THE EARLY YEARS

BROWNIE THE STUFFED DOG 

When I was a young toddler I got a stuffed dog as a gift. I named him Brownie because he was made of brown terry cloth.  Brownie was a large dog, about two feet long and a foot wide. I remember strapping on my Roy Rogers cowboy holster and six guns set and riding Brownie around the house on our many adventures. We rode many a mile together following our imaginary dreams of riding in the wide open spaces out west.  I would also straddle Brownie and scoot around the house behind my mom as she vacuumed the floor. The hum of the vacuum cleaner would often lull me to sleep and mom would find me propped up against a piece of furniture or against the wall snoozing away while still sitting on top of Brownie. My faithful mount Brownie and I rode together around the house almost daily. Mom would occasionally give Brownie a good cleaning with the vacuum to get some of the trail dust him off him but used the bathtub to wash it off me.  

Years later I had the good fortune to travel across the American west a few times and got to see many of the things I had envisioned as a child while riding Brownie around the house. I made all of these trips without him but I’m sure he was happy to remain at home and just remember our younger days of adventures while traveling together.

Brownie and I have managed to stay together throughout my life. Over the years he has acquired a few tears and stitches, lost an eye and has a few worn spots that resemble mange but he does not seem to mind. He now has a resting place on my closet shelf and usually makes an appearance out of his resting place during the Christmas season to join in on the fun of the holidays.

SMASHING RECORDS AND PAGE PRIVATE SCHOOL

Some of my earliest childhood memories are ones from my first grade school year when I attended Page Private School in Greensboro, North Carolina.  My memories of Page are that the teacher was a friendly lady and the class was an enjoyable place to be.  My most vivid memories of that time include chasing a little girl during recess while playing tag, having chocolate milk and graham crackers for our snack on Fridays and our teacher letting us occasionally “read Chinese style”.  In that snapshot of my memory  the girl I was chasing had a blue dress on, the milk came in thick glass bottles with paper caps on them and the “Chinese reading” was just reading sentences backwards.  “See Spot run” would become “Run Spot see”. I suppose this was a teaching tool the teacher used to get us to actually learn the words instead of just memorizing the story.

 

I think one reason I started school a bit early was to give my mom a break during the day as I was a very rambunctious little boy. An example of this was when my mom was teaching an older children’s Vacation Bible School class. I cried and fussed so much about going into my own class that mom relented and took me to her class with the older kids. Mom had sewn a couple of new dresses for her to wear while teaching Bible School. One day she was standing in front of her class with me sitting in a small chair beside her. As she was teaching the lesson I took a pair of the craft scissors lying nearby and began cutting up her dress. She was not immediately aware of what I was doing but the children in the class started pointing and laughing. Mom then noticed my scissor artwork and rescued the rest of her dress.

 

It was about this same time that I smashed some of my dad’s new records with a hammer. He had saved up money and ordered a record collection from Readers Digest of his favorite big bands. My dad had played trumpet in a big band when he and mom were first married but after my sister Linda was born he stopped playing with the band and began doing engineering work. The day the new record collection arrived in the mail mom placed them on a chair in our living room and called dad to let him know they had arrived. Dad was excited that they had been delivered and was looking forward to a nice evening of listening to some of his favorite music when he got home from work. I had been playing with a hammer tapping on things around the house when I came upon the new records. Apparently I thought they needed to be hit so I proceeded to smash them into pieces.

 

It was soon after that I found myself at Page Private School chasing girls and drinking chocolate milk. In later years my mom had many other dresses and my dad did play in a big band again. 

 

THE FAMOUS GREENSBORO IGLOO OF 1957

The Winter I turned six years old we lived in a big house on Brice Street in Greensboro, NC. I’m not sure how big the house really was but to a six-year-old boy it seemed big with a long stairway going up to the second floor. Having recently moved from Candlewood Shores, Connecticut the snow and ice we had that year in Greensboro seemed normal to me. After one particularly nice, deep snow the idea for building a snow fort in our yard sounded like a fun idea to my sisters and me.

We started by scooping up snow into sections around the proposed snow fort area and found that the snow had an excellent packing quality to it and held together well. Before long the two boys that lived next door saw us stacking the snow and decided to join in our snow construction efforts. Now there were five of us working on the icy project and excitement grew along with the size and height of the structure. We worked all that afternoon until it got too dark and we were all too cold to continue but agreed to meet up and resume construction the next morning.

We had a hard freeze that night and the next morning we discovered that the snow we had stacked up the previous day had frozen into solid walls of ice. Our original idea for the snow fort was to use it as a snowball fight base to lob snowballs onto unsuspecting targets. We had designed it in a circular shape to give us 360 degree protection from the anticipated returning snowballs that our unsuspecting targets were certain to throw back at us. In my mind’s eye I could see ferocious snowball fights being waged from our new snow fort but my little boy aggressiveness was softened when my sisters suggested we make the snow fort into a winter playhouse.

Eventually this new idea was agreeable to all five of us and we collectively decided that the fort would now be modified into an igloo. We already had a very solid frozen base of ice and snow so began adding height to the walls and slowly curved the upper portions of the structure into a dome. After several hours of carefully packing snow we were able to finish the dome and had our igloo completed. We had been crawling in and out of the igloo playing Eskimo for a while when a car stopped on the street in front of our house and a man got out. The man greeted us and walked over to inspect the igloo while carrying a camera. It turned out that he was a reporter with the Greensboro Daily Newspaper and he asked us about how we built the igloo. We told him the story then he asked if he could take a picture of us in front of the igloo. We gladly posed in front of the igloo and I even held our little dog, Tippy, so she could get in the picture as well. With the picture taken the reporter wrote our names down and said we might be in the paper in the next day or so. Sure enough, the picture and short article was printed in the newspaper soon after and we got a bit of notoriety in the neighborhood afterwards being identified as “the igloo kids”.

A few years later I became a paperboy and delivered thousands of The Greensboro Daily Newspapers to my many customers in Pleasant Garden, NC. I did not, however, ever see another news article about a group of kids building an igloo in their front yard.

AUNT LOUISE'S NEW CADILLAC

My Aunt Louise never had any children of her own but she always loved to spoil us Cheek kids with special presents and treats. Even after I was grown with a family of my own Aunt Louise would send my family thoughtful cards and a big box at Christmas with extra nice gifts for all of us. We always looked forward to the arrival of Aunt Louise’s Christmas box and enjoyed opening it up to see what treasures she had sent this time.

When I was six years old we lived on Brice Street in Greensboro, NC. At that time my Aunt Louise lived in Las Vegas, Nevada so it was always a special time when she came for a visit. Aunt Louise had recently purchased a new 1958 Cadillac convertible and had driven it across the country to see us. When she arrived we all ran out and hugged her and then went inside to visit and take turns sitting on her lap as she told us about her life out west.

On this particular visit I decided that I should do something nice for Aunt Louise to show how much I loved her and appreciated all of the special things she did for me. Since she had driven all the way across the country in her new car I figured it would be a nice thing for me to surprise her by washing her car. I had a little experience with car washing as I had helped my dad wash the family car a couple of times by spraying water on it to rinse off the soapy suds he had put on it. I looked around for some soap to use and found a can of gritty Ajax cleanser. Not knowing the difference between gentle car wash soap and an abrasive cleanser I headed out to hook up the water hose and start washing her car.

I had completed washing one side of the new Cadillac with the abrasive cleanser, scrubbing extra hard to be sure I got all of the dirt off, when my dad walked by and asked me what I was doing. “Washing Aunt Louise’s new car” I replied as I continued scrubbing the car. My dad quickly walked closer and asked me what I was using to wash the car with so I showed him the can of abrasive cleanser. About that same time my mom and Aunt Louise walked over and all three of them saw the cleanser, the little smiling boy and the terribly scratched new car at the same time. Before my parents could say anything my Aunt Louise said “thank you for washing my car”, smiled and came over to hug me. The fact that I had just ruined the paint on one side of her new car did not change her attitude toward me. My parents, while appreciative of my gesture, were quick to show me the difference between the gentle car wash soap and the abrasive cleanser and apologized profusely to Aunt Louise for the mishap. Aunt Louise just said “well he did not know and was only trying to help” as she patted me on my head.

I do not know if she had the car repainted or not but she never mentioned the incident again. She did continue to send big presents and nice cards after that and we continued to love her dearly.

THE GREAT MARBLE CAPER

When I was in the second grade at Alice Drive Elementary School in Sumter, SC I committed an actual criminal act. I skillfully broke into my school to retrieve property that I felt had been wrongfully taken from me. 

During my second-grade days boys my age often played marbles during recess. We would draw a circle in the dirt, place a few marbles inside the ring then take turns “shooting” the marbles with our thumbs to knock them out of the ring. Most marble games were friendly but occasionally we played for “keeps” where we would keep any marbles, we knocked out of the ring for ourselves instead of giving them back to their original owner. Playing for “keeps” was generally thought to be a bit sketchy as it was considered a form of gambling by some which we were told was not an acceptable form of amusement for young boys.

It was customary for boys to carry their marbles in a white gym sock which could then be tied to your belt and carried around easily. Mrs. Rosefield was my second-grade teacher and is remembered as a strict and grumpy person by both Becky and me (Becky had the same teacher the following year). During class time one of my friend’s marble sock/bags got loose and several marbles dropped to the floor making a noise and causing several children to laugh. Mrs. Rosefield’s vengeance was swift and misdirected. She sent a girl to the cafeteria to get a large, clean, glass mayonnaise jar then had all the boys in the class put all their marbles into the jar. She then sat the jar, now full of marbles, onto her desk and declared they were now hers and none would be returned. My sense of personal justice was set into motion, and I secretly determined that her decision to take all the marbles for her own was actually stealing and was a wrong that should be corrected.

At the last recess for that day, I carefully examined the closing mechanism on the doors leading from the classroom, down the hall and outside to the playground. I determined that the door latch could be easily circumvented by placing a small pebble into the bottom latch to keep the door from completely locking so I dropped in a pebble. After school I left as usual but returned a few hours later to retrieve my “stolen” marbles. Since I only lived a few blocks from the school it was a short walk back to the scene of the crime. I opened the door and walked through the now empty school building to my classroom. The big glass jar with all the marbles in it was still sitting on Mrs. Rosefield’s desk. I opened it up and began to retrieve my marbles, and only my marbles, from the jar. As I reached my hand deeper into the jar, the jar slid off the desk and crashed to the floor breaking into pieces and spreading marbles all over the room. I carefully stepped around the broken glass, picked up my marbles and departed the building removing the small pebble from the door latch as I went out.

The next day there was a lot of commotion about someone breaking into the school and breaking the jar of marbles, but the “crime” was never solved until I told this story to my wife and children many years later.

THIRD GRADE SHOW AND TELL 

I attended the third grade at Alice Drive Elementary School in Sumter, South Carolina. Mrs. Holmes was my teacher that year and I remember her as beautiful and friendly. My report cards, however, indicate I was a cause of frustration for her. Apparently, I talked too much and was not as nice as I should have been to the girls in my class.

 We had the usual spelling tests on our new word list every Friday as well as our weekly show and tell time. I enjoyed Fridays because it meant the weekend was almost here, I would not have another spelling test for a whole week, and I got to bring something to class to talk about for show and tell. My dad had been in the Marine Corps during World War Two and since the war had only ended fourteen years earlier it was still a fresh topic of interest to most people. When my dad returned from the war, he brought back several Japanese items as souvenirs. Among these items was a bamboo parasol with a painted scene on it, a wooden rice bowl, chop sticks, Japanese money, a Japanese rifle complete with bayonet and a long Japanese katana sword and scabbard. I got permission to bring these items for display during one of our Friday show and tell times.

 I remember that Mrs. Holmes and all the girls were very impressed with the beautiful bamboo parasol, lovely red colored wooden rice bowl and the ivory chop sticks. The boys, however, were most interested in the long sword and the rifle with the bayonet attached. I had been instructed by my parents not to remove the scabbard from the bayonet nor take the sword out of its scabbard unless the teacher gave permission and was standing near me. After viewing the shielded sharp objects for a while, the boys in my class pressed Miss Holmes to give permission for me to remove the scabbards from the bayonet and sword so they could actually see the blades. Probably against her better judgment Miss Holmes stood beside me and gave permission for me to “carefully” show the blades. I held up the unloaded rifle and bayonet first. The shiny blade on the bayonet elicited several “oohs and ahhs” from the class, even the girls! It was then time to show the blade of the sword. With Mrs. Holmes standing safely by my side I started pulling the long sword from its scabbard. There had always been a bit of discoloration on the last foot or so of the sword, the cause of which was unknown. As the sword cleared the scabbard and the discolored portion came into view one of the boys loudly exclaimed “look, there is still blood on it”. This was met with muffled screams from the girls in the class and Mrs. Holmes, still resolutely standing close by my side, started turning very pale as she proclaimed that show and tell time was officially over. As I put all of the Japanese items safely back into the storage closet at the back of the room, I was confident that my show and tell presentation would be remembered for a long time! 

SWINGING HIGH

The NASA Mercury Space program was started about 1958. It was followed by the Gemini and Apollo space programs that culminated with American Astronaut Neil Armstrong stepping onto the moon on July 21, 1969. Back in 1958 I was in the second grade at Alice drive Elementary School in Sumter, SC and like many little boys back then I was fascinated by flying things. Shaw Air Force Base was located nearby, and we had several neighbors that were involved in military aviation who were stationed at Shaw. With all the airplane traffic from Shaw regularly flying over our house and the evening news showing the progress in space flight my interest in flying things grew even more. Whether flying kites, making and flying paper airplanes or even swinging high on the school’s swing set I was enthralled by thoughts of flying.

One day during recess as a few of my friends and I were swinging on the playground swings we began discussing how it might feel to fly in a loop and go upside down. Some of their dads were Air Force pilots and had told them about some of the airplane flight maneuvers they did while flying. The idea of us looping the swing set in our swings was mentioned and a discussion of the pros and cons ensued. Getting enough speed to make it all the way over the bar was identified as a crucial part of performing a successful swing loop. We made a few practice runs with two boys pushing the person in the swing forward then two more boys pushing on the backward swinging motion. After achieving an altitude and speed we thought was sufficient the final pushers would jump high, grab the swing seat, and propel the rider in a loop around the top bar of the swing set. The first boy to try this got scared and bailed out before getting too high. I volunteered to give it a try and took over the test pilot seat in the swing. After several repetitions of swing back and forth gaining height and speed on each cycle I yelled for my launch team to launch me over the bar. Their launch push was timed perfectly, and I was propelled forward with great speed.

The sound of the rushing wind past my head began to get quieter as I gained altitude on my arcing flight upward. Glancing sideways I could see that I was already higher than the swing set’s top bar, but my momentum was slowing fast. With gravity quickly taking hold of my swing seat I succumbed to the laws of gravity and began falling, still positioned in an almost upside-down manner in the seat. Thankfully I missed falling directly into the top bar of the swing set but the sudden deceleration that occurred when I reached the end of the swing chains and was dumped onto the ground was a bit painful none the less. My friends helped me up, cleaned me off and checked me for injuries. I was not bleeding and was able to walk and talk so we figured I was alright. We never tried to loop the top bar again but still enjoyed swinging high and bailing out.

A few years later I did get to fly in an airplane with my family on vacation and eventually got my private pilot’s license. Not all my landings as a pilot have been totally smooth but I’ve never had another landing as rough as the swing crash of 1958.