Early Life

Last Sunday, I indicated I’d be writing a series on my life, boring as it may be.  My first such post was last night, when I wrote about a “Day in the Life“… how a typical day unfolds for me.  Today, I turn to my early life.

I currently live in the town of Council Bluffs, a town on the western “leading edge” of Iowa.  Council Bluffs is a town of approximately 63,000 people.  Just across the Missouri River from Council Bluffs is Omaha, Nebraska.  We are part of the “Omaha Metropolitan Statistical Area”, a metropolitan area of 850,000.  The Omaha MSA in turn is part of a larger “Metroplex” of nearly 1.3 million people. 

Today, I live in a house less than 1/2 mile from where I was born nearly 51 years ago.  I still sometimes drive by the house, a duplex, where I spent the first 18 months of my life… Mom, Dad and I and 2 older brothers lived on one side of the duplex, my maternal grand-parents on the other side.

In 1960, my parents, siblings and I moved across the river to Omaha.  The home we moved into was a split level ranch and, at that time, on the very outskirts of town.  I can still recall looking west from our house and seeing corn fields.  Today, that house is in the center of the Omaha area.

My father was a civil engineer working for a major gas company, though he was also studying law.  By 1964, Dad was a practicing patent lawyer.  Mom was a home-maker, though she also did some work in the 60’s for a political campaign, and then in the 70’s held down a job at Boys Town. 

Our neighborhood fairly exploded with children.  I remember a small handful of these kids from those days. Greg lived across the street, Jimmy lived next to him, Andy around the corner, John on the next block to the north, Paul two blocks away.  There was Jeff, and a boy I just can’t remember between John and I.  Greg, Jimmy and I were probably the closest, though there was an ongoing rivalry between Greg and I for Jimmy’s friendship.  Beyond the boys listed, within just a few blocks were probably another dozen boys… all of us spent our days together.  Sleepovers at various homes, including ours, were not uncommon.  “Camping” in the back yard was a frequent summer-time treat… Dad would set up an old canvas tent that would sleep maybe 4 adults… usually 10 kids!

My cousin Danny lived not too far away, and was part of our gang.  He once “ran away” from home one Sunday.  My Aunt called Mom, quite shaken up, to let us know the horrible news.  Danny was maybe 4 years old, me slightly over 5.  The moment Mom told me what had happened, my gut instinct kicked in, and I ran out the back door and into our “fort”, a collection of 4 or 5 bushes at the corner of our property and had a small “hollow” in the center.  Sure enough, there was Danny.  He’d made the 6 block journey to our house to play!

Playing was pretty typical fare for children.  Hide and Seek is the game I remember the most, though we also had these fantastic summer “water fights”.  There would be thirty to forty of us kids, ranging in age from 5 to 15.  We’d stock up on water pistols and water baloons during the day, getting our arsenels prepared, then, after dinner, the fun would begin, and would last until well after dark.  The territory of our war stretched over 3 full blocks.  Hoses came in to play, as did buckets of water.  The little kids (me included) were detailed to guard our home base, while the bigger kids went off on patrol.  The parents too were involved!  Our Dads, most of whom were veterans of WWII, were the commanding generals, providing tactical and strategic advice… and once or twice getting involved in our “hand to hand” combat!  The water fights were actually modifications of our Hide and Seek games.

It was a close-knit neighborhood.  In addition to the games, there were block parties.  Our Dad’s would block off the end of the street, and set up tables made from saw-horses and planks, card tables… anything that could be turned in to a surface.  The Moms would put out table clothes, and adorn the tables with all types of food… though I remember the hot dogs, hamburgers and fried chicken the best.  We’d wander up and down the block, eating from whichever table looked most inviting (which meant by the end of the night just about every table was barren!)  The kids would wander off to play and the parents would congregate in small groups to chat over coffee… oh, I suppose there was lots of beer, as well!

By the mid sixties, that had begun to dwindle.  Those years were the height of the mobile society and families moved in and out of the neighborhood.  We lost the sense of closeness to a degree.  Those block parties shrank to dinner parties with very full houses!  By the ’70s, there just a handful of “old timers”.  We’d get together and play cards… our parents, that is.  The kids continued to play as play we always had!

Snippets of memories crop up as I write:

• playing outside, in 1967, waiting to run inside as soon as it was time to watch the moon-landing.
• not understanding why Mom was crying, as we watched the news of JFK’s assassination on TV.
• Touring the newly built main fire station downtown as a huge commotion erupted… news that Bobby Kennedy had been assassinated.
• The two Japanese men staying with us for a week on an exchange program, and the tension in the family room as the older Japanese man and my father discovered that they’d literally fought against each other on Okinawa… in the very same small tract of land they both referred to as “the cemetary”.  And their hugs of mutual apology and forgiveness.
• The flood of 1964 (I think) when we watched our side yard turn in to a raging creek… a creek that washed out the house to our west.
• The annual heavy rains that would flood our basement with up to 8 inches of water… water that every one of us would spend hours cleaning up… carrying buckets of water out to the back door… until Dad finally discovered the cause and fixed it… even then, it was only a partial fix.
• Christmas Eve of 1961… I was a mere three years old. I recall waking around 2 or 3 in the morning, just knowing that there was something horrible in the house.  Running to Mom & Dad’s room, and yelling that something was in the house.  Dad leading us all, Dad first, me second, Paul and Bob (my older brothers) next followed by Mom bringing up the rear.  Dad armed with a baseball bat to lend an air of adventure, as we crept down to the basement… where the noises were coming from.  Throwing open the door and being attacked by a vicious….ly loving Dalmatian puppy!
• Another midnight hunt to the basement and discovering we’d been literally overrun by MICE!

Memories like this pile one on top of the other as I remember those early years.  For instance, as a Kindergartner, I walked… alone… over 6 blocks to school, crossing a major street!  Today I think that would be considered neglect!  Then it was perfectly normal.  Or, walking home from same school, and stopping to play in the vacant lot where the city had deposited several large sections of drainage pipe big enough for little boys… many at a time… to stand upright in.  Such fun places!  Until one day, exhausted by the rigors of kindergarten, I fell asleep in one of them.  By the time I awoke late, late at night, I couldn’t find my way out.  The neighborhood was awash in activity.  I’d never seen it so busy!  And best of all, Police cars and fire trucks were everywhere!  Police were pounding on doors, firemen were looking in bushes and everywhere… everywhere, that is, except the stockpiled drainage pipes… for the lost or run away little boy!

Next post will be about the 70s!