Here, in no particular order, are some ramblings that come to mind every once in a while.
The Early Years
Baldwin, New York, where my parents and I lived, is on the south shore of Long Island, below which was the Atlantic Ocean. We lived in the north part of town. The railroad through town was between us and the ocean. Whenever the wind blew northward, from the ocean toward our house, there was a good chance that it could rain. So, if the train whistle was louder than usual, we could usually expect rain.
My beagle, Buddy, also was a good forecaster of rain if it included thunder. He could hear it long before we humans could, and it bothered him. So, if Buddy became restless and started panting, we knew we were in for some thunderboomers.
When I was 5 years old, my parents and I moved from Brooklyn to Baldwin. I brought with me a four-wheeled "police wagon" that I pedaled the same as I would a tricycle. But it had in the rear a platform on which another kid could stand and grip two handrails. I soon became a popular kid among the others who wanted a ride.
Sometimes, if no kid was riding in the back, I would pick up some gravel from the street and put it on the back platform of the wagon. Then I would pedal until all the gravel had dropped off the platform. Then I was "out of gas." (At 5 years old, I wasn't aware that neighboring adults wouldn't appreciate the scattering of gravel on their sidewalks.)
While living on Twain Street, I was within walking distance of a facility between the vacant lot and Grand Avenue. It was a tennis court, and I have no idea who owned it. What I do know is that in the winter the owners would flood it, which would freeze, turning the court into a fine ice skating rink. Back then, the cold temps didn't bother me that much. And I remember that, at the prices then, we could buy a hot chocalate cup at 5 cents if made with water and 10 cents if made with milk.
When I was 12 or so I could join the Boy Scouts. Typically George and Jack and I would ride our bikes over to the Baldwin church where we met. After a while it turned out that I was especially good at Morse Code. So, for those competitions between troops, I would be my troop's person in that area. And, since I seemed to be better than the other kid on our team, I would be the one receiving the test messages. (Sending was easier.)
As a teenager, I was sort of a Brooklyn Dodgers fan in 1945 and 1946, but it was in 1947, when Jackie Robinson joined the team, that my interest really took off. Team head Branch Rickey picked him to become the fist black ballplayer in the big leagues. He wasn't the best available player, but Rickey thought he had the character to make it, meaning he would be able to withstand the abuse sure to come. Jackie was told he would have to take it, that he wouldn't be able to retaliate if he was harrassed or worse. Jackie agreed, and that is what attracted me to him: his self-control.
I went off to Bucknell in the fall of 1948, and Jackie Robinson entered my life again. After his second season with the Dodgers a Chrisian group brought him to the college to talk with any students who would attend. Don't you think I was there! It was a thrill to meet him, and I asked him about his playing with certain outfielders.
The Middle Years
Years later, in the Sixties when I was involved with the civil rights movement with the NAACP, I wrote a letter to Jackie Robinson at the NAACP headquarters, which was then in New York. I wrote about how I was a fan back in the Forties and how now I was involved with the movement. I didn't expect an reply but -- what do you know -- I received a hand-written letter from him addressing the issues I raised. I was honored.
The Korean War broke out when I was at Bucknell, and some of my friends like Norman H. were caught up in it. After graduation, working for Westinghouse, the company got me deferments for several years, but the draft board caught up with me and I was finally drafted. By then I was age 24 and, I guess, a bit more mature than many of the others in my platoon, who were at best high-school graduates and otherwise dropouts. I soon noticed the difference between us. When the captain would call out "Okay, girls!" some of the others would get so steamed. I recognized that he and others were intentionally provoking us to make sure we would maintain discipline in a time of crisis.
During my two years in the Army, when serving at the Quartermaster Food and Container Institute in Chicago, much of my time was spent in the laboratory. There I would test various packaging materials for their ability to absorb the shock of being air-dropped to troops in the field. We simulated that in the lab. The result of one test would be a Polaroid photo of our oscilloscope screen before, during, and after the moment of impact.
One highlight of my service there was a visit by the Quartermaster General of the United States Army, General Kester L. Hastings. Since he was the highest-ranking officer in the Quartermaster Corps, I was honored to meet him and explain what we were doing. And I demonstrated a simulated air-drop. I then showed him the resulting oscillogram, which he examined (while the civilian managers at the Institue just stood around). You could say I enjoyed the experience.
When I took a course in Journalism at the University of Baltimore, I had already been reporting community events for The Evening Capital. The others in the class were young kids who probably hadn't more experience than English classes in high school. Our instructor assigned several reporting exercises that simulated how information would come to a reporter. There were important interviews and clues that were interspersed with irrelevant stuff. The idea for us was to discard the irrelevant stuff and put the relevant info in the proper order for a newspaper story; that is, the lead coming first, then the next important, and so forth. To me, the exercise looked just like what I would collect as a community reporter, so it seemed like a realistic challenge. The others complained that it was too confusing. But I didn't say anything. I didn't want it to look like I was trying to gain favor with the instructor.
The Later Years
For years, in writing newsletters for several organizations, I was content to type on a dedicated word processor, one with a daisy wheel. My son, Steve, who was into computers, leaned on me to get a legitimate computer, pointing out what more I could do with it. I continued to resist but eventually gave in. Thanks, Steve. If I hadn't switched, I wouldn't be building Websites as I do now, including this one.
Cape May, New Jersey, was Ann's and my favorite vacation spot. One evening we went to a show where two comedians performed a number of skits. At one point in the show they wanted a member of the audience to come up and be part of one. Why they picked me, I'll never know, but they surveyed the crowd, singled out me, and persuaded me to join them onstage. One of them whispered instructions for me to do or say such-and-such. At one point they put a bushy wig on my head and told me to make like Shirley temple. I did and, in a falsetto voice, I sang "On the Good Ship Lollypop."
As part of the above skit, the comedians told to me to shout out my name at several points. Later, on our walk back to our hotel that night, we stopped as usual to pick up a snack and then took the boardwalk. We passed a couple, and the man called me by name. We stopped, I looked at him, and then asked, "Do I know you?" He told me they had been at the same show and remembered my shouting.
Ann and I went to many shows over our 36 years together, and one of them was Chicago. There's a song in it called "Mr. Cellophane," in which a shy character complains that he is always ignored when he tries to get someone's attention. That became a running joke with us. Whenever a waiter or store clerk seemed to be ignoring us, we would joke that we must be Mr. Cellophane.
Last Updated 8/6/11