by Frances Joseph Vautier
ed. Dominic Vautier
3/22/1914
home
I remember 14th Street Dock. I suppose it was called “14th Street
Dock” because it was at the end of 14th Street. But it wasn’t accessible from
14th Street
which really ended several hundred feet above the dock on a cliff that was
scalable only with the best of climbing gear. We made our way to the dock by
riding our bikes down Grand to
The first docks were this side of the fish cannery and were occupied mostly with commercial fishing boats. 14th St. Dock was on the other side of the cannery. The docks around the fish cannery were at street level and too high for comfortable fishing. We preferred the floating docks which moved up and down with the tide. There were several of these parallel to, but set back from, the cannery dock far enough to allow room for the large commercial boats to unload their catch. South of the floating docks there usually were massive log booms tied tip awaiting their turn at one of the mills. (Occasionally, Dominic and I would tempt fate by walking out on the booms to the channel. I think we all realized how dangerous it was and refrained from doing it too often. Mike never accompanied us on these excursions.
Log booms are held together by perimeter logs which are chained or cabled to end. They drill a large hole through each end of the perimeter logs and stick the tee end of a bull-cinch through it. The other end of the bull-cinch, which has an eye on it, is passed through a hole in the adjacent log and the eye and the tee are connected together.
I don’t know if this is true or not but Evie (Vautier) heard that a bull-cinch got its name when someone wanted to restrain a bull. You anchor the eye of the cinch to a stake then you shove the tee end of the cinch up the bull’s ass. It’s a cinch he’ll stay put. (In fact, I don’t know if any of the above is true.)
I don’t think we ever bought any fishing tackle; we simply “borrowed” it from one of the many old boats in dry dock, some of which were abandoned, I’m sure. That dry dock might better have been called a boat graveyard;- many of those boats never saw the water again. I remember one boat in particular. It became our favorite place to shop for fish tackle. Of course it wasn’t stealing since we always put it back when we were done fishing- what was left, that is. That boat was loaded with everything a bullhead fisherman could possibly want; a cornucopia of line, hooks and sinkers. Most of the hooks were rusty but the bullheads didn’t seem to mind. Over a period of several years, however, we gradually depleted this source and toward the end of our fishing days there was little useful tackle left in that boat.
Before we found that boat we used to send Dominic to beg for fish hooks from the sports fisherman. He was small and cute and looked very deserving of a few hooks and line. Cute, but not cute enough to get anything out of the commercial fishermen. They told us to get lost in no uncertain terms. The sports fishermen were much more accommodating.
On Saturday mornings we would ride our bikes down to l4st Dock and fish all day for bullheads. I remember when you fell in the water. It was pretty cold outside, probably November. Dominic was wearing that big green plaid jacket that was too big for him. He set his line at the end of the floating dock and took shelter in the back of a big boat tied up nearby. I think it may have been a Sea Scout boat (Ranger ?). he told us he would be taking a nap; to let him know when he had a bite. A while later a boat came by going a little faster than it should have been and swamped the dock making it wet and slippery. Of course, we never considered that when we decided to pull a prank that Dominic had a bite. (I think it was my idea.) “Hey, Dom! You go a bite!”
He jumped off the boat and came running down the dock, hit the wet spot about 10 feet before the end of the dock and went sliding right off the end. I think his feet were pointed about 11:00 o’clock high when the back of his head hit the water. It was really quite graceful.
Mike and I ran to the edge of the dock in a panic but by this time Dominic had recovered and was swimming frantically back to the dock. It seemed that there was a big void around him; that the water had not had time to close in and get him wet, but when we pulled him out he was, indeed, wet to the bone. But the whole thing happened so fast I don’t think he was in the water more than a couple of seconds.
That was the end of our fishing for that day. We rushed Dominic home as fast as is possible on bikes. It probably wasn’t much fun riding a bike in wet clothes. When we got home Mama was ironing clothes and didn’t seem the least bit concerned or excited when we told her what had happened. She said she had had a premonition of something happening to Dominic while she was ironing. She just told him to change clothes.
One time Dominic and I were riding our bikes back from sawdust island. Sawdust Island was nothing more than a pile of leftover sawdust created by debris from the pulp mill. We were horsing around grabbing each other’s handle bars. About the third or fourth time we did this the front wheels of our bikes came together and touched. It was all over - a major wipeout! Probably one of the worst I can remember. I was quite relieved that neither of us was much the worse for the ware and the bikes were still functional and we didn’t get run over by a truck. We just laughed it off and continued on home.
Other times we would go to the gravel pit just past the 14th Street Dock. It was actually a gravel pile, piled in different bins according to grade.
Beneath the bins was a conveyor belt which could carry the selected sand or gravel to a tipple which would take it to a big hopper for mixing concrete. We could tell that the piles of sand and gravel were being reduced from the bottom since the top of each pile was a cone-shaped crater which made them look like volcanoes, it was great fun to climb the superstructure as high as we could go then jump into the sand crater or down the side of the sand pile. We found that the slope of the sand made a fairly soft landing even at extreme heights.
This whole structure was located at the end of a large field near the water. The sand and gravel barges would tie up at the dock and a crane would move their load to the piles. It was also good sport to jump from the dock into the loaded barges.
One time we were playing on dock jumping to a barge fill of gravel. The top of the gravel on the barge was maybe 6 feet below the dock; not much of a challenge for veteran sand jumpers. So we moved to the sand piles. Several hours later we returned to the dock and I ran to the edge and made a suicidal jump to the barge without even looking. To my chagrin the barge was not 6 feet below me but more like 18 feet! The tide had gone out! I had plenty of time to think about this on the way down. I landed on both feet and went right into a squat hitting my chin on my knees. Boy, did that hurt. I had to lay there for a while to let the pain in my groin subside.
Another time at the same dock, we left our bikes by the water while we went off to play. Of course, I always locked my Schwinn when I left it alone. It had the built in lock right in the steering column. All you had to do was cock the wheel all the way to the right and turn the key and take it out. What a great bike!
Sometime later while standing right on the edge of the dock, 1 reached into my pocket for something and when I pulled my hand out I heard a little “ploop” as if something hit the water below. I didn’t think much about it till we got ready to leave. My key was nowhere to be found. I had to drag that monster Schwinn all the way home. (Seems to me someone took pity on us and gave us a ride part of the way.)
Some time later Mama read
in the paper about a kid getting killed in the gravel pit. He got sucked
right down into the center of the pile of sand and suffocated. “Yeah, we knew
where it was.” “Oh, no. We would never do anything as dangerous as that.”
And we never did again.
That picture of us on the Shetland pony brings back a flood of memories. That was taken, I believe, at the Projects in the spring of 1947 shortly after we were delivered from that horrible terrible Academy in Idaho and just before we moved into the wonderful house at 2317 Grand. I remember the guy with the horse had already gone past our house and we went in and told Mama. She went out the back door and caught up with him at the end of the building where that picture was taken.
That was the second time we lived in the Projects. I think we lived there for a while after the Swaska Road farm, maybe before we moved into 1118 Colby, Everett. I remember the difference since Jimmy and Danny were both living with us during the first stint at the Projects.
In the spring of 1947, Mama came to visit us at the Academy around Easter. She gave us the little wooden submarines that shot real torpedoes. Those things stayed with us for many years. She was driving the Lincoln coupe. I’m not sure if, Perp, the German shepherd was with her then. I know that on that trip she had to get rid of it since it went crazy when she got tangled up in a cowboy celebration with a lot of shooting of blanks and fire crackers. And before that, she got stopped in a roadblock where they were looking for a desperate criminal. The trooper leaned into the window of the car and Perp had him by the wrist in nothing flat. Mama said his only comment was, “I’ll never learn” Mama felt she couldn’t control Perp anymore so she had him disposed of at the vets.
Anyway, she didn’t stay very long—just that one afternoon. I remember her remarking later how skinny and underfed we looked. I think I made one of my daring jail breaks shortly after that, but that’s another story.
Jimmy joined us at the Academy shortly after that. He came over on the train by himself. He was about 12 years old. We finally had some protection from the infamous Sparrow.
When we came to Everett in 1946 we lived in the projects. One time Mama got us all ready to go to the store but I insisted on not going — I had other plans. So she let me stay home by myself.
As soon as everybody was out of sight, I got busy with my plans. I was going to make some candy. So I got a lot of stuff out of the pantry and stood on a chair and started cooking it on the gas stove. I must have seen Mama make fudge because I had some idea what I was doing. Lots of sugar!
So by the time you guys got back I had made a pan of caramel candy. I didn’t like it but everybody else did. Of course, Mama was horrified but she didn’t punish me.
Another time I built a fireplace out of cardboard. After several days’ nagging, Mama finally let me build a fire in it. Of course she had me do it outside. I was quite surprised when the whole thing went up in flames—nothing left but ashes. My only comment was, “Hummmm?’
On the 4th of July, Mama took us all to get ice cream. The ice-cream store was up the hill, on a path through a lot of bramble bushes, on the other side of the infamous Highway 99. We had tried to do this one time before but Mama had forgotten her keys and we all went back home and Jimmy climbed in a window to open the door. By that time it was too late to go for ice-cream.
This time I was very excited about finally getting to the ice-cream store. I was running ahead of the group. I found a path that went off to the right which I had to explore. Of course, Mama yelled at me to stay with the group. So I turned around and ran back toward the main path. But I caught my foot on a steel cable that was sticking out of the ground and went flying through the air and landed right on a broken beer bottle. I cut my finger right to the bone and had to go to the hospital. I remember sitting in the emergency room at Providence Hospital but I don’t remember how we got there probably by taxi cab. It was very crowded. Lot’s of 4th of July accidents.
So, again, we didn’t get any ice-cream. I don’t think we ever made it to that ice-cream store.That accident I had with the broken beer bottle where I cut my right index finger right at the first joint continues to bother me to this day. I have reflected pain to the joints of both my big toes as well.
I find it curious that I have very few, if any, memories of Dominic, Mike, or Marie during this period. I guess, at age 7, one is a bit selfish.
I remember this dream I had: I was standing on the rail of the back porch looking to the South (towards Boeing). I was looking at this huge airplane whose wings went almost from horizon to horizon, flying right towards me. I remember taking a nose dive off the front porch, 4 or 5 steps and landing on the pavement right on my forehead. I had a big goose egg right above my nose for a long time after that.
I remember one time I was playing with the radio in mom’s Lincoln. She came out and told me to come into the house as it was getting late. I told her the radio was still on-I could hear the "radibrator" - but she came to look and said it was off and dragged me out and into the house. The next day the Lincoln had a dead battery. I don’t remember that car after that. She must have gotten rid of it before we moved to Grand Street.
I remember a neighbor lady complaining about Marie not wearing panties. She actually wore them but sometimes they would disappear into the gap like a thong bathing suit.
I remember Mama taking us to 2317 Grand, climbing those 27 steps, to look in the front windows. She asked me what I thought about the place and, of course, I was all for buying it right then and there. I was very excited.
The first
time we went into the house there were dirty coffee cups on the kitchen table
that were probably left by another real estate agent. I’m not sure if that was
when we were moving in or just looking at it. I don’t remember anything
One of the things I remember doing is playing “King of the Mountain” one evening with Christine and Russell Christman who lived in the house next door. We really had a good time because they had such a beautiful lawn. We were covered with grass stains and totally exhausted by bed time. I don’t think we ever played with them again that I can recall. I don’t think Mama wanted to become “friends” with the neighbors. She always had some excuse for us to not be friends with them. The Christman’s used to bum their trash in the vacant lot across the alley and Mama had me stick up a sign she made that said, “Christman’s Dump!’ That’s something that’s probably not in the book, How to win friends and influence people.
One time Mike repeated something that Mama had said about a cake that Mrs. Christman had made (I’ll ask Mike about this). The next Sunday Mike and I met Mrs. Christman on the way home from Mass. Boy, did she read the riot act to Mike.
The Christman’s moved away and the Rabitoy’s moved in but the hostility remained. We were never on good terms with the neighbors.
One day we were standing on
Grand St.
in front of the house. Mike, began calling to a little dog that was crossing
the street. It was crossing from the direction of the gray house next to the
vacant lot near
There were several older boys, probably in their twenties, who lived two houses away toward 23rd Street. They liked to work on hot rods in the garage and test-drive them out front on Grand. Grand was a wide street paved with beautiful red shiny bricks. Then, one day, the big green machines came and covered up those beautiful bricks with ugly black top. But then, it was much easier to ride bikes on. The bricks were very slippery and treacherous when wet which was most of the time.
Anyway, one night you could hear the hot-rodders start their test run. Right in front of our house the roar of the engine was mixed with the screams of a dog crying in pain. We ran to the front door and there was Honey about halfway up the 27 steps, dragging his back legs behind him. Mama went down and brought him into the house.
I don’t think Honey ever received any medical attention for his injuries. He probably had a broken hip or at least a broken leg. He spent the whole winter inside the house recuperating. Mama put papers out for him to poop on. She did all the work of caring for him, of course. We were too busy with school and other things. Honey was never quite the same after the accident. Whenever he heard a loud car go by he would get very anxious and bark and howl. He would have nightmares laying on his back, crying and running as fast as he could go.
Then one day Honey was nowhere to be found. We looked for him, called after him, but he never came home again. Honey was gone forever.
I remember talking to Mama about Honey several times in the following weeks. She said he probably just run off and found another home. I really don’t know how long we had Honey. It seems like several years but it could have been just one. At any rate, we didn’t fret over Honey’s leaving for very long. Too many things to grab our interest and occupy our minds with wonder.
We always had cats around. Hazel had a litter of kittens in our winter-time bedroom. They all got distemper and died eventually. Mama may have got Hazel fixed after that. I remember trying to feed one of the kittens milk with an eye-dropper when the poor thing was sick and dying. I’m sure the last thing it wanted at the time was milk. Of course, we couldn’t have any more kittens according to the Cat Lady who lived down the alley. They would just get distemper and die she told us.
In the fall of 1947 our brother, Jim, came home from The Academy of the Immaculate Heart of Mary, hideous place, where he had spent the summer. Jim was 14 years old but not used to traveling by himself. One of Mama’s old friends in Coeur d'Alene put him on the bus or train with a note with our address on it. Somehow he ended up on East Grand and didn’t find us till very late. He told me recently that that was a very traumatic adventure.
He brought with him a little critter called the Itch Mite. He was covered with oozing sores over most of his body. Mama isolated him to the upstairs bedroom and then shipped him off to Blaine to work for Mr. xxxxx. She put anything that Jim looked at or touched into that upstairs bedroom in the S. E. corner of the house where it remained under lock and key till I joined the Army 10 years later. It became known as the Itch Room. (Actually, I used to go in there every once in a while. I was fascinated with Mama’s photo retouching frame.)
I don’t know if we were
really infected with the itch mite or if Mama just wasn’t taking any chances,
but we all had to take a bath every night and then get covered with this white,
smelly lotion and wait till it dried before putting our clothes back on. I
didn’t mind that part too much—any excuse to run around naked. This became
our routine every night before bed and went on for several weeks. I don’t
remember ever itching or having any oozing sores so I guess it worked.
If we took a bath once a month, I would be surprised. We did wash face and hands on a daily basis but bathes were, more or less, optional. I was home for three weeks after basic training and went to Boston without having a bath the whole time. There was a guy in the barracks who would go on a date after working on his car all day. He would put on a suit and take off with grease all over his hands and face. One day I came into the barracks and ten guys had him pined down in the shower, going at it with scrub brushes. I never missed taking a daily shower after that.
In 1947 I went into the second grade at The Immaculate Conception School in Everett but was put back into the first after a short time. In the second grade, I remember getting into some trouble on the playground and being carried up the stairs by four older kids— one on each arm and leg. I was cussing my brains out using every cuss word I could think of. (I have no idea where I learned them.) Sr. Francine gave me a little plastic statue of the Virgin which I still hate.
In the third grade I remember when it became 1950 and it sounded so neat. One time we had a party and we did a peanut race. Now I had never seen a peanut race before but the idea was to carry this peanut on a wooden spoon from the back of the room to the front. The spoon was actually a spork - a wooden spoon with pointy tangs on the front. When my turn came I decided I would have a better chance if I impaled the peanut with the spork. I made it about half way to the front of the room before the nun grabbed me and gave me a rap on the head and sent me back to my seat for cheating. (what! me cheat?)
In the forth grade we all thought the nun was beautiful. She was young and had very red lips that made it look like she was wearing lipstick. One day the nun asked who didn’t go to Mass on Sunday. The only person who raised his hand was this jerk named Michael Buckley.
Sometime after that Dominic and I were playing on the big maple trees that had been cut down in the Robinson’s front yard on 23rd & Rucker. Who should come along but this sinner, Michael Buckley. So I went to him with the intention of kicking his butt for not going to church but before the evening was over we were bosom buddies. I wonder what he said to me?
Several of the other kids in that class really had it in for Mike. I don’t know if it was for the same reason or not. Mike frequently had to stay after school. One night I went to his house and his mother said he hadn’t got home yet. I knew something was wrong so I ran as fast as I could to the school. When I came around the corner on 25th St I saw Michael on the ground crying and Tommy Vigue and Karl Haulthan were kicking him. When they saw me coming they ran off. Even though I was still quite a distance away, I picked up a rock and let it fly and hit Tommy right in the face. Man, did he have a black eye. It’s a wonder I didn’t kill him. So I picked Mike up and took him home and I think his mother loved me ever after.
Mike was probably my best childhood friend. He was a open and honest person. His family was very well off. His dad worked for Warehouser. They lived on Rucker St. We lived on Grand; the next block but a world apart. Several of the houses on that block where he lived were owned by the Robinsons as in Robinson’s Mill. I still remember his phone number BAyview 6097 (Ours was CEder 1810). I think Mike may have been the one who planted the seeds of curiosity in my mind about electricity. Would I have become a computer mechanic if I had not known him? I still try to find him on the internet once in a while. I have a whole database of Michael J. Buckley’s - there are hundreds!
Mike’s whole family was nice. His mother was so friendly; always asking me about school and what I thought about this and that. He had two beautiful sisters: Cathy and Coleen. I didn’t realize how pretty they were till just before they moved away. His dad took us to Lake Stevens to their summer cottage where they had a speed boat. Driving across that long bridge east of town he almost got that Buick up to 100 mph. He said, “Sorry, kids. I ran out of road!” The speed boat seemed to go over 100 mph but it probably didn’t.
Mike and I had many miss-adventures. One time he was chasing me and I ran into Connie’s Ice Cream just as he threw an apple core at me which went over my head and right into a batch of ice cream Ilene (Irene?) Star was poring into the machine. Boy was she mad. She and Mama were bosom buddies so I had to go apologize right away.
Another time we saw this pillar of smoke coming from one of the mills on the waterfront. We jumped on our bikes and made it down there before the fire trucks. It was Robinson’s Mill ablaze. Mike and I walked out on the pier as far as we could go, right in the midst of the smoke and fire. A guy asked us to hold a hose for him so he could have a cigarette. It took both of us to hold that hose. It was just a small one about 2 inches but the water pressure was very high. When the fireman got there they had the big hoses but they let us stay on the little hose. They told the guy to put the cigarette out.
Michael Buckley got his nice bike for his birthday. This is probably before we had bikes (maybe not). He got his big dog, Frisky. Frisky killed one of our kittens as it was trying to get away up the peach tree. Frisky grabbed it and shook it once and it was dead. I never really held it against him - dogs will be dogs.
Speaking of fires, one time Dominic saw a house on fire in the next block on Grand, towards Joe’s Grocery Store. Dominic ran all the way to the B&M to tell Mama about it.
There were these bushes in Clark Park where the girl was killed with an ax. We would comment about it every time we passed them. The murderer lived right across the street from us in the rooming house next to the second lot. One night Pop was going back to the dredge and wanted to walk to the bus station. Mama had a fit and made him take a cab. Well, that same night the ax murderer struck again. This time up on Rucker Street, he chased a girl with a hammer but she ran into someone’s house for help and a man chased him off. The police arrested him when he came back looking for his hammer.
I don’t remember if Dominic ever went to the Immaculate Conception School in Everett. My brothers Mike and Dominic were going to the Perpetual Help before I transferred there in the 5th grade.
My brother Mike started things off by getting the J.C. Higgins with his paper route money. Some time alter that, one day, Mama came home with a beautiful Schwinn bike for me. What a beauty! This was the Cadillac of bikes. It had whitewall tires, Knee Action front suspension, a luggage rack, a leather seat, and a built-in horn! It even had a key to lock the front wheel. I was in heaven! Mama only paid 60 bucks for it since it was used. Next to my Schwinn Mike’s bike looked like a Yugo so he had to upgrade to a Raleigh English Racer and Dominic got stuck with the J. C. Higgins. Then, of course, we had the "blue" girl’s bike that we got from the Volunteers of America for 8 dollars. I remember running it at Colman’s brick wall, jumping off at the last minute and letting the bike crash into the wall. That thing was indestructible. I don’t think Marie ever learned to ride a bike.
The first time I rode a bike. My big brother Jimmy used to ride me around a lot. We’d go to Farrell’s Ice cream and have an ice-cream or a 3-musketeer and I would ride on the crossbar side saddle. One day he went into Connie’s by the high-school and he told me to hold the bike. I got bored holding it so I got up on the brick wall and got on the seat and started peddling. I made it to the church before falling over, about a half-block ride. When Jim came out of Connie’s I was walking the bike back to him. I told him that I rode it all the way to the church but he wouldn’t believe me.
Jim was very reckless. One time he decided to ride through the vacant lot next to Visher’s which, for the most part is flat, gradually sloping to Grand where it was as steep as our front yard. He never blinked an eye, never made any attempt at slowing down. Just went crashing over the edge. The bike was on top of us when we came to rest at the bottom of the hill on Grand. The front wheel was almost perfectly square.
Farrell’s on 23rd &
Colby was Farrell’s
Ice-cream then it became Mac’s Deli but we continued to call it Farrell’s.
Then, a few years later it became Farrell’s again at which time we began
calling it Mac’s.
Connie’s Ice-Cream on 25th & Colby became Sid’s Campus Shop but we continued to call it Connie’s for several years. Then it became Connie’s again and we promptly began calling it Sid’s.
I wonder when the stilts came along. Maybe Mama was trying to take our minds off our lost dog. I remember the lumber yard delivering all these polls and other lumber. Mama got the saw, hammer and nails and went to work, not saying a thing about what she was making till she was finish. I believe she may have even demonstrated how to use them. It wasn’t long before we were stilt-masters. We could go anywhere on our stilts; up stairs, downstairs, dance a jig. The only mishap was when Dominic, imprudently, took a bite out of the basketball net and promptly lost balance. I remember him hanging there by the string between his teeth till it broke. It’s a wonder he didn’t lose a couple of teeth — must have hurt like hell.
I’m not sure when Pupagator came along. It must have been after 1954 since the song “See You later, Alligator” was popular. One day we all rushed out to the alley and this little ugly brown creature about 7 inches long came wagging out of the back door of a car that was parked there. She didn’t have any tail to wag; she was wagging her whole body. It took me a few seconds to realize that it was actually a dog. And it was OUR dog! Mama had answered an ad in the paper and they delivered it right to our door. Boy, were we excited!
Actually, her pedigree name was Lady Beatrix Lovelace but I think she came to be called Lady Bug. Then one day when I was heading out to do the paper route, humming the song, I looked over at the dog and said, “See you later, Pupagator!” That name stuck.
I remember how much she liked my fishing pole when she got older. Pop bought me a little bait casting rod at Western Auto Supply for $4.50. Of course, we never had poles at 14th street dock. This was later when I was in Jr. high school. I used to practice casting in the side yard after school. I had a big red plastic plug on the line which allowed me to cast all the way to the side porch. Well, Pupagator took to chasing the plug down the yard and I would have to reel her and the plug back. She would stand at attention like a pointer behind me waiting for me to cast. Then she would bounce down the yard, going several feet in the air with each bounce for a better view of her target, and finally pounce upon it on the third or fourth bounce. She would never tire of this and as soon as I got home from school she would go to the corner and start barking at my fishing pole.
I had that pole for a long time and finally lost it someplace in Colorado when it fell off the car where I had it strapped.
Pupagator liked to go for walks but knew only one direction and speed: straight ahead and fast. You didn’t walk her--she dragged you. Then at the end of her walk, which usually wasn’t anywhere near the house, she would simply lay down. “That’s it. I’m done.” You could drag her. She would just roll over onto her back and let you drag. So I ended up having to carry her all the way home. I usually put her on my shoulder, draped around my neck. It was quit a trick to judge the half-way point for her walk so I wouldn’t have to carry her.
In 1956 I didn’t go to school. Everybody was gone. Mike was in the army; Dominic was in the seminary; and Marie was in boarding school in Idaho or Oregon. I was the last one left at home.
Mama would get me up for 6 o’clock Mass every day. I would come home and have breakfast and she would go to 8 o’clock Mass. When (if) the Sun came up over the garage, Papagator and I would sit on the rail of the back porch till my butt got so numb I would have to get up. The rail was actually a 2 by 6. I would sit on it with my back against the post that was part of the doorway. Pupagator would beg till I picked her up and laid her across my lap with her head hanging down facing the sun and her butt hanging down the other side like a sack of flour. She would stay like that for hours I think but my tailbone would give out much sooner.
That was a boring time. I had little contact with the world. I would try to do some lessons of a correspondence course in electronics that Mama had bought for me for $300 but there was no pressure and I wasn’t a very enthusiastic student. I doubt I did more than one or two lessons a week. But I was getting good scores on the tests and what I understood, I understood very well. After I joined the army I only sent a few lessons in and eventually lost interest in it altogether.
About 3pm every day, I would head up to the high school to meet Steve Unzelman. We would amble on down Colby to Hewitt and lean against that tobacco shop and watch the girls. Steve knew a lot of people and would BS with all his friends. Then we would go east on Hewitt to an ice cream place and have a dish of vanilla ice cream. Boy, were we BAD! (I still like ice cream out of a metal dish -- different melting characteristics.) After the ice cream it was time for me to head for Providence Hospital up on Pacific to wash the evening meal’s pots and pans. Mrs. Bunny would always leave a big helping of the main course in one of her pans so I ate like a king there. Of course, the nun in charge would not approve of anyone eating on the job. God, they were tight. Saturdays and Sundays were also dedicated to pots & pans at the hospital; all day Saturday and a triple shift on Sunday. Believe it or not I walked back and forth 3 times. Too old to be riding a bike.
You can see how anxious I was to join the army as soon as I turned 17 in May of ’57. My life was so boring I couldn’t stand it. I sometimes wonder if Mama planed it that way?