Growing up in Chicago -- The Early Years

My new friend Margaret B. emailed this to me. She is a little older than me. I’m a city girl and she grew up in the suburbs of Chicago. I was intrigued by the similarities and contrasts of our remembrances of growing up around the same time. She told me she didn’t mind me posting what she wrote. My response is below.

I Remember . . . The Early Years

I remember…
...our first phone number: Sycamore (SY)5 - 5555.
...being frightened of the dark, the light, and what came after the light — the bark of thunder, angry voices.
...listening to my parents argue at night, downstairs in the kitchen.
...detesting the saddle shoes my mother made me wear to school.
...picking out a pair of hideous blue frames for my first pair of glasses.
...“hands above the sheets” when being tucked in at night.
...scampering down to the basement (southwest corner – the safest spot) during wild summer storms and tornado warnings.
...making cavernous snow forts in the front evergreen bushes.
...Kiki, our black cat, having kittens in my mom’s dresser drawer; she had to wash all the blood-stained clothing. And then, years later, watching Kiki seize and die in the middle of the living room floor.
...Miss Popp, my second grade teacher, telling us that JFK had been assassinated. And then, five years later, waking up June 6, 1968, and wondering if Bobby Kennedy had survived the night. ...being very, very angry at God that he hadn’t.
...my mother screaming out the front living room window at the kids playing in the street; the noise bothered her.
...my mother smoking Chesterfields on the back porch, in the dark, night after night. Her yelling, “I’m going to take off my shoe and paddle you!”
...hearing a neighbor lady down the street say our mother had a sickness for which there was no cure.
...my first, favorite stuffed toy: Rover, a dog.
...my father taking us to Prince Castle for ice cream on Sunday. ...making black cows.
...my father driving us to the beach (Lake Michigan) on a hot day, and throwing up my grape Nehi pop in the back seat of the car. ...my mother went with us that time, because she helped me.
...the thrill of stopping at McDonald’s after a day at the beach. (My stomach had settled by then.)
...the homesickness (and terror) of the first day at St. Joseph’s grade school.
...“HotDog Day” at St. Joe’s, and somehow enjoying the odd taste of those shriveled-penis-looking hotdogs.
...writing a letter to Ray Rayner (children’s TV show host) to complain about how he man-handled the animals on his show. ...Ray reading my letter on the show, and apologizing for his rough behavior. I ran out of the living room – afraid, embarrassed and ashamed for making waves. I’m proud, now, of what I did.
...Garfield Goose, and Kukla, Fran & Ollie. How did I stand the Three Stooges?
...leaving questionnaires out for the Easter Bunny, and getting up the next morning to read his responses: Q: How long have you been married? A: Too long. Funny, I never recognized my father’s handwriting.
...shopping for a new Easter dress at Sears with my father.
...meatless Fridays in Lent, and having to sit quietly from noon to 3 p.m. on Good Friday — the hours when Christ suffered on the cross. I have a friend I like to call at 3 p.m. on Good Friday every year. When he picks up the phone I say, “Christ died for your sins.” He always knows it’s me.
...having to stay with the Forteirs down the street while my mother was in the hospital; my dad was at work and my four older siblings were all in school.
...playing “Doctor” with Joey Forteir.
...trick-or-treating one rainy night with my father and brother. ...my father holding our two taffy apples, and the slow cascade of caramel down his arms, as he waited in the rain for us.
...dumping out my trick-or-treat bags as soon as I got home, watching it spread out over the living room floor like marmalade on toast.
...trick-or-treating again, at age 24, with my husband and a friend, Pam. We told everyone we were collecting candy for the kids at Happy Day (a center for developmentally disabled children). Which was the truth. Except, I had to take my cut first, of course.
...the first sign of spring — the Dairy Queen re-opening.
...the Dog ‘N Suds Drive-In . . . penny candy from the Ben-Franklin . . . and Jiffy-Pop Popcorn. ...asking my mother one too many times to make some Jiffy-Pop, and seeing the package sail across the length of the living room after she hurled it.
...the measles, and being uninterested in eating anything other than Tootsie Roll Midgees while I convalesced on the living room couch. ...saving the wrappers, every one.
...chicken pot pies that actually had chicken.
...having a crush on Paul from the Beatles, Micky from the Monkees, and James Dean from Rebel Without a Cause and East of Eden. (Dean died the year I was born.) ...my crush on Tony Lee in 5th grade; he reminded me of Gregory Peck in To Kill a Mockingbird.
...having nightmares from watching The Outer Limits TV show, especially the Zanti Misfits – ugly bug creatures with human faces.
...crying during the credits of Lassie every week. When he raised his paw in a farewell salute at the end of each episode, I fell apart. I had never seen anything so sad and sweet. My siblings made fun of me.
...loving the peculiarity of troll dolls, and their crazy purple, orange or green hair.
...visiting my cousin’s bar on the far South Side. Typical Irish bachelor. The Sun-Times did a write-up on him – the last remaining white guy on the South side. Everybody knew him because of the bar; he was only shot once.
...my Aunt Roberta, my mom’s sister — an alcoholic who liked to write poetry. She referred to my uncle as her “first husband,” though he was her only husband.
...visiting my grandmother once (my mom’s mom); she was in bed, and offered me a taste of her beer. That’s my sole memory of the woman.
...Saturday mornings and the smell of fresh cut grass as my father mowed the lawn. ...the Sunday evening dread of school the next day.
...my father disappearing into the basement and the rustle of Christmas wrapping, year after year . . . but still believing in Santa Claus.
...discovering Boo Radley living at the end of our block, and running for my life one summer evening.

I Remember . . . Response to Margaret B. from Annabelle Echo

I remember…
...our first phone number: Museum (MU)5 - 5555
...being frightened of the booming thunder until a playmate convinced me that it was only a loud noise and nothing more.
...listening to my parents’ arguments in the kitchen.
...detesting the triple strap shoes my mother made me wear to school.
...my sister’s perfectly circular frames—her first pair of glasses.
...sleeping through the night with my head completely covered under my sheet, blanket and bedspread to protect myself when sleeping.
...my parents opening all the windows to keep them from breaking during wild summer storms and tornado warnings.
...making cavernous snow angels in the back yard.
...being terrified of cats until I met a gray tabby with green eyes that let me pass her unscathed.
...at age 3 telling our handy man putting up wall paper in the kitchen that JFK had been shot.
...later that week watching Lee Harvey Oswald get shot on live TV at which time my father exclaimed and bolted up from his chair so suddenly his cigarette fell out of his mouth and burned a hole in his shirt.
...crying watching 3 year old John-John when he raised his hand in a farewell salute to his father’s passing casket. I fell apart. I had never seen anything so sad and sweet. We were the same age.
...five years later on June 6, 1968 watching Bobby Kennedy get shot on live TV.
...my mother screaming out the front living room window at my sister and me playing in the street to come inside—it was almost midnight.
...my dad smoking Pall Mall™s on the back porch, in the dark, night after night.
...my mother, holding my hand while crossing the street to our new home telling me that my pediatrician, Dr. Wishengrad had died from a brain tumor.
...my first, favorite toy: Rat Fink, a molded plastic doll from a vending machine at Woolworth’s.
...my parents taking us to Uno’s Pizzeria once a month every summer. ...how dark, cool yet crowded it was and that mother would always have a Martini and that my sister and I would compete to gobble down as much heavenly pizza as our little stomachs would hold.
...on a warm day in June, throwing up 10 cups of grape Kool-aid™ in front of the Good Humor™ Truck that had stopped at the end of the alley.
...the thrill of stopping at Wimpy’s™ after telling my father what happened and how my throw-up looked like purple stew. He bought me a milkshake and a cheese burger. (My stomach had settled by then.)
...my father taking me to the beach (Lake Michigan) on a hot day when I was still in diapers. I was a little embarrassed by the puffy yellow plastic pants that covered them but I immediately felt completely comfortable in the cool water.
...sledding with father. I was having a great time until he insisted we take the sled on the toboggan run. Even as a 4 year old I knew it was a mistake. I begged him to reconsider. At the bottom of the run we both flew off the sled. I was on his lap so he cushioned the fall so I was fine. His back hurt for 10 years. Afterwards we enjoyed hot chocolate in an old wooden shack. ...the ride home in the ’64 Chevy Bel Aire. My feet ached from the cold inside red rubber boots. But they were soon thawed by the heater blowing full blast.
...the utter joy I felt on the last day of school every year at Bret Harte elementary school. We always had a picnic across the street in Jackson Park.
...eating a Park District Hot-Dog that my first boy friend Rip had bought me. I don’t know if it was because I was in love or because we were outside near the lake on a warm breezy day but let me tell you—that was the best Hot-Dog I ever ate.
...Garfield Goose, Romper Room and Captain Kangaroo. I still love the Three Stooges, Charlie Chan and especially W.C. Fields.
...leaving my tooth under my pillow for the Tooth Fairy, and finding a dime in its place in the morning.
...shopping for my doll Babebush at Bargain Town™ with my father.
...fasting on Yom Kippur, the Jewish Day of Atonement.
...trick-or-treating with my mother and sister. I can’t remember one time when I didn’t have to wear a heavy coat over my costume. It was always freezing and frequently raining.
...dumping out my trick-or-treat bags as soon as I got home, watching it spread out over the back porch like mayonnaise on a bologna sandwich.
..gobbling down candy beyond the edge of discomfort for weeks after.
...trick-or-treating again 2 years ago in Nashville, TN at age 40 somthin’, with my sister and her two kids my nephews Emmett & Carter. ...that for once I didn’t have to wear a coat.
...mumps, and being unable to eat or swallow anything without excruciating pain in my mouth ears and throat. I tried to eat some French toast my Mom had made me. I ran as if I were on fire out the backdoor and spit the mouthful out into the trash can we shared with the next door neighbor.
...chicken pot pies that actually had chicken. ...eating them almost to the exclusion of all other food.
...having a crush on Paul from the Beatles, Davy Jones from the Monkees, James Dean and Elvis Presley.
...my crush on my teenage neighbors the Raven Twins, the Goodman Twins and Lou "Chip" Gdalman.
...having nightmares from watching The Twilight Zone & Lost in Space TV shows.
...loving the peculiarity of troll dolls, and their crazy purple, orange or green hair. I love it that they lived in a dark dank home carved out of an ancient tree.
...hugging my Uncle Genie and crying hysterically when he died much too young.
...spending long hours watching the Cubs & Sox games with my Great Uncle Lou who took over where my grandfather left off and lived with my family until I was a teenager. Every one in the neighborhood called him “Uncle Lou”. No one not even the old ladies called him just “Lou” except for one person: the Geisel. I knew the Geisel as Jim. Both me and Uncle Lou were good friends with this same person but didn’t know it until one day at the beach when the Geisel/Jim told me how his friend Lou kept him from freezing to death after a fire in the middle of January. To alert firemen, Jim threw a chair through the glass of his apartment window. They drenched him with the fire hose. He ran across the street to my uncle’s apartment to get dry clothing. Jim was skinny and my uncle was portly. He laughed when he told me how his friend Lou’s clothes engulfed his small frame. That’s how I figured it out. My uncle complained about his friend the Geisel’s excessive drinking and clowning every Sunday dinner yet he never stopped going out with him and other old timers. He called them the “boys”.
...seeing the ghost of my Grandfather Sam rolling towards me in his wheelchair through the narrow gangway along the side of my building.