Ft. Richardson, Alaska

We moved on post into brand new quarters. My dad was a sergeant, i believe he was the company sergeant at the time.

A couple of stories he and my mother told me about our time in Alaska.

When we arrived, mom had traveled cross country with Bill and I on train with the last leg a flight, dad was there to great us as we disembarked. He was lost in what is known as a "Mother of Pearl Sky". We had to wait until the sunset had faded before continuing.

Truman had integrated the Armed Forces. So my dad's company was mixed. One of the black soldiers father had died. As my father made out the paperwork for bereavement leave for the soldier an officer told him the N____ did not deserve leave and wasn't about to allow it. My dad responded the he was a man and as such was entitled to the leave. The soldier got his bereavement leave. My mother always told me that my dad was prejudiced. I never saw it. One of his oft repeated sayings was
"Two wrongs do not make a right".

My father always thought that second lieutenants thought they knew everything bu knew little and were dangerous. He believed it was up to him to teach them. A second lieutenant came in bragging that he thoroughly read everything he signed. My dad schooled him when he rotated out a year later and asked him where the battleship he had signed for was (the Army does not have battleships). The document with the lieutenant's signature was right there before him.

Dad had caught malaria during the war in the Pacific. While in Alaska he was frostbitten. The malaria never reoccurred after that.

The quarters were a row of what is now called town houses. We had a front and back entrance with parking in the rear.  It was two stories with a basement.

As we moved in I discovered the telephone.  I picked up the receiver and dialed each number starting at one and ending with zero. When I put the receiver to my ear I heard "I'll be right over." I spent the rest of the morning sitting on the front porch waiting for this mysterious lady to appear. We had a party line.

During the winter the local Eskimos (Sorry, I do not know the tribe/clan) came to the base with their dogs and  sleds. They would give us rides in the sleds. According to my mother the dogs were barely domesticated and were dangerous. Every year children were mauled by these dogs. there was one that even to owners were afraid of, he being a particularly vicious lead dog. Bill just walked up to him and threw his arms around the dog. They got along fine to the horror of everyone. Bill always had a way with animals.

We had a neighbor that made beautiful snow women after snow falls. I wanted to be able to do that but never graduated beyond the standard three ball snow man.

There were moose that wandered on base all the time. They are still a familiar sight in Anchorage. My mother had never seen one so did not really believe anyone (She grew up in densely settled Arlington, Mass where there was no wildlife). He belief changed when bringing in groceries, as she turned around to go get the next set of bags there was a moose trying to get in the apartment. Fortunately the antlers prevented it from fitting through the door.

In the basement we had a big tricycle. It was so big that neither Bill or I could sit on the saddle and reach the pedals. As I recall it had a chain that drove the rear wheels. We would have contests, sometimes with the neighbor kids, of who could ride it around in circles the fastest.

The new apartments we in had all sorts of problems. Workmen were always coming by to check on or repair something. Shortly after moving in Bill and I decided to help. We took out our crayons and painted the upstairs hallway with them. Mom spent the rest of our time there scrubbing the crayons off the wall. This was before non-toxic crayons were available.

One day, while in kindergarten, we were sent home early. It was pitch black outside and we complained about being kept in school all day and into the night. I usually walked but that day I had to ride the bus. The buss driver stopped at every apartment letting off only the children that lived there. He gave instructions to go right in and waited until we entered the apartment before moving on to the next apartment. When I got home mom put Bill and I down for our usual nap. When we woke it was snowing big white flacks, it was now light out. And surprise, dad was home. Bill and I wanted to go out and play in the snow. Dad said no. When we complained he said that that was not snow, but ash. Three mountains had blown their tops (I think one was Mount Redoubt). The blackness earlier was the heavy ash load blocking out all sunlight. The ash had a high sulfur component that turned to acid when wet. The load of ash was several inches deep when it stopped falling. The ash broke down into a very fine dust, very easily. My mother said that for the remainder of our stay there she always got a very fine sprinkling of ash on the dishes very time she closed the cupboard door. It clung to the underside of the shelving. She kept articles and a sampling of the ash, in a Skippy jar.

The infrastructure was not very good in Anchorage then. Every day at around 4 pm the power went out as the wives started to cook supper, this was 1950, 1951. My mother just started cooking the roasts, steak was expensive and rarer then, earlier in the day. We usually had cold suppers, which was not a stretch being from New England where the big meal was dinner and noon followed by a light supper. bill and I added to the adventure by once removing all the labels from the canned food. For about six weeks it was always a surprise what was for dinner.

Staying on the infrastructure theme almost all food was shipped in via boat. preservation was not as good then. Meat came in frozen solid, mom often commented that she could see the saw marks in the meat she bought. Eggs and milk came in powdered, Bill and I would not drink whole (fresh) mild when we first returned stateside. Vegetables and fruit came in canned.

There was only one paved road Anchorage. That was fourth street which went by the four story skyscraper of J.C. Penney's.

While there Maggie was born at over 9 pounds. A little over 10 months later Jean and Janet were born. I still have memories of Jean and Janet propped up in each corner of the couch while Bill and I were responsible for watching Maggie to mage sure she did not crawl out of the living room. Maggie crawled backwards. We had had fun pointing her so that she would wind up under the couch, a table or other piece of furniture.

Later I have my first memory of my Father's face. It was the day Mom and Dad came home after rushing Janet to the hospital. Janet had died. Both parents were devastated and my father's expression remains in my memory.

I loved Alaska and this is where I probably developed my love of wild places. Spending time in the forest is a recurring theme, even now. The wilder the better.

When I was young someone told me that God got tired of being alone so angels were created. But, they had no free will and could not be companions. Thus, God created humans.

When we were put in the Garden of Eden we were given everything we needed. Except free will. God planted the Tree of Knowledge and told us not to eat the fruit of that tree. God made us and knew full well what we would do. But we were given the choice, "Do you want Free Will?". Without that choice we could not have Free Will. We had to choose it!

I believe that when Eve and Adam ate of the fruit they passed the test God had set for us. We were destined to leave the Garden.

God did not create us to be sycophants groveling for acceptance. To say that each of us is flawed is a disservice to God, implying that God is an indifferent or poor creator.We do ourselves and God  a disservice by saying we are flawed. We are to be discarded as a flawed piece of pottery is discarded into the midden heap. Jesus never once told a person they were flawed or imperfect.

God has given us free will and all encompassing Love. I believe we are each incomplete, not flawed. It is our journey to complete ourselves growing in our uniqueness.

Prejudice Has Control

My paternal grandfather moved into a house in Malden, Massachusetts sometime before 1920. The neighborhood was an upright white Anglo Saxon neighborhood. He and his wife were Irish Catholics. This was at a time when the Irish were reviled. The neighbors complained that soon he would bring in other members of his family with multiple families living in one house and they would take over the neighborhood. So they applied pressure for him to sell the house and get out. Eventually he conceded and said he would leave as soon as he could sell the house. He placed an ad in the newspaper "House for sale. (specifics). Only blacks or Jews need apply". The neighbors where at his door that day asking him to stay.

When we were living in North Carolina, around 1954, we went into town and into a department store. Following my parents around while they were shopping I became thirsty and went in search of a water fountain. I found one, but it had a long line of people waiting for water. With the impatience of youth I looked around and spotted another fountain with no one in line. Wondering why no one was switching over I went over and got my drink. About the time I got back to my parents the manager of the store meet them and asked us to leave. My parents asked why and they were informed that I had taken a drink from the Colored fountain and that was against the law. The law specified that there must be separate fountains for White and Colored, which there was even though Colored were not allowed in the store.

These and other incidents in my life continue to show me that when you allow prejudice and its accompanying fear ascendancy you loose control. You become very easy to manipulate and control for whatever means I have in mind. You are now victims!

Fort Bragg, North Carolina

As with most bases we stayed in the same apartment/house once we moved on base. At Fort Bragg we moved into an apartment that was in a converted hospital. The apartments were in long rows with 6 to 8 apartments per building. All of the buildings where connected by a covered, elevated walkway. The backs of two apartments where fairly close together. The gaps between the fronts were huge, at least to my second grade eyes. My dad was still an NCO then so these where NCO quarters. A quick check of Google maps fails to show these apartments, so they are likely replaced by now.

There was a forest just across a field from our apartment. I spent a lot of hours there. Part of a theme of my childhood was spending time in forests or wooded areas, or most any area that is wild. While in these woods I once tried to grab a cotton mouth snake. It threatened me, that's how I found out it was a cotton mouth, an fortunately for me it left quickly. We hunted frogs and tadpoles in the forest. Once coming out of the forest there was a doe with her fawn within a few feet of where I came out. The did not startle right away so I got a good look.

with some friends I worked on building my first tree house. The tree was in the middle of a field near the apartments. We used ropes to climb the tree. Once when I wanted to come down the rope got caught in a nail. I pulled and it seemed strong enough so I started down the tree with my feet on the trunk and leaning back on the rope. Half way down the nail bent releasing the rope. I fell flat on my back, biting a good chunk out of my tongue. I could not stand up straight and went straight home crying all the way. My parents decided that I was alright so no hospital visit. I don't think I ever returned to that tree.

As was common at that time groups of neighborhood kids would run together. There were five or six of us that ran around together doing kid stuff. One of our neighbors had a son, about our age, with sever cerebral palsy. He was wheel chair bound with very little control over his body and could not talk. His mother would bring him out and we would concentrate our play in front of him so he could watch. We often spoke to him in an effort to include him. His mother said he enjoyed being out with us.

A boy a little older or possibly just bigger than us move into the neighborhood. He became the bully, at least to us. We put up with it for a while until one day I lost my temper and fought him. The fight consisted mostly of inept wrestling. An older boy or possibly a GI came by and gave me encouragement. It seemed like we fought for hours. It was probably only for ten of fifteen minutes, until one of us was called home for dinner. As with most of my physical encounters there was no clear winner. The next day he told me that he threw up that night and it was my fault. We did not have trouble with him again. I seem to recall that he joined us in play on several occasions.

On a couple of occasions I complained to my father about bullies wanting him to take care of the problem. His response was that he could come and enforce his will, but could not protect me all the time. I would have to resolve the problem myself. It was the only way to bring the issue to closure.

Several times during the summer trucks would drive along the covered walk spraying DDT to keep the mosquitoes at bay. We would go out and run through the clouds of DDT. Our parents and thus we believed that the DDT was harmless to humans. There were a lot of bugs and our parents got a new product that was supposed to repel the bugs. It was oily and I think I resisted using it. My parents tried it on Jean several times. something about her body chemistry turned it into an attractant. she would come back inside from playing and her face was covered with trapped and dead gnats.

I think my sisters had their First Communion when we were at Bragg. They were towheads at the time. I do not remember my first communion.

Once Billy and I found a lost dog (the post had leash laws). We brought it home and mom found the owner who thanked us and invited us over for hot chocolate. We took her up on it.

One incident occurred that had a lasting impact on me. Living on base we interacted with a polyglot of people. Blacks, Orientals, Jews, Native Americans, etc. It was all part of my life. Once we went into town to a department store. While my parents where looking through clothes I got thirsty and went in search of a water fountain. There were two, one with a line and another with no line. I opted for the one with no line. It worked and the water was good. About the time I returned to my parents the manager came over and asked us to leave. I had taken a drink from the Colored fountain and that was not allowed. Much later it occurred to me that it was highly likely that Colored were not even allowed in the store. But they had to have a fountain for them. These people where locked into a rigid structure that allowed no room for thought; they had enslaved themselves. To be fair I returned to North Carolina in around 2008, some 50 years later,  and saw several black and white professionals working together giving respect. My parents tried to explain what happened to me, but I did not understand as I had no reference. I was not in trouble with them. I think my parents were upset that there was in issue.

Miss Jacomet

I attended four different high schools. Three in my freshman year.

I find it humorous that the worst high school I attended had two of the best teachers I ever had.

The best teacher was Miss Jacomet my chemistry teacher at Ecorse High School. On the first day of chemistry class she walked down the desk aisles dropping the periodic table of elements on each of our desks. The announcement was simple. By the end of September we where to be given a test that expected us to know each element, its symbol, abbreviation, atomic weight, and valence. We were not going to cover the table in class. We were expected to learn it outside (homework).

Miss Jacomet the proceeded to teach us chemistry. At that time the high school had three 7 or 8 week grading periods per semester. We had to do about 60 assignments per grading period, including lab reports. We were encouraged to form study groups. I joined one composed of about 4 students from Ft. Wayne, one an attractive young lady that I become good friends with; almost loosing my girl friend.

My parents had taken a laissez-faire approach to our studying/homework. "If they want good grades they will study". As a consequence I have never developed good study habits. The upshot is that I did not want to do the work. As a result Miss Jacomet gave me a failing grade for the first term. My first one ever!

So I wanted out of the class. After making a lot of noise one of my parents (My father I think) and I were meeting with my counselor waiting for Miss Jacomet to join us so I could drop the class. She walked in said that I was smart enough to do the work and that she would not allow me to drop the class and walked out. There was no discussion.

Needless to say I stayed in the class, buckled down, and got a B and A for the next two marking periods. Miss Jacomet always had time to answer questions and help us understand. One of our assignments was a term paper. One other student and I selected the proton as our subject. We both spent hours at the Detroit Public Library (at the time it was an outstanding reference library, one of the best in the country). This was during the 1964-1965 school year and not a lot of information on the interior of atoms was available. We collaborated on the research but wrote the papers individually. We both came in several pages short of the requirement. Miss Jacomet accepted the papers and commended us for the effort made on a difficult subject.

Miss Jacomet was an exceptional teacher in that:
1. Her attitude was that her students were smart enough to do the work. This was right out of the box.
2. She was more interested in teaching us how to ask questions and learn.
3. Was happiest when her students did well or had an Aha! moment.

I did not get to finish the year with her. My dad got orders and we moved to Fairfax, Va. I excelled in the new chemistry class, coasting as we had already covered all the material in Ecorse. I did so well that the chemistry teacher asked me to be the lab assistant the next year, my senior year. I accepted and set up the experiments for the chemistry class.

Alaska Cabin

My first memories date back to Anchorage, Alaska when we were living in a 20 by 20 cabin. This was probably in 1950. We lived in the cabin for a while while we waited for quarters on base to be ready. Dad said the rent was $90 a month.

My memory is that the cabin had a main area with a sink and a big black stove. Dad said that there was one outlet that he had to chip the ice off every morning. The bedroom was partially separated by a wall half way down the room. the stove was in front of the wall. Billy and I slept in shelves in the wall. The outhouse was to the right of the cabin door. The pump was to the left. I remember taking a bath in a galvanized tub in the middle of the main room.

I tried to help mom by bringing in water from the pump. I could only manage to carry about an inch of water in bucket. That required two hands and all of my back.

There were at least two cabins. One day there was a puppy tied to the clothes line. It was crying in pain. When I looked the stump of its tail was bleeding. I asked the woman what happened and she told me that they had the tail bobbed. When asked why she said that this breed always has its tail bobbed. It may have been a doberman. I thought it was cruel to do so for appearances.

At the time only one road was paved in Anchorage. We had a big Packard and I remember riding with mom driving down roads where simple potholes where the smooth part of the road. Everything was muddy and rough. At no point was the car ever level.

Sex Abuse

When I was 12 or 13 an 18 year old came into my life. He volunteered to help out with the Boy Scouts. One night while camping he took me out alone. That was the start of the sexual abuse.

The abuse went on for a short time about 2 to 3 months. I don't know if he broke it off or I did. I  avoided him from then on. I never told my parents. I did not report it. To this day I believe that my reporting the abuse would have destroyed my father's career.

This had an affect on my life. I do not want this to happen to any child. I have trained for and done over a dozen sessions on curbing child sexual abuse.

Grandpa Stanley Burned

As told to my by my father.

Before my dad was born, in 1920, his dad James Stanley was a chauffeur. He was returning home one night along the sea shore when a woman ran into him while at a stop sign. Her car had oil burning headlights. Her car caught fire trapping her and her child in the car. My grandfather pulled both out of the car catching on fire while doing so. He started running to the nearby ocean thought better of it and stopped dropped and rolled putting out the fire.

I was told the only place not burned was under his shoe laces. At least one of his eye lids was very badly burned. They did an early graft by fixing his arm so that the skin pressed to his eye.

He went into the hospital weighing at least 250 pounds. Six months later my grandmother, Ellen carried him home in a laundry basket to die. He weighed less than 90 pounds.

For the rest of his life his hands cracked and bled often by closing them due to the scarring. 

From the stories my father told me I have gathered that you could not get away with calling him disabled.

Uncle Jack's Wake

A couple of weeks ago I went to my uncle Jack's wake and funeral. His wife, Aunt Rita, and all seven of his children Patricia, Brian, Elaine, Diane, Laura, Jane, and Andrew were there along with Margie one of Uncle Walter's daughters, from California. It was wonderful seeing them all. It had been at least twenty years. Several grandchildren also came.

For two days we reminisced and told stories about ourselves, our parents, and grandparents. Patricia took Margie and me by the Pine Street house in Malden where our fathers grew up.

Growing up I did not see them very often as my father was career Army and we were never posted to Massachusetts. They all remembered the trip to to visit us in Detroit around 1964. Even Jane who was not yet a toddler.

I am still mulling over that week end and am grateful that I could be there.

Pets

Dad brought home our first pet while we were living out in the country in North Carolina. It was a gray puppy with black spots. I remember him bringing it in in his arms, waking my sisters still in their cribs. We named him Bozo.
Since we lived in the country there was no chain or fencing in of Bozo. He was allowed to run around as he chose. Our duplex neighbors or the owners had a couple of chickens that Bozo loved to harass. Needless to say Bozo was untrained and wild.
When we moved on to Fort Bragg Bozo did not come. I asked dad where Bozo was and he responded that Bozo ran away. I'm pretty sure that he put the dog down, possibly at the behest of my mother who had been attacked by a German Shepard as a child. Bozo could not be allowed to run around unfettered on the base.

The next pet did not come into our lives until we where living in Fort Wayne inside Detroit, Michigan. One of the soldiers under my father got married and asked us to take care of his wife's dog while they were on their honeymoon. When they got back the place they found to live did not allow dogs so Baby became our pet. Baby was a silver Pekineses, supposedly a champion. His full name was much longer, I only heard it once and decided with the rest of the family that his name was Baby. He was well trained and preferred to sleep on newspapers. Living on a base we he had to be on a leash whenever outside of the house. We walked him regularly. My mother loved Baby.
Baby went with us when we moved to Virginia. The house we found in in Fairfax had a large fenced in back yard. Baby loved it and quickly wore a path along the entire fence. The summer after we moved in Baby was chasing a squirrel and got trapped in a gap between to fence posts, with no fencing. Shortly after he started having seizures. The local vet was not able to diagnose what was wrong with Baby. The seizures seemed to go away after awhile. They returned about six months later and we wound up putting him down. I later realized that Baby had developed epilepsy and was having Gran Mal seizures after seeing an Air Force buddy go into a seizure.
Baby was the start of a parade of animals through our family, courtesy of Jean and Bill. Once out on her own Jean always had at least one animal, usually a dog and two or more cats. Our next pet was Snicklefritz a white cat who had stolen her tail from a brown piebald. I do not remember how she came into the house. She came in while Baby was still with us. The two got along famously. One of their games was that Snicklefritz would crouch on the couch and Baby would casually walk by the front. When he got to the cat she would jump off in front of him. He would pull his head back and she would wrap here front legs around his neck and the two would dance around the living room.
Not long after Baby was gone Jean came home with the cream colored ball of fur. Avery young puppy. Jean knew if she could get mom to hold it we could keep it. After close to half an hour of begging mom took the puppy and let it into our family. Sandy McTavish the escape artist was now a member of our family. School was about a week from being out so Sandy would be alone for a large part of the day (Mom was working at a bank now and Dad was still in Thailand.) We pulled a foot locker cover to block Sandy in the kitchen (he was not house broken yet).  When we got home after school Sandy was gone; we found him upstairs sleeping in Jean's bed. I put him back in the kitchen wanting to know how he got out. He promptly crawled over the foot locker cover which was wider than he could stretch. While he was with us they caught him climbing the chain link fence, he figured out how to open the gate, and he also figure out that when we let him in from the back yard he could run through the house hit the front screen door, pop it open and leave. Sandy had the run of the neighborhood and we  pretty much gave up trying to keep him in. I saw him several times running around with several other dogs, he the leader. Sandy was about 35-40 pounds, not a big dog. His father was Kelly, an Airedale, a large neighborhood dog that kept paper boys company on their morning deliveries. He stepped over fences. Sandy's mother was always in her yard and about half the size of Sandy. Sandy frequently showed up at Jean's school, parked himself outside the windows to here class room and howled until the teacher had Jean take him home.
Snicklefritz was still around when Sandy came. That Christmas the two teamed up. Snicklefritz would climb the Christmas tree and knock the glass ornaments off for Sandy. Sandy would chew on the ornaments until they popped. Once they popped he was done and never cut his mouth. So at various times during the day and night we would start hearing "Pop, tinkle, tinkle" repeated for five or six times.
Then one day shortly before I went off to college Snicklefritz disappeared. On the last day we were at the house I was taking one last tour of the yard before we drove off. Snicklefritz came up to me under the weeping willow. She was is good shape and had a collar on. She got an ear scratch and then left.
When I came home from college for we had another cat, a Persian Angora named Tippity Witchet. These last three are Jean's names.
Sandy was deliberately run over by an angry drunk neighbor in front of Jean. My father very nearly got into a fight with him. He buried Sandy in the back yard.
I'm not sure what happened to Tippity. She did not go north with us when we left.

After we moved back to Massachusetts  and got settled in Jean wanted another dog and I think my mother did also. We went out looking for the new breed called a cockapoo, a cross between a Cocker Spaniel and a Poodle. What we got was Banshee, black and definitely with no Cocker or Poodle blood. We were living in a town house with no fence, so Banshee was chained a lot. He was the dumb enough that he did not learn to leave skunks alone after the first noxious encounter. He loved gobbling down sticks of butter that we left out.
Not long after getting Banshee Bill came home with a six toed cat. He was working at a fast food place. The managed had left, but when he got in his car this kitten had jumped him. He grabbed the kitten and tossed her to Bill and said "Get ride of this". Bill who is also an animal lover brought the cat home. I have no clue what we named her. She was a feral kitten and I remember her taking over a settee in the living room and keeping Banshee at bay.  She was white with two black spots on the top of her head, they looked like grease spots. The two later got along by ignoring each other. We did have her spayed after she entered heat a second within two months. Just as well as she got out often and would leave dead mice and baby rabbits on the door step for us.
I went in the Air Force while these last two animals were around. Bill entered the Army before I got home from training. Both the animals were put down when Mom and girls moved to Stoneham. Those where the last pets my mother had.

Bill later owned dogs.

Not sure about Maggie.

Catherine and I have owned two dogs and three cats all after Liz was born.

Dad

I graduated from high school in June of 1966. I was 18. My father was in Thailand at the time so he missed my graduation.
He made it home a couple of months later after being retired from the Army on the west coast. He was lost.
Before leaving for Thailand he had started telling me he would be dead before he was 50. He again repeated it after getting back. I think he was more terrified of growing old than of dying.
He died in April1967 at 46 from a heart attack. It was two months shy of my parents 20th anniversary. Dad was in Germany when he died. He had finagled an assignment as a civilian advisor in Germany. My mother, sisters, and brother were excited about following him back there once Billy graduated in June. About the same Konrad Adenaur, the first post-war Chancellor of Germany, died. It took a while to get his body back to the states as Germany went into mourning. I dropped out of college the day he died.
The company my father was working for took care of all the expenses of bringing him back and the funeral.
The neighborhood came to my mother and told her that they would provide the after funeral meal and she did not have to worry about anything.
My mother contacted my fathers best friend Mac when she told him that Bill had died his immediate response was "I'll be there in the morning". He drove from Massachusetts to Virginia and was there in the morning. When my mother said that when was coming home Mac told her that we could all stay with him for as long as it took to find a place, and we did and he did.
My mother asked my father's uncle Allen Murray a retired Catholic priest to do his funeral service at Arlington National Cemetery. She then asked the monsignor of the local Catholic church if he could put up my great uncle. It turns out that this priest had been a seminary classmate of my father and had had Father Murray as a teacher and greatly respected him. He was thrilled to be able to spend time with Father Murray.
My high school girlfriend even came down from Michigan.
Dad rode the horse drawn caisson to the chapel and the grave site. I don't remember much of the service other than my grand-uncle doing the service. He considered it to be a blessing to be able to do it and was gratified that my mother asked. I did not notice much until after the graveside service. I was thinking there were not many people there until I turned around and saw at least 50 people at the grave site. It was the last time I cried, and I bawled.

You could say that I lost my father then. In my mind I had lost him long before. While in Germany the first time both my parents started drinking heavily. There was not much to do on a base a quarter by a half mile in size and there was no television. My parents started spending evenings at the officers club.
The drinking continued as we returned to the states and for my father gradually got worse. When he got back from Thailand he was in a major state of depression and he had pretty much given up. I remember one morning reaching into the cupboard to get a bowl of cereal and knocking over a tall glass of bourbon and water. He was already drunk. I asked him why and his answer was "Because it is easier".
I think I was more angry at his giving up that the drinking. It took a long time for me to forgive him. Once I did I could start to see the hard life he had had.
My father was naturally left handed but was forced to be right handed. He went to parochial school and every time he used his left hand it was smacked with a bamboo rod that was sliced (a rattan I think).
From his stories I think he was a juvenile delinquent.
As the second son of an Irish Catholic he was forced into seminary. He did not last a year.
He was a see-bee during WW II and saw a lot of fighting. Early in the war he was setting up a machine gun nest with a childhood friend. Once it was setup he reported back to HQ that it was set. When he got back a grenade had been thrown into the nest and the only person alive was his friend, whose last words were "It's your fault Stan!" He was scheduled to be in the first wave to invade Japan and was in Nagasaki two weeks after the Bomb went off.
He went to South Korea to help with reconstruction. While there he saw a lot of suffering. He was also in an accident that resulted in his being thrown from a jeep and the jeep rolling down the hill to land on top of him. His back was broken and it was hours before he was found (the driver was killed).
When in Thailand a large earth mover rolled down a hill killing one man and leaving another pinned. My father wound up cutting the surviving man out with a welding torch. He had to cut through the man that died. No one else had the stomach to do it.
When his mother died his two brothers fought each other and for years they only communicated through my father, the middle son. It bothered him.
He smoked Camels for most of my life with him.
He also had a bleeding ulcer from as far back as I could remember, until 1961 when 60% of his stomach was removed. He was days away from bleeding to death.

Our parents loved us and wanted us to be happy. We were always welcome. There was no mistreatment that I saw.

Talking, reading, writting

I spend a lot of time inside my head. I have never been very loquacious.
My parents said that I was a colicky baby until they visited some for a night. Not having anywhere else to put me they put me in the bathtub for the night. Apparently the echoes had an affect, I was quiet from then on.
At nine months I just got up an walked. I did not talk until I was three. For the last couple of years I have wondered if I would be diagnosed as autistic now a days. I do tend toward being overwhelmed in a crowded noisy environment. I seldom talk to myself. I have many times gone for more than 24 hours without a single utterance.
I do not remember learning to read. I do remember spending what seemed like hours standing up while each child in the room read from the McGuffey Reader, "See Dick run." It seems to me that I had finished the book before the second reader finished their page. Nothing happens! One year in the fifth grade during Library Week I read five books in their entirety. Some of the reading was done by opening a book inside the book I was supposed to be reading in class. My fifth grade teacher was pretty understanding when she caught me. She was also the on that read all of "The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe" by C.S. Lewis to the class. I did not remember the title until my wife re-introduced me to the Narnia Series. I did remember whole swaths of the story. I read voraciously including anything I could get my hands on about dinosaurs and astronomy. My parents subscribed to the "All About" book club.Each month we got a book such as "All About Atoms", I swallowed them whole. During my formative years children were not allowed to check out books from the adult section without a signed note from their parents saying that they were reading at a level high enough to understand. I just walked in and checked out the books I wanted with nary a question. By the time I was twelve I had pretty much abandoned the children's section. In Biology in my sophomore year I read the chapter on Monday and took the test on Friday, usually getting an A. I repeated that pattern for Physics, Mechanics in college, in fact after a couple of weeks I only showed up to class for the Friday tests, I got a reputation for never attending class while acing them. It was only that and one other class that I skipped regularly. I graduated high school with a 2.1 grade point.
I kind of backed into writing with script. I was in the second grade in North Carolina. They taught script in the third grade. During that summer we moved to Massachusetts where they taught script in the second grade. So entering the third grade in Arlington I was expected to do my assignments with script. Again I got an understanding teacher who after talking to my mother created script worksheets for me as homework. I guess you can say that I learned script with self study. I do remember working on those work sheets, practicing each letter over and over. Yes, I had to turn them in to the teacher to show I had done them.
The Arlington, Massachusetts school district at that time offered recorder classes in the third grade. It was voluntary and I volunteered. I recall that my brother Bill did also. He was in the same grade as me since I had been held back in the first grade. I had been in three different schools the first year. Bill was held back later. As I recall I did try to learn to play. After about three or four weeks the teacher contacted my mother telling her that I did not have the talent. I stopped taking recorder. I have since learned that I cannot play. My ear is terrible, I simply cannot hear if I am playing the right note. Holding a rhythm is also an exercise in futility. I think Bill continued. One of the few childhood stories from my mother is that her mother made her take violin lessons for years, even though her teacher kept telling my grandmother that she had no ear or talent.
While I cannot play and sing poorly I do dance. My first public performance of memory was a minuet in assembly in I think the fourth grade. I loved it.

Eleven States

To date I have lived in 11 different states.
I was born in Symmes Hospital in Arlington, Massachusetts. I joined my parents who where living with my dad's family in Malden, Massachusetts.
My father was working a welder in Boston Naval Yard. I believe he got ulcers on his eyes due to the welding gasses, so he had to find another line of work. He approached the Navy about rejoining. He was a Seabee during WWII. The Navy would not give him back his rank. So, he approached the Army who said sure he could have his rank back as soon as he completed Basic Training (Navy Basic did not count). My dad said yes off he went to Basic Training at Fort Dix, New Jersey. About two weeks in the Army realized he knew more that the current drill instructors, so they made him a drill instructor.
My dad was out of Basic Training so mom, Bill, and I moved to New Jersey (My brother Bill is fourteen months younger than I am.) We all moved into a converted chicken coop in New Jersey (My second state.) I do not know the city/town. That house was still occupied in 1968 and looked to be in good shape. My mother took me to see it when we went to visit Bill who was in Basic Training at Fort Dix.
After Fort Dix my dad was given orders for Anchorage, Alaska. He went alone and we dependents moved back in with his parents (I think) until we could join him. He opened Fort Richardson, was the first to raise the colors over the fort. The three of us later took a train across country and flew into Anchorage on the last leg of the trip. Quarters were not ready yet so we rented a 20 by 20 cabin for $90 a month. The outhouse was off to the right and the water pump was off to the left. My first memories are here. We later moved into quarters on base. These where what we would now call town houses, two story apartments in a row. It was here that three of my sisters where born, Maggie, Jean, and Janet. Janet lived for about a month and half. My first memory of my father was when he and my mother came home after Janet died. Jean her twin recently passed and some of her ashes have joined Janet. I count Alaska as one of the states I have lived in even though it was not yet a state when we lived there. We were there during the Korean Conflict.
From Alaska my father was stationed to Fort Belvoir, Virginia, my fourth state. We rented a house in Arlington, Virginia. It was along narrow house.  We were not there long and I don't remember ever moving on base.
Next my dad was transferred to to Fort Bragg, North Carolina, number five. We first rented half of a duplex out in Fayetteville, North Carolina. The owners were snow birds and lived in trailer on the property during the summer. Other than the people on the other half the only other visible neighbor was about a quarter of mile away. The raised chickens, we got a lot of eggs and I learned a lot about chickens. Across the road was a watermelon patch. Awhile later we moved on base into quarters in a converted hospital. The hospital was huge with rows of multiple apartment buildings connected by covered, elevated walkways.
Next my father was sent to South Korea on detached duty for a year. I think that is when he got promoted to Warrant Officer. The five of us dependents moved back to Massachusetts. My mother rented a flat in the third story of a multi dwelling house on Orvis Rd in Arlington, Massachusetts. I started third grade that fall.
On his return from Korea my dad was assigned back to Fort Belvoir, Virginia. We rented a house on Randolf Macon Drive in Alexandria, Virginia. After a while we moved on base into an older four apartment building, nestled into the woods. During the winter the coal fired furnace was cleaned and feed on a rotating weekly basis. Bill and I usually took care of the furnace during our week. While there my second brother, Richard, was still born. He is in Arlington National Cemetery along with my father and mother.
In October 1959 we rotated to Germany. My father was stationed at Anderson Barracks along the Rhine River in Germany. This was the first time we immediately moved on base. At first we were temporarily in a two bedroom apartment for a couple of weeks until the three bedroom was available in the officers quarters. Once in the three bedroom we stayed there until we left Germany. During our time there we also visited The Netherlands, Belgium, Luxembourg, and France.
Coming back to the states my parents left us in Arlington and Lexington, Massachusetts while they took a second honeymoon to prepare for us in Fort Wayne, Michigan located inside of Detroit, Michigan. We went to school from October through Christmas in Massachusetts. In January all of us moved to Fort Wayne. For only the second time we moved right onto the base. While there we moved twice into larger quarters. All of the quarter were built in the 1860s. The last duplex were were in had a flying staircase, a butlers pantry, four bedrooms on the second floor, and two bedrooms with a kitchen in the servants quarters on the third floor, where my brother and I had our bedrooms. While there my fourth sister Catherine was born. She lived for 18 hours. Michigan was my sixth state.
From there my father was stationed back to Fort Belvoir, Virginia. He was in the Corps of Engineers and Fort Belvoir was their home base then. We rented a four bedroom house in Fairfax, Virginia. this was a temporary assignment as he was being prepared for a year of detached duty in Thailand. We stayed in the house while he was away in Thailand. Both Bill and I graduated from Fairfax High School. My father was in Thailand when I graduated. He retired from the Army when he returned and died less than a year later.
My mother wanted to go home. After Bill graduated we packed up and moved to a town house in Winchester, Massachusetts. My mother and sisters stayed there until both Maggie and Jean had graduated from high school.
I enlisted in the Air Force not long after we got back to Massachusetts. The Air Force sent me to Lackland Air Force Base in Texas, state number seven. There I lived in an open dorm barracks. I did get into San Antonio, Texas and saw the Alamo. The River Walk has not been built yet.
For Jet Engine Mechanics School I was sent to Chanute Air Force Base near Rantoul, Illinois, number eight. Again open bay barracks. I did get into a four man room.
State number nine is Nellis Air Force Base outside Las Vegas, Nevada. There I was in several barracks with two men rooms. The base became crowded and I moved off base once I became a sergeant. The first was a two bedroom apartment that I shared with another sergeant. Shortly after getting out of the Air Force I moved into a single bedroom apartment where I stayed until I left Nevada.
After a while I returned to Michigan to re-enter college at Lawrence Institute of Technology. I had dropped out when my father died. While in school I rented a room from a local. Then I shared a house with four others. Interestingly one was Indian and another was Pakistani, they actually got along. Finally a two bedroom apartment with a fellow student who left me in the lurch for the last year, after insisting we sign a lease. I got married the day before my graduation from college. She has been my constant room mate for going on forty years now. While together in Michigan we have had an apartment, and two houses.
In 2006 after one child had left the nest we moved to Madison, Wisconsin, state number ten. I move for a job. We just rented an apartment there after having been burned in the housing crisis.
Again because of a job change we moved to Davenport, Iowa leaving behind our youngest daughter. she has since moved back to Michigan. I am now living in the eleventh state.
Our current plans are to move back to Michigan once I retire.
All information here is from memory. My time sense is not all that good but I believe the order is correct.

When I was born I my lungs were full of mucus. I was rushed into an oxygen tent in an attempt to keep me alive. My father was informed that my death was imminent.

My father being the second son of a devout Irish Catholic family knew he had to have me baptized before I died or I would spend eternity in Limbo. He rushed out and found a Catholic priest that had been ordained the day before. The priest agreed and rushed in to baptize me. As he got to the part where he announce my name he realized that he had forgotten to get my name. Being newly ordained he thought he had to continue so he used his name. John!

My parents already had my name picked out. They picked the middle name from my two grandfathers, Sydney James Meserve and Walter Bartlett Stanley.

After I got out of the hospital my parents had me baptized again using the full name they had chosen (No, I am not Bart!).  It has been said that when the devil looks at me he sees two crosses on my forehead and thinks he has double vision.

So the start of my life is a funny story. I use this story to remind myself that God has a sense of humor. The twists and turns have kept things fascinating ever since.