The Beginning Years, part 3 (by Dick Votaw)

(part 1) (part 2)

The move to 43rd street was indeed a big step for Mom & Dad; it was their very first home of their own and am sure was a financial hardship. I recall the house costing $6,500.00. I never did learn how they paid for it. This was a very nice house made of brick that had 2 bedrooms, one bath, a dining room, kitchen and living room with a fireplace that I never could understand how Santa Claus could make it down that small chimney. The house also had a full basement that stayed very cool in the summer. I do not remember the year they sold the drug store, but it coincided fairly close with the move to 43rd St. We had a four digit telephone number and of course we only had one phone attached to the wall that had to be installed by the phone company. One of the highlights of the times living there was Christmas. Not only were the regular festivities enjoyed but it meant that my cousin Dillard Boyce would be coming to spend the holidays with us. At that time he was attending medical school at Northwestern University in Chicago and of course did not have the money to go home to California, so he spent those Christmases with us. I was ages six to nine for those holidays and of course he was my hero and always willing to play with me. At least I always thought so.

My first school was named for James Whitcomb Riley, the Hoosier poet, and was designated as P.S. 43, located at 40th & Capitol streets. It was a large brick building, three floors in all counting the basement, and had an even larger playground completely covered with gravel. You can imagine the number of cut and bleeding knees and arms that came home from that play yard. Grades one through eight were all housed in the one building, however you didn’t get to go upstairs to the third floor until you reached sixth grade and from then on you were a big shot to have all your classes on the third floor. The sixth grade was the first grade where we changed teachers for different subjects. I do not remember too much about the first five grades except I very much enjoyed arithmetic when it was first introduced in the third grade. I was usually one of the first or second pupils to finish their work. My favorite teacher was my first grade teacher named Miss Screece. She was always so sweet and kind to me. She was later married and became Mrs. Parks and that was much easier to say. I attended P.S. 43 from 1934 through 1942 and two of my fondest memories were May day and the days we collected old newspapers; yes, we must have had recycling of some kind in those days, however, I do not know what ever happened to the old papers after they were collected. I can still remember the huge bins sitting out by the street on Capitol Ave. with the class grades in big signs on each crate. You see, it was a contest between grades as to which one could collect the most papers in one day. I have no idea now what the prizes were, but it was a cut throat contest. We would plan for weeks ahead our strategy to out collect the other grades. Parents, grandparents, students, and any one else we could involve in this were recruited. Old papers tied by string in bundles were continually being thrown into these bins all day. I remember it being a big deal when we finished the first bin and started on the second.

Another of my fond memories was May Day each year. We had no classes that day and it was just continual fun from morning till night. There were booths set up all over the playground. Instead of spending quarters and dollars at the booths we spent pennies and nickels. Of course there was plenty of food around and to cap off the day there was always the traditional soft ball game between students and faculty that always had my participation.

Another great celebration was the last day of school before the Christmas break; another great day of fun. The main floor of the school had a tremendously high ceiling that each year would accommodate the largest Christmas tree that I had ever seen. Each class was responsible for adding their part to the decoration of the tree. This was done all during the last week before the break and it was a magnificent time. After the tree was all decorated we gathered in the main hall around the tree and for probably about an hour before we all went home we would sing Christmas carols and our principal, Harold Gossett, would talk to us. Then we had our final good-byes before going home, each carrying candy or an ornament we had made, or both.

The one and only time I was sent to the principal’s office was so humiliating to me that I couldn’t believe it had happened. I always thought of myself as a ‘good’ boy and would never do anything that would embarrass my parents or myself. It was 1941 and I was in the seventh grade and water pistols were very popular at that time. Of course I was never allowed to take mine to school, but yielding to peer pressure I did take it one day. That’s when the trouble began. Somehow a water pistol fight broke out in the hallway between classes and I was right in the middle of it. Of course we were caught and sent immediately to Mr. Gossett’s office. I have no recollection of what happened to me, but just the fact of my being sent there was enough punishment. What would he say to my parents; you see they were very close friends. Needless to say, that was the end of the water pistols. As there were no ball point pens in those days, we each had ink wells on our desks and straight pens. What a temptation to tease the girl in front of you by putting a piece of her hair in the ink well. Of course I never did that!!

I recall spending a very enjoyable eight years in this school, but I don’t know now if I would want to go back and see it. I would just as soon remember it as I knew it. I made many good friends here that carried on to high school and we had a club called the ‘Bull Pups.’ We formed a football team and practiced under the direction of a Butler University student who just gave of his time to be with us. We all lived in the Butler vicinity and I remember him as being one swell guy. In the spring of the year (as soon as the snow was gone) we began playing baseball every day after school. One of our group lived on an estate not far from the school; his father being a well-known attorney in town they probably had more money than the rest of our families combined. On this estate was a field large enough to play baseball and we all loved going there. I remember their six car garage and the huge house on the property. Their name was Pantzer and my friend’s name was Fritz and I understand now that he is an attorney himself in Indianapolis. The names of some of my other friends were Dick Miller, Harry Reigel, Jack Swan, Myron Cameron and Carl Pferrer, pronounced fair. Harry Reigel moved to Ontario, California a year before I moved to Whittier and I got to be with him some after my move, but we soon drifted apart.

There was one activity I participated in during my seventh and eighth grade years that was not high on my priority list, namely, dancing class. My Mother insisted that this would be very good for me and as I remember it my Dad took no part in the decision. Actually, I think he sided with me that it would be a waste of time. I have no idea what the cost was. One afternoon a week I had to give up my baseball or my football and come directly home after school, change into some good clothes, and be driven to dance class. None of my friends had to do this. I am sure the girls loved it, but having to put on white gloves so as not to soil their dresses and having to go through all those silly routines was not my idea of a good time. Thinking back on it now, it was probably one of the best things I ever did for when I got to high school and then on to college I was able to participate in those social activities and eventually met the wonderful girl that I was going to spend the rest of my life with.

I recall first becoming interested in Church about the seventh grade as we attended a large Friends Church in downtown Indianapolis. The church had a gymnasium on the second floor and this is when I first joined the Boy Scouts. Friday night was family night at the church. We all had dinner together first and then went to our various activities. Mom and Dad went to their committees and I went to scouts. I never really went to Sunday School as a child as I was on the farm most weekends and Aunt & Unc were not able to get to Sunday School because of the chores that had to be done on Sunday mornings. Boys were not allowed to join the scouts until they were twelve years old, but I immediately joined at the time I could and became very active in it. I eventually achieved the rank of Star and earned about 12 merit badges. I will always remember one scout that really helped me the most and got me out of many jams. His name was Francis Pray and I will always be indebted to him. My first summer after joining scouts I was sent to Scout camp, (notice I said sent), and this was my first time away from home. It was a very frightening experience at the time. I was homesick and I was the only one that did not know how to swim. My one redeeming factor was Francis Pray. I wanted so much to go home after the first night, but he persuaded me to give it another chance. I was most humiliated that first morning as we lined up for cabin inspection. We had to line up in front of our cabins with nothing on but a towel. I’m still not sure why we had to do this. As it turned out we had a wonderful week and I learned to swim a few feet. I even decided to return the next year.

When you reached seventh grade at P.S. #43, the boys were eligible to become ‘traffic boys’ and no girls were allowed to participate in this honor. You got to wear a white belt that went over one shoulder and around your waist to make you distinctive. These belts had to be WHITE and inspection occurred every Monday morning by the captain of the traffic boys. I can still remember many Sunday nights scrubbing those belts to get them WHITE. Our duty was protecting the other students when they had to cross streets on their walk to school. We all wanted the locations close to school as it was more prestigious, but you didn’t get these locations until you were in second semester of eighth grade. Instead of hiring crossing guards as they do today, it was the job of the older students to watch out for the younger ones.

By the time I had reached seventh grade we had moved to a larger house located at 4645 N. Illinois St. in Indianapolis. This was truly a beautiful colonial style home set back off the street some fifty or sixty feet and had three bedrooms upstairs along with a full bath. On the first floor was a large living room, dining room and kitchen with a half bath. The house also had a full basement in which half was fixed up as a recreation room. This is where I learned to play ping-pong. The other half of the basement contained the furnace and storage space. My Dad and I played ping pong by the hour there in that great room. I am surprised he could play as hard as he did with the heart condition that he had. Of course I didn’t know about his condition at that time. I am glad that I learned to play ping pong at an early age as it came in quite handy later after I had met Doree. You see, Doree is a very good player also and no one could beat her until I came along. She often kidded that this is the reason she married me. However, there is much more to say about my beginning years.