 Ma (Council Bluff, Iowa 1939) |  Dad (Council Bluff, Iowa 1939) |
My mother was the disciplinarian in the family. She was a powerful, strong willed woman. My father never raised a hand against me but neither did he ever step in to help me when I thought I needed or deserved it. I don't know if he was afraid of my mother or he just refused to cause waves. He was just there.�������(**I have since found what, I feel, could be an explanation for both my ma and pa's behavior-----but that's another story**)
Ma (Council Bluff, Iowa 1939) | Dad (Council Bluff, Iowa 1939) |
The one bright spot for me was school. When I was in class, life wasn't that bad. School came very easy for me. I was virtually a straight A student. In fact, I was skipped from the third to the fifth grade, and then to the seventh. I also made friends easily. It seems that everywhere I went, people liked me. But then when I got home I felt hated or even worse; nonexistant. More confusion.
So, this was basically my day to day existence. This way of life continued until shortly after my 11th birthday. I was pretty miserable and starting to become bitter but dealt with it by figuring things couldn't get any worse. I was wrong.
Sometime in the early winter of 1929 something called the stock market crashed. I didn't know what a stock market was but I could surely see the results. Every big business closed down including the iron foundry where pa worked and everyone was out of work. Things, indeed, did become worse. The great depression had begun. In one year, as I remember, we moved 14 times ( everytime the rent was due) and I attended 9 different schools. I used to run about 8 blocks to the Salvation Army during lunchtime for a bowl of soup and a piece of bread. Many times that and a green onion sandwich would be all that I ate for the day. The government was issuing something called script which could be traded in for basic staples like lard, potaoes and beans. It was never enough to last and we went hungry most of the time. Ma wanted a place where she could raise chickens and grow a garden. You have to remember that if you didn't raise or grow food back then, everybody went hungry. Dad moved us into a big 7 room house and we got lucky. The landlord asked us to stay to keep vandals from gutting the house for firewood.
It was about this time that I decided that if "anyone" else got to eat...then so would we. It didn't matter to me how I got the food. Honest or dishonest didn't matter much when you were starving. I became a damn fine theif. I must have been because there was always food on the table and I never got caught. I got a job in the general store. I worked everyday after school and all day Saturday and Sunday for $3.60 per week in trade for groceries. My ma then gave me 50 cents. So, I worked all week for a whopping 50 cents!!!
My job was to stock the shelves, bag up sugar from 100lb sacks into one pound sacks and take out all the trash. I would squirrel away several items daily in the trash and then leave a can in a back window. This was a signal to my brother and sisters to come make a pick-up. I was working for two Jewish brothers and one of them knew what I was doing and he was always trying to catch me...but he never could. It seems that I had a sixth sense that would tell me "not today." Sure enough, after I would take out the trash, he would walk up and ask, "Erv, what did you throw out today?" Being the honest person that I was, that day I would tell him, "Nothing but the trash, sir." He would then go check and find nothing but trash. He seemed to get more frustrated with me as time went by.
I had other enterprises going on as well. When I got the desire for chicken. I would find me a chicken coup and lay down beside the far corner, stick my hand under the wire and just wait, absolutely still. Eventually, some chicken would get curious enough and come to close. Then I would grab him by the neck, so he couldn't make any noise and pull him underneath the fence. We had chicken and dumplings for dinner. I didn't know it but I was learning two things this way. First, I learned how to be patient because at times I had to lay there for quite sometime. Second,I learned that chickens weren't the brightest creatures on this earth. I used to visit the chicken coups quite regularly.
On one of the rare occassions that I had free time, I was playing in a park that had some old cannons on display. I got to looking at one and noticed something in the barrell. So, I went to work cleaning it out and I pulled out an old 10 guage shotgun. I took it home and cleaned it up. A while later, on one of my forage trips, I found myself on a hill overlooking this farm that had a huge barn. Everyday the farmer would open up the double doors halfway up the barn and a large flock of pidgeons would take flight. There must have been hundreds of them, as they looked like a fast moving dark cloud. What I found interesting was they seemed to take the same flight path and part of it was over the hill I was standing on. I got to wondering about what a pidgeon would taste like and before I knew it...I had a plan. I went to see a friend whose father was an avid hunter. I was afforded a few moments alone where I managed to appropriate two 10 gauge rounds. Then I found me a good size sack, got my shotgun and made the trip up to the hill and just waited. When I saw the farmer heading towards the barn, I put the butt of the shotgun on the ground and laid down beside it. That old shotgun was way too big and way too heavy for me to hold and aim. I laid there watching their flight and when they flew over top of me, I pointed the gun at the center of the cloud and pulled the trigger.....WOW!!! I felt like a lightening bolt hit me. There was a tremendous explosion. I couldn't hear. I saw stars. BUT, it was raining pidgeons. I didn't have time to gloat because there were pidgeons to harvest and the farmer was heading my way. I collected all of them and disappeared long before the farmer made it up the hill. I remember how proud I was when I handed that sack to my ma. Maybe I was even expecting an atta boy from her but it wasn't to be. She handed the sack back ,telling me not to expect her to cook them until I cleaned them. Well, I figured it don't mean nothing as I plucked feathers. I have to admit that ma could cook because them pidgeons were right tasty......and I still had one shotgun shell left!
I was also starting to notice that my treatment at home was getting worse than before. I don't know if it was just not in their nature to show affection or maybe it was resented that I, at 11 or 12, was providing the bulk of the food. I did however continue to notice how much better my older brother and sister were treated.
One Christmas that seems to be branded in my brain, I sat and watched my older brother open several presents, getting new shoes and bib overalls, etc. and I was patient but anxious and excited...afterall it was Christmas. Finally, I was handed one small box as a present. I opened it as quick as I could and inside found a used cloth hat and a pair of fogged over goggles. I looked down at my brother's bounty and I just got up, walked over to the potbellied stove, opened the door and threw the whole package in and left. It Don't Mean Nothing.
Meanwhile, back at the general store, the owner had enough but didn't want to fire me because I worked so cheap. He moved me into this large storage shed across the street. I had to stack hundred pound sacks of flour, sugar and potatoes and best of all for him there was no back door, so he could watch me. He was a little fellow and he was determined to catch me stealing. After working for a short time in that shed, I noticed this cap covering a hole on the second level. After work that night, I went snooping around outside and I found a small door on the backside of the shed right inline with the hole inside. When I got the door opened, I found it was an ash removal pit. I was back in business! Everyday food went down the hole into the waiting hands of a brother or sister and that old man just kept sneaking in trying to catch me. Finally, one afternoon I was sitting on top of a stack of potatoes about 15 to 20 feet up eating my lunch. I heard the front door creak open and sat there watching this old man slowly sneaking in. He reminded me of a cat stalking a bird. I really don't know why but when he got underneath me, I sorta nudged a sack of potatoes which kinda landed on top of him. It banged him up pretty badly. I jumped down real concerned and apologetic, asking him if he was all right and what he was doing in here. I gave it my best show but he wasn't buying. He couldn't prove it was deliberate, so I wasn't charged but my career as a stock boy was over. It Don't Mean Nothing.
Somewhere in this time frame, I had a brother-in-law move in which knocked me down one step lower in the pecking order but I didn't care because he brought with him what turned out to be my closest companion. It was a mongrel dog which I named "Pooch." I fell in love with this dog. We became as one. My mother would try to ridicule me by calling me a dog lover but that didn't matter because I finally had someone who liked me and was always there for me. It wasn't long before I was forbidden to take the dog with me when I left the house. I had to chain him up underneath the porch before I could go. Being as at this stage of my life I was being punished daily anyways, it didn't much matter to me if I broke another rule or not. I started taking Pooch under the porch and just laying the collar over his neck. When I got to the top of the hill, I'd let go with a whistle. Now, that dog might have been a mongrel but he wasn't stupid. I would stand there and watch him low crawl out from under the porch, then staying close to the house, he would crawl to a point where he could dart into some undergrowth and slowly, he would pop out of the bushes beside me....and off we would go. When we returned, I'd stop at the top of the hill, I'd tell him to go, he would retrace his path. When he would reach the porch, I would come down the hill and he would pop out acting all excited like he had missed me. Pooch was a bright light in my life. We had some fine times.
One of my primary chores was the gathering of wood both for heating and cooking. I happened to be in the junk yard one day and found the front axle from a Model T. I remember sitting there looking at this axle for the longest time figuring out how I could use it. Finally, I started toting all this junk and wood home. In the backyard, I went to work building myself a cart. When I was done it was about four foot wide and six foot long. I had it well balanced and I found I could easily haul it in the woods, load it with about a quarter of a cord of wood and haul it home where I would split it with a double edged Paul Bunyun axe. I can recall making numerous trips for wood and each time I came home with one, I would hope for some sign of appreciation or recognition but it never happened. I never felt sorry for myself. I would just get more determined and back into the woods I'd go with my cart for another load of wood all the while thinking " this trip...I'll get a thanks." It got to the point that I had a pile of split wood well over my head and maybe 20-30 foot around. I came home with a load and I went in the house. Ma told me to get outside, that I was supposed to be splitting wood. I went back outside but this time it was different. I don't know if I was mad but I was extremely ticked off. I wasn't thinking straight because I didn't pay attention to where I was standing. I put that first log in place, glared at it and swung that axe with everything I had in me. As luck would have it, the axe caught on the wire clothesline, shot straight back and caught me in the back of the head. If you don't know, head wounds are real bleeders. When I pulled my hands away, blood was dripping off them. By the time I got in the house, I could feel it running down my back and squishing in my shoes. Ma yelled at me for coming in and I told her that I thought I had hurt myself. My sister passed out and ma lit into me with that sharp tongue while working on my head. She must have tied my hair together because I needed stitches but I never saw a doctor.
I was growing fast in those days. Not big, but strong both mentally and physically. I was growing hard and lean. I was growing confident and I was growing as an individual; a loner if you will. Me and Pooch started taking off for a day or so at first. We would just roam the hills together. Whenever we got back, it was like we were never gone. Our trips eventually extended to a week then two weeks at a time. These are my fondest memories. Me and pooch roaming the hills, living off the land. We were free.
I was also growing in other ways as well. I was growing beligerent, rebellious and I was growing mean. I would come home with a friend of mine and tell him to wait a minute, I had to go in the house and get my beating. I would then walk in backwards and tell ma to hurry up with the whipping as I had things to do. Things were building inside me. Pressures were increasing but I didn't know then or recognize the symptoms.
Then, there were the winters in Iowa. I don't know if I can adequately describe with mere words what the winters were like. So, suffice to say, everything froze around September and stayed that way through April. Rivers would freeze solid. In the Spring when the rivers would start to thaw and the ice would start to flow, I can remember standing around bridges with friends watching bi-planes fly over and drop small bombs, breaking up the large ice floes before they swept the bridges away. I can also vividly remember watching ma hang out wet laundry and it would freeze dry. Not just freeze mind you but freeze dry. Check your physics books on this one boys because I had my last arguement about this phenonomen when I was a young whelp in the Navy.
There was another oddity during these lean years that upon reflection back I can only explain as a divine intervention by God.
During one of my roaming trips, me and pooch came across a rabbit trap. After collecting the rabbit ( I told you I lived off the land...the trap just happened to be in my path), I sat and studied the trap for awhile. When I got home, I went to the junk yard and gathered mtself some materials. I made 13 traps and began setting them each morning. Every morning thereafter, I would clear and reset my traps. They were always full with some traps having two rabbits. That morning when I came home with my first catch, I was so proud. I had found a new food source and just knew I was going to get my first atta-boy. What I got was my ma asking what she was going to do with all those rabbits. She kept telling me that they would spoil before we could eat them all. I told her that we could just hang them outside where they would freeze and couldn't go bad. But she just carried on about all the rabbits. So everyday I would clear my traps and would walk around town trying to give away what we couldn't eat. Now, I don't know if these people were to proud to accept charity or just didn't want to mess with unskinned rabbit. It turned into a ritual. Everyday I would clear my traps, come home and skin the rabbits, give my ma what we would eat and hang the rest by their hind quarters on the clothesline to freeze overnight. The next morning, I'd get up and all the rabbits would be gone. This went on for what seemed like forever. I could fill a whole page with just different receipes my ma had for rabbits. I'll just say that she could cook and rabbits made for good eating. I can say this with absolute confidence; God's gift to the starving masses during these lean years was rabbits. At least they were for Council Bluff, Iowa. I ought to know because I sure caught more than my fair share and they were gone every morning.
Now, as I had mentioned before, by this time, rules meant little to me but strange as it may seem, this only applied at home. All the town police and firemen knew me and we always got along fairly well. Sometimes, I used to sneak out at night and ride along all night with the police on night shift. I guess I was good company for them on a quiet shift. Plus, I used to include them on my trips when giving away my excess food forages. They always treated me well and I always got a thank you from them.
But at home it was always the same. The problem was at this time I had met a girl that I had taken a shining to and she liked me too. My ma had set a 9 pm curfew for me and told me if I was late, I could just sleep in the car. Sure enough, I didn't make it home in time and the house was locked up. The problem was it was winter and I was freezing. When I knocked on the door, ma told me I missed curfew and the house was locked up. I remember pleading with her to let me in but ma..being ma.. was stubborn and told me to sleep in the car and that maybe in the future when she said 9 pm, I would know she meant 9 pm, not 9:05 or 9:10 pm. I grumbled a bit and climbed into the car. It wasn't long before I was feeling frozen and couldn't feel my feet. I decided that, by God, enough was enough, so I went to the end of the porch and faced the door. I charged and hit the door with my shoulder and to my surprize, the door broke free of the hinges and landed on the floor. I took my punishment and went and curled up on the couch and went to sleep. On the second offense, I was late, and once again the house was locked up. Ma again stood her ground after my pleading but this time she told me to sleep in the basement. I argued through the door that it was freezing in the basement but it was to no avail, so off to the basement I went. While there, I found an old blanket which I wrapped around me, I just stood, stomping my feet to try to keep them from freezing. I noticed some brick had been removed and I could see a 2 foot crawl space. Remembering that the floor in the bathroom was in bad shape, I crawled until I was under the bathroom and braced my shoulder against the flooring, with all my will and strength, I just stood up and the flooring gave way. I found myself standing in the bathroom. I went to bed and that was the last time I was locked out. For some reason, I wasn't punished this time.
It wasn't long after my 13th birthday, when one day my ma was coming at me with a long switch. Something snapped inside me and I just reacted by grabbing the switch out of her hand and breaking it into several pieces. I then pointed my finger at her and stated calmly, "Don't ever hit me again." I saw something in her eyes that I had never seen before. I saw fear. When I think back on this moment, I feel that for the first time, she realized what she was partly responsible for creating and she was afraid. Although she would give me a tongue lashing from time to time, she would only lay her hands on me one final time. The mold was set and events were going to occur that no one could have predicted or prevented.
One final bright moment happened to me in the late spring or early summer. My ma came up to me and told me to fetch my pa. I went to the iron foundry which had finally re-opened. When I found my pa, I told him ma had sent me to fetch him home. Pa, always a man of few words, didn't speak. He just picked up his lunch box and we went home. When we got there, he walked into the bedroom with a blanket for a door, to where ma and someone else were waiting. I sat, listening to the ruckus for awhile and then I had a new brother : Marvin. I truly loved that baby.
It was only a couple of months after Marvin was born, when I came home and found that my older brother had taken a deck of cards of mine. So, I went to his room and took his pipe. When he got home and found his pipe missing he came to me and demanded his pipe back. I told him, "You'll get your pipe back when I get my cards back." It was really an insignificant event. Ma came up and told me to give back the pipe. I told her the same thing that I had told my brother. The fight was on! My brother started beating me up again but that seemed to be the natural order of things or it always had been in the past. Ma just stood there and watched. This time however, something snapped in me and I fought back.
I found myself on top of him, with both of my hands around his neck, squeezing with all my might. In my mind, I was going to kill him, pure and simple. Then, pa was there trying to pry my hands away. Ma was behind me, beating me with a piece of stove wood. When I felt myself losing my grip, I grabbed an empty coca-cola bottle ( one of the original thick glass bottles). I hit him upside of his head, laying it wide open.
It was over.
While ma treated my brother, I went to my room and packed my belongings, preparing to leave. I remember ma telling pa to let me go, that I would be back when I got hungry. Pa knew better. He followed me outside, took me to the side of the house and gave me $5.00. I don't know where he got $5.00 from, since that was a small fortune back then. He told me not to tell ma that he gave me the money. He then said, "Be careful." I walked away...and never looked back.
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