“Why, It’s For All Of Us”

The move to Avoca was not all that bad. My dad worked for the newspaper and the part-owner/editor was taken into the wartime Navy. My folks were both enlisted to take over the paper and run it for the duration. After only about six months, however, the editor resigned from the Navy and came back to resume his position. We never did find out the details of his military career.

When we first lived in Avoca, housing was in short supply so we found a place that was in the basement of a former funeral home. It wasn’t that bad except the windows were at ground level and curious neighbor kids tended to become window peepers interested in the new people in town. My clearest memory of the place was the canopied driveway where I could work on my bike. Hour after hour was spent tearing apart that New Departure brake and putting it back together again.

This was also the place where I had my first girl friend. I don’t remember her name but she was a large girl -- an Amazon, you might say. I was not alone when I got my first kiss. We were with another couple and my awkward one-armed smack drew a derisive comment from my buddy. He proceeded to give me instructions but the romance was short lived and the lessons ceased.

After we had been in town awhile and I became acquainted, a group of guys came by to see if I wanted to go bike riding. My folks were pleased I was being accepted by my peers so they said it would be okay if I was home by dark. We had not gone three blocks from my place before the plans changed and we ended up at a local pool hall.

Later, my dad had gone out for a pack of cigarettes and noticed my bike parked in front of the pool hall. I saw him come in and he stepped over and calmly told me to come home when I finished the game. I then realized I probably was in big trouble because the place was rather unsavory.

My dad grabbed me just as I got home, pulled me into a spare room and said, “For gosh sakes don’t tell your mom where you have been.” He explained that there were two pool halls in town. The one I was in was a hangout for some of the worst elements in town. The other one was run by a man who wouldn’t let you play pool if school was in session or if you misbehaved. He told me if I wanted to learn to play in that pool hall he would bring me down and teach me the game. Thus began an avocation to fill many hours of leisure time during my life.

One of my favorite stories involved the grocery store (where I worked part time), which belonged to Bill Hinz and his wife. As was the practice in most small town stores, customers charged everything and paid their bill at the end of the month. One noon hour, I was left alone in the store when a young boy about eight years old came in and asked for toilet paper. I got a three-roll pack off the shelf and sacked it for him and he began to leave. I asked him, “Who’s this for?” wanting to know whom to charge it to since I didn’t know him. He looked at me like I had to be the dumbest clod in the universe and said, “Why, it’s for all of us!” and he walked out. I reached in my pocket, got 25 cents—the 1944 price of three rolls of toilet paper -- and put it in the cash register. That story told over the years was certainly worth the 25 cents it cost me.

My profession for most of my adult career was probably influenced by a teacher I had in eighth grade at Avoca. Her English class was not the most interesting in school but the fact she had one glass eye and the other one was crossed made it virtually impossible to get by with anything in class. She was never looking where she appeared to be so you had to assume the thrown spit ball or passed note would be seen. Consequently, I learned more English than could normally be expected of a 13-year-old and my entry into the journalism field was made a little easier.

At just over 100 pounds, I don’t know why I went out for football -- but I did -- though my career at Avoca was short lived. While returning punts in practice one day, I was slammed into the ground by a teammate. I instinctively put out my hand to catch myself and it jammed my arm back into the socket. Something had to give and it was my shoulder.

The dislocated shoulder kept me out of football but I was a glutton for punishment and decided to try my hand at basketball in my sophomore year. I was only about 5’10” but was fairly quick and seemed to have an eye for the basket in practice. When time came for our first game, the coach, just before tip-off in the locker room, named four of his starters. The other one, he said, would come from me or my friend, fellow sophomore Ev Bauer.

Ev was a much better player than me and later I realized the coach was trying to get him to assert himself by giving him a chance to speak up. When the coach said, “Who wants to start?” I waited for only the briefest of time before I spoke up and said, “I do.” Soon in the first quarter Ev came off the bench and played well. I transferred out of Avoca the second semester but he went on to be a star for the team during his high school career.