EARLY YEARS -1945 - 1959
On April 28, 1945, I was born in the LDS Hospital in Salt Lake City, Utah. I was born to Melvin Brent Richards and Margaret Jean (Marjean) Elggren Richards. At that time. Mom and Dad were living in her Dad's home at 1372 Yale Avenue in Salt Lake City. They had moved there in 1943 at the request of Mom's Dad, when her mother took ill. Her mother, Flossie Elggren, passed away in November of that year but Mom and Dad stayed at the Yale Avenue home to take care of Mom's Dad whom we called Dad Elggren. According to Dad's history, these living arrangements were very helpful as it was during World War II and rations for food and gas were scarce. When they all pooled their food and gas stamps they could make ends meet.
When I was one years old, Dad got an offer to move to Bakersfield, California to be the office manager for a branch office of the International Harvester Co. According to Dad, "It was with a sense of adventure that I headed off to California to make my fortune." Once he was able to find a home to rent, he sent for his family which consisted of Mom, my older sister, Sonnie, and myself. Mom wasn't real thrilled to be moving so far away from her family in Utah but Dad promised her they would return to Utah someday. (This never happened as Dad, at 101 years old, is still living in Bakersfield.) In a letter, Mom wrote home to her Dad about me. She said, "...You wouldn't know Shirley. She is getting so big and so cute. Right now I am trying to (potty) train her and it's a matter of who gives in first, me, Shirley, or the finish on the floors."
Memories I have of that home in Bakersfield, which was on Bedford Way, include a long steep driveway. I remember being pulled down it (or maybe pushed) as I sat in a little red wagon. The slope was steep enough that the wagon got going so fast it tipped over, throwing me out onto the street. I cut my heal and had to go to the doctor's office to get 5 stitches. That driveway was also a source of sadness, one Sunday evening, when my Dad was leaving for a meeting. Because of the steepness of the driveway, he didn't see our dog, Penney, sitting on the driveway behind his car. He proceeded to back out and ran right over Penney. He rushed her to the vet but later we found out that the vet couldn't save her and had to put her to sleep. We all cried hard that night as Penney was part of the family.
One memory of that time in my life was my dark brown teddy bear. My mom told me that I carried it around with me faithfully even when it lost an ear. We were inseparable and pictures of me at that time confirm that.
Another memory in the Bedford house was an earthquake. I remember waking up in the middle of the night feeling my bed shaking. I can't remember if I got out of bed or if Dad came and got me but I remember carefully walking down the hallway into Mom and Dad's room. They helped both Sonnie and I understand what was going on. I don't think anything was damaged but that was my first experience with earthquakes.....but it wouldn't be my last. In 1952, an earthquake destroyed many parts of Bakersfield, including the International Harvester building where Dad worked. We had left Bakersfield early that morning for a vacation when we heard the news of the devastating earthquake. We immediately turned the car around and drove back to Bakersfield. Dad found that the top floor of his building had collapsed and fallen into the basement, complete with all the harvesting equipment that had been on display. There was one death as a result of that collapse. A hard time for Dad and his company, as well as the residents of Bakersfield.
Probably my favorite memory of living on Bedford Way was Christmas. Each year, tradition meant that Dad would find the biggest, most perfect Christmas tree. If it wasn't exactly perfect he would bring home extra branches, drill holes into the trunk of the tree and secure the extra branches in the drilled holes. When he finished it was the most symmetrical tree around. We would then decorate the tree with colored lights, beautiful glass ornaments, and tinsel. The tinsel was made of heavy foil and each strand had to be hung individually. This was Dad's responsibility as he was the only one with the patience to do it. The rest of us would have just thrown them on and hope they caught hold. Needless to say, when the tree was done, it was magnificent. We loved turning off all the lights, except for the tree lights, and sitting around admiring the beauty of the tree. Mom always made a snowy Christmas village scene on our mantel over the fireplace. Above the village, she would put bluing all over the big mirror that hung there . Next she would glue tiny stars all over the bluing. Her last step was to secured a small picture of Santa and his sleigh and reindeer onto the mirror so it looked as if they were flying across the sky over the village. It was magical to me, as a young girl. Somehow, on Christmas morning, we would always wake to mountains of presents under the tree to be unwrapped. Dad always appreciated the Christmas bonuses he would receive so we could have a joyous Christmas.
My best friend, Sue Wilson, lived in the house right behind our house. It was an easy walk to the back of my yard, climb the fence that separated our properties, and walk through Sue's backyard to her house. We played all the time together. Her Dad was the Branch President of our small Oildale Branch of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. He called my Dad to be one of his counselors. For church, we met in a rented store on North Chester Avenue for Sunday School and Sacrament Meeting. Dad recalls, "We had Sunday school meeting in the store and then we took our class members to our homes for class. When it rained, we had to put buckets on the floor of the hall to hold the leaking water." That small branch became the Bakersfield Third Ward when the Bakersfield Stake was later organized.
Dad wrote of an experience they had with me when I was quite young. He said, "One of the big events of the Bakersfield District of the Los Angeles Mission was to have a picnic at the Hart Park on Memorial Day. We would start in the morning and stay all day. One such occasion gave us a grave concern. There was a canal running alongside of the location of the picnic. On this occasion, we let the kiddies out of the car and they ran to play with their friends who were down by the canal. We watched them cross the bridge and then we saw Shirley start down the opposite bank at full speed. Marjean and I shouted for her to stop and we began to run toward her. Shirley went down the bank but couldn't stop and in the water she went. I crossed the bridge and started down the bank but Marjean went down the bank on our side, crossed into the water, and pulled Shirley out as she was floating on her back. Non the worse for the experience but we will never forget the panic we felt." We spent many a holiday at Hart Park, especially in the hot summers, as there were large trees to provide us much needed shade.
I also remember Mom would take us shopping in downtown Bakersfield. She was used to downtown Salt Lake City where you were expected to wear dresses, heels, hats and gloves to go shopping. Each time we went shopping with her, in Bakersfield, at least for the first few times, she would insist we all dress up as if we were going to church. There wasn't much to downtown Bakersfield, compared to Salt Lake City, the main store being Brock's department store. (Eventually, when I was a bit older, a Fedway department store came in which carried much less expensive clothing items.) It wasn't too long before Mom quit wearing dress clothes to shop and we spent most of our time in Fedway, as it fit our tighter budget.
During our time in our first home in Bakersfield, my little sister, Deon was born. She came into the world in January of 1948 and then my brother, Edward Brent whom we called Eddie, was born two years later in 1950. We were a happy little family.
We moved from our home on Bedford Way, in the early 50's, to a home on Barnett Street, 5 blocks from Bedford Way. It was a home built on a piece of property just across the street from where our new chapel would be constructed. Our home was built first, on a donated lot, and by donated labor, in order to raise money for the building of our new church building. Dad took out a loan of $12,000 over 20 years and his monthly house payment was $27.50. I suspect that part of that initial loan went into building the chapel in exchange for the donated lot and labor.
Memories of living on Barnett street include Dad's frolics. He would lie on the floor, on his back with his knees bent. One at a time, we would run to him, bend ourselves over his knees, and tuck our head into his stomach. He would then raise us off the floor as he straightened his legs and lifted them toward the ceiling. He would then flip us over his head with his arms until we landed on the floor above his head. It was something his father used to do with him and his brothers. We loved it and were sad when we got too big for him to 'frolic' with us.
In 1955, after we moved into the new home, my twin brothers were born. Darrell Wayne and David Glen were a handful, for sure, but I loved coming home from school to help take care of them. Often Dad would get up in the middle of the night to feed both of them so Mom could get her rest. It was a challenging time for both Dad and Mom, trying to take care of two newborn babies at the same time. They were always tired from lack of sleep. I remember for the longest time the twins slept in the same crib, one at each end of the mattress. Two year and half year after their birth, Donald Gene was born, the last of our seven siblings.
I had started school by the time we moved and the elementary school I went to was just a few blocks up the street. It was called Highland Elementary school and was a brand new school. One of the memories I have of Highland Elementary is having to go to school with my hands bandaged with gauze to cover up the awful smelling, yellow 'Cappilaris X' medicine that Mom would put on my hands to control the eczema with which I was plagued. My hands would crack, especially on my fingers, which was quite painful when I moved them. The medicine helped to keep them moist and heal the cracks. Not a favorite memory. (As I got older the eczema got better, for the most part, but had left my hands feeling rough to the touch. I always avoided shaking hands with people because I was self conscious of my hands.)
My best friends at school were Sue Wilson, Harry Dahl, and Fred Rappleye. We were the only members of the church, our age, at our school so we kind of stuck together. I remember, as friends, we would bring packages of cool aid to school and, during recess, eat the cool aid with our fingers. It was yummy and sweet but left our fingers stained with the color of the cool aid.
My Mom seemed to love to perm the girls' hair every few months. She would do this at home with perm curlers and home permanent kits available at the grocery store - hence I was the slightly chubby girl with dark, curly hair in the neighborhood. Probably because of my weight and feeling less than pretty, I was especially shy when it came to getting my picture taken. My Dad had bought a movie camera, complete with a light bar, so he was always taking movie pictures of our family. Most of the shots of me are of my back as I ran away or ducked out of the line of the camera lens.
To me, my sister Sonnie was always perfect. She was pretty and popular. We argued a lot over the dishes and over clothes. I wanted to wear her gathered skirts and she wouldn't let me. We were 4 year apart in age so we didn't have a lot in common which probably explains why she didn't want me to wear her clothes or to have much to do with me. After our arguments, I would often go outside in our backyard and pretend to be important and famous. I would try and convince myself that someday I would be the BEST in the world at doing something. The only talent I could see in myself, at the tender age of 10, was that I could make a good chocolate cookie. That is when I determined I would become BEST chocolate chip cookie maker in the world....anything to convince myself I was of value. Pretty sad to be that lacking in self esteem but that was often me at this age.
When we were young, we only had radios to entertain us. Our favorite radio show was 'The Shadow.' It was aired on Sunday nights and we'd all gather around the radio to listen to the mystery of 'The Shadow' unfold. It wasn't until my sister was a teenager, in the late 50's, that television came into our home. Our first set was a big box cabinet with a small black and white screen. We thought it was the neatest thing to be able to watch the actions of people, rather then just listening to their voices. I remember the Ed Sullivan show, a talent show of young and promising artists. I can especially remember when Elvis Presly was spotlighted. It was the first 'rock 'n roll' kind of music broadcasted. I remember my sister going crazy in front of the TV as she watched Elvis's antics while he sang. The Beatles singing group weren't too far behind Elvis and again she would go crazy over them.
Another memory I have at this time was that I hated peas and Mom quite often served them, much to my dismay. Because she and Dad would insist that we eat everything on our plates, I would save the peas for last, stuff them all in my mouth, clear my plate from the table, proceed out the back door, and spit my peas into a bush off the back porch. Our dog, Tyke, was another way to get rid of our food off our plates that we didn't care for.
Speaking of food, every Sunday afternoon between Sunday School in the morning and Sacrament meeting in the evening, Mom would fix us a big Sunday dinner. It often consisted of pot roast, rump roast, or leg of lamb complete with potatoes and gravy, vegetables, and a salad. It was something we looked forward to each week. We would eat this dinner in our formal dining room on the mahogany table covered with a lace tablecloth. We often used Mom's good china, too. I remember on one Sunday, Mom decided to try a new vegetable - brussel sprouts. Deon, my younger sister, and I could not even bring ourselves to take one bite. Mom was insistent that we eat them and so we sat at the table for what seemed like hours. Tyke wasn't around to feed them to and I couldn't bare to put them in my mouth to go spit them out off the back porch so we were at a stand off. I don't remember exactly what happened by we probably compromised and had to take at least one bite before we could be excused from the table. I can remember a similar thing happening when Mom serve artichokes. She showed us how to eat them and I was sure she was trying to poison us when she said not to eat the upper part of the leaves because they were poisonous.
Another food memory was coming home from school and being greeted by the wonderful aroma of fresh baked bread. Mom would time it just right, about once a week, to have the bread come out of the oven as we were arriving home. We would run into the house and beg for a piece, often fighting over the heel of the loaf.
One of our favorite things to do was to go on drives in the car as a family. We would do this often on Sunday afternoons. We would all pile in the car and drive around the city for a while. We loved it, especially, when Dad would surprise us and stop at the Carnation Ice Shop so we could all have an ice cream cone. Those were my favorite Sundays. One more memory of Sundays was eating canned peaches and toast for a snack after Sacrament meeting. Mom canned lots of peaches each summer so we could eat them all the rest of the year. When we ran out of peaches, we would resort to bread and milk for our Sunday night snack.
Christmas on Barnett Street didn't change much.....the tree was always beautiful. There were always lots of presents under the tree, and Mom would still decorate the mirror, though, now there was not a mantle on which to put the village scene. Instead, she settled on painting a full Christmas picture on the mirror. Besides painting the mirror, she now had a big bay window in the front of the house on which she would paint another Christmas scene. We loved watching her and especially loved the finished creation. Christmas Eve always meant sitting down to our Christmas dinner of rice pudding and sweet rolls. We all hated it but it was Mom's Swedish tradition. We would fill up on sweet rolls from Smith's bakery and that was our dinner. Later on, Mom gave in to our complaints and we started having a turkey dinner, instead, much to our delight. Following dinner, we would always have a program of our limited talents and Dad would read the Christmas story from Luke. As we would, then, begin to sing Christmas carols, the doorbell would ring and we all knew it was Santa delivering his yearly Christmas letter to us. We would anxiously run to the door, hoping to catch Santa or one of his elves but we never did. We would all gather around Dad as he read us the long letter from Santa. There was always a funny story about Santa and his elves or reindeer. And always we heard from Mrs. Claus as she reminded Santa that he needed to get going if he was to make it to all the children's homes around the world. Each child in our family had a spotlight paragraph in which Santa told us if we'd been good enough to get the presents he was bringing us. (We loved this tradition and each of us have passed it onto our children who now do a Santa letter for their children.) We always opened presents from our grandparents which was something small, like a hundred pennies. The last thing we would do, before family prayer and going to bed, was to unwrap and put on our new pajamas. Of course, sleep was impossible but we were forbidden to come into the living room once we were put to bed. We now know it was because Dad and Mom were frantically wrapping presents, filling stockings, and getting everything ready for our appearance the next morning. The morning came early, much to Mom and Dad's chagrin, as they often had just gotten to bed as the sun rose. Of course, we were in their bedroom, begging to go into the living room at the crack of dawn. After what seemed like an eternity, we would all line up in the hallway, youngest to oldest. Dad would go in and turn on the Christmas tree lights and then let us in to see what Santa had left under the tree. Often our big presents were left unwrapped with our name on them. Other presents were under the tree from Rudolph and Mrs. Claus and even Santa's elves. Often the presents lacked boxes and sometimes were wrapped in anything available, even toilet paper tubes. By Christmas afternoon, we were all dressed in our new clothes and piling into the car to go visit the Dahls and the Bulkeleys. This was a tradition. We would go to their homes and they would come to ours to share in the joy of the season. Mom would have baked her famous applesauce cake (a dense bread with raisins and nuts) to give to our friends.
For junior high school, I went to Standard Junior High, located on Chester Avenue. It was an old school and had several portable classrooms at the back of the school. I played the flute in the band for one year but gave that up to be on the school newspaper staff. My eight grade year I ran for Editor of the paper but lost to Janet Bowersox. I was devastated but continued to work hard to make the paper a success. There were many late afternoon and early evenings where we stayed at school to meet our deadlines. I remember one week we were allowed to be involved in the publishing of the Oildale news, a small local paper. We would spend hours after school at the newspaper office to help publish the paper. It was a great experience. Junior High was a growing experience for me. I think I gained a little more self confidence as I participated in the activities at school.
And then there was High School...…..
When I was one years old, Dad got an offer to move to Bakersfield, California to be the office manager for a branch office of the International Harvester Co. According to Dad, "It was with a sense of adventure that I headed off to California to make my fortune." Once he was able to find a home to rent, he sent for his family which consisted of Mom, my older sister, Sonnie, and myself. Mom wasn't real thrilled to be moving so far away from her family in Utah but Dad promised her they would return to Utah someday. (This never happened as Dad, at 101 years old, is still living in Bakersfield.) In a letter, Mom wrote home to her Dad about me. She said, "...You wouldn't know Shirley. She is getting so big and so cute. Right now I am trying to (potty) train her and it's a matter of who gives in first, me, Shirley, or the finish on the floors."
Memories I have of that home in Bakersfield, which was on Bedford Way, include a long steep driveway. I remember being pulled down it (or maybe pushed) as I sat in a little red wagon. The slope was steep enough that the wagon got going so fast it tipped over, throwing me out onto the street. I cut my heal and had to go to the doctor's office to get 5 stitches. That driveway was also a source of sadness, one Sunday evening, when my Dad was leaving for a meeting. Because of the steepness of the driveway, he didn't see our dog, Penney, sitting on the driveway behind his car. He proceeded to back out and ran right over Penney. He rushed her to the vet but later we found out that the vet couldn't save her and had to put her to sleep. We all cried hard that night as Penney was part of the family.
One memory of that time in my life was my dark brown teddy bear. My mom told me that I carried it around with me faithfully even when it lost an ear. We were inseparable and pictures of me at that time confirm that.
Another memory in the Bedford house was an earthquake. I remember waking up in the middle of the night feeling my bed shaking. I can't remember if I got out of bed or if Dad came and got me but I remember carefully walking down the hallway into Mom and Dad's room. They helped both Sonnie and I understand what was going on. I don't think anything was damaged but that was my first experience with earthquakes.....but it wouldn't be my last. In 1952, an earthquake destroyed many parts of Bakersfield, including the International Harvester building where Dad worked. We had left Bakersfield early that morning for a vacation when we heard the news of the devastating earthquake. We immediately turned the car around and drove back to Bakersfield. Dad found that the top floor of his building had collapsed and fallen into the basement, complete with all the harvesting equipment that had been on display. There was one death as a result of that collapse. A hard time for Dad and his company, as well as the residents of Bakersfield.
Probably my favorite memory of living on Bedford Way was Christmas. Each year, tradition meant that Dad would find the biggest, most perfect Christmas tree. If it wasn't exactly perfect he would bring home extra branches, drill holes into the trunk of the tree and secure the extra branches in the drilled holes. When he finished it was the most symmetrical tree around. We would then decorate the tree with colored lights, beautiful glass ornaments, and tinsel. The tinsel was made of heavy foil and each strand had to be hung individually. This was Dad's responsibility as he was the only one with the patience to do it. The rest of us would have just thrown them on and hope they caught hold. Needless to say, when the tree was done, it was magnificent. We loved turning off all the lights, except for the tree lights, and sitting around admiring the beauty of the tree. Mom always made a snowy Christmas village scene on our mantel over the fireplace. Above the village, she would put bluing all over the big mirror that hung there . Next she would glue tiny stars all over the bluing. Her last step was to secured a small picture of Santa and his sleigh and reindeer onto the mirror so it looked as if they were flying across the sky over the village. It was magical to me, as a young girl. Somehow, on Christmas morning, we would always wake to mountains of presents under the tree to be unwrapped. Dad always appreciated the Christmas bonuses he would receive so we could have a joyous Christmas.
My best friend, Sue Wilson, lived in the house right behind our house. It was an easy walk to the back of my yard, climb the fence that separated our properties, and walk through Sue's backyard to her house. We played all the time together. Her Dad was the Branch President of our small Oildale Branch of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. He called my Dad to be one of his counselors. For church, we met in a rented store on North Chester Avenue for Sunday School and Sacrament Meeting. Dad recalls, "We had Sunday school meeting in the store and then we took our class members to our homes for class. When it rained, we had to put buckets on the floor of the hall to hold the leaking water." That small branch became the Bakersfield Third Ward when the Bakersfield Stake was later organized.
Dad wrote of an experience they had with me when I was quite young. He said, "One of the big events of the Bakersfield District of the Los Angeles Mission was to have a picnic at the Hart Park on Memorial Day. We would start in the morning and stay all day. One such occasion gave us a grave concern. There was a canal running alongside of the location of the picnic. On this occasion, we let the kiddies out of the car and they ran to play with their friends who were down by the canal. We watched them cross the bridge and then we saw Shirley start down the opposite bank at full speed. Marjean and I shouted for her to stop and we began to run toward her. Shirley went down the bank but couldn't stop and in the water she went. I crossed the bridge and started down the bank but Marjean went down the bank on our side, crossed into the water, and pulled Shirley out as she was floating on her back. Non the worse for the experience but we will never forget the panic we felt." We spent many a holiday at Hart Park, especially in the hot summers, as there were large trees to provide us much needed shade.
I also remember Mom would take us shopping in downtown Bakersfield. She was used to downtown Salt Lake City where you were expected to wear dresses, heels, hats and gloves to go shopping. Each time we went shopping with her, in Bakersfield, at least for the first few times, she would insist we all dress up as if we were going to church. There wasn't much to downtown Bakersfield, compared to Salt Lake City, the main store being Brock's department store. (Eventually, when I was a bit older, a Fedway department store came in which carried much less expensive clothing items.) It wasn't too long before Mom quit wearing dress clothes to shop and we spent most of our time in Fedway, as it fit our tighter budget.
During our time in our first home in Bakersfield, my little sister, Deon was born. She came into the world in January of 1948 and then my brother, Edward Brent whom we called Eddie, was born two years later in 1950. We were a happy little family.
We moved from our home on Bedford Way, in the early 50's, to a home on Barnett Street, 5 blocks from Bedford Way. It was a home built on a piece of property just across the street from where our new chapel would be constructed. Our home was built first, on a donated lot, and by donated labor, in order to raise money for the building of our new church building. Dad took out a loan of $12,000 over 20 years and his monthly house payment was $27.50. I suspect that part of that initial loan went into building the chapel in exchange for the donated lot and labor.
Memories of living on Barnett street include Dad's frolics. He would lie on the floor, on his back with his knees bent. One at a time, we would run to him, bend ourselves over his knees, and tuck our head into his stomach. He would then raise us off the floor as he straightened his legs and lifted them toward the ceiling. He would then flip us over his head with his arms until we landed on the floor above his head. It was something his father used to do with him and his brothers. We loved it and were sad when we got too big for him to 'frolic' with us.
In 1955, after we moved into the new home, my twin brothers were born. Darrell Wayne and David Glen were a handful, for sure, but I loved coming home from school to help take care of them. Often Dad would get up in the middle of the night to feed both of them so Mom could get her rest. It was a challenging time for both Dad and Mom, trying to take care of two newborn babies at the same time. They were always tired from lack of sleep. I remember for the longest time the twins slept in the same crib, one at each end of the mattress. Two year and half year after their birth, Donald Gene was born, the last of our seven siblings.
I had started school by the time we moved and the elementary school I went to was just a few blocks up the street. It was called Highland Elementary school and was a brand new school. One of the memories I have of Highland Elementary is having to go to school with my hands bandaged with gauze to cover up the awful smelling, yellow 'Cappilaris X' medicine that Mom would put on my hands to control the eczema with which I was plagued. My hands would crack, especially on my fingers, which was quite painful when I moved them. The medicine helped to keep them moist and heal the cracks. Not a favorite memory. (As I got older the eczema got better, for the most part, but had left my hands feeling rough to the touch. I always avoided shaking hands with people because I was self conscious of my hands.)
My best friends at school were Sue Wilson, Harry Dahl, and Fred Rappleye. We were the only members of the church, our age, at our school so we kind of stuck together. I remember, as friends, we would bring packages of cool aid to school and, during recess, eat the cool aid with our fingers. It was yummy and sweet but left our fingers stained with the color of the cool aid.
My Mom seemed to love to perm the girls' hair every few months. She would do this at home with perm curlers and home permanent kits available at the grocery store - hence I was the slightly chubby girl with dark, curly hair in the neighborhood. Probably because of my weight and feeling less than pretty, I was especially shy when it came to getting my picture taken. My Dad had bought a movie camera, complete with a light bar, so he was always taking movie pictures of our family. Most of the shots of me are of my back as I ran away or ducked out of the line of the camera lens.
To me, my sister Sonnie was always perfect. She was pretty and popular. We argued a lot over the dishes and over clothes. I wanted to wear her gathered skirts and she wouldn't let me. We were 4 year apart in age so we didn't have a lot in common which probably explains why she didn't want me to wear her clothes or to have much to do with me. After our arguments, I would often go outside in our backyard and pretend to be important and famous. I would try and convince myself that someday I would be the BEST in the world at doing something. The only talent I could see in myself, at the tender age of 10, was that I could make a good chocolate cookie. That is when I determined I would become BEST chocolate chip cookie maker in the world....anything to convince myself I was of value. Pretty sad to be that lacking in self esteem but that was often me at this age.
When we were young, we only had radios to entertain us. Our favorite radio show was 'The Shadow.' It was aired on Sunday nights and we'd all gather around the radio to listen to the mystery of 'The Shadow' unfold. It wasn't until my sister was a teenager, in the late 50's, that television came into our home. Our first set was a big box cabinet with a small black and white screen. We thought it was the neatest thing to be able to watch the actions of people, rather then just listening to their voices. I remember the Ed Sullivan show, a talent show of young and promising artists. I can especially remember when Elvis Presly was spotlighted. It was the first 'rock 'n roll' kind of music broadcasted. I remember my sister going crazy in front of the TV as she watched Elvis's antics while he sang. The Beatles singing group weren't too far behind Elvis and again she would go crazy over them.
Another memory I have at this time was that I hated peas and Mom quite often served them, much to my dismay. Because she and Dad would insist that we eat everything on our plates, I would save the peas for last, stuff them all in my mouth, clear my plate from the table, proceed out the back door, and spit my peas into a bush off the back porch. Our dog, Tyke, was another way to get rid of our food off our plates that we didn't care for.
Speaking of food, every Sunday afternoon between Sunday School in the morning and Sacrament meeting in the evening, Mom would fix us a big Sunday dinner. It often consisted of pot roast, rump roast, or leg of lamb complete with potatoes and gravy, vegetables, and a salad. It was something we looked forward to each week. We would eat this dinner in our formal dining room on the mahogany table covered with a lace tablecloth. We often used Mom's good china, too. I remember on one Sunday, Mom decided to try a new vegetable - brussel sprouts. Deon, my younger sister, and I could not even bring ourselves to take one bite. Mom was insistent that we eat them and so we sat at the table for what seemed like hours. Tyke wasn't around to feed them to and I couldn't bare to put them in my mouth to go spit them out off the back porch so we were at a stand off. I don't remember exactly what happened by we probably compromised and had to take at least one bite before we could be excused from the table. I can remember a similar thing happening when Mom serve artichokes. She showed us how to eat them and I was sure she was trying to poison us when she said not to eat the upper part of the leaves because they were poisonous.
Another food memory was coming home from school and being greeted by the wonderful aroma of fresh baked bread. Mom would time it just right, about once a week, to have the bread come out of the oven as we were arriving home. We would run into the house and beg for a piece, often fighting over the heel of the loaf.
One of our favorite things to do was to go on drives in the car as a family. We would do this often on Sunday afternoons. We would all pile in the car and drive around the city for a while. We loved it, especially, when Dad would surprise us and stop at the Carnation Ice Shop so we could all have an ice cream cone. Those were my favorite Sundays. One more memory of Sundays was eating canned peaches and toast for a snack after Sacrament meeting. Mom canned lots of peaches each summer so we could eat them all the rest of the year. When we ran out of peaches, we would resort to bread and milk for our Sunday night snack.
Christmas on Barnett Street didn't change much.....the tree was always beautiful. There were always lots of presents under the tree, and Mom would still decorate the mirror, though, now there was not a mantle on which to put the village scene. Instead, she settled on painting a full Christmas picture on the mirror. Besides painting the mirror, she now had a big bay window in the front of the house on which she would paint another Christmas scene. We loved watching her and especially loved the finished creation. Christmas Eve always meant sitting down to our Christmas dinner of rice pudding and sweet rolls. We all hated it but it was Mom's Swedish tradition. We would fill up on sweet rolls from Smith's bakery and that was our dinner. Later on, Mom gave in to our complaints and we started having a turkey dinner, instead, much to our delight. Following dinner, we would always have a program of our limited talents and Dad would read the Christmas story from Luke. As we would, then, begin to sing Christmas carols, the doorbell would ring and we all knew it was Santa delivering his yearly Christmas letter to us. We would anxiously run to the door, hoping to catch Santa or one of his elves but we never did. We would all gather around Dad as he read us the long letter from Santa. There was always a funny story about Santa and his elves or reindeer. And always we heard from Mrs. Claus as she reminded Santa that he needed to get going if he was to make it to all the children's homes around the world. Each child in our family had a spotlight paragraph in which Santa told us if we'd been good enough to get the presents he was bringing us. (We loved this tradition and each of us have passed it onto our children who now do a Santa letter for their children.) We always opened presents from our grandparents which was something small, like a hundred pennies. The last thing we would do, before family prayer and going to bed, was to unwrap and put on our new pajamas. Of course, sleep was impossible but we were forbidden to come into the living room once we were put to bed. We now know it was because Dad and Mom were frantically wrapping presents, filling stockings, and getting everything ready for our appearance the next morning. The morning came early, much to Mom and Dad's chagrin, as they often had just gotten to bed as the sun rose. Of course, we were in their bedroom, begging to go into the living room at the crack of dawn. After what seemed like an eternity, we would all line up in the hallway, youngest to oldest. Dad would go in and turn on the Christmas tree lights and then let us in to see what Santa had left under the tree. Often our big presents were left unwrapped with our name on them. Other presents were under the tree from Rudolph and Mrs. Claus and even Santa's elves. Often the presents lacked boxes and sometimes were wrapped in anything available, even toilet paper tubes. By Christmas afternoon, we were all dressed in our new clothes and piling into the car to go visit the Dahls and the Bulkeleys. This was a tradition. We would go to their homes and they would come to ours to share in the joy of the season. Mom would have baked her famous applesauce cake (a dense bread with raisins and nuts) to give to our friends.
For junior high school, I went to Standard Junior High, located on Chester Avenue. It was an old school and had several portable classrooms at the back of the school. I played the flute in the band for one year but gave that up to be on the school newspaper staff. My eight grade year I ran for Editor of the paper but lost to Janet Bowersox. I was devastated but continued to work hard to make the paper a success. There were many late afternoon and early evenings where we stayed at school to meet our deadlines. I remember one week we were allowed to be involved in the publishing of the Oildale news, a small local paper. We would spend hours after school at the newspaper office to help publish the paper. It was a great experience. Junior High was a growing experience for me. I think I gained a little more self confidence as I participated in the activities at school.
And then there was High School...…..
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