Well....
I had a really neat conversation with my Dad...the other night..... He tells stories about when he was a kid....true stories....no embellishment.. You know they are true because when he tells them, you can look into his eyes and see they are blank, he is busy reminiscing.
The story went like this....
When I was 18 months my father left home. This was around 1931. My Mother had 5 children all boys. George, the oldest, Steve, Joe, me (John) and the youngest, Robert. Well, my mother wasn't making it, we were starving and neighbors called the State Board. The State Board is the Division of Youth and Family Service today. (DYFS) They split us up. The two oldest, George and Steve stayed with Mom, but the rest of us were placed in family homes.
I was placed in a home in Lakewood, New Jersey. The Dowdies. She was a nice woman and raised me fromt he age of 18 months until I was 10. The husband was also very nice. He had many great fatherly traits. He would treat me like his son and teach me some practical things. Like tying shoes and eating soup with a spoon. Taking the soup closest to the bowl where it is coolest. These sound like small things....but they are the things I remember. Mr. Dowdie was a good man. I don't know where he worked but he was well liked. He liked to drink. The 30's were a different age. No one would give a second thought to a drunk man. Men would go out at night, stumble home, then get up and go to work the next day. It was part of the normal lifestyle.
Now...Mr. Dowdie walked to the local bar. The Dowdies lived by the lake. He would leave the house and walk down to Main Street. (Today it is Rt 9.) See his friends, talk, and then stumble home. This didn't happen every night, but maybe 2 or 3 times a week. Well one night, Mr. Dowdie was walking to the bar when he was struck. A couple from New York were traveling home from the beach, they didn't see him. He was struck, and instantly killed.
In those days, no one was laid out in funeral homes. The casket would be put in your living room and people would pay their respects to your home. Well, Mr. Dowdie was laid out, and a man picked me up. He thought he was doing me a favor and he put me really close to the casket. I screamed my head off. This was the only “Father” I knew....and this tragedy was tragically being shoved in my face. I still remember the horror.
After Mr. Dowdie died. Well, things were tough. Every night Mrs. Dowdie would have me sleep in her bed. I guess she drew comfort from my being close. I was only 6 or 7. Food was tight. Several times a week we would eat an interesting meal...that I hated. There were always a lot of wild berries that grew locally. Blueberries, Strawberries, Blackberries, etc. If you live in Jersey you understand that there is some pretty good wild fruit. Almost every day I would be given a pail and instructed to pick whatever berries were available. Then....Mrs. Dowdie would take some flour add water and make it into a ball. She would then add the berries that were picked. But instead of baking it...she would boil it. It was horrible. No matter how good the berries were....it was a horrible meal. You see....when it was done cooking....the outside of the fruit ball....was mushy and soft....and the inside was barely cooked as well. It was a miserable meal. You would have to force it down...because there was nothing else to eat.
During this period, between my ages of 7-10 I used to collect golf balls. I did this at the Lakewood Country Club. You would collect all of the stray gold balls and then try to sell them back to the golfers. The best place to collect the balls was in the two lakes. No one seemed to mind us being there.... I guess we were conducting a valuable service and the country club paid us no mind. It wasn't very good money...but enough to get into a theater and buy some penny candy.
Well...one day on the Golf Course, this was May of 1937, we heard the sound of large engines. It was a dirigible. Keep this in mind. In those days....it was no bid deal to see a dirigible. We lived in Lakewood, not very far from Lakehurst where many of them were stored. Paying attention to a dirigible then is like us paying attention to regular airplane flights that fly overhead. But.....this was different. These dirigible engines were loud. When myself and my friends looked up...we saw a huge Dirigible. Almost twice the size of other dirigibles. It was daunting with great red fins and a symbol we were only beginning to grow to know. The Swastika. It was the Hindenburg. Hours later, we hear that the Hindenburg blew up. No one knew who or what was the culprit. Finally an electrical storm would be blamed and that made sense to me.
You see....here in Jersey.....storms come upon you really fast. Electrical storms particularly. You can be outside one moment....and the next....dark clouds will close upon you....the air will begin to swirl...temperatures will drop and before you know it......Lightning will flash and the Thunder will crack. What is interesting...is it ends...as quick as it begins....and that is what happened to the Hindenburg. A huge cigarette....just waiting to be lit....
Folks, I hope you enjoyed. There are many more stories like this....From Lakewood to Hoboken....to Fort Dix etc.