My Early Memories

One of my first clear memories is starting first grade in Somerset, Pennsylvania. My recollection is that my father, Ralph Sr., didn't feel I was worth much of anything. I came home from school one day to my angry father. A service station attendant had called him to complain because I kept jumping on the bell tubes. Back then cars drove over a speed-bump thing that would ring a bell and call a service station attendant over to your car to fill you up. I had fun at the service station every day on the way to and from school jumping on the bell tube and annoying the hell out of the people who worked there. They wised up pretty fast and called my father. I did stuff like this all the time, and it upset my father so much. I was always getting into trouble, but after the service-station incident, he told me I wasn't good enough to live in his house any longer. I took all the clothes I could carry and went out the door. I stood on the porch for thirty minutes crying. My father finally came out and said, "You are allowed to go back into the house, but go to your room. I don't want to see you anymore."

We had fun times too, but they never lasted long. Sometimes my father allowed my sisters, Betty and Maggie, and I to have friends over for parties. One of our favorite games was hide-and-seek One time I hid on top of a stair rail, where they couldn't find me. While I was up there, I lost my balance, fell, and broke my arm. My father had to take me to the doctor to have my broken arm repaired. At every meal for the next few days, my father told me how dumb I was. Whatever pride I still had was gone.

A few weeks after I broke my arm, my sister took me next door to visit the neighbor's dog. It had just come back from a dog show and was so hyper that, when I leaned over to talk to him, that pure-breed dog jumped up and bit me on my lip. My father took me to the doctor to have my lip sewn up. The doctor asked my father if he could stitch me up without putting me to sleep.

My father said, "He's good enough. Just do it."

My father told me later that I didn't cry. I squeezed his hand so hard, he said, that I almost hurt him. That was one of the few times my father made me feel proud, but not for long.

Soon after, I came down with scarlet fever. In those days, doctors often came to your house to treat scarlet fever. The doctor told my father that I might not make it through the night. I don't know if my father was worried, upset, or devastated, but I think the fact that I don't remember means something in itself.

I told my father and the doctor, "I will still be here tomorrow. Don't worry about me." I believe this was when I started to be more independent. I wanted to take care of myself because I thought my father blamed me for getting scarlet fever.

I was seven and in the second grade when my father and mother sent my sisters and me to live with our grandparents on their farm. It was one of the best things my father did. Our grandparents loved and respected us. My father and mother moved from our childhood home in Somerset to Pittsburgh to find better jobs. They told us that once they found jobs and could afford it, they would bring my sisters and me to Pittsburgh.

Six months after my parents moved to Pittsburgh, my sisters and I left our grandparents' farm to live in our parents' one-bedroom apartment. Betty and Maggie slept on the couch; I had to sleep in an old recliner that just didn't feel right. After the first night, I decided I was going back to the farm. I told my sisters, but they had already made the same decision. We didn't want to live with our parents. We went back to the farm. It was better for everyone that way.

Going Farming

The farm was in a neighborhood known as Will's Community. Will is my last name, and my grandparents', and the last name of half of the people who lived there. No one really left the community. There was Will's One-Room School, Will's Church, and Will's Grange. The country road from the highway to the farm was called Will's Road.

Will's School was a one-room country schoolhouse next to the church. It housed grades one through six, or maybe seven. My sisters made our lunches in the morning, and we walked a mile to get to school. Shortly after I started school, I realized the teacher did not like me. My teacher was Clarence Pine, and he was a real horse's ass. The teacher reminded me of my father, and because of that, I was not always the best student. He thought he was the most important person in the room no matter where he went. Mr. Pine helped me be more independent, though, because I just didn't care whether I did right or wrong.

When I started school at Will's One-Room Schoolhouse, I was placed in second grade, but sometimes my teacher would send me back to first grade and later back up to second. He wanted me to understand he was more important than I was, and he would do whatever he thought would help me be a better person. I didn't agree with his methods. To prove his superiority over me, he would spank me in front of the class, trying to make me cry. Or he would make me hold heavy books in each hand over my head. If I refused to admit the books were heavy, he would add more, but I refused to cry or drop the books. He finally gave up torturing me after I told him that if he continued, I would drag a piece of lumber to school and hit him on the back of the head.

I was in the third grade, and my sisters were in the fourth and fifth, respectively, when Mr. Pine decided to start a band. There were about twenty-two students at that time, and all of our parents bought us instruments. I chose an E-flat alto horn. Betty was a drummer, and Maggie selected the bassoon. We practiced marching on a portion of the Pennsylvania turnpike that construction crews hadn't finished building. Mr. Pine tried to make it fun; he cleared half of the room for the instruments, played music for us, and taught us how to dance. After a year of training and practicing, we were so good that we were invited to give a concert at the Harrisburg, Pennsylvania, Annual Fair. I was one of three students selected to perform as a trio during the concert. I felt really proud of my accomplishment. I was only eight or nine and was one of the best in the band. We took a bus from Somerset to Harrisburg. Everybody in the school was on the bus, as well as many of the parents who helped sponsor us.

One-Room School

During winter, Will's One-Room Schoolhouse got extremely cold and drafty. The school had added boys' and girls' restrooms in the back left and right corner, respectively,...