Sometime after our Kansa trip in October 1940 there were photos of our family and Uncle Walter’s family somewhere in the San Bernardino Mountains, probably near Crestline. The time is either late 1940 or early 1941 because of the snow.
Bob McClintock, Aunt Dot, Carol,Royal, Uncle Walter and Mom
Bob McClintock is Carol’s cousin from Aunt Dot’s family. You will notice Aunt Dot is thinking of throwing a snowball. Since Dad obviously took this photo, Uncle Walter took the following photo.
Bob McClintock, Aunt Dot, Carol, Dad, Royal and Mom
I’m not sure why Mom is holding me, maybe my feet were cold or wet, so Mom picked me up. What a wimp!
I must make a cultural comment at this point, at least as related to my family. I was instructed that the only proper way to address an adult relative was to call them Uncle Walt or Aunt Dot. It was late in my adult life before I ever addressed them as Walt or Dot. For some unusual reason I alway referred to Aunt Gladys as Auntie Gladys; why I do not recall. As an extension, I was also instructed to address any adult by Mister, Missus, or Miss. This convention was especially important regarding schoolteachers. I believe this convention was intended to show respect to our elders. Showing respect to elders seems to be lacking in large segments of today’s society.
In September 1941, Dad quit his job with the Orange County Flood Control District and began working for the US Navy as a Federal Civil Service employee. His place of employment was the Terminal Island Naval Air Station located in San Pedro, California. To reduce the distance from home to the air station, we moved to Belmont Shore, California. Belmont Shore is a suburb within the city limits of Long Beach. Belmont Shore has its own shopping district, including a movie theatre. This suburb is located about four miles east of downtown Long Beach. Belmont Shore’s shopping district is only three blocks from the beach. In reality, Belmont Shore was a beach community due to its close proximity to the ocean. Houses were built on small lots with very little, if any, lawn. As with most beach communities, even in 1941, there were numerous apartments. As a result, our first place in Long Beach was an apartment.
This apartment was located at 132 Ximeno Avenue. The apartment was only two blocks from the beach. This apartment was upstairs with a balcony overlooking the street. At the rear of the apartment there was a garage accessed via an alley. Entrance to the apartment was via outside stairs to a door at the rear of the building, which opened into the kitchen. These stairs were reached either from the alley or by going between the two buildings shown in the photo below. The entire front of the apartment was occupied by the living room/dining room. The bedrooms were in the right rear part of the apartment.
132 Ximeno Avenue, Belmont Shore
There is only one photo of inside the apartment, with me standing behind our dining room table. This table and chair set was of Southwestern style and stayed with us until about 1944 when we moved to the house on Sebren Avenue. There are three items in the photo, which were with our family as long as I can remember: the glass bowl on the table, the lace tablecloth, and the picture of a Yankee Clipper hanging on the wall. The picture and tablecloth have been lost to time, while my sister, Roberta, has the glass bowl. Best I can tell the dining room floor is bare, but I remember playing on a carpet or rug. Perhaps the living room area was covered by a rug or carpet. What else do I remember about living in Belmont Shore? Strangely, not too much although there were some significant events that occurred while we lived here, as well as some every day activities of a young boy.
Apartment Dining Area
I was six years old when we moved in September 1941, and my folks enrolled me in First Grade at Lowell Elementary School in Belmont Shore. Lowell was about a 3/4-mile walk from the apartment. Just like Santa Ana, I walked to school, but I have no recollection of walking there. I remember sitting in a classroom but nothing else about the school, nor do I remember any classmates. Lowell Elementary is still an operating school and is shown in the following photo.
Lowell Elementary School, Belmont Shore
I must admit this photo of Lowell Elementary does “tickle” some memory cells. I certainly can visualize climbing these steps into the building, but nothing else.
Belmont Shore was similar to Santa Ana in one regard; there were no playmates in the neighborhood around the apartment. However, I must have made some contact with a classmate as there is a faint memory of going to another boy’s house to play. There is a blurry visual image of visiting his house, but no recollection of his name or what we did. I am not sure if it was a singular incident or whether it occurred more than once. I suspect it was not on a regular basis, nor do I remember him visiting our apartment. There is a fuzzy recollection of walking to his house but not until sometime after the following events.
We had been in Belmont Shore only three months when on December 7, 1941, the Japanese bombed Pearl Harbor. I remember nothing of “…a day which shall live in infamy.” I’m sure my folks discussed it and told me about what it meant, but my memory is blank as to when it became a reality to me. Then about five months after we moved to Belmont Shore, Grandmother Minnie Graham died on February 16, 1942. There is no memory of knowing she had died. I have no recollection of any grief or sadness about her passing. In fact, I do not remember my folks informing me of her death. I believe her death was rather sudden and did not follow a prolonged illness, which may also help explain not remembering her passing. It is surprising that her death does not in any way register with me, especially since she had been an important part of my early childhood. Perhaps death to a six year old is not all that comprehensible. Thus, it makes sense that my folks did not include me in any memorial or burial service. In fact, after Grandmother’s death, I do not remember seeing Granddad Graham for what seems like almost two years. Plus, another major event occurred about a week after her death, which may have overshadowed her passing.
Perhaps the reality of war hit me in late February 1942 when the Battle of Los Angeles occurred. Lately this event has been called the Great Los Angeles Air Raid . Late on the night of February 24 into the early hours of February 25 a rumored enemy air attack resulted in an anti-aircraft barrage all over Los Angeles County. Even with the tremendous anti-aircraft barrage, there were no planes shot down or bombs dropped. This incident occurred less than three months after the Pearl Harbor attack and one night after a Japanese submarine shelling petroleum facilities near Santa Barbara. As a result, the entire West Coast was in fear of a Japanese invasion. Typical newspaper headlines available the next day are shown in the composite pictorial below.
Great Los Angeles Air Raid
There were wild rumors about Japanese planes operating from either a secret base in Mexico or from Japanese submarines. Both rumors were ridiculous on their face. It was obvious everyone was on edge and very nervous! In fact, these two incidents led President Roosevelt to issue an executive order to incarcerate all people of Japanese ethnicity, even though most of them were American citizens. A truly black part of our country’s history.
In addition, the air raid scare, plus the shelling of oil storage tanks near Santa Barbara, resulted in blackout requirements for all buildings, homes and apartments. Thus, we had blackout curtains which had to cover all windows each night. There were Air Raid Wardens that patrolled the streets at night to be sure no lights could be seen. Even streetlights had to be modified so that the light was directed down. There is a faint memory of looking up at these shrouded streetlights on a walk home from visiting the boy mentioned earlier.
While I slept through the “air raid," Dad did not sleep through the anti-aircraft barrage. He went out on to the balcony to “see what he could see," and stubbed his toe on the way out. I heard more about his sore toe than the air raid! I remember finding shrapnel on the streets over the next few days. These pieces of shrapnel were from antiaircraft shell bursts. The beginning of World War II had a major impact on me in any number of ways. I began to play with toy soldiers. There were three lead soldiers I used to have mock battles. I remember playing on a rug in the living room with these soldiers. Dad furthered my involvement with airplanes of World War II. There was a paper model of a Japanese Zero and a balsa wood replica of a British Spitfire fighter. While there is a photo of the Spitfire, there is no photo of the Zero. Both models have been lost to history.
British Spitfire Fighter Model
However, these models began my fascination with airplanes, especially with warplanes. My first encounter with a warplane occurred sometime, I believe, in late 1941 or perhaps early 1942. Uncle Walter joined Lockheed Aircraft Company sometime in 1941 and moved his family to Burbank from Riverside. Lockheed was located at the Burbank Airport. Their house was about a mile south from the airport and the end of a runway. Lockheed was building the Hudson Bomber for England’s Royal Air Force. Lockheed was building these bombers before and after the Pearl Harbor attack. It is my belief that I witnessed some of these bombers taking-off prior to Pearl Harbor, but I could be in error. Whether it was before or during the war, these planes would takeoff and fly right over their house at a low altitude, and I could see the airplane’s tail wheel still spinning. A photo of the Hudson Bomber illustrates how predominate the tail wheel was on the plane. In addition, the planes were painted with the camouflage pattern and with the British markings shown in the photo. There is no way of knowing why such a strong visual image is stored in my memory cells. Perhaps it made such a lasting image because of the closeness of the plane, or its painting, or the spinning wheel. Then again, it may be remembered because it was probably my first real close encounter with airplanes.
Lockheed Hudson Bomber
While memories in Belmont Shore are scarce maybe it was due to being thrust into a totally new, strange environment. I was a complete stranger to everyone at school, and there were no playmates around our apartment. Perhaps the beginning of the war resulted in restrictions on activities that would not have existed without a war raging. The Great Los Angeles Air Raid may have raised my parents’ fears about safety. All these factors could have contributed to my spending most of my time at the apartment. After the school year concluded, it was time to think about moving again. We had lived in Belmont Shore only about 11 months when we moved in August 1942.
Our next move was to a house in a North Long Beach subdivision located at 5107 Walnut Avenue. Houses in this subdivision were constructed sometime in 1942, so this house had to be fairly new. To the best of my knowledge my folks were renters. This house was near the major streets of Orange Avenue and Del Amo Boulevard, although at the time Del Amo did not exist between Cherry and Orange Avenues. I took photos of the house about 12 to 14 years ago, but I cannot find them. It seems several of my photos have fallen into a black hole. I ask my sister, Roberta, to take pictures of the Long Beach houses and schools, but this Walnut house caused some issues. Her photos were not of the house I remember, either from 12 years ago or 70 years ago. First, she found no 5107 Walnut address, there were only addresses of 5101 and 5109. Plus, these houses had the driveway on the wrong side of the house. However, there was a 5107 Falcon Avenue photo that looked like the house I remembered. The only difference was that the front porch was larger. Our house had a small concrete porch just a little wider than the front door. Beyond this difference this house reminds me of the one we lived in for nearly two years, and the driveway is on the correct side of the house. The living room was located to the right of the front door,with the kitchen and breakfast area to the left of the door. Bedrooms were to the rear of the house. I would like to knock on some doors to ask people about these houses. What else do I remember about the neighborhood?
5107 Walnut Avenue Look Alike, North Long Beach
I remember the garage was to the rear of the property, down the left side of the house. The neighbor to the left, or south, of our house raised rabbits. It seemed he raised them for two reasons: food and pelts. There were always rabbit skins stretched out on a wire frames hanging out to “cure.” I had a black Angora rabbit that we kept in a cage behind the garage. I remember feeding the rabbit, and for some reason, I was interested in the green rabbit pellets he ate. Actually, I have no idea whether it was a male or female rabbit. I sure do not know what happened to the rabbit either. Just to the north of the house, about 200 yards, were a set of railroad tracks. The rail bed was about 20 feet higher than our street level. This rail bed could be seen from our front room. I used to watch trains go by carrying war materials and huge rocks. These rocks were being used to build the Long Beach Harbor breakwater. Each train seemed to take several minutes before a caboose would signal the end of the train. Needless to say, I was fascinated by these trains, and, at times, I attempted to count the number of railroad cars that were in a given train. I usually lost count, but these trains had around 100 or so cars.
There was little time to investigate the neighborhood wen we moved in before the start of the 1942/1943 school year. So, starting school was the new focus of my settling into a new place. Although I was promoted to Second Grade, our North Long Beach house was over eight miles from Belmont Shore and continuing at Lowell Elementary was not possible. Our move to North Long Beach meant I had to change schools again. When we moved into the Walnut Avenue house there was not a school close to us. There was one being constructed nearby, but it was not yet finished. As a result, I was enrolled in Ulysses S. Grant Elementary. The school was located on Orange Avenue about two miles north of us. Since I could not walk to school, I had to ride a school bus. Best I can remember, I boarded the bus near the corner of Orange Avenue and Del Amo Boulevard. A photo of the school is pretty much as I remember it. My classroom was the second set of windows to the left of the main entrance doors.
Ulysses S. Grant Elementary School, North Long Beach
There is one memory of something that occurred during my year at Ulysses S. Grant. My class took a field trip to a farm. We did not have far to go for this farm visit. The farm was directly across the street from the school. Best I can remember we saw some chickens and dairy cows. Not sure this would have been exciting to me after staying on a Kansas farm two years prior. Except for this field trip, attending Ulysses S. Grant Elementary School is basically a blank. In fact, I do not recall making any new acquaintances or fiends with any of my classmates.
At this school I was again among strangers. I did not know anyone from our neighborhood or subdivision, even though we rode the school bus together. I somewhat remember playing at recess, but I do not remember anyone specific or any particular group of kids. It appears I must have been a loner and did not make friends easily. I would say that making new acquaintances was not a strong attribute of mine. There could be some obvious reasons for this trait.
By the time I was attending Second Grade we had lived in three cities, in three different houses, and I had attended three different schools. Plus, where we lived there were no playmates. In essence, I was an only child; my parents and grandparents were the only constants in my life. At this point, even my grandparents were no longer around. Grandmother Graham had died, and Granddad Graham still lived in Santa Ana, so for now we did not visit him. I believe these factors resulted in me being withdrawn and shy. Certainly these factors and characteristics do not lead one to becoming too out going. Even so, is it possible that living in our new house amongst other families, that I could overcome these factors to find playmates in our new neighborhood?
My recollection is that there were not many boys in the neighborhood. Or was it a matter of not wanting to seek out playmates? Perhaps it was a combination of both. For what ever reasons my world for activities was no more that three or four houses in either direction from our house. I did not roam outside this limited territory. I had not learned to be inquisitive and investigate new areas or things, at least not yet. However, there was one incident involving some boys on our street that probably contributed to my decision to stick close to home.
I am unsure whether this incident occurred during the first or second year after we moved into our house. Whenever it happened, it was not a positive experience. One day when I went looking for someone to play with, I went to a house about four or five houses south of mine. There were two or three boys playing in a garage. These boy were about my age and perhaps I had played with some of them previously; but I’m not sure. The garage was to the rear of the house; I walked about halfway down the driveway and ask, “Would you like to play?” One of them said something and threw an object at me; he was about 30 to 40 feet from me. I watched the object and tracked its flight without moving. Watching this object, I knew it was going to hit me, but I just stood without moving. Sure enough it hit the top of my head. I had been playing soldier and was wearing a helmet. Well, the helmet was made of construction paper and afforded no protection at all. The thrown object was a rattail file, which broke my scalp when it hit me. I said nothing and walked away and went toward home thinking to myself, “No, they do not want to play!” Thinking back, there is one positive to gather from this incident: my brain was able to calculate where a flying object would land so I could be at that point to catch a fly ball when I began playing baseball! This recollection is the only one I have of attempting to play with anyone in the neighborhood. As a result, most of the time I played alone, which did not bother me. It seemed the natural thing to do given my life up to this point.
Since America was at war, for the most part, my play centered on playing soldier in one manner or another. Besides the three lead soldiers, obtained while in Belmont Shore, and the “helmet,” I had a wooden rifle used in playing soldier. This rifle was a bolt-action style with a working bolt. Working in the sense you could raise the handle, pull it back, and push it forward as though loading a cartridge. When you pulled back the bolt you could see a wooden cartridge, which when the bolt was pushed forward simulated loading a round. When the trigger was pulled a click was made simulating firing the rifle. Since this click was not realistic to me, I developed my own verbal gunshot sound. Also, I developed a verbal machine gun sound to use with one of my lead soldiers. then there were sounds for falling and exploding bombs, and of course airplanes. I even had a soldier’s uniform as you can see in the photo. Fortunately, I have no recollection of having or wearing this outfit. I am standing on our front porch for the picture. I do not know how I felt about this get-up, but I sure do not know how my folks got me to put it on. Maybe it seemed cool at the time but sure looks dumb now. I would have been okay with battle fatigues but not an officer’s uniform. Besides playing soldier, what else did I do while we lived here?
Soldier Uniform
While we lived at the Walnut Avenue house, we began to go to the movies on a somewhat regular basis. There were four or five movies released in late 1941 through 1942 that I remember seeing. These movies were: They Died With Their Boots On, Wake Island, Pride of the Yankees, Flying Tigers and Bambi. I certainly do not remember the entirety of any movie, but there was a singular scene that etched each movie into my memory. They Died With Their Boots On was a biography of George Armstrong Custer with the final scene of Custer being the last one to be killed at the Battle of the Little Bighorn. Wake Island was about the battle for Wake Island. The memorable scene was a Marine Wildcat fighter plane landing, with a ground crew member rushing to congratulate the pilot, but the pilot was dead. Pride of the Yankees told the story of Lou Gehrig. There are several scenes I remember in this movie, but one that sticks out is Gehrig’s being hit in the head while running from first base toward second base when the shortstop was throwing to first base to complete a double play. For some odd reason, I remember that Sam Woods was the film’s director. I thought the film was great and I made a conscious effort to put the director’s name in my memory bank. Everyone knows the story of Bambi. The scene most memorable was when Thumper told Bambi how he earned his name. I also had a Bambi comic book that I read and re-read. The movie Flying Tigers is remembered for a couple of reasons, one not involving the movie.
Flying Tigers was, of course the story of the famous volunteer unit of Americans flying for the Chinese against the Japanese. Certainly the P-40 fighter painted with the shark’s mouth and teeth was memorable. A photo of a Flying Tiger flight line of hess fighters with a Chinese guard is shown.
Flying Tiger P-40 Flight Line
The memorable scene occurred when a Japanese pilot was shot down, and as his plane was going down “blood” oozed from his mouth. The blood was a dark liquid since it was a black and white movie. Why would this scene be memorable? Well, we were at war, and the Japanese were the enemy. To a seven year old if an American was killed, that was bad; if a Japanese was killed, that was good. I would say that attitude was common during World War II. Also memorable about the Flying Tigers movie was how I probably got Dad in trouble. It is my recollection that Dad, Mom and I were going to the movie theatre. I was riding in the back seat with Dad and Mom up front. Apparently, I noticed a young woman walking on the sidewalk as we turned the corner. I am not positive if either Dad or Mom saw this woman, but it raised a question in my mind. So I blurted out a question, “Dad why didn’t you whistle at the redhead?” There was silence in the front seat! I knew better than to repeat that question. There were more movies to see over the next few years, but Dad and I went by ourselves. We went by ourselves, not because of the “Redhead Question," but because my sister was born in early 1943. Thus, Mom would stay home to take care of my baby sister.
I was totally clueless about Mom being pregnant and giving birth to my sister. Well, at age seven, the only thing I knew about babies was that storks delivered them by dropping them down the chimney. Well, we did not have a chimney, so Mom had to meet the stork at a hospital! I do not know when Dad took Mom to the hospital, if it was the day before the birth or the day she was born. There is a very fuzzy memory of us getting in the car with a suitcase, so maybe we took Mom to the hospital the day of the delivery. Whenever Dad took Mom to the hospital, they went to the Cottage Maternity Hospital located somewhere in downtown Long Beach. This hospital no longer exists, just as the Sargeant Maternity Hospital in Santa Ana no longer exists. Maternity hospitals must have been common around this time, and regular hospitals were not used like they are today. I’m sure my folks were “old hands” at this baby delivering process now, even if the last time was seven and a half years ago. However, my folks were probably apprehensive to some extent due to past experience. Reason for this apprehension will be explained in a later essay. I’m sure Dad paced while being anxious about Mom and the expected baby. Mom probably had similar apprehensions while the nurses prepared her for the delivery room.
The attending physician was Dr. Buffum. The Buffum family was well known within the Long Beach community. There is no record of nurses’ names that assisted Dr. Buffum. At 1:47 PM on Tuesday, February 23, 1943, Mom delivered a healthy seven pound five ounce daughter. Just as seven and a half years ago, my folks apprehensions were replaced with joy and pride. As was common in 1943, Mom remained in the hospital several days. There is another fuzzy memory of visiting her. I have an image of a large room filled with beds, but I will not swear to the images validity. Now that the excitement of getting to the hospital a healthy baby was born and Mom and baby were fine; they had to name their new baby daughter. Did they have a boy and girl name selected? Or did they have to discuss what to name their daughter?
Whichever the case, my folks gave her the name Roberta Rene Price. Who selected her name is not known, but Roberta is a feminine version of Robert, our Dad’s name. Since my name was selected by Mom and Grandmother Graham, perhaps Dad was the one naming her. Roberta’s middle name, Rene, is a mystery as to its source and pronunciation. Neither Roberta nor I have the faintest clue as to its source or meaning. Family research has not revealed any relatives with the name, or with anything similar. Our folks pronounced Rene in a manner such that it rhymes with Gene, an unusual pronunciation. Why they chose this manner of pronouncing it is lost to history. It should be noted that it is not pronounced Rene´, as some folks have thought because there is no accent on the final e. Eventually, Roberta was shortened to Berta by our family. During high school, Roberta’s friends called her Robbie, a nickname she has carried into adulthood. I still call her Berta, because that is who she is to me; she always has been and always will be Berta to me. What did I think about having a baby sister?
I am sure there was curiosity and wonderment. I do not remember feeling any resentment toward her for the loss of attention from Mom or, for that matter from Dad. If I behaved badly and was reprimanded by either Mom or Dad, I either took it in stride or it passed into one ear and out the other. Basically, I do not have many memories of Berta until much later. However, I do remember Berta being sick for a while after she came home. Her illness brings to mind some other incidents that occurred due to the war.
During Berta’s illness one remedy prescribed by her doctor required obtaining Dark Karo Syrup. I have no idea why this syrup was required; I just remember Dad and I going to grocery stores asking for it. It seems this Karo Syrup was difficult to get due to war shortages, I presume due to sugar being rationed. At one store in North Long Beach, at the corner of Orange Avenue and South Street, Dad had a “serious” discussion with a store clerk. We acquired the syrup due to Dad’s insistence of its need. On a grocery shopping trip with Mom, she went ballistic upon discovering the price of a loaf of bread had been increased. Previously the loaf cost 10 cents and now it was 13 cents. Yes, it was only a three cent increase, but that was a 30% jump in price. A 30% increase for a loaf that cost $2.50 today would be a $0.75 increase to $3.25!
One of the earliest photos of Berta was taken when she was about five or six months old. Mom is holding her on a swing. Berta is holding the chains of the swing as if she was swinging.
Roberta and Mom
About the time that this photo of Berta was taken, the “Rabbit Man” next door to us moved out. Lloyd and Thelma Biddle, with four little Biddles, moved in shortly afterward. These four young Biddles were Harold and I believe two daughters (no names remembered) and a baby (boy or girl not remembered). I believe Harold was one year younger than me, but Harold became a playmate. Dad and Mom became good friends with Lloyd and Thelma. A few years later Dad, Lloyd, Harold and I would go on our first deer hunting trip near Big Bear, but that’s another story. I would say that this was the first time my family became friends with another family, and it seemed to initiate a change in our family dynamics, relative to relationships with other families.
A little over three months after Berta was born my school year came to a close. I was promoted to Third Grade. The school under construction when I started the 1942/1943 school year at Ulysses S. Grant Elementary School was now completed and open for the 1943/1944 school year. Clara Barton Elementary was my new school for attending Third Grade. It was located on Del Amo Boulevard about a block west of Orange Avenue. Its location meant it was close enough for me to walk to school again. The seven-tenths-mile distance was very similar to the walk to Spurgeon Elementary School in Santa Ana and Lowell Elementary School in Belmont Shore. Since I have no recollection of walking to these other schools, was it different for Clara Barton? I am eight years old now, but I do not remember walking to school. So much for good memory bragging rights. The photo of the school was taken recently by Berta, but I do not recognize it. No, I have not forgotten what it looked like. The building in the photo did not exist when I attended the school. In 1943 the classrooms were bungalows and there were not any permanent buildings at the time. Are there any memories from the Third Grade?
Clara Barton Elementary School Today
Yes, I have a few memories from my bungalow days at Clara Barton. My book for reading was the Dick and Jane series. Reading was really challenging! I had to read sentences like: See Dick Run, See Jane Run, See Spot, and Oh Spot. Near the end of the year, sentences had increased to about 4 or 5 words! At one time I had Dad’s McGuffey’s Reader that was used when he was in school, and it was more advanced than the Dick and Jane series. After reading my Bambi comic book, Dick and Jane was not difficult, but actually rather simple. Beside reading lessons, we were studying about American Indians, or should I be politically correct and say Native Americans?
I remember the Indians being studied were those of the Great Plains. One day we were asked to draw a scene depicting something in their life. My drawing had an Indian on a pinto horse and a teepee. The teepee included some markings that might be used to decorate it. I included an arrow, a setting sun and an Indian style swastika. Previously, I had seen this swastika somewhere in Indian pictures or books about Indians. I firmly believed my depiction of the swastika to be an authentic Indian symbol. My teacher was walking around the class observing what everyone was drawing. Upon seeing my drawing, she said something to the effect, “I do not think it is appropriate to include that Nazi symbol on the teepee.” I responded, “That is not a Nazi swastika, it is an Indian symbol and is drawn backwards to the Nazi swastika.” Her response was something to the effect, “Oh, I did not know that.” She said nothing else and continued to move about the class looking at other student’s drawings. I believe she accepted my explanation, because I was so positive about the symbol. If this incident happened in today’s classroom, I would have been suspended for drawing “evil” symbols. Thank goodness political correctness was about 40 years in the future. Are you wondering if my Indian swastika knowledge was valid?
After an internet search for information about American Indian swastikas, I found the following photo showing swastikas on Indian articles. You will notice swastikas are constructed in two different ways. What I had seen with my kid’s eyes was like the symbol pointing left, while the ones pointing right is representative of the Nazi swastika. I n 1940 the Arizona Indians--Navaho, Apache, Hopi and Papago--got together in a solemn ceremony in Tucson and made a bonfire of blankets, baskets and other articles that were decorated with their sacred Swastika sign to show solidarity against Hitler. This was a great sacrifice for them because this symbol is a sign of profound sacred meaning for the natives all over North America, regardless of tribe. The Arizona Indians were severely criticized by a tribe in Connecticut for letting Hitler rob them of their ancient symbol the Native Americans called "The luck”. As it turns out, both myself and the teacher were wrong, primarily because neither had a real knowledge of American Indian culture. It is an interesting lesson to re-visit an event that occurred 70 years ago, to remember your thoughts and compare them with reality today. Comparison of belief and fact is very sobering.
American Indian Swastikas
Lastly, I believe it was while at Clara Barton that I began to notice-egads-girls! I distinctly remember there was one specific girl I noticed. I cannot describe her or give her a name. What made her special, I have no idea. In fact, the only thing I remember was that she was left handed. Why I remember just that characteristic, I have no clue. There is no memory of ever talking with her. Since making friends with other boys was difficult, talking with a girl would have been scary!
During this school year, Dad and I continued to go to the movies. One Friday night we had gone to see Destination Tokyo, a story of an American submarine whose task was to obtain weather data about Tokyo harbor prior to General Dolittle’s bombing raid. There were two memorable scenes in this movie. One scene was the submarine entering Tokyo harbor sneaking through the submarine nets. The other scene was a Japanese pilot, shot down by the submarine crew, stabbing a sailor in the back while he was attempting to help the pilot onto the submarine. Looking back on this scene, it was a visual metaphor for the sneak attack on Pearl Harbor. Besides seeing the movie, our trip home was also an exciting adventure of sorts.
It was foggy going home from downtown Long Beach. Visibility was poor so Dad was driving slow, when suddenly there was a police car with flashing lights behind us. When the officer approached Dad’s lowered window, he ask Dad, “What are you doing out so late tonight?” Dad explained we had been to the movies. Then the officer shined his flashlight on our gas rationing sticker on the windshield on my side. Dad had an “A” sticker which indicated we were entitled to the greatest ration of gas. Then the officer wanted to know why we were so far from home. At this point Dad was upset and told the officer we were within our allotted gas amount and asked if it was a crime to go to the movies. I do not remember what the officer said at this point, but he told us to drive on and to be careful due to the fog. Dad believed the officer was bored and wanted something to do. During the war, gas was not the only thing that was rationed.
For some unknown reason butter was rationed and was not available to the general public. It was available to the Armed Services and whoever had special privileges. Margarine was the butter substitute for the general public. Originally, margarine was white in color and did not look like butter. Eating bread, or toast, with white margarine was not too appetizing, so a food-coloring was provided to give margarine a butter like color. At first, you placed the margarine in a bowl, broke a small capsule of the food-coloring and “stirred” the coloring into the margarine. Now the margarine looked like butter. Needless to say, the stirring process was not easy since the margarine was like a very soft butter, and the mixing of the color was a chore. American ingenuity came to the rescue, and the process changed. The margarine was in a sealed plastic bag with the food-coloring capsule also in the bag. The food-coloring capsule was squeezed until the capsule burst. Then the entire plastic bag was kneaded until the margarine was a uniform “butter” color. By the war’s end, or shortly after, you could buy margarine that was already colored, just as you do today. Since I was raised on margarine I cannot say if the war time margarine tasted like butter. I only learned how butter tastes within the last 20 to 25 years.
In the spring of 19444, just before the school year was to end, Dad and Mom bought a house. This new house was in the Lakewood area over four miles southwest of our house on Walnut Avenue. We moved to the new house in May, which meant I could not finish the school year at Clara Barton Elementary School. I would have to finish the Third Grade at Douglas A. MacArthur Elementary School. Once again a change in schools would have to be made. However, this time there were only four weeks remaining in the school year. This move was probably the most disruptive to my schooling yet. Starting in a new school with only a month left in the school year had to be upsetting and confusing. Projecting ahead somewhat, I do not think this disruption had any lasting affect on my schooling. In terms of my growth, I believe this move had more positive benefits than negative ones. However, there is one incident that occurred not too long before we moved that was very memorable and turned out to carry over to our new home.
There was a railroad bridge that crossed over Orange Avenue. These railroad tracks were the same ones that passed near our house. One day Dad and I were out doing some errands in the North Long Beach business district. After finishing our errands, we headed home driving down Orange Avenue. As we approached the railroad bridge there was a traffic jam. As we slowly approached the bridge and were allowed to proceed by the police, we could see what was causing the slow down. There was a dead horse laying on top of a car!! Apparently, the horse fell off the railroad bridge and landed on top of a car that was passing under the bridge. I have no idea if there was a rider, but I seem to remember there was a saddle on the horse. I have no way of knowing how the horse fell, or what happened to the rider (if there was one).
I certainly have more memories about living in North Long Beach than those from living in Belmont Shore. For one thing we lived there for almost 21 months compared to 11 months in Belmont Shore. However, memories of time in school, classmates or playmates seems to be just as bare in North Long Beach as in Belmont Shore. Memories of several movies are quite vivid, especially recalling specific scenes from those movies. While other movies come to mind, not all of them have been mentioned. Some of these will appear in future essays, they support other memorable events. My relationship with Dad began to grow here due to attending movies and joining him on shopping trips. Even so, there are only fuzzy memories of doing things around the house with Dad, Mom or Berta. I know we interacted, but specific events do not stand out. Perhaps this lack of these type memories speaks to the fact that I was a very quiet loner and could entertain myself. Then perhaps it is a further example of a maturing brain with memories being erased in the process. I turned nine years old about three months after we moved to our new house, so my brain must have really matured, because the following years are bursting with memories.
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