The Zig-Zag Path

AuthorHouse

Chapter One

"Tip Toe Through the Tulips" murmured on the radio in the birth room when I entered the world. It was October 21, 1929, and my mother was in her bedroom with the doctor while her daughters, Harvena and Ruth, waited anxiously outside. The Great Depression had begun, even there in Catawissa, a small town nestled in the hills of Pennsylvania, but my father, Raymond, was secure for a time in his job as Yardmaster for the Reading Company.

Our house was in front of a cemetery on the top of a hill. In the back yard of this peaceful little town, my father had a vegetable garden and raised chickens. My mother, always caring and industrious, had lost her first husband, Harry, in the coalmines. Harvena and Ruth were only six and eight when their father was killed, but they seemed happy to act as baby sitters for the new addition to the family.

Life was comfortable and in some ways ideal. But a definitive change came into our lives when I was two years old, six weeks after my sister, Doris, was born. As a result of the depression and railroad politics, we had to move for Dad to take a job near Ashland as a railroad car checker, a job he held until he retired. Ashland was a town of 6,000 in the heart of the anthracite coal region. It was situated on a steeply descending mile-long main street. On either side of Center Street, the cross streets all went up. It was almost as if the founders built the main street along a fast running brook between the hills. This became my hometown, the place I stayed until I went to college.

We called our first rental home Devit's after the landlord. A year later, we moved to Eltringham's, where I have my first memories. We lived a few doors from a grocery store on the corner of the block, that when turning right, went down a hill. I liked to sit on the curb at the top of the hill, listening to the blackbirds chattering in the treetops, watching the coal trucks chug by and enjoying the warm summer breeze.

I was taught to say that childish prayer, "Now I lay me down to sleep. If I should die before I wake, I pray the Lord my soul to take"! What a way for a child to be introduced to the reality of death! I was soon to learn that reality could apply to me. One day, Mother and I were on our front porch. She was sitting on a swing swatting flies. "Why are you killing those flies?" I asked. "Flies carry germs that can make you sick" she explained. Mother then asked me if I wanted a piece of hard candy, which I eagerly took. Clutching the treasure in my hand, I asked, "May I go up to the corner to eat it?" "Yes, but do not go out onto the street." I ran past the corner grocery store and sat down on the curb. I was preoccupied with the blackbirds chattering away in the branches, when a fly landed on my arm. To my surprise, I caught the fly and held it between my fingers. With my attention once again on the blackbirds instead of the candy, I put the buzzing fly into my mouth. Alarmed and frightened, I ran back to my mother crying, "Am I going to die? I ate a fly!" Smiling, Mother assured me that no harm would come from eating that fly. It was my very first thought that death could apply to me. I was mortal!

I started pulling practical jokes when I was four. Our house was built on a hill. Mother was doing her washing in the basement with an old wringer washer machine. Three steps down into the yard she would hang the clothes. As I was playing in the backyard, I found a large night crawler worm and placed it on one of the steps to frighten Mother when she came down with a load of clothes to dry. I watched, expecting her to think it was a snake, jump back and scream. To my disappointment, she was not affected in the least.

For the first time, I found out that there were thieves in the world. Dad allowed me to play with his small 22-rifle and I felt like a real cowboy with that. But I left it out on the front porch one night, and it was gone in the morning. Dad was not happy about that! He counseled me, "You must take care of the things you are responsible for!"

Running errands to that little grocery store on the corner was one of my delights. It made me feel like a really big boy. With a list in hand, I would show the grocer what I wanted and when he brought it, I would proudly say, "Put it on our bill."

Dad took me to school on my first day. Up to this time, Doris was my only playmate, so I wasn't used to other children and I had never been in such a formal setting. I was scared. "I don't wanna stay," I cried. "I want to go home with you!" "Just stay here in the classroom a minute; I will be out here in the hall," he replied. I don't know how long he stayed, but I remained for my first day in school. From then on, it went well, but I don't have any vivid memories from those early grades. I do remember that I thought a girl with dark hair and pigtails was special, because she was said to have Indian blood in her and I was impressed by stories about the Indians.

Another turn in life came after several years when we moved to "Boyer's," a place about three blocks away. It was a duplex on a street that sloped uphill rather steeply. Across the street was another part of the hill that sloped up and away from our home. No houses were built there, so it was a natural place for children to play. We called it "Stormy Hill." Shirley Boyer was a few years older than the other younger children in the neighborhood, so she became the leader. I still remember the excitement of being on Stormy Hill when someone shouted, "Jack the Ripper is coming!" and we all ran like scared rabbits down the hill for home.

These were reckless times, inviting accidents and injury. Sometimes the older Boyer boys would be on the hill. A gang of the sixth streeters began to throw rocks at us third streeters. We would throw rocks back at them. Unfortunately, since I was about five, my rocks did not reach very far. One day a rock slipped out of Bobby's hand and hit me on the head, causing a bloody gash.

On another occasion, we were trying to play baseball with a wooden plank for a bat and a teddy bear for a ball. I stood behind the batter as the catcher. The teddy was pitched, the batter missed, but I got caught! A nail sticking out of the plank hit my head and ripped a slice from my nose past my eye into my forehead, another bloody gash!

Days later, when we were playing follow the leader a "tragedy" happened. I was the leader, a position I liked. Round and round I led in our backyard trying to offer the most difficult and dangerous challenges possible. Between our yard and the Boyer's was a wired fence with a narrow frame. The narrow frame presented an ideal challenge. I walked along the top of the fence and Doris tried to follow. To my dismay, she fell and broke her arm. I was not the leader she needed to follow!

One day Dad surprised us with a little puppy, which we named "Queenie." She was a mongrel but she grew to be a pretty dog with an expressive face and short legs. With this new presence in our family, I learned to love animals and I found new responsibilities. She became my buddy. She followed me wherever I went, wagging that bushy tail. But Queenie had a habit of lying under Dad's car. One day Dad jumped in the car to go to work as Mother watched from the front porch. She saw Queenie under the car and called Dad to stop. He did—with a tire right on top of Queenie. He backed off, picked her up and rushed to the...