Memories from the Fifties

This is me when we lived in Goldsborough Housing in Bayonne New Jersey. Yes, we three kids walked to and from school in the snow, uphill, both ways.

This was our brand new 1958 Oldsmobile Super 88, black with lipstick red interior. My dad was big on buying new cars even though we lived in the projects. Before we left town, he traded it in on a 1959 Rambler Station Wagon, a more practical choice for a family of five.

Most of our neighbors were Navy personnel and their dependents. Dad was stationed at the Brooklyn Naval Yard on the USS Allegheny ATA 179. We often took Sunday dinner aboard the ship served to us in the Captain's quarters. Dad was the XO or Chief Executive Officer aboard the Auxiliary Fleet Tug. I remember he would sometimes bring home a member of the crew to join us for Sunday dinner when we ate at home. Other times, we'd visit the Museum of Natural History and spend hours learning. It was free admission, which was a plus.

We went to church on Manhattan Island where Pat Boone was the song director and his wife was my brother and sister's Sunday School teacher.

Even though I was only 6, 7 and 8 years old when we lived there, I hold these memories close to my heart.

Like when we started at a new school after living in four states during my first year. They tried to set us all back a year because we came in from schools in the south, like Key West, Florida, Valdosta, GA, and Charleston, South Carolina. 

Dad donned his Naval Officer's Dress Whites and made a trip to the Principal's office to protest. They relented and put us on probation until we could prove that we could keep up with the work. My first grade teacher there was the sister of my second grade teacher, Mrs. Cassell. She was the absolute best. I wish I could go back and thank her for her kindness and acceptance of me.

There was a little candy store right across from Horace Mann Elementary where we spent our allowance on Red Hots, licorice or salted pumpkin seeds. They also had a good selection of orange wax lips and vampire teeth. My mother sometimes came and took me to lunch at a nearby diner where we ate hamburgers. There was no cafeteria at the school so mostly, we carried our lunch in our tin lunchboxes with a Thermos of milk.

My dog Trixie used to know what time we were expected home from school. When it was time, she would sit on the window ledge and watch for us to walk up the sidewalk.

The project bully lived in the apartment above us. There was a snowball throwing incident with Bruce at the intersection where the school grounds began. We retaliated by lobbing some snowballs back at him. All of us were taken to the Principal's office where we were given detention.

Dad was furious that we didn't show up at home at the expected time. He later told us he was proud that we defended ourselves. We were released from custody under his supervision.

There were lots of good times there: Trick or Treating in the housing complex; having a snow day when a six foot snow drift blocked our building; practicing air raid drills walking two-by-two to a shelter in the school basement. Ah, good times.

And when Dad got new orders, we packed up our station wagon and waved goodbye to our belongings in the moving van, and drove the 1426 miles back to Key West for another tour of duty.

We lived in Navy housing there, too, a place called Sigsbee Park. And when we started school at Sigsbee Elementary, we were already ahead of the game having learned cursive writing, the times tables, and how to memorize passages like Psalm 100.

Then, we moved again, locally this time, into a two-story house on Flagler Avenue which became our family's ongoing project as a fixer upper. For 18 months, Dad was stationed in the Mediterranean and we didn't see him during that time. When he returned, we remodeled the upstairs bathroom, repainted the living room (Mom had us paint it Flamingo Pink during his absence), and built a 6 foot cement block wall around the back yard.

From our frequent moves, we learned how to adapt to change, how to make new friends and how to say goodbye to people we vowed to stay in contact with. Time passed and those connections drifted away like sand on a beach but their memories linger on.

The September Song - These Precious Days

It seems as if 1983 was just the other day. But it's been 42 years. That seems impossible.

In 1983, I was living on a 300-acre horse ranch, working during the day as secretary to the President of three companies.

My small cottage was located nearest the main road on the long and winding gravel driveway. Delivery people stopped to inquire if my boss, at the big house, was in and accepting visitors. The hand-me-down furniture in the cottage was huge, having come from the house on the hill after they remodeled. The king-size bed took up nearly all the floor space in the tiny bedroom. But the little house was comfortable and just the right size for me.

There were horses in the pasture behind the cottage and I witnessed the early morning birth of a foal, my first such experience. The horses would come right up to the fence hoping for a handful of the greener grass from my side or a fresh carrot with green leaves.

It was quiet, eerily silent at night with only the sound of owls and crickets singing in the dark. Away from the city, the stars seemed brighter, the sky clearer, the air fresher.

We had an office in town. From the third-floor window I could watch the busy traffic on LBJ Freeway aka 635. I'd show up at eight before the family employees who came in around ten. That gave me a couple of hours of peace and quiet in the elegant surroundings.

I sometimes miss driving into town at the rush-hour and finding a good parking place under a shade tree on those blistering Texas summer days.

After I left that job, they relocated the business to a busier, even taller building right off the High 5 intersection on Central Expressway, a nightmare to navigate. The building has changed hands many times since then, each proclaiming their corporate names high at the top of the black glass structure.

So much water under the bridge since those days. There've been many career changes. A college degree finally completed. Holding a corporate management role in a multi-billion dollar global company. Now, retirement. Ah, sweet retirement.

The memories of the past have had time to soften and mellow and the bad times seem less harsh with time. I'm content, now, to live my slower-paced, homebody life at home with my wonderful husband and precious dogs.

The September Song - Ella Fitzgerald

I don't miss those days as much as I miss the energy and productivity that goes with being young. With each passing birthday, I see less time ahead than behind. And I'm grateful for the things I experienced along the way to getting old.