One Man in His Time:: A Memoir

One Man In

His Time:

A Memoir

William C. Prentiss

AuthorHouse™

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© 2013 William C. vPrentiss. All rights reserved.

wcprentiss@aol.com

The photograph on the cover is the author at age eighteen.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

This book is a work of non-fiction. Unless otherwise noted, the author and the publisher make no explicit guarantees as to the accuracy of the information contained in this book and in some cases, names of people and places have been altered to protect their privacy.

Published by AuthorHouse 10/22/2013

ISBN: 978-1-4918-2463-4 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4918-2461-0 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4918-2462-7 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2013918033

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Contents

Foreword

Chapter 1:       Family Background; Life In Sterling, Illinois, 1932-1945

Chapter 2:       School Years

Chapter 3:       Sterling Township High School: Successes And Problems

Chapter 4:       The University Of The South, 1950-1954

Chapter 5:       The University Of Virginia

Chapter 6:       The United States Air Force

Chapter 7:       Wedding

Chapter 8:       The Florida Military School

Chapter 9:       The University Of Florida

Chapter 10:       Valencia Community College

Chapter 11:       The McGovern For President Campaign

Chapter 12:       The Criminal Justice Sysem

Chapter 13:       Operation Comeback

Chapter 14:       The Talako Indian Dancers

Chapter 15:       President Reagan’s Volunteer Action Award

Chapter 16:       Last Years At Valencia And Retirement

Chapter 17:       Western Crafts And Gifts Store

Chapter 18:       Retrospective

Acknowledgements

References

Dedication

This book is dedicated to the loving memory of my parents who helped me overcome my youthful problems and continued to encourage me in everything I have ever achieved in my life:

Vera M. Prentiss (1900-1993)

Clark Prentiss (1901-1983)

And to my wife, Sallie, in great appreciation for her inspiration in all aspects of our lives together;

And to our cherished children: Bill, Charley, and Elizabeth.

Foreword

All the world’s a stage, And all the men and women merely players; They have their exits and their entrances, And one man in his time plays many parts. (William Shakespeare from his play, As You Like It.)

This book is a true account of the various parts I have played in my lifetime. Everyone’s life has a story to tell. This one is mine. Some parts were thrust upon me, but many others I grasped willingly. Each had its own effects on my life. I think I learned lessons from each one. My story covers many years, and I must apologize in advance for any errors or misrepresentations that may have sneaked into the narrative. For most of the incidents, I have only my own memory to rely upon, although it is supported by a wealth of letters and other documents I have kept over the years. I may have omitted reference to some people who should have been included, and I apologize in advance to them. There are others who would have preferred to be left out, and I likewise apologize to them. In cases where reference is made to an incident where the person involved was a youngster at that time, I have taken the liberty of changing his name to avoid possibilities of embarrassment or the invasion of privacy. Nothing else has been changed. No facts have been knowingly altered. Those who have read my novel, Secrets of a Boy, Lost, will no doubt recognize some of the events included in this memoir. All photos are from the personal archives of the author. Finally, I recognize the enormous assistance I received from my wife, Sallie, in preparing this book for publication. She has many times jogged and corrected my memory, and she is an outstanding proof reader! I also wish to recognize our daughter, Elizabeth, who made use of her knowledge and skills to assist with the photo section and general computer word processing problems. Without her, the book may never have reached the publishing stage.

Chapter 1

Family Background; Life In Sterling, Illinois, 1932-1945

The 1930’s weren’t such a bad time in Northern Illinois, at least from the standpoint of a small boy born on April 21, 1932. I was born in Evanston, Illinois, a suburb of Chicago, but after two years my family moved back to my mother’s home town, Sterling, which was out on the prairie farmland about 100 miles west of Chicago with a population of about 12,000 people. It was located on the north bank of the Rock River which flowed down from Wisconsin through Illinois before joining the Mississippi River at Moline. The River had figured historically in the Sac-and-Fox Indian War back in the 1830’s in which Abraham Lincoln and Jefferson Davis both served on the side of the U.S. Army. Black Hawk, the Indian leader, was commemorated with a huge statue on the south side of the River near Sterling. The Black Hawk War and the statue had significant influences on my own development.

Like every child, each birthday was an important day once a child was old enough to understand what the fuss was all about. Only later did I learn that April 21 is recognized as the date of the founding of the Roman Empire and the birthday of Queen Elizabeth. Maybe there were others born on April 21, but I didn’t know.

When I was born, I was lucky to have a sister, Jo (short for Joanna) who was 8 at the time. As I grew up, Jo was more than a sister, being so much older. We shared many good times. She faithfully recorded much of my early life with her Brownie camera, and she kept the photos in an annotated album. She always loved me throughout our lives, although her life was cut very short by cancer at the age of 43. Her daughter, Katie (Hults) Battenfield, carried on her traditions.

My family included a number of high achievers in life. They greatly influenced me, and I enjoyed knowing them. My father, Clark Prentiss (he dropped the William early on) grew up in Washington, D.C. His father (my Prentiss grandfather) was a prominent attorney in Washington. An earlier William Prentiss had helped lay out the city in the 1790’s. My father was the youngest of three children in his family, his siblings included his sister, Margaret, and his brother, Louis. Margaret married Ben McKelway, who eventually worked his way up from the bottom to become the Editor-in-Chief of the Washington Star and President of the Associated Press. As such, he was among the first journalists to visit a German death camp after WWII and report on it. Later on, Sallie (my wife) and I spent three weeks living with the McKelways while I job-hunted in Washington, which allowed us to get to know them both well. I respected Ben McKelway greatly for the work he did and as a man.

St. Clair McKelway, Ben’s brother, and my father went through high school as buddies, and some of their exploits around town apparently became well-known. St. Clair became a writer and served as a war correspondent in SE Asia in WWII where he was a friend of Eric Sevareid and others. He went on to a career as a novelist, film writer, and various positions with The New Yorker. I don’t think Ben and St. Clair got along very well, being different sorts of people.

As a small boy, I did get to know my Washington grandmother, Julia Watkins Prentiss. Her ancestors from back in the 17th Century were from Wales, which added a Welsh component to my own bloodline. When she died, my father inherited a family classic heirloom which was an original oil painting of the first William Prentiss painted in London in 1791. I still have it!

My father’s brother, Louis Watkins Prentiss, made a career of the U.S. Army Engineer Corps from which he retired as Lt. General. In the course of his career, he assisted in the building of the huge dam at Fort Peck, Montana, commanding officer at Ft. Belvoir in Virginia, and as the appointed Commissioner for the District of Columbia (similar to being mayor). Uncle Louis visited with us fairly often when I was a boy, but I was always a little intimidated by him. He was at his best with me when performing magic tricks such as pulling quarters out of my ears and doing unbelievable card tricks. Each Christmas he sent me a silver dollar, which I always saved and still have.

My mother’s family (my mother’s maiden name was Vera Maude Palmer) lived in or near Sterling. My grandparents there were Karl and Maude Palmer. I knew them as Pop and Gogy. Gogy’s main hobby was braiding beautiful rugs out of discarded wool clothing from all members of the family. Some of them are still in use. Gogy’s maiden name was Maude Greenlee. She had one brother who became a great favorite with my whole family. This was Halford (Uncle Hal) Greenlee. The Greenlee family brought a Scotch heritage into the family as did one of my Prentiss ancestors, Mary Clark.

Uncle Hal was not destined to remain in the Midwest. He earned an appointment to the U.S. Naval Academy and began a life-long career in the Navy. Even as a small boy I was very fond of him because of his gentleness and great sense of humor. The fact that Uncle Hal and his wife, Edith, had six children of their own no doubt contributed to his special way of dealing with children. Eventually, when he held the rank of Captain, he chose to decline extended sea duty in order to be at home with his children. He knew when he made that decision that he would never be promoted to the rank of admiral.

Uncle Hal always had a twinkle in his eyes. At a restaurant, when the waitress asked him how he wanted his steak cooked, he replied, Just run the steer through the kitchen and head him my way! Uncle Hal was also the only person I knew who could kid my grandfather, Pop, and get away with it, as in this conversation brought on by the fact that Aunt Edith was a strong Catholic:

Pop: Since Edith is a Catholic, do you eat fish on Friday?

Hal: Hell, Carl, why wait for Friday?

Pop: Well, I don’t like fish.

Hal: Why not?

Pop: I don’t like the bones.

Hal: Hell, Carl, you aren’t supposed to eat the bones!

To my young ears, this sort of talk was hilarious, especially since I didn’t know anyone would dare to tease Pop. I never tried it!

Uncle Hal used to comment that Edith was more Catholic than the Pope. Uncle Hal, brought up as a Methodist, never converted to the Catholic faith, but Edith insisted that all six of their children would be raised Catholic—and they were.

One of the most dramatic incidents in our family history occurred on May 23, 1939. I was only 7 at the time, but the whole thing remains a complete memory for me. This was the date set for the test dive of the Navy’s newest submarine, the Squalus. Uncle Hal was then serving as the Industrial Manager of the Portsmouth, New Hampshire, Navy Yard. Uncle Hal was due on board as was his son-in-law, Ens. Pat Patterson who had recently been married to Betty Greenlee. At the last moment, Uncle Hal was forced to withdraw due to the presence of VIPs wanting a tour of the Yard. Pat was aboard. He was a recent graduate of the Naval Academy and had finished fourth in the high hurdles at the 1936 Berlin Olympics.

The new sub’s name, Squalus, was drawn from the name of a species of small sharks known for their big bites. The Squalus, however, was not small, being 310 feet long and 27 feet wide, with a crew of 56. Squalus launched at 7:30 AM with Pat supervising operations in the after compartment. Early on during the dive, the engine rooms began to flood. The cause was later found to be a malfunctioning valve which may never have been properly closed.

By 11:00 AM on May, 23, Admiral Cole, Yard Commander, sent for Uncle Hal, letting him know that no contact had been made from Squalus since her dive. Uncle Hal called home with the bad news. Squalus’s sister ship, Sculpin, was sent to locate Squalus. Swede Momsen, acknowledged to be an expert in sea rescues, was called in on an emergency basis. By nightfall, Bob Trout was on national radio broadcasting non-stop throughout the crisis.

Early in the day, two marines were sent to guard the red brick residence of the Greenlees. Bob Greenlee was there as was Betty and the wife of the Squalus commander, Frances Naquin. All of the officers’ wives soon gathered there, too, to await news. An early report stated that probably 26 men were lost, but no names were given.

Squalus faced its second day on the bottom while Momsen prepared to dive in his rescue bell which was 10' high and 7' wide. Squalus was resting on the bottom of the North Atlantic in more than 200' of water. The bell worked, and the first 7 men were rescued. Their names were immediately announced over the air. At my house, we all spent the entire day huddled around our radio hoping to hear the name of Pat Patterson. The last man rescued was the commander, Oliver Naquin. Pat’s name was never mentioned. He was, perhaps, the only officer to die in the Squalus.

Despite the fact that it was extremely unlikely that there were any other survivors, efforts began to raise the Squalus. After 113 days of continuous effort, the Squalus was raised on September 11, 1939. Momsen went on to be recognized as a hero. Capt. Naquin was never given another sub to command. Uncle Hal went on with his remarkable career. Betty Greenlee Patterson, later on, married another Navy Officer and stayed a close friend of my mother’s forever.

The Squalus, meanwhile, went on to a second life. When the Squalus was raised, it was found to be relatively unharmed. The sub was re-commissioned and re-named Sailfish. It was at Pearl Harbor with the Sculpin. In the warfare in the Pacific, the Sculpin was sunk by a Japanese aircraft carrier, and 22 survivors were picked up by the Japanese. The Squalus was not aware of this fact when it attacked and sank the very Japanese carrier holding the Sculpin survivors. When the carrier sank, only one Sculpin crew member survived. The Sailfish served the remainder of the war.

In discussing these events, it was witnessed through the ears of a seven-year-old boy listening to the radio and through my eyes seeing the tears of my family. I cried, too. It must never be forgotten how receptive children are to the events around them. In retrospect, I am pleased that my family allowed me to be part of this family disaster which became part of my heritage.

Back in the 1920’s another event occurred involving the Greenlee family that would have an important outcome for me. At a time when the Greenlees were stationed in Washington, they became friendly with the Prentiss family. My mother (to be) happened to visit the Greenlees in Washington and met the young Clark Prentiss. They were married in Sterling in the Palmer’s home on December 25, 1923, at high noon. The newly-weds lived briefly in Middleton, Ohio, then moved to Sterling. My father had attended George Washington University for a time, and my mother had graduated from Ferry Hall in Chicago.

Upon their return to Sterling, my father worked for Pop for a time. Pop was born in 1872 and died in 1951. He was a business man and mid-westerner through and through. My father, as a young married man, was still very fond of golf and a little alcohol here and there. Pop was a stolid person and a non-drinker, so he had difficulty relating to my father. In 1929, my father took a job in Chicago, whereupon Pop wrote him a letter, part of which is as follows:

. . . . If you have ever read The Crisis, you may recall that the hero of the story was originally born in New England, but came West as a young man and, in the words of old Judge Whipple, he was ultimately reborn in the West. . . . You have caught the Western spirit in full measure much to our pleasure… . We felt that if you were to realize the maximum benefit from your efforts, you would have to do so by discarding your former attitudes, revising your old views, and proceeding along new Western lines, which we all consider far superior in the main to those of the effete East… . Your adaptability has been wonderful… .

When this letter was written expressing the ultimate of the Midwest attitude toward the East, Pop was a very successful and wealthy man. Along with partners, in 1911 he had founded the Frantz Manufacturing Company in Sterling, making hardware and overhead doors. He was also a founder of the Peerless Level Company, a company that would play a brief role in my life later on. He had a hand in National Mfg. Co., also, and retired at the age of 52 for good. He and Gogy built a beautiful home in Sterling on West Third Street which was the most fashionable neighborhood in Sterling at the time. This house even had an oil burning furnace, the only one I encountered as a boy. Between 1931 and 1936, Pop served as a city commissioner and a year as Superintendent of Schools. Sadly, he lost most of his fortune in the stock market crash, but the remaining money allowed them to live nicely the rest of their lives. He died first, and when Gogy died at the age of 93, there was virtually no money left.

I never had a really close relationship with my grandparents, especially Pop. He was a distant figure with a severe temper. He never showed much interest in me and never once invited me to do anything with him. I spent a day there occasionally when my parents were otherwise occupied, and, on one such occasion, their yard man called to say he was sick and couldn’t come. Gogy remarked at how high the grass was. Pop’s response was, Well, I’m not going to cut it! I don’t care if it gets ten feet high! He left the room with his little chuckle he used when he was pleased with something outrageous he had said. I wound up cutting the grass myself. I don’t remember whether I received any money for this or not. On this or another occasion, there was some discussion about what I would do the rest of the day, to which Pop responded, I don’t care what you do. You can do as you damn please! He left the room with his little chuckle.

He could also be a stubborn man. When Canasta became popular, most of our family enjoyed big Canasta games. Finally Pop joined in. During the game, Pop made a play to a chorus from the others, You can’t do that! Pop’s reply, The Hell I can’t! I just did it! (chuckle) Everyone knew better than to continue the argument.

Although Pop didn’t like basketball, we invited him to one of my games. He and my parents were seated in the first row of the balcony in the city coliseum. Schools and teams were already integrated. That night, the star player for our opposition happened to be black. He was scoring a lot of points, and we were losing. Suddenly a man arose in the first row of the balcony, shaking his fist, and shouting, Get that damned guy! Fortunately, no one knew this man was my grandfather. We never invited him to another game, and I never heard him discuss racial feelings. At that game, I was humiliated to the core. All in all, Pop was not the ideal grandfather for a boy, but I still missed him when he died.

My mother had a sister and a brother. Her sister, Helen, married Marsden Miller, and they gave birth to Palmer and Mary, my first cousins. The Millers lived in Sterling, but I had an up-and-down relationship with their son, Palmer, who was a year older than I was. He, by nature, was something of a bully, although he never was very tall or big. He deviled me as a young boy until one day I hit him in the stomach as hard as I could. He went home crying and never bullied me again. He spent a month at Rock Lake in Wisconsin with us one summer, and Palmer and I had a lot of fun together. He almost got us beat up, though, by a bunch of Boy Scouts who were at a camp on the other side of the lake. One day Palmer and I were fishing when the Scouts came close to us in several canoes. Palmer shouted, Boy Sprouts at them whereupon they responded and turned their canoes toward us. Luckily we had an outboard motor and outran them to an area of shoreline woods. We landed our boat on the beach and hid in the woods. The Scouts searched but couldn’t find us. I don’t know what they would have done if they had caught us! The next year, Palmer’s parents wouldn’t allow him to come, and we pretty much drifted apart, especially since we had no friends in common.

My mother’s brother, Uncle Harold, whom we kids called Unc, was a real character the likes of which every family should have. His wife was Aunt Jean. They had a son, Bill, who served under harrowing conditions during WWII in the South Pacific. He had severe emotional problems when he came home at the end of the war. I didn’t know him well because he was at least eight years older than I was. Unc was a loveable man of whom I was very fond. He enjoyed spending time with my dad and me fishing and playing cards. He never did hold a steady job after they moved back to Sterling from Iowa, but Aunt Jean supported them by working in stationery shop. Unc had a fine, self-effacing sense of humor, and seemed to enjoy being teased—a good thing because we did a lot of it. Sometimes, Palmer and I called him Uncle Fix It or Bust it since such experiences were common for him. My dad and I teased him fishing by pulling on his line when he wasn’t looking. Poor Unc broke his rod several times pulling on snags until he was fishing with a two-foot rod. He didn’t care since he rarely caught anything anyway. While playing the card game, Hearts, my dad and I could almost always snag Unc with the Queen of Spades, the worst card, so he almost always lost. He still had a good time, and so did we.

He had another good side, though, in that he came up with some good remarks that have stayed with me. One day, while standing in front of our house, we watched a bus go by that was filled with girls my age. I waved at them, and they waved back. I said, Unc, that girl in the front was sure pretty. He responded, Bill, every girl is pretty when she smiles.

Unc was a smoker, and cigarettes were hard to buy during much of the War. He would bring a stool and sit in a grocery store and watch to see if they secretly sold any cigarettes—at least until he got kicked out. I could relate, though, because chewing gum was about as rare. Over the war years I accumulated a huge supply of gum that I was saving, not chewing. At the end of the war I threw it all out because it had become stiff as wood.

Despite the onset of the great depression, my father had opened a car dealership. He had many good contacts among the wealthier people in Sterling who were still buying good cars. Most of these contacts came from playing golf. His dealership included Packard, Hudson, Studebaker, Reo, and used cars. As a young boy I was always thrilled when I got to go to the the garage to see the cars and the repair area. In those days, all the new models of cars of all makes were kept under wraps until an agreed-upon day in the fall when all the new models were revealed. Everyone came downtown that evening to see all the new cars. It was just like a holiday! Of course, we always had nice cars to enjoy ourselves.

Finally, the depression made it impossible for the dealership to continue. I was very sad when I was told. I was about 5 or 6 years old at the time. My parents must have faced some serious financial problems at this time, but I never knew it. Life just went on for me. After the garage closed, my father was offered a good job with National Manufacturing Co. as their salesman for the home territory stretching out in all directions from Sterling. He began traveling almost every day, but he rarely had to spend a night out. He held this job until my family moved to Florida in 1953.

My Dad was a good salesman, and his customers quickly learned to like and trust him. Occasionally, during the summer, I would travel with him and watch him at work. Most of his customers, both hardware stores and lumber yards, would simply expect him to inventory their stock of National products (all sorts of builders’ hardware), write up an appropriate order, and they would sign it without checking on anything. It would have been easy for him to cheat the customers by loading them up with goods they didn’t need, but I am sure that never happened, and that is why he was so trusted. He made good money, especially during the War when his sales were primarily for hardware used in the manufacture of ammunition boxes. He was excused from the draft because of his age (40 in 1941), plus his work was categorized as critical for the War effort.

He continued to buy Packards when they were available, and we always had two of them. He used one to travel, and my mother would get that one while he got a new one, again to travel. Thus, he traded in a two-year-old Packard every year. As I progressed through school, this did not always sit well with some of my schoolmates who considered me a rich kid which I really wasn’t. We lived in five different houses in Sterling while I was growing up. Mostly, these were houses we rented from farmers who had bought houses in town to rent out until they, themselves, were ready to retire. When one of our owners retired, we had to move. The houses were always nice, big houses, so the other kids put this together with our cars and decided I was, in fact, a rich kid.

I may have been inept or careless or something else, but I endured three physical crises of my own making when I was still a small boy. Once my family went to meet a train, which was very exciting for me. There was a lot of confusion at the station, so I wandered out on the track to watch for the Streamliner. The trouble was I was looking to the west, while the train was coming from the east. As it roared into the station area a totally unknown (to me) man ran out on the tracks, grabbed me, and carried me to safety. A second similar event was when we went on a paddleboat ride on the Mississippi River. I believe my Uncle Louis was with us. At any rate, I was fascinated by the paddle wheel and leaned far over a railing to watch, when suddenly someone again grabbed me just as I might have flipped over the side. The third event was when we visited Mt. Vernon, the home of George Washington. The house had a long and fairly steep lawn running down to a stone wall at the bottom. Somehow, I fell and began rolling down the hill, unable to stop. My father ran after me, leaped over me, and stopped me just short of the wall. I was lucky to survive these events unharmed!

My mother never held a job outside our home. She was a wonderful mother to me, and I don’t remember when she was ever angry with me. This was also true of my father with one or two exceptions. My mother had an unfailing concern for my happiness and welfare, and she pretty much let me do whatever I wanted to do. I was truly ill on many occasions, so when I would announce any morning that I was too sick to go to school, it was never an issue for her. I thus awarded myself quite a number of sick days. I was conveniently ill each year so I could stay home and listen to the World Series on my radio, and I was usually ill on days when there would be tumbling (which I hated) in PE class.

In 8th grade, I was also ill on days when I was required to have a class in the wood shop, which I also hated. We boys were required to take woodshop and would be graded on the items we were able to make. Some of the boys loved this and turned out lots of beautiful items. My entire output for the whole year was a 3-shelf, corner display rack of which I was quite proud even though the teacher probably deserved most of the credit. This one item earned me a passing grade for the year, and we much later sold it at a family auction. I think it brought $3.00. I had zero aptitude or interest in working with any kinds of tools of any variety. I was stuck with this prohibition most of my life.

I learned to play bridge at a very early age by watching my parents play. I loved to watch. When I was still in elementary school, I was ill on one occasion when my mother was hosting her bridge club. It turned out they were one player short to make four full tables. She told them I could play, so I was invited to take the place of the absent member and play, which I did. I wore my bathrobe and pajamas to do so, thus not blowing my cover for not being in school. When the scores were added up at the end of the afternoon, it turned out I had won second prize of several dollars. I was pleased! However, that was my one chance at bridge glory.

Sterling itself was a truly unique town, and I write this knowing that each person’s home town is unique. Our city, with a population of around 12,000, was located right on the Rock River which was very wide at this point. It originated in Wisconsin and ultimately emptied into the Mississippi River. Two bridges linked Sterling with its sister city of Rock Falls. The towns were set in the corn belt about 100 miles west of Chicago. A large island was located between the two bridges in the middle of the River. On it was located Lawrence Park which held a large recreation area, picnic grounds, playgrounds, good spots for fishing, and best of all for kids, a large public swimming pool. I loved going there.

What made Sterling so unusual for a small town was the presence of several large factories: National, Frantz, and Lawrence Brothers were all in builder’s hardware and overhead doors. Peerless Level Company made carpenters’ levels. Wahl Clipper was owned by a Mr. Wahl who had invented electric shavers. His family lived in an estate surrounded by a high wall, a place as a young boy I called the giant’s castle. I never got to go inside the wall. Finally, the biggest of them all, was the Northwestern Steel and Wire Mill. Most of the Sterling population worked in one of these big outfits. I have never really understood why all of these companies were developed in a sleepy prairie town like Sterling.

The owners and top executives of all the big companies became extremely wealthy and lived on fancy estates. They were at the top of the economic and social heap. My parents had many good friends in this group based on old relationships among these people and my mother’s parents when they were in that category. My father had also made friends with some of them playing golf at the Rock River Country Club. He was an outstanding golfer. He also had sold many of them Packards through his agency. My family was never wealthy. We fell in the middle-class strata in Sterling. The vast majority of families whose breadwinners worked at one of the big companies were not poor, although I’m sure their income was not as large as ours. There were, of course, other families at the bottom of the economic heap who were employed mainly in various forms of manual labor. In my own case, I did not care for any of the children of the wealthy families, much preferring the company of kids from the middle or lower tiers. I found the wealthy, country club kids to be arrogant and unpleasant to be around. None of the very talented kids I had for friends came from this group. I had some real problems with kids who thought I was part of the wealthy group, which I was not.

Sterling also had another large population: Mexican families. At some point, just before or during the early days of WWII, it became apparent that more workers were needed, especially at the Northwestern Steel and Wire Mill, than Sterling could supply. Many workers in Sterling liked working at the manufacturing plants, but they did not like the hot and dangerous work at the Mill. Arrangements were then developed to start importing workers from Mexico to work in the Mill. Hundreds of Mexican families came to Sterling although there were no other Mexican settlements anywhere around. The workers brought their families, and they lived in an area near the Mill called Silver City because they were living in converted railroad cars. Their children mainly attended the Catholic Schools in Sterling, so most of the Sterling kids had little chance to get to know the Mexican kids, except for the Catholics.

At that time, and even now, I have never had the opportunity to learn about their emigration and citizenship status. Mr. P.W. Dillon owned the Mill and became hugely wealthy. His estate is now listed as a historical site for visitors to see. His grandson, Pete, is a friend of mine. I don’t know how much he knows about these questions. I have the impression that there may have been some dirt swept under the rug at some point in this process and that no one is eager to revisit those questions. Later on, when some friends and I started a dance band, I had direct contact with a Mexican gentleman who appeared to be quite well off. He drove a big car and dressed very well. He became our liaison between our band and the Mexican Club which hired us from time to time to play for one of their dances. In the meanwhile, our friend made frequent trips back to Mexico, and we assumed he may have been the chief recruiter for Mexican families to come to Sterling. He and his Club always treated us very well.

Only a few of the Mexican kids attended the public high school, choosing instead to attend the Catholic High School. One Mexican girl who attended the public high school became very popular and was elected a class officer. She, and many of the other Mexican families, remained in Sterling after the War and were gradually assimilated into the town’s life.

Another element in Sterling’s life came from the surrounding farms. The farm kids went to small country one-room schoolhouses through elementary school, and then they entered the public high school as Freshmen (9th graders). The boys specialized in the agriculture courses the school system provided for them. Most expected to take over their family farms eventually. The girls took Home Economics or career-oriented classes. Thus, we city kids had little opportunity to become friends with the farm kids. We liked them, and there was never any friction between the city and farm kids. We did have a chance to know them in one way, because they were required to enroll in the regular physical education classes. In these classes, I found the farm boys to be friendly, but shy, and I learned that they tended to be very strong for their size which I attributed to the likelihood of their experience of working on their farms. They had to leave school the moment the last bell rang to catch buses to take them home, so they rarely could take part in any extracurricular activities. One exception was an older boy who drove himself to school and was on our cross-country team the same year I was. He was a tall, rangy kid, who was our star runner. Everyone liked him.

Gradually, we realized that they knew a lot of things we didn’t know, while we knew things about town life they didn’t know. In effect, we were living in separate worlds. We were jealous of the fact that they drove tractors, could repair mechanical things including engines, and had sexual information we didn’t have yet based on their animal husbandry activities. A couple of problems for these boys in the PE classes were these: They were not good at basketball or other team sports because they had not had much chance to play them before. Secondly, they were very shy about stripping off their clothes in front of others and taking group showers. At first, some of them were horribly embarrassed to be seen naked and to see other boys naked, but after a few weeks they grew accustomed to it. I liked most of the farm boys and wished I could get better acquainted with some of them in hopes they would invite me to visit their farms, but this opportunity never developed.

Unfortunately, Sterling did not have much of a Jewish population at this time, nor was there a black population. I was told that one black family had lived in Sterling when I was younger, but I never even saw them. There was a strong wave of anti-Jewish feeling in Sterling. Even though I didn’t really know any Jewish kids, I still was greatly bothered by any of the anti-Semitic talk I heard. This came from my parents’ country club friends; although I never heard my parents make any remarks in this category. Jews were not allowed to join the Club. This was apparently not stated publicly, but any person desiring to join the Club had to submit an application which was then reviewed by the Membership Committee who then rendered a decision. If an applicant even looked Jewish the application was held up until the matter could be settled. At one point, a new family came to town and made application. The nasty rumors were that the man was not Jewish but that his wife might be Jewish. I heard a lot about this when I was around my parents’ friends, although the talk usually stopped when I was within earshot. I don’t know what happened about that family, but I always felt very bad about the talk.

I also noticed that when some new subdivisions were built near Sterling, there was always a prominent sign up front with one word: Restricted. I didn’t know what this meant, but I finally asked my father who told me that the sign meant that the houses would not be sold to Jewish buyers. It meant, in other words, No Jews! I don’t know how many Jewish families there were in Sterling, but the most prominent was the Chapman family. Mr. Chapman had started out a poor man, but had worked hard and developed a large junk yard in the heart of Sterling. During the War, my friends and I would scavenge for junk metals which we then took to Mr. Chapman to buy for the War effort. He was always very kind to us. That family had a son, Jack, who was in my sister’s class in school. Jo and Jack began dating as they grew older, which became a hot item on the rumor mill. There was talk about whether they might marry! Despite the gossip, my parents stood behind Jo. I don’t know how close marriage ever was in the picture, but I admired Jo for her courage. I liked Jack, too.

My family eventually moved to Florida in 1953 because of my father’s health problems living in Sterling’s climate. The city went through tough economic times after the War. The advent of cheap foreign-made steel and hardware forced the Mill to close and the other plants to cut back on their operations. Many jobs were lost, but the town didn’t die. Apparently, too many of the town’s middle class had deep roots they were not going to pull up. Some of the families of the very rich disappeared, but Peter Dillon has used his money and leadership to keep Sterling afloat, especially its schools. Other factors, as well, couldn’t be controlled. A new interstate highway came through on the South side of Rock Falls hurting Sterling but helping Rock Falls. Trains eventually quit coming to Sterling. This was a far cry from my childhood when a great thrill was our making an evening ride out to Sinnissippi Park to watch the Streamliner come in. It was beautiful sight along the river.

In summary, my childhood was idyllic and happy. I cannot remember ever being punished for anything I did. My parents doted on me. As evidence, I still have my first pair of shoes that they had bronzed and made into bookends. I had my first haircut in 1933, a fact supported by fore and aft photos in our family album along with a lock of my hair cut on that occasion. My mother always referred to my hair as spun gold.

From 1935-38 we lived at 310 W. 10th Street in a two-story frame house with a large front porch. It is amazing to me how much I remember from that period. There were lots of kids in that neighborhood, and, by the age of 5 or 6 I was allowed to play some of the neighborhood games like hide and seek and kick the can—which was my favorite. These games often included up to 15 children. May Day (May 1) was a great occasion. Everyone made May baskets out of strips of heavy paper woven together complete with handles. On May Day we picked flowers wherever we could find them to put in the baskets. After dark, we ran around the neighborhood delivering anonymous baskets to people we liked, especially older people, and then ran away so they couldn’t see who left them. It was truly a fun and giving festival. Unfortunately, it became history after the Communist World began to have their very different May 1 celebrations. In ours, I suspect some people received May baskets with flowers secretly picked in their own yards!

Hallowe’en was another matter. Trick or Treat had not arrived yet, so we kids were left simply with Trick. In advance, parents took carloads of kids out into the country to pick corn to be dried for the Holiday. When the time came, we shelled the corn into buckets. That night we roamed the neighborhood throwing handfuls of the hard corn on porches or against windows—and then running. The corn made a loud racket which added to the fun. We also threw corn on each other’s porches. Older, wiser, and meaner kids like to soap windows, but I never did this. I thought it was not a nice thing to do and created a lot of work. Kids today get a lot of candy, but I think we had more fun!

Fourth of July was a time for sparklers, burning fake worms, and firecrackers. Our fun was to circle through the neighborhood setting off firecrackers in downspouts or other places where the noise would be most effective in upsetting the occupants. I liked the sparklers, too, until one year a sparkle went in my eye and caused great pain and a visit to a doctor. I have never fully recovered from that accident. Otherwise, the 4th was a pure delight.

When I was six, I ran away with my buddy, David Rock, to join the circus! Two circuses had come to Sterling in 1938, both in July, and located in a field north of town. The Russell Bros. Circus was on July 9, and the Tom Mix Circus came on July 21st. My parents took me to see both shows. Two acts in the circus were especially impressive to me. One was the contortionists who put their bodies in unbelievable positions. I tried some of these on my own, the result of which was total disappointment. The best part of the show, however, was the wild-west show featuring the cavalry in full uniforms, guns blazing, flags flying, bugles sounding—chasing the near-naked Indians in full war bonnets and chilling Indian whoops. I have been a circus freak ever since!

On one particular September afternoon, I rode my giant tricycle and David rode his scooter over to the corner of a highway, after having been released from school at noon. This was forbidden territory. Worse yet, we convinced ourselves we heard a circus up that highway which led to the usual circus grounds. We immediately took off at full speed to find the circus. We had thoughts of Toby Tyler swirling in our heads! We rode on and on, but we could find no circus—but we kept going. It might be just ahead. Finally, we gave up and climbed a fence into a farmer’s cow pasture and contented ourselves with playing with the cows.

Meanwhile, we had been missed at home. Each of our mothers had assumed we were at the other’s home. They searched the neighborhood and got friends and relatives to do the same. No boys! The police were summoned as fear arose that we had been kidnapped. The police arranged for all the Boy Scouts in the area to be released from the high school to form search parties. No luck!

Late in the day, David and I were surprised to see a State Trooper’s police car parked near our scooter and tricycle, and a Policeman was coming over the fence. The officer asked us our names and then loaded us and our vehicles into the car and subsequently took us home. I later learned we were about eight miles north of town when we were found. Our parents were so happy to see us they gave us tearful hugs and no punishment. We were given supper and then allowed to go to bed. We were totally exhausted. After that, I’m sure our mothers kept a closer eye on us. David and I gave up on joining the circus!

However, my circus experience was not entirely over. On September 15, 1947, the Al G. Kelly and Middler Bros. Circus came to Sterling. It was advertised that a limited number of boys would be hired early that morning to help set up the circus. The reward would be free passes to the circus. Several of my friends and I rode our bikes out to the circus grounds early that morning and were hired to do a variety of menial tasks. I was then fifteen years old. My main tasks were simply to hold ropes while they were being fastened in the process of raising the tent and the sideshow booths. Once the circus opened, we used our passes and enjoyed everything including the sideshow, with its usual gathering of freak attractions. One was a three-legged man, who was impressive, but we were convinced he was a fake. I learned later that he was not a fake at all. After all of my circus experiences, I was hooked on circuses for a lifetime.

Soon after that adventure, we were told by the owner of our house that we would have to move. I had to leave my friend, David! I had started kindergarten at Wallace School on the West side of Sterling, but now I would be changing schools to attend Central Elementary School. I then attended that school through the 8th grade. Our new home at 801 Second Avenue was always referred to as the Landis house in honor of the farmer who owned it. Again, it was a large, two-story frame house with a large porch, a large yard and an old barn/garage at the rear. My father soon added a basketball goal and backboard by nailing it into the trunk of a large tree in the yard, thus insuring that our yard would be a neighborhood boys’ gathering place.

From the time I was quite young I was always an enterprising lad who looked for ways to make a little money. One of my enterprises, and the most fruitful one, was my spider collection. I accumulated a number of jars with lids, punched air holes in the tops, and placed my spiders in them. I always included some form of habitat, too, and I fed them bugs of various sorts. I searched widely for spiders I could catch by trapping them between a lid to a jar and the jar opening. My prize catch was a very large yellow banana spider. When I had a good collection I would go door to door or along sidewalks asking people to pay a nickel to see my spider collection. A lot of people were interested. Part of the time I charged an extra nickel to see the big yellow spider. My other enterprise was to go around neighbors’ yards and pick bouquets of flowers. I would then knock on the front door and sell the bouquet for a nickel. I guess they knew the flowers were from their own yards, but they enjoyed dealing with me.

About this time, I was given a small, canvas wading pool complete with a shower. It was probably about eight feet square and a foot high. My new friends used it regularly with me and at my birthday parties. On each occasion, all the boys went down in the basement to change into swimwear which always resulted in some of them running around naked having a lot of fun.

By the time of my 7th birthday on April 21, 1939, things were a little bit different. For one thing, a girl was invited for the first time—my very first girlfriend was Jeanette Over, who lived nearby. There were ten boys and one girl. There was no swimming since basketball had come to the fore. As always we