpour---a car!! Was it---THE WIFE? YES! Oh, hallelujah! It's her..uh, she! She pulled that car into the drive. Having been an actor, in the junior and senior plays--a "method actor" at that, I decided I deserved some sympathy, some mileage, out of this traumatic event. Accordingly, I sat in a little chair at our tiny little table, wrapped around the shoulders with that old rug, and proceeded to go into a shivering mode, with a proper "impervious-to-my-surroundings-look."  Defintely an un-lucid look. Hurrying in from the car, carrying a ton of piano sheet music in her bag, trying to avoid the rain, she nearly ran  over me before she saw me.

"O-O-O-OH," she exclaimed! "What are you doing out here, undressed, no shoes, and WET?! Then she heard my sad story. "We've got to get you into some dry socks quickly." Guys don't you love that heart-felt sympathy which rarely comes from a wife!  So I got on dry clothes and gave up the shivering.  The moral to the story:  "always undo the screen, or have a key!)

You know when it was all over---the shivering---she accused me of...FAKING IT.

(The rain gauge showed .38 of an inch.)
(My editor said: "You can take more words to tell a simple little story, than anyone I've ever known." Thank you.)

 (Mil is none the worse from the exposure, ah, ah, ah-CHOO!)

   

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BY MIL
5/13/12

Dedicated to H.V, who also showed sympathy, on hearing this.

Sent from my iPad

"THINE ALABASTER CITIES GLEAM..."

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Should we change national anthems?
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In the late spring of 1893, Katharine Lee Bates was traveling through Chicago and down across the plains through Kansas, and on to Colorado College in Colorado Springs,  where she had a summer school teaching appointment. While in Chicago she visited the famous "White City" of the 1893 World Fair. After arriving in Colorado and getting set up and into her work, she did what just about everyone did in those years in that area, she went to the top of Pike's Peak, 14,114 feet above the Southwestern United States, where it seemed she could see....forever.

This majestic panorama, combined with all she had already experienced on her trip, inspired her to write a song or hymn about what she had seen and loved about her country. She said that the words began to come into her mind while on the pinnacle of the mountain, and upon returning to her room she began to work on her poem. Little did she realize that she was writing what really should have become the national anthem of the United States. Originally called "Pike's Peak," her poem was first published in 1895 for the Fourth of July---to great acclaim.

May we just take a moment to analyze her words? This is the stuff of which national anthems are made! Bates writes of "amber waves of grain," "fruited plains," "purple mountain majesties." She brings in the history of our pilgrims who came and courageously "beat a highway for freedom, across the wilderness," thinking of all those pioneers who helped develop our country.

Then she mentions the heroes that have given their lives so that we may have freedom---men who fought in "liberating strife;" and who loved their country more than themselves---"who more than self their country loved, and mercy more than life."

The poet then talks about our forefathers and their dreams for the nation: "for patriot dream that sees beyond the years," and tops off this beautiful stanza with a symbolic metaphorical allusion to the mile square 1893 Chicago World Columbian Exposition on the banks of Lake Michigan, where all the buildings were painted or stuccoed white: "thine alabaster cities gleam, undimmed by human tears!"

  Speaking as if to the nation itself, she prays: "God mend thine every flaw," "May God thy gold refine"---and she charges the nation--"confirm thy soul in self control," and anchor "thy liberty in law."
  
"America! America!" Bates almost overflows with praise and excitement; then ends each stanza with a prayer addressed to the Almighty: "God shed His grace on thee, and crown thy good with brotherhood from sea to shining sea." She doesn't forget our oceans!

Samuel A. Ward's excellent tune "Materna," written some years earlier for a hymn "O Mother Dear, Jerusalem," was mated to "Pike's Peak," in 1910 and published as "America, the Beautiful." Since that time it has become a much-loved hymn by the American people. It is occasionally used as a substitute for our national anthem. It has about all the qualities one would expect to see in a national anthem, as noted above. The tune is beautiful, stately, reverent, dignified, easy to sing, harmonious, and good for a four-part choir.

It compares somewhat in simplicity of the tune and down-to-earth text with other national anthems such as "O Canada," "God Save the Queen," and "Advance, Australia Fair."

Here is the hymn:
"O beautiful for spacious skies, for amber waves of grain,
For purple mountain majesties, above the fruited plain;
America! America! God shed his grace on thee
And crown thy good with brotherhood from sea to shining sea.

O beautiful for pilgrim feet, whose stern impassioned stress
A thoroughfare for freedom beat across the wilderness;
America! America! God mend thine every flaw
Confirm thy soul in self control, thy liberty in law.

O beautiful for heroes proved in liberating strife,
Who more than self their country loved, and mercy more than life.
America! America! May God thy gold refin
'Til all success be nobleness and every gain divine.

O beautiful for patriot dream that sees beyond the years;
Thine alabaster cities gleam undimmed by human tears.
America! America! God shed His grace on thee,
And crown thy good with brotherhood from sea to shining sea."

Our national anthem text, "The Star-Spangled Banner," was written during the War of 1812,
by Francis Scott Key while he was an overnight detainee on a British ship, during the shelling of Ft. McHenry in Chesapeake Harbor. The text was soon wedded to a commonly known, used, and popular British "drinking song," titled  "To Anacreon In Heaven." Along with a number of other patriotic-type songs, "The S-SB"was sung all through the 1800's including much use during the Civil War."

It was finally officially adopted as our "national anthem" under Herbert Hoover's administration in 1931. A lot of objections have arisen regarding "The S-SB" as our national anthem, particularly in recent years. One of he main problems with the present anthem, besides the fact that the melody covers an octave and a half, is difficult for most people to sing, and is  not generally very harmonious for ensembles or choirs----is that its message is almost completely about war. It extols few of the virtues, qualities, and history of the nation.

Check the  (edifying?) qualities in the  third stanza of "The Star-Spangled Banner." Contrast this in your mind with any stanza of "America, the Beautiful."

"And where is that band who so vauntingly swore
That the havoc of war and the  battle's confusion,
A home and a country should leave us no more?
Their  blood has washed out their foul footsteps pollution.
No refuge could save the hireling and slave
From the terror of flight or the gloom of the grave;
And the star- spangled banner in triumph doth wave,
O'er the land of the free, and the home of the  brave."

SO: Is "America, the Beautiful" a better choice for our national anthem than "The Star-Spangled Banner?" First, we'd have to concede that it is a matter of opinion. My opinion is: YES!  Katherine Lee Bate's hymn is better; just read the text and sing the beautiful tune!

Should we change anthems? NO. My friends, we are many, many decades too late for that.
Too much history and tradition is involved. And our hard-to-sing anthem (not to even mention those entertainers who can't sing it) has brought us through countless wars, flag raisings aboard ships and military bases; it has started millions of sports events, amateur and professional. Even NASCAR! It was being played at 7:58 a.m. aboard the Arizona and other ships at. Pearl Harbor on that "Day of Infamy," December 7, 1941. Help me out!  Where all has it been played? Yes, it is too late to change.

Though all four stanzas are "war-like," we never sing but one anyway. And though, I, the writer, coming from a church music background where texts are vitally important, would generally not agree to this, I am going to have to go with the much-admired and much-respected John Phillip Sousa on this one, when he was commenting on the text of "The Star-Spangled Banner" in 1931. He said: "It is the spirit of the music that inspires, not the words."

 In the case of the anthem, this may well be true.

America the Beautiful: Mormon Tabernacle Choir

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Rzs52OzgWOs&feature=youtube_gdata_player

America the Beautiful:  Ray Charles

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TRUjr8EVgBg&feature=youtube_gdata_player

Star Spangled Banner: The Academy Choirs

www.youtube.com/watch?v=9ETrr-XHBjE

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BY MIL
5/16/12

CLOVIS: "THOSE LAZY, HAZY DAYS OF SUMMER:" 1943

     

It was the summer of 1943 in the quiet, lazy town of Clovis, in eastern New Mexico. The world was in considerable turmoil, with WWII going at full blast and all. It was hardly noticed by the four little boys, playing marbles in Mil's front yard, out there between the sidewalk and the street and under the cool elms where it was shady. A few big insects and odd-looking flies were cruising around and hanging in the air like small helicopters, all the while buzzing, as if to complain about the heat. It was very warm in June.

Not much else seemed to be going on. WWII B17 Flying Fortresses were constantly droning and circling around the edge of town. They were based six miles west of town at the Clovis
Army Air Base, and were training to go overseas into harm's way.

The pretty movie star, Priscilla Lane, drove by and turned left into a driveway, four houses  down the street. She  was renting a house there  with her captain husband who was stationed out at the base.

We kids were just out of school and at our tender age, those lazy, hazy days seemed like a whole eternity to us. We all had chores assigned to us, but it was too hot to work. Besides
too much hot sun could cause "that old polio." We had lawns to mow, weeds to hoe, chicken pens to rake, beans to plant in the garden---whatever. Work was not high priority stuff to us,  and we could con mom a little but it'd better be finished when dad got home.

What did American boys do in those days do for fun? The list of activities was practically endless. When we weren't doing war effort stuff, like collecting old tin cans, finding old rubber  tires, collecting paper, bacon  grease, or aluminum, we could: spin tops, walk on stilts, play marbles, skate, bicycle, play cowboy, or Tarzan.  We could play baseball, basketball, or football, nail stuff with our hammers and shingle nails. (We were notorious nailers: If it were there, and loose, and needed nailing, DEPEND ON US---we'd nail it, good and proper.) We built WWII model airplanes; we read "Dave Dawson in the  R.A.F." If things got slow, we would put  some gum on a string and go looking in "transler" holes, for those hairy spiders!

One of the most fun things was making a "Rubber Gun." You'd get a some 1X6  lumber and cut out a gun-shaped piece of it...with a handle, kinda like a pistol. Smooth it a little with sandpaper. You'd tape a clothespin on the back of the handle part. (This was your "trigger.") Then you'd cut an old car tire tube into slices about 3/4 inch wide...wrap one of these around the clothespin top to  make it tight and so  it would hold one of your rubber tube strips, stretched out to the end, about 2 1/2 feet. When you squeezed the bottom of your clothespin, the rubber strip under tension was released and would fly maybe 20-30 feet. If you got hit, it didn't hurt much.

When things got extra  hot we'd play: "Jap Zeroes: Down In Flames." This required that we go home and change into swim trunks. Then we'd turn on the hose, and fill with water a low place  in our clover lawn, making a nice puddle. The "gunner," holding the hard-spraying hose nozzle would get set; the Jap Zeroes (all the other kids) would rev up, turn on their sound effects, hold out their arms, and come a-roaring in, "rat-a-tat, rat-a-tat-tat," guns blazing, and get a full fusillade of that wonderful cold water, and "go down in flames," crashing with a big splash right into that overworked low spot on my dad's lawn.

Later on, when we got tired, we would get ourselves PNB/jelly sans, or one of our mothers would have some frozen Koolade  for us in ice trays; popsicle sticks would have been nice, but who had sticks then? Our moms would just tear up pieces of old dish towels for us to wrap our ice cubes and savor them!  By then, the Clovis News-Journal had arrived and we'd spread it out and get down on the living room floor and read the daily B&W funnies. We had to know what was happening to Joe Palooka and Jerry Leemy, who were somehow stranded in France, behind Nazi lines, armed only with their cool .45's. (I owned one in plastic!)

Things were rationed in those days. We were too young, I guess, to worry much about it. In fact, quite a few things were rationed: gasoline, tires, sugar, coffee, meat, shoes, clothing--more things than I can remember. We kids could not get some important necessities, like Hersheys, Snickers, Baby Ruths, Best Pals, Bit O' Honeys, Paydays, or most important of all, Wrigley's Chewing Gum, and we did worry about that.

What happened on those rare occasions when we got ahold of some money?  Let's look at several well-written paragraphs by an old friend of Clovis days, R.S.: "Mil, reading your post about 'wheat trucking, your grandad, and others....I was sitting at the kitchen table this morning, thinking about times past that we so much enjoyed, that kids today will never experience. One that came to mind was that  during those very hot summers in Clovis, we would go to the market with a nickel or dime in our pocket and reach into the open soda box and dig through the ice and icy water for the last flavor that seemed to be lying on the bottom of the case.

The water was so cold that it made your arm and hand ache. You might have to reach into the water two or three times to get the bottle that you wanted. And after opening our selection on  the corner of the soda box, we would take out our Scout knife to pry the cork off the inside of the pop lid to see if we had won a prize. Remember those days! Cokes came in those little green bottles and tasted good! I think it was the sugar sweetener they used, instead of this corn syrup mixed with who knows what.

Anyway, we always then went to the counter and paid for it. And then, of course, there were the watermelons bobbing around in a horse-watering tank outside the market, packed with 25 pound ice chunks, and the same numbing sensation...But, that's another story---for  another time!" (Thanks to R.S., and we'll read you anytime!)

          By one more summer we were out trying to get some kind of jobs; we needed spending money.
          We liked those "Walking Liberty" silver half-dollars!  Two summers later, I was doing a man's work
          in Dad's laundry, as it tried to keep the airmen at CAAB in clean clothes.  Stay tuned......

  -------30------

  BY MIL

  5/10/12

 ( Writer's note: When I was 59, I just had to see if I could make one of those "rubber guns"again like we made as kids. It came out pretty good!)

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A PEEPING AND HARE-RAISING STORY!

Early in our marriage I had a notorious penchant for bringing cute animals home to the wife and kids...animals for which we became the "sole support." (They had to be sheltered, watered, and fed, just like us.)

One time, in the late 50's, we were living in Childress, Texas. In addition to my marvelous wife, I had the cutest little cotton-headed three year old son, sporting a burr haircut which I gave him regularly. One Saturday, right before Easter, when I was down on Main Street picking up something, I saw in a Five and Ten store window a multitude of tiny yellow peeping baby chicks. Being a sucker for baby chicks and baby ducks, the next thing I knew I was 50 cents poorer and driving home with a peeping passenger in a little ventilated box in the front seat.

On arrival home, and after the obligatory "ooh's and aah's" from the wife and some wide-eyed looks from my little son, we came back down to earth. Once the euphoria of what I had done--my rash action--- dawned on us, we began to realize: we have a responsibility here, caring for this little chick throughout its life---through the teen-age years on into an old-age chickenhood. Don't laugh---this was going through our minds. I realized I just wasn't really ready to be a "chicken dad." Also the domicile problem was a factor. Where do you put one? Not to even mention the "peep, peep, peeping," which was keeping us awake at might. He had his days and nights mixed up---as they say.

Accordingly, we began to search for a foster home for our chick. Yes, regrettably I had kinda "taken him home on approval," I guess. Maybe I was looking for some miracle to occur so we could be rid of this problem. Aha, it did. I looked outside and skating on the sidewalk was little nine-year-old Nancy, from across the street. Friends, don't ever say you don't believe in miracles. Nancy was to become the "mom" for our baby chick. We will call it "The Law of Baby Chicks and Children," which is, to wit: "If you offer a kid a baby chick, it will be accepted." Her mother approved and we gave our chick to Nancy. (To this day, we don't know what happened after that.)

So now I won't go into the long story of how our son later on received a small turtle for his birthday; or how one night I saw the cutest  little beagle puppy in a pet shop window and impulsively took him home (for fifteen years.) Suffice it to say, we were about worn out with pets.

WHEN...and you won't believe this: one COLD January day, our exterminator Ernie came and serviced our property, including the backyard. On leaving, Ernie rang the door bell and I paid him, and he said: "Thought I ought to tell you, you've got a rabbit hopping around in your backyard---a big white one."

My mental reactions were thus: (1) White means a tame rabbit, (2) How did a rabbit get into our backyard? (3) We must have enemies. (4) Should I slay the messenger? We went around there and looked, and sure enough, Ernie was right. A white rabbit was hopping around "as big as Ike." It was a very cold January, and we tried until exhaustion to catch that rabbit and bring him into the warm house. Didn't work. So the wife made him a nice box lined with an old bathmat; took him water, carrots, and other rabbit food. He ignored the box and slept outside---he didn't eat much.

We didn't need this, for sure. We both worked and had kids to see after. We proceeded to implement what I will call "The Nancy Plan Variation: Rabbits." It went like this: my wife was a schoolteacher, a music teacher who saw a number of classes every day. Realizing the educational value to a child of having an animal, she asked her first class of 25 kids, "Would any of you like to have for your very own pet a nice big white hopping bunny rabbit?"  Would you believe---twenty-five hands went up?!

By the luck of the draw, Eddie was selected as the new owner. Written permission came from his mother. (They were apparently animal collectors and raisers.) So one very cold evening after work, we finally caught that rabbit, though I don't remember how. We put him in a big box and delivered him to Eddie and his mom down on a street off San Mateo. Then we drove right over to our favorite little Mexican restaurant, Los Cuates; the windows were sweating and it was jumping with people...a wintry setting and a warm and fitting place to celebrate a good deed done on our part!

Maybe the moral to this is: if you have an enemy, whom you wish to cause problems, dump a rabbit in his backyard!

-------30-------
By Mil
5/5/12




Sent from my iPad