Sunday, July 28, 2013

Life in the Forties

This was my second home away from home back in the 40's.

In the bottom apartment lived an old grouch and her husband.
We called her Mrs. McGlothern, and  he was MAC. Only the roles were reversed. They did not make noise.  I called her Mrs. McGrouch when she wasn't within earshot. Mac always carried a bottle of wine around in his pocket. They were very quiet, and since they were the owners and proprietors, they set the rules. Mary and Andy lived on the second floor, and they loved music, the louder the better. The Angels, known as Yours truly and husband lived on the top floor. Angels always rise to the top.  Nine PM was bedtime for everyone in the building, bar none. We could also take two baths a week. That's right, two of um!
When nine o'clock came the music didn't die down, and the broom on the first floor came out and the ceiling took a beating. Mac was assigned the broom job, and he enjoyed it. It was the only noise he was allowed to make. The next morning Mrs McGrouch would go stomping up the stairs and bang on Mary and Andy's door, and threaten an eviction notice, but it never became an actuality. Two or three nights later the scene would play over again. Another couple, Herb and Lorraine, lived there. We became life long friends with both couples, and had many fun times together. We all shared the same bathroom, and the same community sink in the hall way, and the same icebox, and I do mean ice box. It was also in the hallway. The iceman came two or three times a week to put a new block of ice in it. We each had a turn of emptying the water pan that caught the water from the ice. We also had a milkman that delivered milk. It was left on the front porch, and each neighbor would pick out what he had ordered. I believe I am the only survivor of that group.

Tuesday, July 16, 2013


Now that I am old I have discovered the very back end of my memory bank. There are things in there that I haven’t thought of in years. This one returned to me recently. When I was a child around 11 or 12 years old we lived in the country, and I attended church with my family on Sunday morning, and Sunday nights and all points in between. We prayed. I learned to pray. I prayed for this, I prayed for that. I prayed for rain, I prayed it would stop raining. I prayed for everything I could think of. That is the way I remember it. If anything went wrong I prayed about it.  A knot came up on the back of my hand. It was a small knot. We didn’t know what it was, and it didn’t hurt so it was pretty much ignored. I prayed it would go away. All kids in the vicinity attended a one room school house; it had a building with one side open for those that rode horses to school.  We were playing around that building one recess when a boy my age and I got into it over something. I can’t recall what I did to him, but he picked up a corncob and threw it at me, and I threw up my hand to protect my face. The corncob smacked the back of my hand, and when I looked at my poor hand the knot had disappeared. I said, “thank you, God.” I didn’t thank Ray for it. I’m sure you’ve heard that God works in mysterious ways. He does, even if it takes a corncob.

 I remember Ray Richards, the boy that threw the corncob. We were the same age. He died several years ago in an accident. He was very young. I can’t remember what kind of accident. I know it wasn’t a car wreck. We lived near Glencoe. Oklahoma. Ray had brothers and one sister as I remember. Billy was his sister. His brothers were James, Carl and Buddy. If he had more siblings, I don’t remember them. Maybe someone in the Glencoe area will read this and know who I am talking about. Small world you know.

It’s amazing how you can remember something 75 years ago, but forget to put the ice cream back in the freezer.