I have no idea why I remember the address of this house. These days I sometimes have to stop and think about my own address or phone number. We lived at this address for a couple of years before moving to the farm. I went to third and fourth grades at Garfield Elementary on the west side of Willmar, and started fifth grade at Sunnyside, so that is the time frame of living in this house.
As Libby and I became older, we outgrew the little apartment on the east side of Willmar. Dad rented this house on the west end. I remember that the siding was a light green color, and that it was absolutely bare of shrubs. Mom and Dad planted some shrubs and flowers in front, and put up some chicken wire on one end of the little front porch that held a climbing vine of some sort. Then they planted a little garden out back of the house. They had a way of making any house seem more homey.
It was while living here that Mom and Dad became friends with Bill and Marie Welker who lived directly across the street. They would remain friends for the rest of their lives, staying in touch even after Mom and Dad moved north. Bill and Marie had three girls, two of whom were near the ages of Libby and me. Two houses down lived Elmer and Olive Butler, who also continued their friendship with Mom and Dad for many years. Their daughter Diane was a playmate of mine. Elmer was a carpenter by trade, and had built a small playhouse in their backyard for Diane. She and I spent many hours playing there.
This was a time when kids could roam their neighborhood without needing their parents in attendance at all times. There were many children in this neighborhood, and we all got together in the evenings and played Hide and Seek, Hopscotch and other children's games. It was more exciting because we could play after dark without the fears that we have today about our children being outside without adult supervision. We all knew when it was time to go home because Larry Carlson's mother, Lucille, would call him to come home first, from their house at the end of the block. Lucille was a cousin of Ronnie Lindblad's. She had a happy disposition and a voice that could call in hogs from the next county over. There was no mistaking when it was time to go home.
Halloween was an especially fun time while we lived in the little green house. The neighborhood kids all dressed up in old clothes of their parents. Nobody had store-bought costumes. We usually carried a pillowcase for our Treats. And away we kids would go throughout the neighborhood, ranging two or three blocks in any direction from our house. We went Trick or Treating until Larry's mother called, and no matter how far away we were, we always heard her and headed for home. We were usually a little bit sick upon arriving home from sampling the goodies from our bags, but I remember how much fun it all was.
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School was a five-block walk away, and the neighbor kids walked every day unless the weather was really bad. I remember that there was an old house about halfway to school. It hadn't seen a coat of paint for years, and the yard was overgrown as were the trees and shrubs, making it look spooky. We made up all sorts of stories about who might live there, like a witch that would steal children, ala Hansel and Gretel, or a crazy ax-murderer, or some other horrifying individual. Most of our stories ran to the haunted house theory, with a range of ghosts, goblins and vampires residing there. Truth be known, I never saw anyone there, and would guess that the house was merely abandoned. But it was fodder for fertile imaginations, and I know that we always ran past it so as not to get caught by whatever ghoul we were thinking lived there at any given time.
It was during this time that I learned to ice skate. Each winter an area at Garfield School was flooded to form a skating rink. I spent many Saturday afternoons at that rink, pretending to be a great figure skater. In reality, I never was able to master skating backwards or doing spins, but I thoroughly enjoyed the activity all the same.
Mom used to tell this story on Dad. It seems that Dad had feet that were at least two sizes smaller than Mom's. He wore a size 5-1/2 shoe, and had to shop in the Boy's Department to find shoes to fit. So he liked to tease Mom now and then about the size of her feet. He also liked to clown around for the amusement of his children once in a while. On this particular evening, he was teasing Mom about her feet. He rolled up his pant legs to just above his knees, put on a pair of Mom's dress shoes, and proceeded to dance the Charleston in the living room, with her larger shoes dangling whenever he did a kick step. Now, this living room had a large picture window facing the street. And facing the Welker's house across the street. Dad had neglected to close the drapes before giving us this impromptu dance recital, and Bill and Marie were witnesses to it. Of course, they could not resist teasing Dad about his dancing abilities, and Mom didn't let him forget about it for quite some time. She said it served him right for teasing her.
I realize that my life at this time sounds like something out of a TV series - "Leave it to Beaver" or "Ozzie and Harriet." And I guess that it probably was similar. There were no "play dates." Mom's just told their kids to go outside and play. Most Mom's were home all day, and kids were watched by the Mom in whose yard they were playing. We knew that if something bad happened, we could go to the nearest neighbor and find help. Today I live in a secure building and am glad for it. I never visit my neighbors. Nor do they visit me. Rarely do I venture outside after dark unless it is to take the dogs out. I find these facts of life rather sad and totally alien to the way I was raised. So I am glad that I have my memories of a gentler time.
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