Chap. 2: 1942-52 Life In Washington DC

My Earliest Childhood Memories

My earliest childhood memories are set in Vienna, Virginia, just outside of Washington, D.C. Some of these memories are probably just things told [to] me by my parents; some of them are things told me by my brothers; and some of them, I’m sure, are things I simply imagined. Today, I’m trying to separate these impressions from the real events so that I can recall my very earliest memories.

I’m sure that I was no more than two years old when a little dog ran up to me in our back yard and jumped up on me. I was frightened and I cried.

My mother said, “Don’t call her if you don’t want her to come.”

The dog’s name was Cheeta, and I had called, “Here Cheeta, here Cheeta!”

Cheeta was a very frisky German Shepherd. Daddy bought her for Mother before he went away to the army. When Daddy returned, 18 months later, the dog had developed a bad habit. She was chasing people who passed our by house on bicycles. She would nip at their lower legs. Daddy couldn’t break the dog from that habit, so he killed her. He took Cheeta out in the woods, hit her in the head with a hammer, and buried her back there. This sounds pretty cruel, but it wasn't.
My father loved animals. He understood them. He always watched out for them and took good care of them. However, if an animal became a danger to itself or to others, Daddy would also take care of the problem. In the years that followed, I developed a tremendous admiration for my father’s treatment of animals. He would say to me, “Bobby, it’s just like my dad always told me; ‘Treat an animal with respect and caution.’”

I have some very hazy memories of Daddy in an army uniform. The setting for one memory is the street in front of our house. I had the following childhood perception: I thought Daddy came home from the war, marching down that street. I thought we went out to greet him. Now I know that this memory was not accurate. I misinterpreted the events. But the memory lingers in my mind. Our little family was out front on the street. Daddy was in his army uniform even if he wasn’t marching home from the war. One thing I know. War is easy enough to talk about, but difficult to experience.

Daddy was a carpenter—and a good one. He built our neighbors a white picket fence. We got to help him paint it. Daddy had excellent, expensive tools, and he knew how to use them. My little sister, whose name was Sandy, always got to help.

One tool that was irreplaceable was Daddy’s table saw. The man who taught Daddy his trade was John E. Davis. Oh, he was a great friend! He mentored Daddy in the early purchase of the basic tools. Later on, Daddy knew what tools he wanted to buy.

I remember that Daddy was always patient and loving with his children. Whenever we approached him, no matter what he was doing, he would say, “Come; would you like for me to show you how to do this?” My childhood memories are very precious to me.

I also remember seeing Daddy on a large parking lot. There were some buildings and I think there was a fence. I remember that my two brothers were there. Daddy was in uniform, and I remember Mother crying. This was told by my parents. Daddy left for the army in September, 1944. The Second World War was in its final months. The efforts of World War II had forced the military to begin drafting men with young children. Daddy served beginning about 1944, leaving a wife and three small children behind. All of the eligible young men had been drafted, and the military was forced to draft fathers with young children.

World War 2

I was nearly two years old at the time. Joe was nearly four, and Clyde was just about to turn one. Daddy went to Fort Brag, North Carolina for processing, then to Fort Meade, Maryland until he received his assignment. Mother learned that Daddy was at Fort Meade. It was not too far from where we lived in Vienna, Virginia. He was waiting to be sent to Fort Knox, Kentucky for training as a tank mechanic. Mother gathered up her three sons and drove to Fort Meade, in hopes of getting to see him.

When our family arrived at Fort Meade, Mother asked a soldier how she could find her husband, and told him Daddy’s name. He said, “You just wait right here, and I’ll see what I can do.” There were a lot of duffel bags sitting near by. Men would be marched up and stopped. At an order they would run, grab their duffel bag and board trucks. This happened two or three times while we were waiting for Dad.

Mother said that when Daddy came out, Joe and I ran to him across the parking lot. She was holding Clyde, and he was trying to jump out of her arms to see his daddy. She set him down, and he began to take his first faltering steps. Daddy held out his arms, and Clyde toddled over to him without falling. He had been pulling up, but these were his first actual steps.

Mother said that other families were there too, waiting to see their men. Many soldiers came out and cried when they saw their families. She wondered what the boys would do if they saw their daddy cry. But when he came out and saw us he just gave a giant grin.

In their opening statement, World Book Encyclopedia has this to say about the war: “World War II (1939-1945) killed more people, destroyed more property, disrupted more lives, and probably had more far-reaching consequences than any other war in history. It brought about the downfall of Western Europe as the center of world power and led to the rise of the Soviet Union.”

Daddy had been away in the army quite a while and we were planning a trip to North Carolina to visit Daddy Joe and Mammy. They had not yet seen Clyde. In preparation for the trip Mother spoke often to Clyde about “Daddy Joe” in preparation for their meeting. When we arrived, Daddy Joe was out in the yard. She told Clyde, “There’s Daddy Joe; go give him a hug.” She set him down and Clyde walked to him with his arms out saying, “Daddy Joe, Daddy Joe.” That was one of the few times Mother ever saw her dad cry.

No Running Water

For the first part of my life we didn’t have running water inside. We had a well, and drinking water was acquired with a hand pump installed in the sink in the kitchen. I remember that early baths were taken in a number two tub.

I remember an outdoor toilet, the “outhouse”. The outhouse was surrounded by a pig pen on three sides. The pigs used to root up under the edges of the outhouse, so I could see daylight under one edge of the outhouse, and sometimes I could see a pig’s snout and hear them oink. That frightened me. I was generally nervous inside the outhouse.

One of the favorite “tricks” on Halloween night was for someone to turn over someone’s outhouse. It didn’t happen a lot, but I have known it to happen.

When we finally did get running water the pump had a built in tank that held only about a gallon. Of course they installed a bigger tank. It was plumbed into the kitchen and later into the bathroom. In the interest of having the freshest and coldest drinking water possible, the plumbers put a separate faucet in the kitchen sink and straight piped it from the little tank in the pump. That way one could quickly get fresh water straight from the well. I asked the plumber, Freddie Hutchinson, what the other faucet was for, and he said, “Milk.” I remember that a lot of working men who came and went in our home would tease us. It is hard for a child to realize it when he is being teased.

Animals in the City

Daddy had a cow in a pasture behind our yard—behind the outhouse. He also had a small barn with a hay loft, and a pig pen behind it. I believe he and Mother wanted to have some of the things they had on the farm growing up, even though they now lived close to Washington DC.

One time my two brothers and I were feeding the pigs. We would mix some cow feed with pig feed and take it down to the pig pen. We’d climb up on top of the little shelter and throw it over into the pen for the pigs. On about the third trip down we were approaching the pen. One of the pigs was so eager that he somehow jumped over the fence and came at us! We screamed at the top of our voices, threw the bucket straight up and ran to the house in terror. The next scene I remember was Mother with some pig feed, coaxing the pig into the cow barn until Daddy could come home and put him back in the pen. Needless to say she was not a happy woman!

Childhood Injuries

On another occasion Clyde and I had taken scissors and paper into the barn. We were up in the hay cutting out something. For some reason I was crawling on the bales of hay above him. I slipped and fell toward him, and the scissors stabbed me in the right thigh. Mother looked at it and said, “It could use a couple stitches, but we’ll just bandage it and keep a close watch. It healed fine, but I still have the scar. (Only one of many from childhood wounds.)

My brothers and I liked to break glass jars, as I am sure all children do. We used to break them on some rocks at the edge of the cow pasture fence. I remember one Sunday afternoon Daddy had the family out there cleaning up the rocks. I was barefooted, and stepped on broken glass. I remember saying “Oooo, glass.” The next thing I remember was standing on the table in the kitchen while Mother looked at my heal. Scenes like that are set in my mind, many times over. She would roll the flesh back and forth on many many childhood wounds and say, “It could probably use some stitches, but we’ll just keep a close watch on it.” I never remember going to the doctor for the various cuts we got.

Children at Play

Daddy built us three swings out in the yard below the kitchen window. Mother could look out the window and keep an eye on us while she was washing dishes. Two of the swings were about five inches deep and of natural wood. The third one was maybe six inches deep and cut from a board that had been painted green. (I’m sure Daddy made them out of whatever scrap lumber he had on hand.) For some reason the green swing was a big favorite. We’d come flying out of the house running for the swings. The first one to yell, “Dibs on the green swing,” got to use it first.

I remember going fishing for Herring in the Chain Bridge River. We went straight through Tysons Corner and on through McLean to the river. It narrowed at that point, and changed from salt water below the bridge to fresh water above the bridge. About May the Herring were spawning. They came up the river by the thousands, and large catfish and other fish came with them to eat the eggs. We would go down there fishing, and catch them by the dozens. The time I remember, Uncle Clyde went with us. We called it “gigging”. You’d just throw in a “gig”, several hooks bound together, with no bait, jerk the line and catch a fish. I remember Daddy holding me and I reached down into the water with my hands, feeling the fish thick in the water. I remember people carrying them out by the burlap sack full. There were two men fishing together. A little way behind them there was a woman with a large tub. Her job was to get the fish off the hooks and into the tub. The men were slinging fish at her so fast she never got a break. She started cussing them, but they wouldn’t slow down. They just kept on slinging the fish at her as fast as they could catch them.

Becoming a Christian

A lady named Mrs. Eades told Bible stories for children in her home down the street. She told Mother that she got some extra children’s books from her church. Mother sent some change in a little jar when we went down, to give to her church. It was on Sunday afternoon. Later our family would join Columbia Baptist Church. A young pastor named Stephenson was the preacher when Clyde and I accepted Christ and were baptized.

I remember thinking that in heaven they kept a record of your good deeds and bad deeds. When you died, if your goods were in the majority you’d get to go to heaven. I was always worried, because I didn’t think I was going to be good enough to make it.

One time there was a grass fire on the hillside opposite our home. It was at night, and it looked to me like half the world was on fire. I remember thinking that it reminded me of hell. Later I talked to Mother, and she told me the best news I ever heard. She said that everyone sins and falls short; nobody will ever be good enough to get into heaven based on their good works.

She said that when Jesus died on the cross he took the punishment for our sins, and that he offered us a free gift of forgiveness and eternal life. The key was to place your trust in him as your Lord and Savior. My brother Clyde and I did that. We told our pastor about it, and we were baptized in the Columbia Baptist Church in Falls Church, Virginia.

Coffee Will Make Your Eyes Turn Black

Mother used to say a variety of things “tongue in cheek.” She said them teasingly, but I wasn’t old enough to grasp the concept, and I tended to believe them literally. One saying was that drinking coffee would make your eyes turn black. I’m sure she said this when the children wanted to try a drink of coffee. She would always allow us to try it, but she’d say, “Don’t drink a lot, because drinking coffee will make your eyes turn black. I can remember believing for a long time that drinking coffee would make your eyes turn black!

Another “truth” I grew up with was about popping your fingers. It is an irritating habit, and my mother always said, “Don’t pop your fingers; it will make your knuckles get big.” And when we persisted in popping our fingers, she’d sometimes say, “Stop popping your fingers! By the time you get married, your knuckles will be so big you won’t be able to get your wedding ring on!” I remember having some concerns during my teen years that I wouldn’t be able to get my wedding ring on, because of popping my fingers!

Here’s one of my all time favorites: We killed a bull frog down by the creek, and Daddy skinned the legs so we could cook them and sample frog legs. That evening I asked Mother if we were going to cook them and eat them. She said, “No, we’ll wait till we have a house full of company, then we’ll serve them.” I remember thinking that frog legs were an item you would serve whenever you were having a house full of company!

We lived close to Washington D.C. and many of the relatives would come to visit us. I remember we always took them to see the Washington Monument, the Lincoln and Jefferson Memorials, The Smithsonian and the White House. We usually took them to Mount Vernon, the home of George Washington. And we’d always take them to a wonderful amusement park called “Glen Echo.” I don’t believe it is there any more. I also remember visits to Arlington Memorial Cemetary and the home of the unknown soldier. We loved to witness the changing of the guard. Going to the zoo was a big deal we enjoyed. I think it was the Arlington National Zoo.

I remember the “Jewel Tea Man”. He was evidently a route salesman who came to private homes. Joe told me that his name was Mr. Seacrest. It seems like we were always glad to see him, because he sold things that we wanted.

My older brother Joe recounts these memories:

“When I was 18 months old my parents noted that I did anything any other 18 month old child would do except walk by myself. They’re told me that if somebody held my hand I’d walk till I dropper. If I was turned loose I’d drop on the spot; I would not walk alone. They were mystified.

This is what Dad told me about solving the mystery. He came into the house for something one afternoon and noticed me across the room from him playing with a ;toy of some kind. He said I dropped whatever it was. As he was looking straight at it with no problem knowing where it was, he suddenly got the shock of realizing that I was groping around for it with both hands. He told Mother I wouldn’t walk by myself because I was blind, and went on to tell her what he’d just seen. The family doctor found that I was not totally blind but that my eyes were really bad. He got us with Dr. Frank Costenbatter who was to be my eye specialist (and Bob’s) for many years to come. He was a fine man and a fine doctor.

(Some time after we left that part of the country it came to my attention that Frank Costenbatter was a world famous pioneer in pediatric ophthalmology. I have since learned that his mantle fell on ‘Dr. Marshall Parks, a protégé of his.)

Because Mother and Dad now knew to watch each child for eye trouble, Bob’s problems were found earlier than mine. This gave him the advantage of earlier treatment than I’d had. Even so it was an ongoing process.”

When Joe had eye surgery Aunt Gerry and her children came to spend a week to help us. She came on the train, intending to stay a week, but she stayed a month.

Mother took the three of us, Eddie Harrington, (Aunt Gerry’s son) and two of the Clatterbuck boys to the barber shop in Vienna. The barber was Mr. Sammy. Aunt Gerry stayed at home. Mother had forgotten to open the furnace door. Aunt Gerry realized the house was getting too warm, but she knew nothing about the furnace. Spontaneous combustion set the cobwebs above the furnace on fire, and she had quite a time putting it out! She tried to call the fire department, but messed up the call, so she managed to get the fire out herself. The neighbor, “Opa” called the fire department and gave them a royal Dutch/German cussing out about their neglect of the situation. He didn’t realize that Aunt Gerry had not succeeded in calling them.

We drove them back to North Carolina, spending one night on the road. This was while Daddy was overseas. Uncle Jack drove back with us; he spent about a week and then took the train home. Daddy Joe wouldn’t hear of Mother’s making the trip back alone with three little boys.

Drawing A Straight Line

In 1949 I entered the first grade at Dun Loren Elementary School near Vienna, Virginia. This was a suburb of Washington D.C. in Fairfax County. My teacher was Miss Murphy.

My friend Bernard sat next to me. We were struggling with a difficult assignment! The teacher said to draw a straight line on the paper.

We were trying to help each other. We were doing our very best to draw a straight lion, but the results were pretty bad. Neither of us were good at drawing the king of beasts. We commented to each other, “This is a pretty hard assignment for first graders.”

Just then one of us glanced at Vivian’s paper. She sat close to us. She had drawn a perfect straight line on her paper, using a ruler!

With renewed insight we proceeded to erase our mistake. It was pretty messy. Our erasers and paper weren’t very good quality. But at last we got the job done. We then drew straight lines on our papers and turned them in. Miss Murphy frowned and said, “This isn’t very neat work.”

I Got My Education on the Jungle Gym

In 1951 I was a third grader at the Freedom Hill Elementary School near Vienna, Virginia, a suburb of Washington D.C. It was a new school, and we left our earlier school, Dun Loren, to attend Freedom Hill.

One day a pretty little brown haired girl came up behind me, put her arms around me from behind and gave me a kiss on the cheek. I think her name was Linda Brown, but this didn’t develop into an on-going relationship.

On the morning after Halloween a shocking surprise was on the window of our classroom. Someone had written in large letters, “F _ _ _ you!”

There was great murmuring among the students and teachers. There were “ooooos” and “ahhhhhs.” Someone would say, “That’s bad.” Someone else would say, “They shouldn’t have done that.”

I myself was pretty ignorant. Well, I was totally ignorant! I knew from the general tone of things that a serious offense had been committed. I just didn’t have any idea what it was all about.

Recess came at last, and with it my enlightenment. My friend Bernard and I were climbing on the jungle gym and taking life easy. I asked him what those words meant. He said, “That’s when the boy sticks his _ _ _ _ into the girl’s _ _ _ _ _.”

I only knew fifty percent of his terminology: the male portion. But at least this was the beginning of my understanding of the facts of life!

In the late 1990s I had occasion to visit Freedom Hill School while I was in Washington DC. I went out on the playground, and sure enough that same jungle gym is still there.

I remember times when Daddy would take our cow for a walk up to a neighbor’s pasture to visit the bull. He told us he had to let the bull breed our cow, so she would have a calf. We were real curious about this whole process. We asked Daddy many questions about what would happen. He simply explained that the bull would rear up on the cow.

It was a time in American life when sex was not discussed or even mentioned. One time my brothers and I were in the room when Mother and Daddy were hugging and kissing on the couch. We asked them, “Is this when you two are breeding?” They just laughed and said, “I guess so.” My parents were very affectionate. We were always accustomed to seeing them do a lot of hugging and kissing.


Breaking My Glasses

One of the recurring events of my childhood was the breaking of my glasses. I can’t remember a time when I didn’t wear glasses. Running and playing outside was pretty hazardous to glasses. I can picture in my mind’s eye a scene where my glasses flew off my face and hit the concrete sidewalk, shattering into little pieces.

Then we’d have to go to the eye doctor and purchase another pair of glasses. I never owned a back-up pair. I’m not sure if this was because we couldn’t afford them, or if it was because my prescription needed to be changed pretty often anyway.

Chocolate Eclairs

One day mother came home from the store and gave us a delicious treat. I remember thinking I had never tasted anything so good in my entire life. (That opinion is still pretty much true for me today.) The delicious treat was something about the size of a hotdog bun. It was made of French pastry. It was filled with Bavarian cream and covered with chocolate. Only in my adulthood did I discover the name of this sweet pastry, the chocolate éclair.

Mother Was Crying

One of the memories that dwells in my mind is the breakfast routine. Mother had three little boys. She’d pour us all a bowl of cereal, put a spoonfull of sugar in each bowl, pour milk in each bowl, and start us eating. We sat at the table and watched all of these preparations. Later when we lived on the farm in North Carolina this breakfast routine grew pretty elaborate. It seems like Mother was always feeding the multitudes.

One time when Sandy was a baby, Mother was in a hurry for some reason. She had the three boys to feed, and also a baby to get ready. After breakfast the three of us were out on the porch. We saw Mother whirl around with the baby’s bottle in her hand. Somehow she dropped it and it shattered on the floor. She began to cry.

We had never seen our mother cry, and this was a pretty upsetting moment for us. We had a quick counsel of war on the porch, then all three of us pressed our faces against the screen door and asked her if there was anything we could do to help. She yelled, “Just get out of here and leave me alone!”