OUR DOUGHBOY POOL
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This must have happened in the late 50's or early 60's because we moved back to First Avenue when I was eleven or twelve, that was 1956 or 57. We had been able to take some kind of vacation every year, soon after we moved back, the business was bad and the cost of the addition to the house and what ever made going away impossible. So, Mom and Dad decided to buy a pool instead. The plastic lined, round, metal framed kind of pool was the choice and Dad, always the innovator, chose a 21' frame with a 24' liner.
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One summer in the late 1950's my retail family could not afford to take a real vacation. Freestanding swimming pools, Doughboy Pools had just become the rage and Sears & Roebuck had them in their catalogue. So, Mom and Dad decided to buy one. It arrived just before the Memorial Day weekend two colossal boxes on the back of a freight truck.
In their wisdom, they bought a 21' ring with a 24' liner and dug out the space so that the center of the pool was nearly 5' deep. In the week or so before the pool parts arrived, Dad and my twin brothers, Paul and David who are 3 years younger than I, spent long nights huddled around the end of our long dinner table, doing the math to work out how wide, how deep and what the slant of the sides should to be to make that pool work! When the boxes came, in the middle of the week of course, we could not open the boxes until the long holiday weekend upcoming. The waiting was impossible!
During that long week of waiting a load of fine, sandbox sand was delivered. Dad made arrangements to rent the tiniest tractor I had ever seen and have it delivered over the Holiday weekend.
Finally, Saturday afternoon got here, the shop was closed and it was time to build the pool base. Dad, David and Paul worked with tape measures and stakes and flags to make the ring and the center of the pool. It looked like a bunch of sticks in the ground to me, but they said they knew what they meant so, OK.
Dad used the tractor to bring the giant, bulky boxes into the patio and began the “digging”. Someplace there are 8mm movies of my 125 pound Dad bouncing around in a circle digging out the base of that pool! Around and around and around he went, with each round the ring got deeper and more slanted.
Around dusk a 6' ridge had developed and I asked “How is the tractor going to get out of the hole?” Dad turned off the engine and walked into the house followed by my brothers. They didn’t come out. Oh, oh, They hadn’t thought of that. So I said to my Mom. “Should we go in and start dinner?” “Yes”, she said, “But very quietly.”
The next morning they went back to the pool hole, finished the slanting and then a small ramp of dirt was shoveled into being and the tractor drove out. The shovels came back out and that dirt was dumped into a wheelbarrow. I think it took a while for this elegant but sweaty solution to occur to them.
After the digging, came the spreading of the sand base so it would be as smooth as possible, the same wheelbarrow was filled with the sand from the pile outside the patio, wheeled up to the edge of the hole and dumped. It was up to the boys and me to move the sand around the hole to create a smooth, even bottom for the pool. That took most of the day on Sunday but around 4:00 the in afternoon, it was time to unfold the immense blue liner.
We were hot and tired but to wait for the morning was unthinkable. So, we wet each other down and slowly stood the metal ring in place, opened the plastic, and began smoothing the liner over the carefully prepared sand with our feet and hands. We got it centered, brought it down the sides to the edges and started the water running into the pool for it was a real pool! Mom turned the hose on. That water was so hot at first Paul, who was in the middle, thought he’d been burned. But as happens in the summer in Tucson, the water coming from the hose began to cool. Eventually that water was downright cold! The deeper it pulled from the wells, we did have wells then, the colder it got.
It was the first time I discovered the color shift afforded by staring at one end of the spectrum for a long time in bright light. When I finally looked up from the intense blue of the plastic liner, the sky looked ORANGE! I was very surprised and remarked on the strange effect. Had it been now, one of us would have just gone in and looked “spectrum shift” up on Google and found something like, “Understanding Color/Light and Color” know about the way the internal eye sees color. But at that time, we just had fun teasing each other that our vision would get stuck being orange forever!
So, we spent the time until the sun went down crawling around the bottom of the hole/pool smoothing over the big bumps of sand under the plastic to make them little bumps. The hot air surrounded us and the icy water played around our knees and arms and we saw orange every time we looked up from the blue plastic. At last it was too dark to see what we were doing and Mom called us in to dinner. Dad decided to leave the hose running and check it later.
After dinner I fell asleep and I think the boys did too. My Dad must have monitored the water level most of the night because about 4:45AM when I woke up, he was out there at the pool starting to snap the edging strips on to hold the plastic in place.
I tell you how much work it was to fill the pool because some time after the 4th of July the south edge of the pool plastic started to turn black. That was the edge getting the most sun, nearly all day every day and it was decomposing!
I remember Dad standing over the edge saying, “Nearly five hundred dollars, we haven’t even finished paying or the damned thing and its falling apart!” He stomped into the house, got the paperwork from Sears and Doughboy Pools, got the phone numbers and went to his shop office to call them.
I remember following him, I was very afraid that he was going to pull the pool out and ship it back forever!
He must have spoken to 6 people at Doughboy Pools and a few at Sears, none of them would take responsibility for the plastic parts of the pool. “Well, who manufactures the liners?” he asked of the 2nd Vice President in charge of blowing off customers. “3MMM”.
“Minnesota Mining and Manufacturing?” Dad asked with a grin. “Fine! I will be back in touch with your company, be assured!” Slam went the phone.
Dad dialed, yes dialed the ‘0' for the Operator, got the 3MMM number and there started the most amazing series of summers of my life. Dad ended up speaking to an engineer, a plastics engineer, who asked him if he was an engineer. My Dad, who had not finished High School, was being mistaken for an engineer! I don’t think he ever got over that.
The two of them talked over the next several weeks and Dad clipped and shipped and mailed blackened pieces of the curled plastic to 3MMM and 3MMM would call and ask questions.
Then came the BIG question, about 3 or 4 weeks after this communication started, They asked him to drain the pool and ship the liner to the lab. I was working in the showroom that day, and I remember hearing Dad’s voice say loudly, “You want me to drain it? Do you know how long it will take and how much shit I will have to put up with from my kids?” Long pause... “Well, OK, I guess I can convince them...”
So, what happened was that a new liner, made of a “new” composition plastic for southwestern US sun was on its way, along with a check for the inconvenience of the draining and refilling. Each time the plastic showed ANY signs of darkening, we did it again.
Over the next 3 or 4 years I think we emptied and refilled that pool half a dozen times. Our little Oleanders grew from scrawny 3 and 4 foot shrubs to 12 and 14 feet tall and they bloomed most of the year round.
In the process, my Dad became a member of the National Society of Plastics Engineers. It was one of his proudest moments! And 3MMM perfected a pool plastic that would stand up to Arizona sun for at least a few years.
Friday, October 23, 2009
Wednesday, October 21, 2009
Harold Cooks for the Boarding House
HAROLD COOKS For THE BOARDING HOUSE
Harold told me about the first time he had to cook for the Boarders at the ‘Eisenberg’s Boarding House’ in Miami Beach, Florida alone. The Boarding house was something like a “Bed and Breakfast” today. There was a ‘light breakfast’ coffee and rolls or Danish. Then Dinner, at the table like a family. So while Harold was in his late teens he always helped Anna/Naomi, his mom, get the dinner, working in the kitchen and then to the table, but it was the first time he did the whole thing by himself.
He decided the menu would start with soup and a dinner salad. The soup was Tomato, it was always his favorite after all. And salad was easy as Cabbage was on sale, both red and green, so he would just shred the heads up and maybe grate in some carrots too. For a dressing, how about a Russian, quick and easy, just mayonnaise and catchup with a little seasoning.
Then spaghetti and meat sauce sounded good. The meat sauce could be simmering while he was doing everything else, right? The tomatoes looked wonderful and just right for cooking, add an onion a little garlic, brown some meat, throw it all together and its all done. Just need a bit of “shaker cheese” to top it off.
Maybe some big fluffy rolls with butter, there should be juice and Iced Tea and then some dessert. And he would be all done. Tomato juice would be nice, wouldn’t it? Put it in the refrigerator to chill and that’s done. The tea can be steeped early and poured over ice in Mom’s big red pitcher.
Now for dessert, the Strawberry’s looked good, how about strawberry ice cream with fresh Strawberry’s? Yes, that’s the trick. And of course coffee.
So he did the shopping, started cooking browning, cutting up, simmering, shredding, boiling and set the table and at the appointed time everyone came to the table.
The table cloth was white and so were the plates and cups and saucers. The silver was silver and the glasses were clear. There was a clear pitcher of Tomato Juice and a Red Pitcher of Ice Tea and the Red creamer and sugar bowls to match the Red Pitcher. White bowls of Tomato soup or white plates of red and green cabbage salad with Red Russian Dressing.
Then out came a big white bowl of Spaghetti and Red Meat Sauce. A big basket, lined with a Red napkin full of rolls and a white tray of butter.
The Boarders sat down, looked around and started laughing. Harold didn’t know why. When one man could stop guffawing long enough, he pointed around the table and asked Harold if he noticed anything unusual? “Noooo, I don’t think so.”
“Oh, it all RED!” and Harold said he thought his face was probably as red as the tomato juice.
“Yes!”, and they started laughing all over again. Well the decision was that it tasted really good but he never lived it down. Anytime it might be Harold at the stove, it was “What color will dinner be this time?”
Harold told me about the first time he had to cook for the Boarders at the ‘Eisenberg’s Boarding House’ in Miami Beach, Florida alone. The Boarding house was something like a “Bed and Breakfast” today. There was a ‘light breakfast’ coffee and rolls or Danish. Then Dinner, at the table like a family. So while Harold was in his late teens he always helped Anna/Naomi, his mom, get the dinner, working in the kitchen and then to the table, but it was the first time he did the whole thing by himself.
He decided the menu would start with soup and a dinner salad. The soup was Tomato, it was always his favorite after all. And salad was easy as Cabbage was on sale, both red and green, so he would just shred the heads up and maybe grate in some carrots too. For a dressing, how about a Russian, quick and easy, just mayonnaise and catchup with a little seasoning.
Then spaghetti and meat sauce sounded good. The meat sauce could be simmering while he was doing everything else, right? The tomatoes looked wonderful and just right for cooking, add an onion a little garlic, brown some meat, throw it all together and its all done. Just need a bit of “shaker cheese” to top it off.
Maybe some big fluffy rolls with butter, there should be juice and Iced Tea and then some dessert. And he would be all done. Tomato juice would be nice, wouldn’t it? Put it in the refrigerator to chill and that’s done. The tea can be steeped early and poured over ice in Mom’s big red pitcher.
Now for dessert, the Strawberry’s looked good, how about strawberry ice cream with fresh Strawberry’s? Yes, that’s the trick. And of course coffee.
So he did the shopping, started cooking browning, cutting up, simmering, shredding, boiling and set the table and at the appointed time everyone came to the table.
The table cloth was white and so were the plates and cups and saucers. The silver was silver and the glasses were clear. There was a clear pitcher of Tomato Juice and a Red Pitcher of Ice Tea and the Red creamer and sugar bowls to match the Red Pitcher. White bowls of Tomato soup or white plates of red and green cabbage salad with Red Russian Dressing.
Then out came a big white bowl of Spaghetti and Red Meat Sauce. A big basket, lined with a Red napkin full of rolls and a white tray of butter.
The Boarders sat down, looked around and started laughing. Harold didn’t know why. When one man could stop guffawing long enough, he pointed around the table and asked Harold if he noticed anything unusual? “Noooo, I don’t think so.”
“Oh, it all RED!” and Harold said he thought his face was probably as red as the tomato juice.
“Yes!”, and they started laughing all over again. Well the decision was that it tasted really good but he never lived it down. Anytime it might be Harold at the stove, it was “What color will dinner be this time?”
Saturday, October 4, 2008
James the Dishwasher
I remember our first dishwasher, it was named "James".
My brothers, Paul and David, and I all were passing around Whooping Cough. I think it was the third or forth round. I would get it and then just as I was about better one of the boys got it and so on and on and on. I remember Mom asking the Pediatrician what might help, because she couldn’t remember the last time she slept all through the night. Dr Witzberger asked of we had a dishwasher? And so began the saga of "James"...
Mom talked to Dad over dinner that night and I remember them talking about how to afford a dishwasher. Then, if it would really make a difference and if maybe Dad started using rubber gloves when he did the dishes, so the water was hotter, maybe that would make a difference?
Mom didn’t think that would be good enough, but if he wanted to try it while they figured out what to do, then go ahead. And of course he did.
I don’t remember if we got "James" while we still lived at 3201 East Lester Street or if it was not until we moved to 2713 North First Avenue, behind Windowcraft, but what I do remember was that it was nearly as much fun watching "James" do his stuff as watching TV!
See, "James" was a white rectangular box which had a GLASS LID! Yep, you opened the whole top like a hood with a stick to prop it open and loaded the dishes down into the machine. The fun part of it was that once the machine started the soapy water splashed against the top and was just amazing to watch. The soapy streams would hit the glass and burst like looking down into the Forth of July only white!
I vividly remember leaning over "James" and watching the fun. Smelling the acrid, hot dishwashing detergent. Hearing the rushing water and roaring motor I thought sounded like being on a ship. Good ol’ "James". I used to put a book on top of "James" and read until the splashing began.
We had "James" for several years, don’t remember just how long but he was a hard working little box.
When "James" broke down, Dad would mend him and repair him. But when "James" flooded the kitchen, family room and the living room with the cork tile floor for the 3rd time a month, he finally went to that great junk yard in the sky. I think we got an enclosed, drop front ‘regular’ dishwasher and that was the end of my adventuring all over the world with "James" and dirty dishes.
HAROLD AND HORSES
Written 15 May, 2004
Harold’s memories of horses were not happy ones.
They were of the horses of the New York City Police Department mounted officers during the depression.
The Police Officers used their horses to control the "mobs" of people trying to line up for food or in rent strikes. He remembered once being trapped in a doorway by an enormous black horse with an NYC Police Officer speaking in an Irish idiom yelling at the women around him, "Git Back out of the way... This is no place for you to be linin’ up and yellin’. This is a government office don’t ya know. Move along now, you be movein’ along..."
For most of his life Harold had nightmare’s about those giant horses coming to stampede over him.
So, when he and Shullie came to Tucson in 1943 and parked their 18 foot airstream trailer in the Desert Shores Trailer Park at 1067 West Miracle Mile, imagine his emotional state to find HORSES stabled there! Lots of the residents had livestock and lived there so they could care for the animals without using gas rations.
Shullie had always gotten along with horses, she had the opportunity to learn to ride as a kid on the family Lodge in up-State New York with the summer lodgers. (More about that in other stories), But Harold...
At Desert Shores it became unavoidable that at some point, Harold and the park bully would get into a discussion about the horses and his dislike for the beasts came out. He was, of course, challenged to a ride. He apparently declined a few times, but after a while he was backed into a corner. Coming home from work one day, the bully was waiting for him.
The man brought out his biggest horse, a stallion, saddled and ready to ride. Harold was not happy about the whole idea, but walked up to the horse and put his left foot in the left stirrup and began his swing over the giants back. Just as he began to swing his right leg into the stirrup, the big dark horse took off running at top speed.
Harold said he plopped down on the saddle, grabbed the traces and the saddle horn with both hands. Never did he find the right stirrup, he was too busy trying to figure out how to get the monster to stop! But, apparently looking like he knew what he was doing, he and the "monster" made one turn around the whole park road, about 3/4 of a mile, mane and tail flying, only to pull up short in a dust cloud on the exact spot from which they left.
The bully, in shock, said, "I thought you couldn’t ride?’.
Harold, trying to look cool, stepped down. "I never said I never said I couldn’t ride, I said I did not like horses!"
He walked past all the gawkers and into the tiny trailer he and Shullie shared and collapsed into a chair, shaking all over.
Shullie was still outside with everyone was looking at her. She said she just looked over the crowd and followed her badly rattled husband. Looking back at them from the doorway as if to say this ends all this pushing her husband around forever!
Once the door closed and the curtains drawn, the two clung to each other knowing full well Harold had never voluntarily been that close to a horse before, much less aboard one!
Written 15 May, 2004
Harold’s memories of horses were not happy ones.
They were of the horses of the New York City Police Department mounted officers during the depression.
The Police Officers used their horses to control the "mobs" of people trying to line up for food or in rent strikes. He remembered once being trapped in a doorway by an enormous black horse with an NYC Police Officer speaking in an Irish idiom yelling at the women around him, "Git Back out of the way... This is no place for you to be linin’ up and yellin’. This is a government office don’t ya know. Move along now, you be movein’ along..."
For most of his life Harold had nightmare’s about those giant horses coming to stampede over him.
So, when he and Shullie came to Tucson in 1943 and parked their 18 foot airstream trailer in the Desert Shores Trailer Park at 1067 West Miracle Mile, imagine his emotional state to find HORSES stabled there! Lots of the residents had livestock and lived there so they could care for the animals without using gas rations.
Shullie had always gotten along with horses, she had the opportunity to learn to ride as a kid on the family Lodge in up-State New York with the summer lodgers. (More about that in other stories), But Harold...
At Desert Shores it became unavoidable that at some point, Harold and the park bully would get into a discussion about the horses and his dislike for the beasts came out. He was, of course, challenged to a ride. He apparently declined a few times, but after a while he was backed into a corner. Coming home from work one day, the bully was waiting for him.
The man brought out his biggest horse, a stallion, saddled and ready to ride. Harold was not happy about the whole idea, but walked up to the horse and put his left foot in the left stirrup and began his swing over the giants back. Just as he began to swing his right leg into the stirrup, the big dark horse took off running at top speed.
Harold said he plopped down on the saddle, grabbed the traces and the saddle horn with both hands. Never did he find the right stirrup, he was too busy trying to figure out how to get the monster to stop! But, apparently looking like he knew what he was doing, he and the "monster" made one turn around the whole park road, about 3/4 of a mile, mane and tail flying, only to pull up short in a dust cloud on the exact spot from which they left.
The bully, in shock, said, "I thought you couldn’t ride?’.
Harold, trying to look cool, stepped down. "I never said I never said I couldn’t ride, I said I did not like horses!"
He walked past all the gawkers and into the tiny trailer he and Shullie shared and collapsed into a chair, shaking all over.
Shullie was still outside with everyone was looking at her. She said she just looked over the crowd and followed her badly rattled husband. Looking back at them from the doorway as if to say this ends all this pushing her husband around forever!
Once the door closed and the curtains drawn, the two clung to each other knowing full well Harold had never voluntarily been that close to a horse before, much less aboard one!
Thursday, October 2, 2008
Daddy's Last Loaf
DADDY’S LAST LOAF 22 September 2006
When my Father died he left a grieving family and friends and a few loaves of his home baked bread in the freezer.
This was amazing for a man who was born 76 years earlier in the roughest part of Manhattan Island still known as "Hells Kitchen". He was an asthmatic child and did not thrive, but did fight to survive until years later when his widowed mother took his sister, Ruth and him to live in Miami Beach, Florida.
There he encountered a few people who had time to garden and bake for pleasure for the first time. Thinking this was a pass-time for the rich, he found those who engaged in it among the wealthy with nothing else to fill up their time.
Years later, in his late 50's when he had built a family, a business and a reputation as a fighter for social, political and Civil Justice causes in Tucson Arizona, he found he could not buy a tomato to his liking. "They all smell like nothing and taste like just like the cardboard they come packed in!"
So, Dad began to study organic gardening. He learned about composting and soil types. He knew how to build sunshades. For years he had been a leading expert in solar controls, so he rigged a shade which he was able move on and off the garden. I think he decided that all this "science" made his gardening less a pass-time and more a necessity for himself and his family. All the "study" made it a research project than a "rich man’s hobby"!
A few years later the lactose intolerance which had plagued him most of his life had caused him to buy Kosher bread to be sure it contained no dairy products. Then he and Mom decided the best, and least expensive option was to bake for themselves, after the last inexpensive kosher bakery closed. It took more than a year or two for them to work out recipes to their tastes.
They bought one of the first of the home bread baking machines which came on the market. Mom and Dad got one and she did all the baking for the first year or so. Then when she became ill, Dad started playing with the bread baker.
The next thing I knew, he was doing all the baking and experimenting with different kinds of flours and adding fruit and his own tomatoes to the bread and most of all, perfecting a round, 8" challah. The Challah, or egg bread, is the traditional, braided loaf of the Sabbath. But the machine’s baking chamber is a round bucket and so the braiding is OUT.
Not so the flavor however... the bread is airy and slightly sweet, and that is what Dad was working for. He made rye and pumpernickel and of course, added tomatoes to anything he could think of. Sometimes he made a "sweet bread" with raisins and cranberry’s and sometimes it was a ribbon rye, dark and light mixed. That never quite worked out, but he was very interested in making the most fabulous bread he could.
When the day came in 1995 and a stroke suddenly ended his life, many of the friends, extended family and adult children who loved him and gathered to celebrate his life, Mom found one last loaf of the bread Dad baked in the freezer.
We carefully sliced that last loaf thinly and with great ceremony and love, shared Daddy’s last loaf.
When my Father died he left a grieving family and friends and a few loaves of his home baked bread in the freezer.
This was amazing for a man who was born 76 years earlier in the roughest part of Manhattan Island still known as "Hells Kitchen". He was an asthmatic child and did not thrive, but did fight to survive until years later when his widowed mother took his sister, Ruth and him to live in Miami Beach, Florida.
There he encountered a few people who had time to garden and bake for pleasure for the first time. Thinking this was a pass-time for the rich, he found those who engaged in it among the wealthy with nothing else to fill up their time.
Years later, in his late 50's when he had built a family, a business and a reputation as a fighter for social, political and Civil Justice causes in Tucson Arizona, he found he could not buy a tomato to his liking. "They all smell like nothing and taste like just like the cardboard they come packed in!"
So, Dad began to study organic gardening. He learned about composting and soil types. He knew how to build sunshades. For years he had been a leading expert in solar controls, so he rigged a shade which he was able move on and off the garden. I think he decided that all this "science" made his gardening less a pass-time and more a necessity for himself and his family. All the "study" made it a research project than a "rich man’s hobby"!
A few years later the lactose intolerance which had plagued him most of his life had caused him to buy Kosher bread to be sure it contained no dairy products. Then he and Mom decided the best, and least expensive option was to bake for themselves, after the last inexpensive kosher bakery closed. It took more than a year or two for them to work out recipes to their tastes.
They bought one of the first of the home bread baking machines which came on the market. Mom and Dad got one and she did all the baking for the first year or so. Then when she became ill, Dad started playing with the bread baker.
The next thing I knew, he was doing all the baking and experimenting with different kinds of flours and adding fruit and his own tomatoes to the bread and most of all, perfecting a round, 8" challah. The Challah, or egg bread, is the traditional, braided loaf of the Sabbath. But the machine’s baking chamber is a round bucket and so the braiding is OUT.
Not so the flavor however... the bread is airy and slightly sweet, and that is what Dad was working for. He made rye and pumpernickel and of course, added tomatoes to anything he could think of. Sometimes he made a "sweet bread" with raisins and cranberry’s and sometimes it was a ribbon rye, dark and light mixed. That never quite worked out, but he was very interested in making the most fabulous bread he could.
When the day came in 1995 and a stroke suddenly ended his life, many of the friends, extended family and adult children who loved him and gathered to celebrate his life, Mom found one last loaf of the bread Dad baked in the freezer.
We carefully sliced that last loaf thinly and with great ceremony and love, shared Daddy’s last loaf.
Harold and the owner of The Tucson Inn
HAROLD AND THE OWNER OF THE "TUCSON INN"
In 1977 or 1978 Dad was working alone in the Windowcraft showroom at 2707 North First Avenue. It was a hot summer Saturday mid-afternoon as I recall and the hour to close was drawing near and All Dad could think of was locking the doors, and walking the 50 feet to our house and getting a cool drink and a swim.
About 5 minutes before the closing hour, a "rattle-trap" pick up truck pulled up in front of the big windows of the shop. Dad’s heart sank, "Oh no," he remembered thinking, Another hour or two for nothing!, look at him! He’s a just bum!"
And in the same moment, he was ashamed of himself for thinking of "an old farmer" type as just a bum. So, Dad determined to give this old man the best service he possibly could.
When the customer asked about "window blinds", and "them roller shades", and Dad respectfully answered every question. Explaining all the good and bad features of each item and why you might choose one product over the other.
After and hour and half, the old man asked, "Can you come out to my place and measure for a thing or two?"
"Of course we can, how far out do you live sir?"
"Oh, Its not for my house, its for my new motel... ya’ know, the one they’re building over on Drachman Street?"
Dad’s throat went dry and his voice left him. That motel was to be the best motel in Tucson, to be called the "Tucson Inn" and was the in the planning phase, and we all knew it!
"I’ll just get the prints out of the truck, OK?"
Dad nodded, and went to the desk to clear space to spread the plans. They looked over the plans and started a working relationship which lasted for the duration of the building. The "old man" never showed up in the truck again but in a new car and rarely in the old cover-all’s but in new suits.
Dad told me that all the rest of his life he worked to never make a snap judgement about a person based on their appearance.
I think he achieved that goal, he died in March of 1995. His friends filled the ‘Friends Meeting House on 5th Avenue’. There wasn’t room to move. We ran out of food and drink although we thought we had more than enough! We sang and told stories about Dad and the cross - section of the community who showed up ran from the Mayor of Tucson and future Congressmen to folks who looked like "bums".
In 1977 or 1978 Dad was working alone in the Windowcraft showroom at 2707 North First Avenue. It was a hot summer Saturday mid-afternoon as I recall and the hour to close was drawing near and All Dad could think of was locking the doors, and walking the 50 feet to our house and getting a cool drink and a swim.
About 5 minutes before the closing hour, a "rattle-trap" pick up truck pulled up in front of the big windows of the shop. Dad’s heart sank, "Oh no," he remembered thinking, Another hour or two for nothing!, look at him! He’s a just bum!"
And in the same moment, he was ashamed of himself for thinking of "an old farmer" type as just a bum. So, Dad determined to give this old man the best service he possibly could.
When the customer asked about "window blinds", and "them roller shades", and Dad respectfully answered every question. Explaining all the good and bad features of each item and why you might choose one product over the other.
After and hour and half, the old man asked, "Can you come out to my place and measure for a thing or two?"
"Of course we can, how far out do you live sir?"
"Oh, Its not for my house, its for my new motel... ya’ know, the one they’re building over on Drachman Street?"
Dad’s throat went dry and his voice left him. That motel was to be the best motel in Tucson, to be called the "Tucson Inn" and was the in the planning phase, and we all knew it!
"I’ll just get the prints out of the truck, OK?"
Dad nodded, and went to the desk to clear space to spread the plans. They looked over the plans and started a working relationship which lasted for the duration of the building. The "old man" never showed up in the truck again but in a new car and rarely in the old cover-all’s but in new suits.
Dad told me that all the rest of his life he worked to never make a snap judgement about a person based on their appearance.
I think he achieved that goal, he died in March of 1995. His friends filled the ‘Friends Meeting House on 5th Avenue’. There wasn’t room to move. We ran out of food and drink although we thought we had more than enough! We sang and told stories about Dad and the cross - section of the community who showed up ran from the Mayor of Tucson and future Congressmen to folks who looked like "bums".
Wednesday, October 1, 2008
Harold & Shullie Drive across the US in 1943
Harold and Shullie traveled across the country in an 18' Airstream Trailer with all they owned in 1943.
It was the middle of WWII and Harold’s health was deteriorating in Miami Beach. Because Harold was a valued war worker arrangements were made for them to travel on Ration Stamps for the gasoline, oil and tires they might need on the trip.
The floor of the old Airstream Trailer was damaged by mold and rot so they removed it, water proofed the large space below it and packed the space between the floor and the metal undercarriage with their collection of "78" records and treasured books into the dead space. Then they relaid the floor put down linoleum and packed the rest of their life in trailer and headed west.
Shullie didn’t know how to drive so the trip up the length of Florida, across parts of Alabama, Mississippi, Louisiana, all across Texas and New Mexico, they were able to travel only as long as Harold could drive each day.
Many times they just pulled off the road and got into the trailer for the night only to stay put for a day or two while he recovered from an asthma attack.
Then, when they got to Carlsbad New Mexico, they decided to take the Cavern’s tour as a lark. In the bottom of the cave Harold found the cool air clear and that he could breath easily. He tried really to figure out how to drag that trailer down and stay forever but as it was not allowed, they traveled on west.
Their first stop in Arizona was in Phoenix. In April 1943 many of the roads were still lined with orange trees, in full bloom! Harold was instantly wheezing almost as badly as he did in Miami. Harold turned to his wife and said "Shullie if we don’t find a place soon, we are turning around and going back home. I am not going to die out here and leave you out here in the middle of a bunch strangers."
I can’t imagine the 2 of them ever in a bunch of strangers for very long.
The next day, after driving around north of the Gila for most of the day, they drove down to Tucson on the "Casa Grande Highway" now known as I-10 and pulled into the "Desert Shores Trailer Park"*
The first morning in Tucson, Shullie told me "I slipped out of bed to make coffee. I always woke him with a cup of steaming hot black coffee to help him breath." She closed her eyes and took a deep breath before continuing, "Then I realized that the trailer was quiet, I could not hear him breathing! I ran over to the bed and he was lying flat on his back breathing through his nose quietly! I had never seen him like that in all our lives!" I shook him thinking that he had died in the night and I didn’t know it!.
Harold woke up, yelling, "What the hell is the matter with you?!"
Shullie said to me all those many years later, "Right then and there we knew this was the place we would live. There was a Consolidated Aircraft Plant here and most of all, the air was good for Harold!"
Harold said once, "I took that first breath and didn’t cough, I couldn’t remember when that had ever happened before except in the bottom of Carlsbad Caverns. I was going to stay in Tucson no matter what."
They lived at Desert Shores until they found the Seagles, (Segels?) House on 6th Street. The Seagel’s turned out to be distant cousins of Harold’s and real Lefties!
Harold and Shullie had been on their own, socially and politically since leaving Miami Beach. That didn’t change the way they thought, it was just that they only had one and other to talk to about things.
They pulled the Airstream up behind that house and lived there until they discovered they were pregnant with Sandee in February 1945 and bought the house on First Avenue.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Sunday, December 29, 2007 5:52 AM
*Desert Shores Trailer Park is still there in 2007, it is now known as a Mobile Home and RV Park but the little lake and stables are still there just at the bottom of the Miracle Mile Overpass.
Thursday, October 2, 2008 12:13 AM
The house on 6th Street is still there and I believe it is still a "Boarding House". You can find the house on the south side of 6th Street between Euclid and Park. There are two houses alike, and the one I am talking about is the east one.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
It was the middle of WWII and Harold’s health was deteriorating in Miami Beach. Because Harold was a valued war worker arrangements were made for them to travel on Ration Stamps for the gasoline, oil and tires they might need on the trip.
The floor of the old Airstream Trailer was damaged by mold and rot so they removed it, water proofed the large space below it and packed the space between the floor and the metal undercarriage with their collection of "78" records and treasured books into the dead space. Then they relaid the floor put down linoleum and packed the rest of their life in trailer and headed west.
Shullie didn’t know how to drive so the trip up the length of Florida, across parts of Alabama, Mississippi, Louisiana, all across Texas and New Mexico, they were able to travel only as long as Harold could drive each day.
Many times they just pulled off the road and got into the trailer for the night only to stay put for a day or two while he recovered from an asthma attack.
Then, when they got to Carlsbad New Mexico, they decided to take the Cavern’s tour as a lark. In the bottom of the cave Harold found the cool air clear and that he could breath easily. He tried really to figure out how to drag that trailer down and stay forever but as it was not allowed, they traveled on west.
Their first stop in Arizona was in Phoenix. In April 1943 many of the roads were still lined with orange trees, in full bloom! Harold was instantly wheezing almost as badly as he did in Miami. Harold turned to his wife and said "Shullie if we don’t find a place soon, we are turning around and going back home. I am not going to die out here and leave you out here in the middle of a bunch strangers."
I can’t imagine the 2 of them ever in a bunch of strangers for very long.
The next day, after driving around north of the Gila for most of the day, they drove down to Tucson on the "Casa Grande Highway" now known as I-10 and pulled into the "Desert Shores Trailer Park"*
The first morning in Tucson, Shullie told me "I slipped out of bed to make coffee. I always woke him with a cup of steaming hot black coffee to help him breath." She closed her eyes and took a deep breath before continuing, "Then I realized that the trailer was quiet, I could not hear him breathing! I ran over to the bed and he was lying flat on his back breathing through his nose quietly! I had never seen him like that in all our lives!" I shook him thinking that he had died in the night and I didn’t know it!.
Harold woke up, yelling, "What the hell is the matter with you?!"
Shullie said to me all those many years later, "Right then and there we knew this was the place we would live. There was a Consolidated Aircraft Plant here and most of all, the air was good for Harold!"
Harold said once, "I took that first breath and didn’t cough, I couldn’t remember when that had ever happened before except in the bottom of Carlsbad Caverns. I was going to stay in Tucson no matter what."
They lived at Desert Shores until they found the Seagles, (Segels?) House on 6th Street. The Seagel’s turned out to be distant cousins of Harold’s and real Lefties!
Harold and Shullie had been on their own, socially and politically since leaving Miami Beach. That didn’t change the way they thought, it was just that they only had one and other to talk to about things.
They pulled the Airstream up behind that house and lived there until they discovered they were pregnant with Sandee in February 1945 and bought the house on First Avenue.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Sunday, December 29, 2007 5:52 AM
*Desert Shores Trailer Park is still there in 2007, it is now known as a Mobile Home and RV Park but the little lake and stables are still there just at the bottom of the Miracle Mile Overpass.
Thursday, October 2, 2008 12:13 AM
The house on 6th Street is still there and I believe it is still a "Boarding House". You can find the house on the south side of 6th Street between Euclid and Park. There are two houses alike, and the one I am talking about is the east one.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
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