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Ron's Place
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Category:
Memoir
Publisher: Booklocker.com
Type: Non-Fiction
Pages: 203
Copyright: January 10, 2022
ISBN-13: 9781647199524
Price: $16.95 (eBook)
Follow twins, Roger and Ron, as they grow up exploring through three different locations in North Central Wisconsin, free to roam and learn from their intuition and mistakes. A Tom Sawyer saga for the 20th midcentury that you will love.
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Follow Ron and Roger Hull through a life that begins in a tiny rural town of Owen, Wisconsin during World War II. But that changes when they enter grade school and their father gets a job driving truck in the big industrial city of Wausau.
Even though the twins lived in a changing neighborhood where the criminal element is all around, together, they weathered the challenges very well and even start working picking beans when they are nine years old.
But just as they were about to enter junior high school, their father moved to a trucking company in Marshfield, a medium-size rural town with homegrown industries like mobile homes. Once again, the brothers adjusted well.
College-bound from an early age, the twins left home at 18 well-prepared to be on their own and independent. Earning their way as they went through life with the lessons that they learned from family, teachers and friends.
Inside, you'll find great adventures with lots of freedom to explore. You will also find tragedy because no life is without some of that. if you open the pages you may find a bit of yourself portrayed as you read. Those times in the mid century of the 20th were wonderful times to live and experience. By reading our story, you can vicariously live them with us as well.
Excerpt
Midcentury Tales
Unfettered Youth
Ronald W. Hull
Trenton, Georgia
Copyright © 2022 Ronald W. Hull
Print ISBN: 978-1-64719-952-4
Ebook ISBN: 978-1-64719-953-1
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the author.
Published by BookLocker.com, Inc., Trenton, Georgia.
Printed on acid-free paper.
The characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
Booklocker.com, Inc.
Ronald W. Hull
Houston, Texas USA
Ron’s Place: http://ronhullauthor.com
2022
Dedication
To all of those who crossed paths with my brother Roger and I as we grew up in three different localities during our childhood and young adulthood in central Wisconsin. And to our parents who gave us the freedom to explore and experience the things we did without rigid rules but with loving support and encouragement. Something that we found others of our age did not have from their parents who were strict and unyielding when it came to the freedom of their children to become who they eventually would become.
To my international student friends who opened their families’ homes to me, making my world tour richer and more rewarding. I learned that people everywhere are the same.
And, to Lark Pogue who carefully reviewed and edited these chapters to make them better than my original writing ever could.
Table of Contents
Chapter 1: Before Memory 1
Chapter 2: First Memories and Indiana 3
Chapter 3: Embarrassments 7
Chapter 4: Accidents 11
Chapter 5: In Trouble 17
Chapter 6: Fads, Pastimes and Stuff 23
Chapter 7: Bicycles, Part 1 29
Chapter 8: Bicycles, Part 2 33
Chapter 9: Work, Part 1 39
Chapter 10: Work, Part 2 45
Chapter 11: Fishing 55
Chapter 12: Hunting 63
Chapter 13: Weather 71
Chapter 14: Rides 77
Chapter 15: 1935 Ford Hot Rod 83
Chapter 16: Dodge and Desoto Adventures 91
Chapter 17: DeSoto Clone Big Block Olds Duel 97
Chapter 18: Hitchhikers, Part 1 105
Chapter 19: Hitchhikers, Part 2 113
Chapter 20: Trips Untaken 121
Chapter 21: Guatemala, Part 1 127
Chapter 22: Guatemala, Part 2 133
Chapter 23: Guatemala, Part 3 141
Chapter 24: Around the World 145
Chapter 25: Britain by Way of Germany 151
Chapter 26: Egypt 157
Chapter 27: Karachi, Pakistan 165
Chapter 28: Thailand 171
Chapter 29: Dhaka, Bangladesh 177
Chapter 30: Return to Thailand 185
Chapter 31: The Philippines 195
Chapter 32: The End of the Journey 201
About the Author 203
1
Before Memory
My father had a lust for automobiles. When he came out of the CCC camps, prepared to go to war, he told me he would buy a Model A for $50 and then drive it until it quit. Sell that one for $25 and then go find another one for $50 to drive. I don't know if that is true, because I don't remember. It was before I was born.
I know that he bought a brand-new 1939 Buick sedan. With that car he wooed my mother during her senior year in high school. He drove her to the distant city of Eau Claire to see his sister and her family and to buy my mother a huge 1/4 carat diamond engagement ring. They were married on June 1 just after mom graduated from high school.
Earlier, dad had signed up for the Army, but when he got to Milwaukee in 1941, they washed him out for having a punctured eardrum, probably from his Golden Gloves boxing, and myopia with astigmatism. Incidentally, the same problems that the very first Congressional Medal of Honor winner had but fooled the doctors. He overtook a Japanese machine gun nest at the start of the war in the Pacific.
They rented a shack from a farmer a mile out of the little town where dad was born, Owen, Wisconsin. Named after Mr. Owen, owner of the box factory where my dad’s father worked and my dad’s aunt was second-in-command. The shack was one room with a hole under the door. Some evenings, dad would sit on the bed and watch that hole to plink an unfortunate rat that might stick its head inside. They didn't have to eat the rats. Squirrels were a favorite food in those days. Slightly bigger and better tasting.
My twin brother Roger and I may have been somewhat of a surprise, but probably not, on a cold, dark December 21, 1942. We were beset with childhood diseases and Roger had a concussion while being born. Used to kid him that I, “Kicked him out,” and always dominated him. But he was a good sport and always challenged me in everything we did. I'm glad I don't remember scarlet fever and some of the other ailments we had, starting around three years old. Winter colds were constant in those days.
But Roger and I were fast starters. I was walking and talking by the time I was 10 months old. There was nothing holding us back. One day, when we were two and mom must not have been looking, Roger and I decided that it would be a good idea to push over the beehives that the farmer had near our shack. I'm glad I don't remember, because the angry bees almost killed our little rat terrier, Rags, as he fought to defend us from those killers and their stings. Back in the shack, mom was kept busy for some time pulling stingers out of the three of us and swatting bees that were flying around inside the place, still angry. I don't know if dad had to pay the farmer any damages.
Before I could remember, our parents bought an old farmhouse on State Highway 29 on the western edge of town. We learned early not to play in the front yard close to the highway, it was too dangerous with all the traffic going by all day and night long. There was a huge woodstove where mom was queen of cooking and canning. It was always warm and smelled great in that kitchen. We were two lucky kids to have such a talented mother.
Roger and Ron at the shack (picture)
2
First Memories and Indiana
My first memories of that farmhouse by the highway are warm. But it was cold coming down from upstairs in the winter. Would race down after waking up and throwing on our clothes to sit down before the newfangled central oil heater in the living room that had a small fan at the bottom blowing heat our way as we put on our socks. But the kitchen was always warm. Mom had started a fire from the embers or a wood match with newspaper in the wood stove. Had a tea kettle with hot water going for coffee and was already making our breakfast.
In winter, we had hot cereal like oatmeal, malt-o-meal or cream of wheat. Or mom's homemade cinnamon rolls. She made two kinds of doughnuts: glazed ones and doughy ones. Both were delicious in their own way. There was bacon and eggs, and when she had it, ham.
Sometimes, we had fresh squeezed juice. Or juices that came in a can, like pineapple or pineapple/orange. In summer, we had all the cereals. But none were colored or sugared in those days. We put ample sugar and whole milk on everything. Or syrup, when we had pancakes, waffles made on an electric waffle maker or French toast. There were jams and jellies made from raspberries, black caps, current, blackberries, apples or whatever else like strawberries that mom had to make preserves with.
Our favorite was crackers and coffee, consisting of saltine crackers broken in a bowl, covered with coffee and condensed milk with added sugar. We didn't know that the starch in the crackers turned to sugar. We knew nothing of sugar shock. Didn't know it was all caffeine, salt and sugar. A very inexpensive depression breakfast. Lots of energy to get the day going. A lifetime hooked on coffee caffeine.
Mom would get the fat from a butchered pig and render lard in that wood stove's oven. She was baking something there all day. Most of her recipes used lard. But later, she changed to using shortening instead of lard or butter. The kitchen always smelled heavenly and there were bowls of cake or cookie mix to lick clean before the cookies, almost too hot to put in your mouth, came off the cookie sheet and were devoured.
Our father brought home condensed milk by the case. He drove truck for Western Condensery that made condensed milk for the war effort. Later, he gathered whey from local rural cheese factories and trucked it to the plant to be made into calf feed or a foul-smelling sticky substance used as a road binder to keep the dust down on local dirt roads.
With cars driving fast up and down those gravel roads, many farm front yards were covered with dust, including the front of the houses and trees. When it rained, the dust became mud. It was hard to keep a car clean or the rocks from opening up the undercarriage to rust driving those dirt and gravel roads. Dad wouldn't buy a car that had been country road driven.
We played out back of the house with our dog, Rags. Occasionally, a kid slightly older than us from across the highway would have his cousin come from Chicago. They would come over and show us what they knew. Largely consisting of the behavior of dogs. I recall us marching through the tall grass nose to tail on our hands and knees, just like a pack of dogs. A high point of my early memory!
Our house had a big screened in porch that we didn't go out in, in winter. It may have been sealed by storm windows; I don't recall. But I recall that porch was filled with flies in summer and we couldn't go out there much. There were lots of flies everywhere because this was dairy farming country and flies were a byproduct. Every ceiling was covered with flies' specks and rolls of dead fly filled rolls of flypaper spiraled down from above.
Every midsummer evening, we welcomed the planes that flew over and sprayed that very distinctively scented and flavored DDT. It killed the flies and mosquitoes nicely but got in the milk at our grandparent's farm and couldn't be filtered out like mastitis and other impurities. The cats loved to lick the discarded milk filters and catch mice and rats in the barn.
I remember when our uncle who hauled peas to the cannery for local farmers would stop by with a bit of pea vine still on the truck. We harvested those peas. Some for mom for dinner and some for us. Always a treat to eat raw from the shell. One day, my brother came around the yard too quickly and ran directly into the corner of my uncle's truck. Gave him a very nice scar on his forehead because he didn't get a stitch in those days.
Shortly after moving into the farmhouse on State Highway 29, we took a trip with our maternal grandparents to Indiana where my grandmother had Old Order Amish cousins, aunts and uncles. We may have been going to a funeral. It was a long trip, made interesting by us taking the car ferry, City of Midland 41, across Lake Michigan.
I don't remember this detail, but the City of Midland was the best car ferry operating from Manitowoc, Wisconsin to Ludington, Michigan at the time. It was joined by two other car ferries, the SS Spartan and SS Badger in 1952. City of Midland 41 ceased operation in 1988 and the SS Badger, refurbished, still operates today, one of the last coal-fired ships on the lake. City of Midland 41 was rebuilt into a barge tender and still operates in Ludington.
It was a memorable trip for Roger and me. I don't remember the time of year, but I was told that it was late November and the last ferryboat trip of the year.
I remember that the boat was nearly empty and it rocked, first, for a few hours front to back, and then, later in the journey, from side to side. Roger and I thought it was great fun, but our mother, grandmother, and great-grandmother were all seasick in the lounge. We were forbidden to go out on the deck with dad and Grandpa because it was too dangerous. When they came back later with foam all over their suits and coats when a wave came over the bow and hit them, we understood that it was dangerous to be out there in the wind. The bow on that car ferry was very high, maybe 30 feet. It must've been quite a wave to come over that bow!
I don't remember anything more of that trip, but we probably were treated very well because our relatives in northern Indiana were wealthy farmers. I found out that Lake Michigan was famous for strong gales and rough seas, sinking many ships, but I didn't find anything from that time period of that storm in my Internet search of historic storms.
Perhaps it was the following summer, but we drove down all the way to Indiana again in late August. I don't remember our grandparents being with us that time. Cars in those days did not have air conditioning. Dad drove us right down through Chicago, on city streets, because as a truck driver, he knew those streets. In the heat of the day, with brick buildings right down to the street and no trees for shade, a lot of people were out on the street seeking shade and whatever breeze they could find. We were driving through the “slums.” Most of the people were black.
I noticed that there were a lot of shiny Cadillacs and Lincolns parked along the street and wondered about them, so I asked my dad.
Dad replied. “They make good money in the factories. But they don't own their homes and can't buy any. They can buy cars on time, so that's what they own.”
I never forgot the lesson I learned that day from dad. Why poor people buy upscale cars and rent rather than buy homes. Other reasons, I learned later.
When we got to Indiana, the sky was lead gray, the water tasted bad and we couldn't sleep at night it was so hot. I thought that Indiana was a terrible place to live compared to Wisconsin where it was much cooler and the sky was blue… The water cold and tasty.
But our Old Order Amish relatives were rich. They grew corn and soybeans. Owned Cadillacs. Had electricity, unlike the Mennonites in Wisconsin, and spent part of the winter in Florida. But they dressed old-fashioned and the men wore long beards and black clothing. The women wore white bonnets and long black skirts that reached to their homemade, high laced shoes.
In the big farmhouse they had a room devoted to a huge loom for weaving rugs and cloth. The interior was filled with hand carved decorations and hand-built furniture. The toybox was filled with hand carved trick puzzles, oddities like chains carved out of a single piece of wood, balls encased in square wood enclosures carved from a single piece of wood, and other examples of great carving skill. I remember an inlaid wall picture, a collage of an Indian paddling a birchbark canoe on a river made from many pieces of wood and bark creating a very realistic scene.
A boy in the family about our age had his own little tractor. He pulled us around in a wagon behind. Never in a million years would I dream of having such a thing to drive around. They were truly rich!
When we left on that trip, mom put ample food and water outside for our dog, Rags. When we returned over a week later, Rags somehow got locked in the house. He ate the curtains to survive. But he did and that's all that mattered.
Out with our dog. Rags
3
Embarrassments
Perhaps it was the anticipation of our sister, who arrived when we were five. But during that time, as a stay-at-home mom during the scarcity of World War II, she sewed a lot of our clothes using patterns she got from the Simplicity company. Along with our clothes, she made some girl's dresses. I recall her trying them on us, to my embarrassment. There was even a picture taken of the two of us, but thankfully, I was dressed as a boy and Roger had to be the girl. Whew! That was close!
At a very young age, dressed alike and blue-eyed blonde, almost everyone we met, strangers or relatives, would gush and say, “Oh, they are so cute! What are their names?” Regardless of what my mother told them, they would call us Roggie and Ronnie. At some point, I found that being called Ronald, was way too formal and to be called Ronnie was equivalent to being called a sissy. So, I insisted that everyone call me Ron. I called my brother Rog for many years, until, perhaps sometime in his professional life, he preferred being called Roger.
By first grade, our mother had paired us up with local girls in grade school, friends of the family. I can't say that I was embarrassed by being a boyfriend, but I was shy and not really interested in girls at that point. I recall later, whenever any girl that would call my brother and me “cute” I had an immediate retort. “Does that mean you want to kiss me?” I don't recall anyone that ever took me up on that offer. Kissing came much later, so that's a story for later.
About first grade, Roger and I were to become part of the Christmas show, The Nutcracker, at our church. Mom made our costumes. They were simple because we were tops. And they were complicated because they were tops. Hula hoops were yet to be invented.
One of us was blue and the other one was yellow. I remember she made us hats from cardboard Quaker Oats containers. I thought that was very creative. There was a metal hoop about 4 feet in diameter with fabric around it around our middle. The fabric, in a perfect circle, from our neck to the hoop and then from the hoop to our ankles. I'm not sure how tightly the fabric was around our ankles, because I recall that I could walk and spin in the costume. It was embarrassing being a simple top and spinning around. There were much nicer roles that other kids played.
We had only two weeks of kindergarten. But we were already prepared by our mother's homeschooling with a good understanding of reading, writing and arithmetic. The kind of start that helped me all the way through school. I recall our old carved up desks that were full of petrified wads of gum. We used pencils so the inkwell, while still there, with no ink in it for pranks like dipping the girls' braids in. We used white paste for paper projects, and I recall some kids eating the stuff. Probably were starved at home and needed the starch. Everyone had their own lunch. Some kids were so poor they barely had shoes in winter, let alone healthy food like we had.
All winter long, we wore snow pants and heavy coats and boots that were lined up out in the hall where each of us had a hook because there were no lockers to hang our coats and snow pants on.
One day, spring came. It was warm and the playground was dry. We didn't wear our snow pants or boots to school. Like always, we had our recess out in the backyard. When recess was over both Roger and I were creatures of habit and rushed to our hooks. We arrived at our hooks in a hurry to get back in the classroom, hung our coats on the hook, and then, simultaneously, both pulled our pants down thinking we were pulling down our snow pants! Our teacher in the hall saw us in our underwear and quickly told us to pull our pants back up! That was probably my most embarrassing moment in my young life.
We moved to the big city, Wausau, to a drafty, huge Victorian home with a frosted etching on the window of the front door of an elk in a forest that I always admired. Gas lights that had been replaced by electricity some years before that often blew fuses. The house came with an upstairs apartment that my parents immediately rented. Our first renter was a woman with a teenage daughter who taught piano. I remember seeing dad help lift that upright piano and a refrigerator upstairs taking the whole weight at the bottom and noted how strong he was, something that he proved over and over again without getting injured.
Very soon, mom decided that we would take piano lessons. And then, along about third grade, the whole class got tonettes to play and help learn music. I never really did. Dad played the trumpet in high school… Said that he, “Learned to play by ear.” Both of my grandmothers played the piano from sheet music and they both said that they were self-taught. But Roger and I were more interested in being outside playing rather than inside learning to play. Quickly forgot what we learned about music.
One time, shortly after having a few lessons, we were invited to go on an afternoon show at a local radio station. We were given a short time to perform on the air. We hadn't prepared or practiced and both botched our performances badly. I was so embarrassed that I refrained from doing anything in front of the public except sing in choruses at school after that. Public performance was not for me.
During our elementary years, we would often go visit our cousins on their farm. Keith was two years older and knowledgeable about all things, and Wesley, “Butch,” was a year younger than we were. It was always fun to see what was going on in the barn, like whether it was burning because they had put up wet hay, or how they rigged the radio to play music and news on a car battery to keep the cows and milkers contented, getting up at 5 o'clock in the morning to do it.
I don't remember what it was, but we all had something exciting to tell mom in the farmhouse. We ran inside and no one was in the kitchen or downstairs. So, we all four ran upstairs quickly and into the master bedroom at the end of the hall that I had never been in before.
To our surprise and great embarrassment, mom was there with our grandmother and our aunt, talking away, probably about clothes. But our aunt, Keith and Butch's mother, was standing there, smiling and talking in only thin panties! We blurted out what we had to say to mom and scurried out of that room as fast as possible. I don't recall any of us discussing what we saw. Too embarrassed.
There was a huge chestnut tree halfway up the block from our house in Wausau. Sometimes we found chestnuts under it that the squirrels and other kids hadn't already found. We heard that you could make pipes and carve all kinds of things out of chestnuts, but I never did, just kept two or three in my possession for a while.
Two boys, one older and one younger, moved in a house near the chestnut tree and we befriended them. The older of the two boys decided to school us on the latest hip language. We learn words like sexy, sexless, sexier, and the like. I don't remember them all. And I don't remember ever telling our folks that we knew those words.
But one day when my parents had friends over and we came into the house, dad called out to me, and said, “Ron, tell them (the visitors I don't remember) those words that you know.”
So, Roger and I went ahead and told them the words while they laughed. I was really embarrassed. Our secret words were no longer a secret.
622 Jefferson Victorian, Wausau, Wisconsin
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