Month: June 2023

I enjoyed my eighth grade year save for my mathematics class which is somewhat ironic given that I would one day become a math teacher. I found myself totally lost but still making good grades in the class. Somehow I was able to fake it, but I really never had a genuine understanding of the concepts. I remember mostly being frightened of my math teacher who often sported aviator glasses and rarely seemed to smile. I’d come home and seek help from my mother who did her best to demystify the various processes. Eventually I would simply lock myself in my bedroom, pore over the examples in my textbook and teach myself the rubrics without ever really making the connections with what I was doing and the real world. I needed to understand the “why’s” and nobody was around to explain such things to me. That would happen later in my life.

The rest of my teachers were fabulous and I enjoyed their classes and their differing methods  of conveying information. Because I have always enjoyed writing I imagined myself as a journalist and dreamed of one day writing articles for newspapers and magazines. My teacher, Mrs. Getz, intrigued me because she often spoke of the challenges that dedicated writers must  consider. One of my favorite moments with her involved a lesson on proof reading papers before turning them in to her. She spoke of the incredible process that a group undertook in creating a new Bible. She said that literally dozens of dedicated souls had read and reread and corrected every possible flaw that might have crept into the sacred text. When the books were finally printed and ready for sale someone not even associated with the massive project picked up a copy, opened it and read, “I the beginning…” I never forgot that story and it makes me laugh to this very day.

Mrs. Colby was still teaching science and still as excited about the space program as ever. In February of my final year before high school she rolled a television standing on a tall cart into our classroom and let us watch John Glenn orbit the earth. We were all giddy over that accomplishment and somehow it made the future seem so exciting, especially since much of the pioneering work took place not far from where we sat in that classroom. In fact, we all knew people who were employed by NASA in those days. While I watched the work of brilliant engineers come to fruition, my brother Mike continued to dream of one day being part of the efforts to reach out into space. His mathematical abilities were already becoming apparent to his teachers and his inventiveness was stunning. I often imagined the kind of incredible conversations that he and our father might have had.

Pat continued to bring sheer delight to our family. He had Daddy’s love of humor and like our father, he collected friends easily. He was also a promising athlete, able to run like the wind, pitch like a big leaguer and adapt to virtually any sport quickly. He was quick witted, creative and a people magnet. In many ways he and Mike were becoming an amalgam of our father, each developing similar interests and talents that they shared with the father they would never really know. 

I enjoyed my stint as Captain of the Twirlers on the drill team and met lots of good friends along the way. My mother had always wanted to be a twirler herself but never had the opportunity to take the lessons and learn the skills. She drove me back and forth to lessons with Yvonne McCutchin at a Houston City Park while also teaching school, taking care of the house and family business, attending my brothers’ ball games, serving as the Historian of the church Women’s Club and enjoying fun evening for herself in a bowling league. While I took her efforts for granted at the time I now wonder where she got all of her energy.

The school year ended with the May tradition of honoring the Blessed Virgin. The annual event always involved the eighth grade class in a ceremony dedicated to the mother of Jesus. I was surprisingly chosen by my fellow students to be part of a special group that crowned Our Lady with flowers. Mama was so excited, but I was simply ready to move up to high school. It was the graduation ceremony that brought me the most joy, especially when they awarded me with a one year scholarship to Mt. Carmel High School which was located right next door. 

Grandpa and Grandma Little came to town to witness my transition from junior high school as did all of my aunts and uncles. After the ceremony we had a party at our house where Grandpa presented me with a book called Great Lives, Great Deeds. In the inscription that he wrote on the title page he challenged me to make my life one of integrity and good works. Somehow I felt that he was speaking to me as he knew my father might have done. I cherish that book to this very day and often joke that if my house were on fire it would be one of the first things I would grab on my way out the door. 

Lynda’s mother, Mrs. Barry, gave me the first perfume that I had ever possessed. It was Estee Lauder Youth Dew and it made me feel just a more mature than my image in the mirror had done. It would become one of my all time favorite scents and I continue to wear. it often. Aunt Polly and Uncle Jack gave me a 1962 Proof Set of coins and Mama presented me with a watch. To my delight I received lots of cash which I saved for my first year in high school. My graduation was the first really big celebration and gathering since Daddy had died. Somehow I felt that he was present and that he approved of how well all of us had done. 

Each year there is always a potential for a hurricane in Houston, Texas. The city is only fifty odd miles from the Gulf Coast and while it gets a slightly muted version of the wind and rain that hits the coastline, such storms can be deadly. Going through one is a frightening experience. From June to October those of us born and raised near the Gulf Coast know how important it is to be prepared for the potential of devastating weather. So it was in September of 1961, when hurricane Carla appeared to be tracking to the area. 

Our home on Belmark Street had not been tested against high winds and devastating rain so Mama was worried about enduring a hurricane alone. Sensing her anxiety Aunt Polly and Uncle Jack insisted that we all relocate to their home until the danger from the hurricane had passed. Aunt Valeria also decided to join us there because her husband, our Uncle Dale, was called to maintain the operations at the Shell refinery where he worked. Ours would be an adventure shared with our cousins.

We helped Mama “batten the hatches” as she called it, gathering up anything in the yard that would blow away and cause damage, securing and protecting the windows of the house and setting aside water and nonperishable food for the aftermath when we might be without electricity for an uncertain amount of time. Mike, Pat and I packed our bags, put our pillows and blankets in the car and headed gleefully to Aunt Polly’s place unfazed by the potential of the storm which was about to wreak havoc on our city.

Aunt Polly lived on Alberta Street in a neighborhood near St. Peter’s Catholic Church where I had spent my first grade school year. I liked her house because it was located near a drainage ditch that afforded us kids hours of fun exploring and creating make believe adventures. There was also a set of stairs in the house that lead to the attic where Uncle Jack had installed flooring so that provided us with a gigantic playroom. Best of all was the den at the back of the house where Uncle Jack spent evenings watching westerns and really good television programs that our mother seemed to dislike. I knew that our stay over was going to be tons of fun with our cousins and good viewing with our uncle.

Aunt Polly and Uncle Jack had two sons, Jack and Andy, Jack was only a few months younger than I was and Andy was a bit older than Mike. We never failed to have fun playing with the two of them who always seemed to have great ideas for passing the time. Aunt Valerie brought our cousin, Ingrid, who was a year older than I was. She was always beautiful with blue eyes and hair that curled in lovely ringlets. She had just started her first year in high school so she seemed to be far more sophisticated than the rest of us. I was in awe of her and in some ways thought of her as a fabulous big sister. With all of us gathered together the hurricane watch would be more like a party than an escape from possible danger.

Aunt Polly had recently purchased a piano which quickly drew our attention. Jack showed us how to play Heart and Soul in duet form and before long we were taking turns filling the house with beautiful music, at least that is how it sounded to us. Our parents put up with our concert for a time but eventually grew weary of our banging at the keys and demanded that we go upstairs to find something to entertain ourselves. Back then I could not imagine why they were not enchanted by our musicality but as an adult I wonder if I would have had as much patience as they did before pulling the plug on our piano recital.

The expanse of the upstairs attic room was incredible. Most of the area had flooring saved for the edges along the perimeter. In those dark corners boxes and rarely used paraphernalia like suitcases and Christmas decorations lay waiting for occasional use. We were free to enjoy ourselves to our hearts’ content as long as we did not enter the far unfloored reaches of the area. We played board games and ran the electric train that belonged to my cousins. Then we attempted to design a more mature version of hide and seek that allowed us to hide anywhere in the house or the attic. 

I decided to be daring and disobedient by finding a place to conceal myself behind a pile of suitcases near the restricted edge. It worked well as I went undiscovered over and over again. Eventually I took the time to glance at the stacks of seldom used items nearby while waiting for my opportunity to get home free. As my eye scanned the area I went into shock when I saw what appeared to be a wooden leg. I immediately realized that it was the prosthetic limb that had belonged to my Uncle Bob. I was so stunned at seeing it that I screamed and gave myself away. Luckily my cousins and brothers all agreed to hide my lawless behavior from the adults as long as I agreed to be “it” for several consecutive turns. 

Eventually the air outside filled with the smell of the ocean and the winds began to blow harder than I had ever before witnessed. My cousin Jack took the opportunity to climb a tree in his backyard and ride the wind as the branches moved back and forth. We were having a great time watching his bravery when our parents insisted that it was time to lock ourselves safely inside because the hurricane was heading our way. 

Uncle Jack entertained us with his jokes and stories while our mothers looked more and more concerned as the windows rattled and seemed on the verge of breaking. Meanwhile the rain pelted the roof and objects of all sorts flew against the outer walls of the house. What we thought of as exciting seemed to scare our mothers. Perhaps that is because they had witnessed other hurricanes before. We were novices and had little idea of the destruction that was to come. 

Once the storm has passed over us we went outside to survey the damage. Huge tree limbs lay on the ground from fallen trees. Items that belonged to someone else littered the yards. Water stood in the street and filled the ditch out back. On television we saw images of shattered buildings and boats sitting in fields far aways from where they had been moored. It was a deadly hurricane that ranked as one of the worst to hit our area in decades. Mama and Aunt Valeria both worried about what they might find upon returning to our respective neighborhoods.

We would wait for a time before attempting to venture back home to our house. Mama worried that debris and high water might block our way. When we finally did make that journey we were stunned to find fallen utility poles blocking our path and high water that lapped over our tires threatening to find its way inside our car. There were businesses whose roofs had blown off and huge signs that lay on the ground. Hardly any of the traffic lights were working properly so Mama drove slowly and carefully.

The journey that should have only taken about twenty minutes, took well over an hour. At times our mother wondered if she should simply turn back to Aunt Polly’s house because the destruction that we witnessed was so bad. Nonetheless we keep moving forward and finally reached our street that was still filled with water. When we got to our home we all let out a sigh of relief. It looked just as it had when we left. It had weathered the storm without damage of any kind. Just as Uncle Jack had boasted when Mama bought it, we saw that it was a good strong house that would serve us well for many years. It was home and we felt wonderful to be back. We were okay once again.