“Living Large” At The Amazing Public Housing Projects (Part 2)

It was so dark now; if not for porch lights, I could see nothing. I sat on the edge of someone’s porch and began to cry, when off in the distance, I heard a whistle. Then I heard it again, and I knew it was my dad! I always dreaded hearing that whistle. His whistle always meant it was time to go home, but moreover, it usually meant I was “late” getting home and in trouble. And although that’s exactly what it meant today, I didn’t care. This time I welcomed that whistle. Whatever punishment awaited, I would gladly accept – I just wanted to be home!

Running Through A Maze

I ran as fast as my little legs would take me in the direction of the whistle, weaving around buildings that all looked the same. I sometimes made a wrong turn that took me away from the sound and had to correct my path. Other than that, each turn brought the whistle and home nearer. In addition to the whistling, I could now hear voices calling my name. “Denny!” Denny!” Only my mom and dad called me Denny, and they were shouting it at the top of their lungs.

Rounding the last building, I could now see many flashlights dancing about in the dark and just as many people calling out my name. It’s funny how your mind works sometimes. I remember my first three thoughts being: Who are all these people? I wish I had a flashlight, and How do they all know my name is “Denny”?

Finding Mom

Then, through all the people, the shouting, and dad’s whistling, I made a “beeline” straight to my mom, whose voice stood out to me above all others. It’s a wonder I didn’t knock my little mom down as she scooped me up into her arms. We were both crying tears of joy and relief as Dad joined us and began to berate me for not being home or within range of his whistle. He was about to continue with talk of punishment when mom told him to “shut the heck up” (I cleaned that up).

I found out later what all the hoofarah was about. Not only were all those folks out looking for me, but they were also on after-dark watch because there had been a string of burglaries recently in the projects. I didn’t really know what a “burgle” was at the time, but I soon found out.

My Trial

Even after my fantastic explanation and academy award-winning apologies for being late, out after dark, and not in whistle range, Dad finally convinced mom that I must be punished for my disobedience. Such is the life of a six-year-old boy in the fifties. However, my attorney (Mom) argued my case down to a misdemeanor explaining that, “Clearly, I was in new surroundings, obviously lost, and had no malicious intent.” So, I pleaded guilty to the reduced charges, and was therefore sent to bed without supper. This was like a slap on the wrist or community service.

With my punishment settled, they walked me up to my new room, really my first room. I had never had a “room” before. While I had been out that day, Dad had built my very first bed or bunk beds out of 2×4’s. One bed would be mine, and the other would be my little brother Alan’s bed. I immediately claimed the top bunk. Believe it or not, that bunk was my bed until mid-way through the tenth grade. The mattress was too short, taken from an old baby bed, but I didn’t care. I scampered up to the top bunk happy as “a country pig eating city slop.” Being a pig farmer, that was one of my grandpa’s favorite sayings. Later after Dad fell asleep, Mom would sneak me in a sandwich and cup of milk. I would need this particular foodservice many times throughout my childhood career.

Starting First Grade

The next day was my first day of school, which meant 1st. grade. There was no daycare, pre-school, or kindergarden in 1958. I don’t remember if I was looking forward to or excited about starting school, but remember being terrified as Mom pulled me up the entrance steps and into the classroom.

We waited in line with the other kids and their parents to meet my teacher. (As an aside, if you looked up “first-grade teacher” in the dictionary, it would have a picture of Mrs. Hendricks). I mostly stared at the floor, but couldn’t help noticing there were a lot of kids in there! And as they became louder and louder, I got my first taste of Mrs. Hendrix and how this school thing was all going “to go down.” She whacked one of those wooden yardsticks repeatedly on the chalkboard, making a sound much like a semi-automatic 22 rifle being fired. As the crowd quieted, she softly, but firmly stated, “That’s better children,” and added, “Parents, please keep your children quiet and under control.” From then on, there were only whispers in the room. I found out later Mrs. Hendricks also had a shorter ruler that was very effective on the palm of my hand. After the parents were gone, Mrs. Hendricks told us to sit wherever we wanted. Another sidenote: (later in the day she would separate many of us).

Introductions

Anyway, the first thing on the agenda was, “Introductions.” Starting on one side of the class, each kid was to stand, state their name, tell a little about themselves, and then what they wanted to do or be when they grew up. It took a moment for what she said to register inside my little brain. What? who has to do that? I watched in horror as the first boy was made to rise. He tried to keep one leg on the seat and half stand/half slink and mumble his name incoherently. Nope, that was not going to work. The teacher was having no mumbling and was insistent the poor soul stand up straight. He must have repeated his name 4 times before she let him move on to telling about himself. It was awful and painful to watch.

The Difference In Girls

Since there were twice as many boys as girls in the class, progress was slow. You see little boys have no plans beyond what they are interested in at the moment. It might be a toy, bicycle, or just playing outside. Baseball was a big thing back then, so at best, a boy may aspire to be a baseball player. But, squeezing information out of a boy could be a long difficult process. However, girls were a whole different story. How could they possibly have their entire life planned out as they started first grade! And who taught them “public speaking”? Looking at the class photo, I think I know exactly which one of those little demons stood right up proudly stating her name. She then continues with, “I was born in Memphis, Tennessee. My parents and I moved here this summer. When I finish high school I plan to attend nursing school, because I want to help sick people.”

The girls all seemed so well-spoken and focused. It was disgusting. In sharp contrast, I watched as most boys basically made fools of themselves. They seemed to have lost the ability to talk or even stand. After about an hour of this, it was about to be my turn and I was horrified. Did the girl in front of me just say she wanted to be the first female President? I didn’t know what I wanted to do after school today, much less next year or ten years from now. Tears clouded my eyes. What was my name? I couldn’t remember my name!! Then I heard my name. “Dennis, stand up and tell us about yourself.”