We hadn’t located a residence in Fort Worth when the 1942/43
school-year began, but Twila and I enrolled at Polytechnic High School, inasmuch as our parents
had decided to seek housing in the Poly area.
We gave Uncle Warren Stribling’s address as our place of residence, and spent some
school nights for several weeks with him, Aunt Elizabeth, and their near-grown
children, Baldwin and Mary Elizabeth; they lived in the 3600 block of East
Rosedale, perhaps a mile east of Poly High.
We spent weekends, and some school nights, at Acton, where our parents
were still staying at Mama Grammer’s house; my dad traveled between Acton and
his jobs in Fort Worth each workday, thus we could ride into town with him when
we stayed at Acton instead of Fort Worth.
My mother and dad bought a six-room furnished house ($3,200) at 2909
Avenue J, within walking distance of
Poly’s business district, Baptist Church, and high school; Poly High, the
farthest away, was less than a mile from our house. That we could walk to all those places was important, for my dad
used the family car for transporting himself, his helper, his tools, and
materials to job sites.
We could
get around town without a car, if necessary, for city bus service was good;
buses between Poly and downtown ran every three minutes during morning and
afternoon rush hours. Buses were often
filled to capacity, with passengers standing, because many families had no
automobile, and almost none had more than one.
Nearly totally furnished, our
new abode required only a mattress and box springs for my bedroom to make it
usable for our family. [After the end
of WWII, as more consumer-comfort products became available, my parents
purchased (1) a Curtis Mathes evaporative cooler for their bedroom and (2) a
Thor dish/laundry washer (different tubs for each function).]
We again had telephone
service, a utility we’d lived without since leaving Fort Worth nearly twelve
years earlier, via a four-party line.
A highly important fixture was
“the duck,” a ceramic decorative item into which my dad dropped his weekly pay
when he arrived home each Friday evening.
He and Mother extracted cash for (1) their tithe to the church on
Sunday, (2) Wednesday grocery shopping, and (3) other out-of-pocket expenses,
then Mother deposited the remainder at the First National Bank downtown, about
six miles away (Poly had no bank, for branch banking was illegal in Texas in
those days). Utility and home mortgage
payments were paid in cash at downtown offices; Mother was a planner, so she
coordinated bill paying with banking and shopping trips.
I quickly became acquainted with our next-door neighbors to the
east. Mr. Paul Coleman and his wife (Vivian) were bookkeepers, he at Axtell Company
and she at Connor Office Supply.
Their daughter, Geraldine, a year younger than I, was in Twila’s class
at Poly High; their son, Don, was six years younger, not yet in Junior High.
The Colemans raised poultry in their back yard. I don’t think they sold any chickens or
eggs, but their larder was provisioned with both. [Most city residents wouldn’t raise poultry in their back yards
today (residential codes might prohibit such activity), but we thought nothing
about it then. The depression was
easing, but many families still needed means of supplementing their incomes.]
They had no automobile until after WWII, so rode buses to work (or any
other place outside walking range).
Both Coleman parents were hard workers, however, and ultimately saved
enough funds to purchase “wheels.”
Their first car was a used pre-war Plymouth coupe, but it was replaced
in 1948 or 1949 by a “loaded” new maroon four-door Plymouth sedan, the best
looking car on our block.
The
Colemans landscaped their property nicely as they prospered, improving its
appearance and market value. They sold
their house on Avenue J and moved to a new home in Meadowbrook about the time Don
graduated from high school (1951).
Despite the age discrepancy between us, Don and I formed a lifetime
friendship during the nearly seven years I called 2909 Avenue J home. We saw each other
little during our working lives, but in post-retirement years he and his wife,
Barbara, periodically visited in our home until his death in 2003, and I helped
him with three expansion or renovation projects at their retirement home near
Quitman, Texas.
All my La Feria credits transferred to Poly High; I had won awards for
highest grade-averages in my Freshman/Sophomore/Junior classes, so no
transferability questions were raised. Although
all twelve credits transferred, I needed five more to graduate from Poly, which
required seventeen credits (compared to sixteen at La Feria); I was short one
credit because Physical Education, although required, had been non-credit at La
Feria, whereas a quarter-credit per year was awarded in Fort Worth
schools. I acquired the extra credit I
needed by taking five courses, but still had to take P.E., so had no study hall
period. I enjoyed P.E., but, having no
study hall, had to do all my homework outside school hours.
P.E. at
Poly was structured. We “dressed out”
in appropriate athletic attire and had lockers in which to store that
attire. Rigorous calesthenics each day
were followed by touch football, basketball, or (new to me) soccer. We played basketball in the school gym, also
a new experience for me (the only times I had previously been inside a gym were
as a spectator at basketball tournaments in Harlingen).
Very little time was left for showering and dressing when P.E. activity
concluded, so I was usually almost tardy for Miss Hope Stallings’ World
History class the next period. World
History, normally taken during one’s sophomore year, was required for
graduation from Poly High, but I hadn’t taken that course in La Feria, so took
it as a Poly High senior. I was in a
class with kids a year or two younger, although most were my equal, or greater,
in stature.
In addition to World History
under Miss Stallings, I took English under Mrs. Alma Barnett, Typing II under Miss Elsie Cathey, Algebra II under Miss Maurine Jennings, and Physics under Mr. K.W. Dunkelberg, who was noted for pop quizzes (“shotguns”) at the start of a class period. Shotgun scores comprised a significant
portion of Prof Dunkelberg’s grade computations, so one needed to be prepared
for each class session – we never knew what days shotguns were coming, but we
knew to expect one per week. His questions
had to be answered on a half-sheet of paper, thus brief, succinct answers were
desirable. Questions were usually, but
not always, about physics; one departure occurred when Prof asked students to
write the words of the third verse of our national anthem.
At some point during my year in Mr. Dunkelberg’s physics class I
composed the following doggerel, entitled “A SHOTGUN,” to share with nearby
students:
He saunters in with a wicked
look,
Every eye is glued to a physics
book;
He says as by the tables he doth
caper,
“I suppose you have a half-sheet
of paper.”
We all glance up with a look of
surprise,
The wicked gleam is still in his
eyes;
He gives two questions – fair not
one,
But that’s the nature of each
shotgun.
A dark, blank look crosses every face,
Bill finds the answers to set the
pace;
He’s the most popular boy in the
physics class,
He tells the answers so all can
pass.
Up and down the aisle Prof goes,
And takes the paper from under
each nose;
We wonder later what grades we’ll
get,
But no one’s peeked at his
grade-book yet.
The third verse doesn’t, as it
might appear, mean we cheated on Prof’s shotguns; we couldn’t cheat, for he
patrolled the aisles as we struggled over our answers. The meaning of the verse is a mystery to me
now; I can only speculate that, on occasion, Prof let us collaborate on our
answers.
I
can’t identify the popular “Bill” with certainty. William McClung and I sat at the same table, but I don’t
remember his being called “Bill” in those days; teachers tended to call us by
our formal names (I was Kenneth, he was William), so most classmates did the
same. He could have “fit the Bill,” for
he was (then and later) a popular guy; he played on the Poly High basketball
team, entered military service after graduation, married Martha Tolbert upon
his return home, became an educator, earned his doctorate, and eventually
served on the faculties of Weatherford College and Tarrant County College. Our paths ran parallel for a time in the
mid-‘50s when my family lived in Weatherford and attended First Baptist Church,
where his family attended.
Fortunately, I learned physics better than I composed poetry; I
received an ‘A’ both terms, and the principles of electricity learned then and
in college physics the next year enabled me to pass an aptitude test required
for entry in the Navy’s electronics training program when I faced induction
into military service.
The
highlight of my senior year involved taking/passing tests, but didn’t occur at school;
I took the written and driving exams necessary for acquisition of a driver’s
license soon after turning sixteen in September, so was finally legally able to
do something I had known how to do for over five years.
Mr. Dunkelberg and Miss Mary Love Dickinson, my
homeroom teacher, dealt differently, but equally effectively, with students
whom they caught leaning back in their chairs:
·
When Mr. Dunkelberg detected a student “rocking back” on
two legs of a chair or stool, he made that student stand behind the chair or
stool and hold it tilted forward – to even the wear on the legs.
·
Miss Dickinson also insisted we keep all four legs of our
chairs on the floor, even though she sometimes leaned her own chair against the
wall behind her. When we protested that
she was doing something she wouldn’t permit us to do, she responded, “Do as I
say do, not as I do.” That was the first time I ever heard that expression,
but not the last.
We were seated in alphabetical order in homeroom; Nelson Mitchell sat next to me. Nelson and I were later, purely by coincidence, in the same
electronics training classes at Navy schools in Chicago, Gulfport, and Corpus
Christi.
Nelson’s
dad managed the butcher shop at Leonard’s giant downtown operation. At some point Mr. Mitchell left Leonard’s to
open a department store in Poly; my understanding is that Nelson returned from
Navy service to join the family business, which grew into a small chain of
department stores. I don’t remember
seeing Nelson after our Corpus Christi days.
◊◊◊
My senior-year grades were in line with
those of the three years at LFHS. I
made an ‘A’ in every course except English literature, in which I made a ‘B’
under Mrs. Alma Barnett, a speech and drama teacher purportedly
pressed, during the fall semester, into teaching English; I had a different
English teacher (Mrs. D.F. Hornsby) for the spring semester (grammar and
composition), and received an ‘A.’ I
really deserved no more than a ‘B’ in English literature, for I’ve never
enjoyed Shakespeare, a fact undoubtedly perceived by Mrs. Barnett, who had a
much greater appreciation for the Bard of Avon than did the average high school
student – certainly more than I.
Therefore, I wasn’t unhappy with my grade (or, for that matter, with any
grades I
received in eleven years of public education); actually, I always suspected my
marks were probably higher than I deserved, a belief that continued through my
remaining years in educational institutions.
◊◊◊
Poly High’s large and talented band regularly performed at assemblies
in the school auditorium. “Wabash
Blues,” featuring a long tall saxophonist, was a favorite of the student
body. Another was a fantastic rendition
of “Der Fuhrer’s Face” (modeled after a popular
arrangement by “Spike Jones and His City Slickers”), wherein the band accompanied
a singer made up to look like Fuhrer Adolph Hitler; sung with a fake accent,
“Der Fuhrer’s Face” was relevant to the time
and the kids loved it:
Ven der Fuhrer says, “Ve are de
Master race,”
Ve “Heil, Heil!” right in der Fuhrer’s
face,
Not to love der Fuhrer is a great disgrace,
So ve “Heil, Heil!” right in der
Fuhrer’s face.
Ven Herr Goebbels says, “Ve own
der vorld and space,”
Ve “Heil, Heil!” right in Herr
Goebbels face,
Ven Herr Goring says, “They’ll
never bomb this place,”
Ve “Heil, Heil!” right in Herr
Goring’s face.
Are ve not der supermen,
Aryan-pure supermen?
Ja, ve are der supermen,
super-duper supermen!
Ist dis Nazi land so good, vould
ve leave it if ve could?
Ja, dis Nazi land ist good, Ve vould
leave it if ve could!
Ve bring to der vorld new order,
Heil! Hitler’s vorld disorder,
Everyone of foreign race vill
“Heil” der Fuhrer’s face,
Ven ve bring to der vorld
disorder.
Ven der Fuhrer says, “Ve are der
Master race,”
Ve “Heil, Heil!” right in der
Fuhrer’s face,
Not to love der Fuhrer is a great disgrace,
So ve “Heil, Heil!” right in der
Fuhrer’s face.
Music such as “Wabash Blues” and “Der Fuhrer’s Face” provoked
boisterous applause. Boys wanted to
whistle loudly in demonstrating their approval, but whistling was forbidden by
our principal (Mr. Joe Moore), so wills conflicted; Mr. Moore prevailed, for he
had authority to deal with unapproved behavior. (Mr. Moore later became superintendent of the Fort Worth school
system.)
The band also performed at Poly’s sports events. I went to (1) all of Poly’s home football
games (played at Farrington Field, located at the intersection of University
Boulevard and West Lancaster in west Fort Worth) and (2) basketball games
played in the Poly gym.
◊◊◊
I graduated from Poly High at the end of May, 1943. I was five feet three inches tall, weighed
108 pounds, and was four months away from my seventeenth birthday. I wasn’t yet old enough for military
service, but its likelihood was underscored at graduation exercises when
numerous diplomas were awarded to young men “in absentia” – guys who had
already “joined up” with Uncle Sam. My
time was also coming!
Sonny Munden’s time had come.
He joined the U.S. Marine Corps, and his boss, Mr. Sam Estes, needed a replacement at his downtown parking lot on East Second Street, across Main Street from Stripling’s
department store. Mr. Estes (a family
acquaintance at church and father of Betty Estes, one of Twila’s best friends)
called me shortly before school was out and told me he needed someone to
replace Sonny, and offered me the job.
I accepted his offer, and went to work immediately after graduating from
Poly High.
[Mr. Estes
served a hitch in the Marine Corps as a young man. I never thought to ask whether he influenced Sonny’s decision to
volunteer for the Marines instead of waiting to be drafted and assigned to
whichever branch of service the induction center might choose – Army infantry
being the likeliest.]
I spent the summer of 1943 parking/unparking cars, ten hours per day
(8:00 AM until 6:00 PM), six days per week.
Mr. Estes and I ate on the run, for customers arrived and departed
throughout each day. We were on our
feet most of the time, in intense heat, but occasional enjoyable, even humorous
events punctuated the summer discomfort:
·
Most of our customers were super-nice; some, like one naval
officer, always impeccable in his dress white uniform, proffered generous tips.
·
Mr. Estes regaled me with stories from (1) his days in the
Marines, (2) his early jobs, and (3) happenings on his parking lot. I recall two in particular – one serious,
one humorous:
- In 1926 he had a less-than-pleasant
on-the-job run-in with D.E. Chipps, a man killed shortly thereafter by Dr. J.
Frank Norris, pastor of First Baptist
Church. Dr. Norris was charged with
murder, but was acquitted; he claimed self-defense. The case had political overtones, for Mr. Chipps was a friend of
Fort Worth’s mayor, a political enemy of Dr. Norris. (I’ve wondered since if Mr. Chipps’ untimely demise caused Mr.
Estes to regret the strong words he had used during the run-in, or whether he
thought the man had gotten what he deserved for his type of character; I
suspect it may have been the latter, though he didn’t say so.)
- A humorous on-the-job occurrence he
described involved a driver stopping his four-door sedan across a pedestrian
walkway at the intersection of East Second and Main; an irritated pedestrian
opened the right rear door of the car, walked through, opened the left door and
exited, leaving both doors standing open.
·
Traffic tie-ups out front on Second (a one-way west street)
were occasionally caused by drivers improperly turning eastward off Main
Street. The congestion was greatest
when the driver wanted to turn into our parking lot, but found himself on the
far side of the street headed toward oncoming traffic in all lanes; horns blew
and gestures flew, but mix-ups usually worked themselves out after a minute or
two.
·
Some vehicles had interesting new variations from
conventional clutches and manual gear-shifts characteristic of all cars
manufactured before the ‘40s. Chrysler
and DeSoto offered an optional fluid drive that could be shifted without use of the clutch once the vehicle
was in motion. Oldsmobile (a GM
product) offered its optional hydramatic transmission, the technological
forerunner of today’s automatics. We
enjoyed the different “feel” of the new transmissions.
·
A Nash automobile with a defective emergency brake
presented a challenge for us if its driver stopped on our inclined driveway,
killed the engine, and left it in gear to keep it from rolling backwards. One could have an interesting time
attempting to restart the engine and get the car moving forward before it
rolled backward into East Second traffic, because the starter was activated by
depressing the clutch pedal. I soon
learned to ask Nash drivers to pull their cars forward (onto the level surface)
before killing the engine and exiting.
I was paid $18 for my sixty hours worked each week; the pay was low, even
for that time, but I doubt whether Mr. Estes could have paid me more had he so
desired, because of wartime wage and price controls. Regardless, the pay beat that of unemployment. I saved most of my earnings, because I was
living at home with my parents; my operating costs consisted of transportation
and lunch each workday (city bus tokens were three for twenty-five cents and sandwiches could be purchased
for twenty-five cents or less).
◊◊◊
The summer’s work left me in pretty good shape physically, for I was on
the run much of every day, backing cars into narrow slots without the benefit
of power steering, all under a hot Texas sun.
I wasn’t much bigger than I was at the start of the summer, but I was
stronger.
◊◊◊
My job performance must have been satisfactory, for Mr. Estes asked me
to work during the Christmas holidays that winter; then years later, after I
had completed military service and college and was working Mondays through
Fridays on a full-time job, he asked me to work Saturdays in Stripling’s new
multistory parking facility he and Buster Perrin, another Poly Baptist
acquaintance, operated. I worked a
number of Saturdays before job and personal commitments demanded an end to my
parking career, which I completed without having dented, or otherwise damaged,
any customer’s vehicle.