As I Remember It

As I Remember Itby Georgia A. Dorsey

As I Remember ItCopyright © 2017 by Georgia A. DorseyFirst Printing: 2017Dorcom CommunicationsAll rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used inany manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher exceptfor the use of brief quotations in a book review or scholarly journalby Georgia A. Dorsey

As I Remember It AS I REMEMBER ITby Georgia A. Dorsey

As I Remember It FOREWORD FORWARD THIS WORK IS DEDICATED TO THE ONES I LOVE. For most of you the reference above will be obscure, as youwill be too young to remember the song from which I sobrazenly stole the line. The song was a hit in the late 1950s,and I heard it in various places during my youth. I was only9 or 10 years old but, if I close my eyes tightly and allow mysoul to fly back through the years, I can still hear the strongvoices of the Shirelles singing the opening line. I am in my 60s now, and it is time to tell you what Iremember so that my experiences may inform you and thenext generations about how we lived, what kind of lives wehad, who we were and how we and then you came to be thepeople that you are. I will do my best to draw a picture of lifeas it was during my youth. Though others may be referenced at points along the way,this is by no means intended to be a comprehensive history ofeither me or my family. Rather, it is my recollection of thepeople who touched my life and, by extension, the lives ofthose around me as I was growing up. Our family is largeand, like the saying goes, everybody has a story. In time, Isincerely hope they will tell theirs. But, for now, here ismine.by Georgia A. Dorsey

As I Remember Iti FIRST THOUGHTS Stream of ConsciousnessMY EARLIEST RECOLLECTION IS OF standing in thedriveway, or what served as a driveway, at our house at 3537W. 139th Street in Robbins Illinois and hearing those aroundme discuss my illness. My mother was there and so was thenurse from the Cook County public health office, who Ibelieve was named Mrs. Brooks. Anyway, I didn't know whatthey were talking about but I did know that it concerned me.Later, I would learn that I had something called eczema andthat the nurse was instructing my mother on the treatmentrequired. I don't know how old I was because our healthrecords were rarely kept in those days, but I guess I musthave been about three or four years old. I have no memory ofby Georgia A. Dorsey 1

As I Remember Itanything before this day and, I suppose, that is fittingbecause those elements (the house, my health, the driveway)would be central characters in my life from then on. I have two older sisters who were shadowy figures in myearly life because of our age differences. My oldest, Minnie,is approximately 10 years my senior and Bernadine is 7 yearsolder than me. I don't ever recall Minnie living at home withus but I do remember Bernadine being there. They werealmost a separate family from the six of us who were born inthe 1950s and '60s and, because of this, they were closer toeach other than to the 139th street six. Before my father acquired the land and built the house thatI grew up in, my parents and two older sisters had lived in ahouse on Lydia Avenue, now long gone. I believe the addresswas either 13949 or 13942. There is some debate there.Regardless, that building was torn down to make way for asubdivision. The decision to build the house, the process ofbuilding the house and all of that is not part of my story, forit was all completed prior to my birth in 1950. Someone elsewill have to fill in those details. From time to time I have heard stories about other familieswho lived near Lydia, like the Browns (Irene and Ida), buttheir existence is anecdotal. I did, however, go to school withthe children of the Brown sisters, so I have memories ofthose experiences. They would resurface as characters in mystory at various times over the years, but the real bond seemsto have existed between the adults of the families. I remember the nurse visiting several times but, for thelife of me, I do not remember what the treatment was. I havetried to recall and have even asked others but nobody seemsby Georgia A. Dorsey 2

As I Remember Itto remember. I suppose whatever it was worked because Ihave not had a recurrence of the condition, but it would havebeen nice to know what took place. The nurse would be inand out of my life until I was a young adult. In those days,when we all lived in relative poverty, the only health careprovided came via the county offices unless you could affordto see the two private doctors who practiced in Robbins.They were Dr. Salter and Dr. Winston. One of them, I am notsure which, had offices over Regets' store on 137th street.More about them later. I mention Mrs. Brooks because Iremember that she was kind to me and, sometimes, kindnesswas hard to come by for me. Our house was tiny. I did not think so growing up butapparently everybody else thought so. Looking back, Isuppose it was unusual to have that many people living in thesquare footage of some living rooms today. However, it wasall that I knew and it was home. It was our little world intowhich very few were allowed to intrude. And that, for betteror worse, created an insular environment that, whileprotecting us from the harshness of the outside world, deniedus the tools to deal with that harshness once we were oldenough to leave the nest. It wasn't until I was an adult that Ilearned how coveted our lifestyle had been by those aroundus. The absolute fury and determination with which ourparents protected us and kept others at bay did not exist inother homes but, as children, we thought that we were beingdenied freedom. The fact that our parents never had aproper bedroom or, for that matter, neither did any of us,was normal. Robbins at that time was a safe haven for little blackby Georgia A. Dorsey 3

As I Remember Itchildren and their families. It was the first stop for manywho moved from the South—especially Mississippi—who didnot want to live in the city but wanted to be near jobs.Because of that it remained rural and undeveloped and manythought of it as a poor little country town. To be honest,when I became aware of how others lived, I also thought of itas such. It would take some time for me to really learn thevalue of my hometown and to appreciate the wisdom of thosearound me who chastised me, cajoled me, guided me and yes,spanked me when I needed it. I cannot say enough goodthings about those people. One day I noticed that there was another child in the house.I really don't recall noticing him until he was about two yearsold and my parents were having a conversation aboutwhether or not to cut his hair. He was two years old and hadnever had his hair cut. Now I cannot remember which of myparents held which opinion, but I do remember that mybrother Jesse had braids. Braids! There used to be a pictureof him taken around this time showing his long hair, but Ithink it has been lost to time and circumstances. I do recallthat he was a cute kid, though. And I never remember therebeing any feelings of him usurping my role as the youngestbecause I have no memories of that time period. When hewas born I was three years old and when I noticed him I wasfive years old so I guess there was no basis for conflict.Besides, in two years there would be another child, this timea girl, and we really didn't have time to get comfortable inour roles as “baby of the family”. Though we had moved into our house years before, it wasnot finished. Nor does it seem to me that it was everby Georgia A. Dorsey 4

As I Remember Itcompletely finished. There was always something thatneeded fixing, which was a source of contention between myparents. I recall that my mother's word of disdain for myfather was “temporarily” because when something fell aparthis excuse was that he had only meant it to be a temporaryitem until he could do whatever work was necessary to makeit permanent. If my memory serves me correctly, very fewthings in our house ever reached permanent status. Mysiblings and I used to make fun of our parents' “temporarily”arguments when we thought they weren't listening orcouldn't hear. My brothers were excellent at imitating myparents and it is a wonder that we didn't get our tailswhipped more than we actually did. We would go outside orinto the fields behind our house and laugh until we cried. Wewere our own entertainment. Today I wonder what our neighbors thought of this loudgroup of kids. And we were very loud. Our house may havebeen small but my father obviously had plans to expandbecause we had lots of land surrounding the house. Thismeant that we could run and jump and play for hours andstill be on our property. And I don't recall anybody evertelling us to be quiet when we played outside. Ever. Perhapsthat was in deference to my father and who he was in thecommunity. More than likely, however, it was becauseeverybody was afraid of my mother and her temper. Mymother, more than my father, was a fierce protector of herchildren. Whereas my father weighed both sides of thesituation before defending us, my mother saw no reason todo the same. To her, an attack on her children was personaland woe to anyone who had the temerity to come to her withby Georgia A. Dorsey 5

As I Remember Ita complaint about one of us. This blanket of security,together with the insularity of our lifestyle led to some, well,spoiled kids. My sister Bernadine once said that she doesn'tknow how you can have 8 children and spoil them all, but myparents figured out a way to do just that. Which, I'm sure,presented problems for the people that we eventuallymarried. There were very few paved streets when I was growing up,and every time it rained one could lose one's shoes in themud. Our house wasn't connected to a sewer system and Idon't know if there even was one. We had a cesspool outback and from time to time my father would pull off one ofthe caps. I'm not sure why he did this. But we could see theactual human waste as it floated in there and, of course, aschildren we thought it was funny. Since I doubt that Robbinshad any sanitation codes, this type of waste system was notextraordinary. In fact, I believe there were a few houses thatstill had outhouses when I was a child. People coming fromthe rural South also kept chickens, horses and I think, pigs. Inever witnessed the pigs, but I heard about them. There wasthis large ditch in the front of our house where sewers wouldbe laid decades later. But when I was a girl, this ditch caughtthe water runoff after the rains. There was a large plankacross the ditch to facilitate getting to our house from thestreet, and navigating this plank was a death-defying act ifthe ditch was full.by Georgia A. Dorsey 6

As I Remember Iti THE NEIGHBORHOODTHE STREET THAT WE LIVED ON was right in the heart ofthe action. I don't know whether this was by design orhappenstance, but it provided us with a view to most of whatwas going on in the village. At least, most of what was goingon that concerned us. This could probably also be attributedsomewhat to the fact that we children were not allowed to gotoo far out of our neighborhood unless it was to church orschool, anyway. I was not aware until I was in high schoolthat certain sections of Robbins even existed, even though itwas really a small town. Later, I would find that there werereasons for this, reasons that were not overtly shared withme by my parents but that should, perhaps, have been. Moreby Georgia A. Dorsey 7

As I Remember Itabout that later.by Georgia A. Dorsey 8

As I Remember ItMy childhood neighborhoodby Georgia A. Dorsey 9

As I Remember It We lived on 139th street, as I've already stated, just east ofCentral Park and on the south side of the street. With theexception of the first lot that abutted Central Park, my familyowned most of the land until just before Clifton Park. Ourneighbors to the east were the Smiths. In the early 1950stheir house had been owned by a another man, but I don'tremember much about that. One day the Smiths were thereand they are the neighbors that were there until they sold theproperty after the death of their mother in the 1990s. Eventhough I cannot pinpoint when they moved in, I know thatthey were there by 1956, and for a very good reason, which Iwill explain later. Closer to Central Park and across the street from our housesat a very large shingled house inhabited by an elderlywoman who was variously called Mother Allen or MotherPoole by my parents. I don't know why. I don't rememberthere ever being a Mr. Allen or Mr. Poole, though there couldvery well have been both. By the time I became fully awareof her, she was alone and had taken in a male border who, Isuppose, was also there to look after her. I don't recall himas a particularly good-natured man, but that could be becausewe children did not hide the fact that we made fun of himand his lumbering walk and manner whenever we saw him.As I said, we were loud. Of course, we never did these thingswhen my father was around, but my mother seemed toencourage it, sometimes even joining in on the mockery. Onthe other hand, my father offered up his children to runerrands for her, help clean her house and yard and generallyby Georgia A. Dorsey 10

As I Remember Itinstill in us a sense of duty to those who are infirm. Iremember my sister Bernadine being dispatched to clean herhouse and, later, being deployed myself to help out. East of Mother Allen/Poole lived the Faulkners. Theirs wasa large, cement block raised ranch house that I believe wassupposed to be a two-family home because the lower levelhad its own entrance. The family consisted of the parents—Ibelieve the mother was named Hazel and the father wasOscar Sr.—and four children, who were peers of my oldersisters'. I don't remember all their names because they wereolder, but I do remember Marvalene, Oscar and “Boo”. “Boo”was the nickname of one of the girls, the one that my sistergot into a fight with and fell into the overflowing ditch infront of our house. The next neighbors on that side of the street was anotherelderly woman and her son. We knew her as Mrs. Bryant buther name could have been O'Brien for all we kids knew. Idon't know whether it can be attributed to their roots in theSouth, but my parents had their own ways of pronouncingthings, names included. And, since we didn't interact withmany people, we rarely got to hear those people pronouncetheir own names, so we had to go with what we heard at ourhouse. Mrs. Bryant had a son named Bill, who we referred toas Mr. Bill when we referred to him at all. Nobody saidanything about it at the time, but I think they were octaroonsor at least quadroons. They interacted with theneighborhood even less than we did, and you could hear himcussing and slamming doors from across the street. After hismother died, he lived on in the house, seemingly withoutrunning water or electricity, until he died and was foundby Georgia A. Dorsey 11

As I Remember Itdead in the house some time postmortem. The final neighbors on that side of the street, before onegot to Clifton Park, were the Baskins, or Baskets as myparents called them. They were Mr., Mrs. and dog. I believethey were a little older than my parents and probably quiteconservative. Their green and white shingled house with thefenced yard always looked neat and very well-kept. Mr.Baskin could be counted on to trim his grass whether itneeded it or not. I remember that one of the grade schooladministrators, Mrs. Hensley, rented a room from themduring the school year, which was not unusual in those days. Renting a room from the Baskins/Baskets made perfectsense because right across Clifton Park sat the definingstructure of our neighborhood: Lincoln Memorial School.The school had begun as a two-story brick structure. As thepopulation grew and more classrooms were needed, the twostories were surrounded by a ring of additional classroomsuntil it reached the imposing size that I remember from mychildhood. Made of red brick and trimmed in white, Iremember it as a very solid and substantial place thatconveyed a feeling of importance like very few others did atthat time. It is where I and my five younger siblings wouldfind ourselves finally mingling with people who were notrelated to us, people who came from circumstances quitedifferent from ours. These people and the memory of theyears spent at Lincoln would stay with me for a lifetime. Though the prominent side of the school was on 139thstreet, the actual front entrance was on Clifton Park. An alleyseparated the school from a house to the north on CliftonPark. This was the residence of the Brown family, who wereby Georgia A. Dorsey 12

As I Remember Itrelated to the Knox family, other friends of my parents. Theyhad a son who was a year or two ahead of me in school, andsome younger children as well. They and others would play agreater part in the lives of one of my sisters, and I will leavethat story for her to tell. The alley on the side of the school continued across CliftonPark and passed along the side of the Wilson house, whichfaced Clifton Park. The Wilson family were well-establishedin the community as I recall. They had sons that were mucholder than I, so I don't know much about them. Their housewas this huge two-story affair that was white with red trim.One of their grandsons, who went to grade school with me,had a name that I remembered as rhyming with “tweed”. Aswith many others from that period in my life, he justdisappeared. It would be many years before I heard his actualname again or learned of his fate. Behind the Wilson house, situated on the alley, was a littlecottage. I say cottage because it was the tiniest damn houseI'd ever seen, even smaller than our house. In it lived amother and her daughter. They belonged to anotherprominent family in the village, and the daughter wasthought to be quite lovely and desirable as a wife. Becausethese people were much older than myself, almost allinformation I know is second-hand, so I can honestly say thatI don't personally know that much about them at all. The final house that abutted the alley belonged to a familynamed Hemmons. They, like the Wilsons, were anestablished family with deep ties to the community. The tinycottage I mentioned previously probably belonged to themand they rented it out. Their house, though was not tiny atby Georgia A. Dorsey 13

As I Remember Itall. It was a large, brick bungalow that I actually got to visitonce because one of the granddaughters and I playedtogether. I remember lots of woodwork and finishes thatwere not present in my “temporarily” house. Once again, Idid not know much about the family because of agedifferences and perhaps other factors that were not soevident to me then. The Hemmons house, which faced Central Park, was acrossthe street from another long-time village family, the Tarvins.Their extensive property sat on the west side of Central Parkat the northwest corner of 139th street. I knew who theywere and their house was a landmark because of its size anddesign, but there were no younger members of the family forme to interact with so, again, I only have second-handknowledge of who they were and what they represented. Butlike the rest of the residents mentioned herein, it was thecomfort and solidity of their presence that made theneighborhood and village what they were. We didn't need toknow everything about them. It was unspoken butunderstood that everyone looked out for everyone elseregardless of their personal relationships. Crossing 139th street going south, there sat a rather smallhouse off to the right that housed the Williams family. Myrecollection of them is hazy. The children were of my oldersisters' generation and I barely knew them at all, though I dobelieve the mother of the family was acquainted with mymother. One of the most attractive and well-kept houses was that ofthe Bledsoes, which was immediately south of the Williamsproperty, though it sat directly on Central Park while theby Georgia A. Dorsey 14

As I Remember ItWilliams house probably had a 139th street address. TheBledsoe house was one befitting a professional couple. I don'tknow what line of work he was in, but she was the principalof Lincoln Memorial School. Their house was a lovelytumbled brick ranch with swans adorning the front porch.For some odd reason I remember that they drove a ChryslerImperial car and had a garage to keep it in. They and theBaskins were the only two families who could boast of suchan amenity until much later. Like the Baskins, the Bledsoesalso appeared older than my parents and, as far as I knew,had no children. But childless or not, their style andsophistication was something to admire. South of the Bledsoe house was that of the Bradleys. Theirhouse at 13910 S. Central Park would play a central role inmy later life and adulthood, but when I was a young girl ithad little significance to me. I recall adult children livingthere as well as a mother, but they were shadowy. One of theadult daughters, Lenetta, worked at Smith's general store,but my interaction with them was quite limited beyondhanding her money and receiving change back. The Bradley house was the last house on the west side ofCentral Park before one got to 139th place. At the southwestcorner of Central Park and 139th place lived the Mayberryfamily. I knew more about this family because my fatherinteracted more with them than he did with many of theothers. Perhaps that was because they, too, were from theMississippi delta and my father related to them more. Or,and I hesitate to say this but it is probably true, it wasbecause the Mayberrys were dark-skinned like my father.Sad as it is to relate, there existed a skin color bias in ourby Georgia A. Dorsey 15

As I Remember Ittown and, unfortunately, in our family. Mr. Mayberry had a craggy appearance and walked as if hehad the world upon his shoulders. But the really interestingperson in that family was Mrs. Mayberry, who dressed likeMoms Mabley on a bad day, complete with work boots.Needless to say, it was a constant source of conversationamong us children, but I can't remember a single disparagingcomment from my parents. Well, maybe from my mother,but never from my father. To be fair, the Mayberrys ownedone of the gas stations in town, so perhaps they decided thatdressing up to work in a gas station was a waste of time.They had two sons that I remember, but only one of themstill stands out for me. His name was Grif, which I assumewas short for something. And, while the rest of the familywas dark-complected, he was caramel brown with hazel eyes.It is the eyes that I remember most. On the east side of Central Park, kitty-cornered from theMayberrys and directly across the street from the Bradleysstood a single family house and a rooming house that wereowned by the same man: Mr. Rufus. I don't think that washis actual name, but that is what I heard him called in myhouse so that is what I am going with. Again, I never heardhim pronounce it. Mr. Rufus was of West Indian extractionand seemed to think that he was better than others. It wasmy first introduction to the air of superiority than someCaribbean blacks proffer when they find themselves in thecompany of African Americans, but it would definitely not bethe last. It has always puzzled me why they would leavetheir obviously superior country to come and live here. Itdefies logic. Anyway, the rooming house almost abutted theby Georgia A. Dorsey 16

As I Remember Itwesternmost part of our property, and some of the peoplewho lived there would come to play a role in my childhood aswell as my later life. From the Rufus property north to 139th street, the east sideof Central Park was devoid of houses and would remain so.My father tried to purchase the land on multiple occasionsbut was unsuccessful. I don't know why, exactly. Now weare back on 139th street. Moving east, past our property andthe Smith's, we come to a house once owned by the Brownfamily. I remember almost nothing about them. Mymemories are of the family that occupied the propertysubsequent to them, even though they did not move in untilmy childhood was over: The Maxeys. They were a veryprominent and politically active family whose patriarch onceserve as the mayor of the village. The couple that later livedin the house were peers of my older sisters' and theirchildren would become very prominent in the lives of one ofmy younger siblings. As before, I will leave that story forher to tell. Now we come to a very interesting building. When I was ayoung girl it was called “the snack shop” and, though it wasconverted to other uses over the years,it remained “the snackshop” to me and some of my siblings. It was a two-storybrick building with a business on the first floor andapartments on the second floor. I don't believe I ever knewwho the owners of the building were. On the lower level wasa sandwich shop where anybody, and especially the teachersat Lincoln Memorial School across the street, could grab aquick bite. This is, of course, hearsay on my part because aschildren we never ate anything that was not cooked at ourby Georgia A. Dorsey 17

As I Remember Ithouse. But I did witness people entering and exiting so Ihave made a presumption regarding their activities once theywere inside. For a time, a girl named Tanya, her sister Rita and theirmother rented an apartment upstairs. They happened to bethe sister and cousins of the woman and girl who occupiedthe little cottage on the alley that I mentioned earlier. Tanyawas a friend of mine for a while and I visited their apartmentonce. It was very tiny but very well appointed, and it was thefirst time I had ever seen or heard of a waffle or waffle iron.They were having breakfast and offered me one but, havingbeen trained to eat no place but at home, I declined. It wouldbe more than a decade before I would actually eat a waffleand, truth be told, I prefer pancakes. After “the snack shop” closed a beauty parlor was there formany years. It was owned by the Rice sisters, a veryprominent family in the Church of God in Christ community.One of my older sisters received the holy spirit in theirchurch, the Universal Church of God on Utica avenue, whichwas known colloquially as “Sister Burl's church”. They andtheir father passed our house daily as they walked to theparlor, he always with a bible tucked under his arm. Ourneighbor, Mrs. Smith, was one of their steady customers. Shealways had her hair done to within an inch of its life; shewore it short, in the “sportin'” style and there was never ahair out of place. New tenants moved in upstairs as well. After Tanya and herfamily left, the Payne family moved in and stayed. Theirfamily consisted of Mr. Payne, Mrs. Payne, son Lamar anddaughter Esther Arlene. Mrs. Payne became a friend of myby Georgia A. Dorsey 18

As I Remember Itmother's and her son and daughter became good friends withtwo of my siblings. They still are to this day. There was open land between the “snack shop” buildingand the next residence, which was a large, white shingled-styled house. It belonged to the Bouies, another prominentfamily in the village. Like my parents, the Bouies had a largefamily, but all of their children were adults or nearly adultswhen I was growing up. Mrs. Bouie was very visible as she and one or more of herdaughters passed our house on the way to New FriendshipMissionary Baptist Church. But Mr. Bouie was largely amystery to me. I think I caught a glimpse of him once on hisfront porch. In contrast to his tall, nearly Caucasian wife, hewas a short little brown-skinned man who appeared slight tome, unlike his two sons who usually occupied the front porchswing. They were two grown men who still lived at home,which was highly unusual in those days. I recall that one ofthem was named General. I don't think that was a nickname.Interestingly enough, one of her other sons would go on tomarry the girl next door, Tanya's sister Rita. When the Mayberrys walked past our house they wereeither coming from or going to their gas station, which wasnext door to the Bouies. Their service station was the firstcompletely commercial establishment in our neighborhoodthat one encountered going east on 139th street. As such itwas another convenience for the teachers at Lincoln schoolacross the street. There, they could have their cars servicedand gassed up during teaching hours by friendly folks whowere not going to take advantage of them. The inside of the Mayberry establishment was nothing toby Georgia A. Dorsey 19

As I Remember Itbrag about. It smelled of oil and gas and there were usuallypapers strewn about. You didn't pump your own gas in thosedays, and I recall a grumpy Mr. Mayberry selling the fuel oilthat we needed to heat our house. We did not have centralheat or even a wall furnace in those days, and it was acommon sight to see one of us children struggling to gethome with the heavy 5 gallon can of fuel oil. Were weembarrassed? Well, I can't speak for my siblings, but Icertainly was. The next commercial establishment at the corner of 139thstreet and Clair Boulevard was Smith's Store, which was ageneral merchandise store that sold food and sundries. ThisSmith was not our next door neighbor, though they couldhave been related. Often, family relations in the village wereunknown to us because we interacted so seldom with thefolks around us. The owner of the store had also established acredit union and was very prominent in town. At one point,he would be its mayor. This Mr. Smith was a tall, corpulentfigure with a face not unlike a French boxer or pug. Likemany people who are convinced of their own importance, Iremember that he carried himself with an air that conveyedan aura of superiority, not unlike the aforementioned Mr.Rufus. Because of his size and stature he was known aroundtown as “Big Smith”, a term he no doubt did not discourage.This man and his doings would have a very negative impacton my life in later years, so if I am giving the impression thathe was not one of my favorite people, I can confirm that thatis indeed the case. There was a Mrs. Smith who also workedin the store, but all I recall about her is that she had thisgiant mole on her face.by Georgia A. Dorsey 20

As I Remember It The Smiths lived above their store, in the fashion of manyin those days. I don't remember exactly when it happened,but one day the store was gone and the corner had beendeveloped into a business complex that housed a pharmacyand the Smiths' credit union. The pharmacists who operatedthe “drug store” as we called it, were the Chandler twins, twovery handsome men who lived in the village. They werestriking in appearance; tall, tan and with wavy hair. Even asa child I knew they were something special. They hadconstructed a new addition surrounding the old Smith storeand taken over the former general store space as well.Eventually the Smiths would build a separate house not farfrom the old store and their former home would becomerental property. When it opened sometime in the late 1950sor early 1960s, the Chandler's Rexall drug store was a thingof pride for us all. Sitting across the street from the Smith/Chandler complexwas one of the most interesting establishments of mychildhood. It was a squat, gray building that sat at thesoutheast corner of 139th street and Claire Blvd. At anyminute it looked as though it would either keel over or blowaway in a strong wind. This place was called Fannie Orr's.Over my lifetime I have heard the name of the establishmentpronounced several ways, but Fannie Orr's was the mostcommon term I heard used to refer to it, so that is the onethat I will stick with. The name referred to the owner, MissFannie, who would today be called obese but who seemed tohave no trouble attracting male attention. In fact, a shortlittle man whose name escapes me now always sat at the endof the counter as sort of overseer/protector. I never knewby Georgia A. Dorsey 21

As I Remember Itwhat their relationship was because it was none of mybusiness, but one could discern something between the twothat went beyond proprietor and customer. Not that it should matter, but it did to some people, MissFannie was thought to be Caucasian or a quadroon. I neitherknew nor cared, because the main attraction to theestablishment for me was the junk food she sold. FanniesOrr's was a combination restaurant, bar and candy store. Tothe hungry men and women who sat at her counter, sheserved up sustenance. To those who wished to forget theirtroubles, a door at the end of the lunch counter led to abarroom filled with adult intoxicants. I later found out thatsome of my school teachers would have their liquid lunchesthere. For the youngsters, she proffered potato chips, candybars, soda pop, whatever. And she did a booming businessbecause the corner where her place was located was one ofthe main stops for the high school bus. On cold days hoardsof teenagers would cram into the place to avoid the cold andspend their lunch money on things that weren't so nutritious. Miss Fannie's was also the place that I got to go intowithout my school crowd. From the time that I was allowedto go down the street by myself, I was dispatched there bymy father to pick up the Sunday papers. Before Sundayschool or church, I could be seen carrying home the ChicagoTribune, Chicago Sun and Chicago's American. At the time Ididn't understand why I had to be the one to get the papers,but later on I understood that it was another of my father'ssubtle ways of instilling in me a habit that has lasted alifetime. The northeast corner of 139th and Claire belonged to someby Georgia A. Dorsey 22

As I Remember ItGerman farmers who could be seen out on their tractorreaping whatever they had sowed. I don't remember theirold farmhouse and John Deere as being out of place at all.They were as much a part of the village as anybody else and,as far as I knew, nobody ever bothered them. By necessity, Robbins was full of entrepreneurs, which is aword that was not used back then. Then, they were justbusiness people who saw a need and established acommercial concern to fill it. Across the street from theGerman farmers and kitty-corner to Fannie Orr's was one ofthose businesses. Sometime in the late 1950s a family namedBarnes built a combination restaurant/barbershop/tavern onthe northwest corner of the intersection. It was an attractivebrick building that curved from Claire, where the bar waslocated, onto 139th Street, where the restaurant fronted. Theunique design placed the barber shop within the curve of thebuilding, so that patrons could look out of the full lengthplate-glass windows onto the intersection and passers-bycould observe what was going on in the barber shop. When itopened, it was the topic of conversation at school for quite awhile because the restaurant portion was geared to a youngcrowd and served hot dogs, hamburgers, polish sausages andfrench fries. This part of the business was owned by one ofthe brothers and was called “Mary's Diner” in homage totheir mother, who was also one of the cooks. The bar/loungeside of the establishment was owned by the other brotherand was known as “Skins Lounge” or just “Skins”. It wouldcome to be one of the most well-known bars on the south sideof “Chicagoland”. People came from far and near to go toSkins. I believe the barbershop was also owned by thisby Georgia A. Dorsey 23

As I Remember Itbrother, but I am not sure. The curious thing was that themother and brother associated with the diner were saved,sanctified and filled with the holy ghost, while the otherbrother obviously was not. I suppose business is business. The large Barnes complex almost obscured the tiny candystore tucked behind it. For years, friends of my parentsnamed Leonard ran a little store front establishment whereone could get a small bag filled to the brim with penny candyfor a nickel or dime. I especially remember the three-for-a-penny cherry candy that they sold. One of the Leonarddaughters, Diddy, waited on me from time to time, but shehad an illness that kept her indisposed for long periods.More often than not it was another sister who counted outthe penny candy and took our money. The final business in this part of our neighborhood wasChris and Mack's service station. It was the other gas stationin town. The building was white with green trim and satacross the street from the Leonard's store at the corner ofSpaulding and Claire, in a sort of triangle because Claire ranat an angle. It was not, strictly speaking, as much a part ofour neighborhood as the others that I have mentioned. Infact, I don't remember my family patronizing the place.However, I felt it was important to mention its existence. Past our house in the other direction, on the north side of139th street between Central Park and Monticello stood one ofthe rockingest little churches that ever held services. It waspastored by Rev. Felix Tarvin and the services there weresomething to see and to hear. When New FriendshipMissionary Baptist Church was in session it was apparent toall within earshot. Today, there is a large, brick buildingby Georgia A. Dorsey 24

As I Remember Itthere but when I was growing up it was a one-story structurethat, well...needed a little help. Appearances notwithstanding, it drew some of the biggestnames in the church and gospel worlds to its doors. To me, itseemed that there were always services being held at thechurch, whether it was mid-day prayer, mid-week prayer,prayer meeting, shut-in services, night services or just yourplain run-of-the-mill Sunday School and Sunday WorshipServices. In those days, Friendship, as we called it, had a uniquedichotomy. Half of the membership was Baptist and the otherhalf was COGIC, or Church of God in Christ. Theoretically,these two entities should not be able to coexist because oftheir different approaches to worship. But, somehow, itworked. The Baptist folks sat on one side of the church andthe holiness folks sat on the other side. When thetambourines came out, you might catch a glimpse of a Baptistmember bobbing her head or tapping his foot to the music,but you never saw them shouting or “speaking in tongues”like the other side of the church did. I witnessed thisbehavior in the new, brick church, but I have been told thatit was thus in the little old church as well. Apropos tonothing, the Barnes family belonged to Friendship. Tucked beside Friendship was a two-story building ownedby the Stark family who also lived in the upstairs unit. EdStark, the father, was an architect and builder who went onto plat and develop the most upscale subdivision in Robbins.Mr. Stark was married to a member of the Sanders family,both of which were prominent in our town. They hadchildren the ages of me and my siblings so we attendedby Georgia A. Dorsey 25

As I Remember Itschool with some of them. His oldest daughter, Sherry, wasmy age and we went to through all 12 grades together.Interestingly enough, his wife's sister Marilyn was also ourage and accompanied Sherry and me through school as well. On the south side of 139th street just at Monticello was thehome of the Dyson family, one of my favorites. Mr. Dyson,like Mr. Mayberry, looked as though he had the weight of theworld upon his shoulders when he walked. He wore nothingbut overalls and his lower lip hung down in such a mannerthat he appeared always on the brink of saying something.His wife was a pleasant and plump lady. They were olderthan my parents and their children were adults, but one ofthe daughters and her children lived with them and thechildren attended school with me and my siblings. Fromwhat I recall, these children were largely undisciplined.Their father, who was separated from their mother, slept in achair at the Skins barbershop and could be observed throughthe windows on Sunday morning dressed to the nth degree. At the northwest corner of Monticello and 139th, acrossfrom the Dyson's and across Monticello where the brick NewFriendship church would eventually stand, was anestablishment known simply as “the pool room”. There was,indeed, a room there containing pool tables, but that buildingwas so much more than that. It was large, rambling and seemed to me as a child to takeup half the block. On the top floor were apartments and onthe ground floor were the aforementioned pool room and abarber shop. There may have been more businesses orapartments on that level but, because I did not interact withthe families who lived/worked there, I cannot say.by Georgia A. Dorsey 26

As I Remember It Even though we did not interact with them, I knew that thebuilding belonged to the Broomfield/Johnson family andhoused a lot of them. While I was growing up, they wereconsidered flashy and not the kind of people that my fatherwanted us to associate with. In time, a couple of the Johnsonboys did come to skate on our frozen pond in the winter, butI don't remember much more than that. Later, the Johnsonfamily would be a part of one of my sister's life but, again,that is her story to tell. What I remember as a child was theflashy cars, women in bathing suits on floats, “processed”hair styles and a horrible car accident that nearly killed amember of that clan. I also remember someone associatedwith them whose nickname was “Bama”. That pretty much describes the neighborhood of my youth.These are the people and places that we saw and experiencedon a daily basis. Most of them we could see from our frontporch. There were others, of course, like Reverend Snoddy'sstore farther west on 139th, which also played a part in myyouth. It was another business housed in a building thatwould probably not pass inspection if it had existed anyplaceelse. I remember as a youngster that there had been a sort of“juke joint” that was either a predecessor or co-tenant in thebuilding. A rather rough and tumble girl who went to schoolwith me for a few years lived upstairs. I don't know whathappened to her or her family or the juke joint, but the storeexisted in one form or another for a number of years. The things that I saw, the words that I heard and the peoplethat I met in that three or four square block area would formthe basis of my understanding of what was “good”, what was“bad”, what was acceptable and unacceptable. I would learnby Georgia A. Dorsey 27

As I Remember Itthe rituals of life and the vagaries of trying to create ameaningful existence in a world that was changing but thatwas populated by people who would not.by Georgia A. Dorsey 28

As I Remember Iti THE VILLAGEMUDVILLE. THAT IS WHAT THEY used to call my hometown. At least, that is what the people who lived there calledit. Lord only knows how outsiders referred to it. I'm surethey were not as kind. It is true that there were very fewpaved streets or walkways in the village for many years. Andit is also true that people claimed that they could tell youwere from Robbins by looking at your shoes. But what thosepeople and perhaps some of the village's residents failed tosee was the pride and determination that that mudrepresented. It stood for hard-working people with dreams.It stood for people seeking a better life for themselves andtheir families. It said “Yeah, my shoes may be muddy butby Georgia A. Dorsey 29

As I Remember Itmud washes off”. And when it did, what was revealed wassomething for the history books. I will not romanticize my hometown because, as I inferredearlier, things were not perfect there. But where in theworld are things perfect? I also will not give an extendedhistory of the town, for that has been done by others and iseasily referenced if one wants to know it. But I will addressthe basic structure of the town as I understood it. Robbinsserved as a haven for African-Americans for differentreasons, mostly societal and due to the existing racial climatein this country. It also had a reputation as being a tolerantplace for people who might not fit into other communities,like mixed-race people or interracial couples, which couldaccount for the number of residents of ambiguous racialidentity. Land that had been part of a place called Bremenwas carved up and the village of Robbins came to be. By the time I was born, the families who were consideredthe “establishment” were well into their second or thirdgenerations and a template for the community was well-defined. Branches of civic organizations from the South orother parts of the country had been imported or created.Churches of many denominations had a presence in thevillage, and two elementary schools - Lincoln Memorial andKellar- served the educational needs of the growingpopulation. High school students attended what was thenknown as the Community High School in Blue Island, aneighboring town, for four years. However, by the time Ientered ninth grade, Robbins had its own two-year feederhigh school that was known as Southeast. More about thatlater.by Georgia A. Dorsey 30

As I Remember It As I stated earlier, because of the hostility surrounding itRobbins had to be self-sufficient. I do believe this was theintent by the founders in the first place but I also believe thatit was reinforced by the surrounding communities. As aresult, one did not have to leave the boundaries of the villagein order to obtain most of the requirements for daily living. A full-service Certified grocery was located on the east sideof town. There were no less than three dry cleaners—allowned by the same family—to keep your clothes tidy andneat. Two doctors, one dentist,two-pharmacists one clinicand a visiting nurse saw to one's health care needs. If youneeded a screw or hammer, McCrary's hardware storeprobably carried it. McCrary's was also where you paid yourwater bill and, until a new one was constructed decadeslater, was the local post office. A taxicab company and theSouth Suburban Safeway Lines took care of thetransportation needs for those without their own way ofgetting from here to there. The Robbins Eagle newspaperprovided village news and, when the inevitable happened,Miller and Major or Crook funeral homes would be there foryou and your departed loved-one. Because so many of the men worked in the skilled trades—building and the like—there was rarely if ever any need tocall in an outside firm to do any construction or repair work.Plenty of restaurants, taverns, candy stores and record storeskept you entertained or at least distracted. Since a lot of thetown was not connected to the gas pipeline until much later,there was a bottled gas business run by a man called“Smitty”, which was a nickname for his last name,which wasSmith. We knew his establishment as “Smitty Bottle Gas”. Heby Georgia A. Dorsey 31

As I Remember Italso ran a florist shop from the same building and was thebrother and brother-in-law to our next door neighbors.During that time, if you could conceive of a business, youcould go into business. All that was required was a sign andsome inventory. There was even a woman who made herliving selling used shoes. I don't know if I noticed it as a child, but certainly after Ibecame an adult I realized that practically everydenomination of known religion had a presence in thevillage. The varied choices of worshiping exemplified justhow diverse the town of fewer than 10,000 inhabitants was.There were, as expected, Baptist churches. But there werealso Lutheran, Methodist, Catholic, Islamic and COGIC placesof worship. The Episcopalians in the village had to go to BlueIsland to attend services, so technically they did not have aphysical presence in Robbins. Only the Presbyterians failedto make headway and they probably existed but remainedincognito. Of course, among the Christians there was apecking order or order of prestige among the variouscongregations. My group, the Baptists, usually placed secondto last, with the COGIC folks bringing up the rear. But evenwithin these two eternal also-rans there was snobbery. Thesometimes expressed, sometimes suppressed attitude was“Yes, I may be a Baptist, but I belong to the BEST Baptistchurch”. And which was the best Baptist Church in Robbins,you ask? Why, none other than Great Hope MissionaryBaptist Church, where the Reverend Jesse Dorsey, Jr. wasassistant pastor. The Masons, the Elks, and the Eastern Stars are nationalorganizations that had chapters in the village. There wereby Georgia A. Dorsey 32

As I Remember Italso social clubs like The Village Activities Guild, which was awomen's social club comprised mainly of educators and otherleaders with ties to the community. They sponsoredactivities such as teas, fashion shows and the very populardebutante cotillion. Then there was the Jazzy Ones, a male counterpart to theVillage Activities Guild, some of whom were their spouses.They were a motorcycle club that sponsored or supportedsuch activities as the annual Robbins Week parade and rodeo,where African-American cowboys showcased their talents. Itis important to point out that one of the most famousAfrican-American rodeo families in the country wereRobbinites – the Latting family. Their ranch abutted the landthat would eventually contain Southeast High School and weloved to waste time looking out of the school windows at thehorses. The churches also had their own roster of organizationsdedicated to civic service. They may have differed in whatthey were called and their approaches, but they all strove tomake the church and surrounding community a pleasantplace in which to live, worship and raise a family. There wereorganized activities for children as well. There were BoyScout troops, Girl Scout troops, Brownies, Campfire Girls,baseball clubs and majorettes. It was always a thrill to seethese units marching in the annual parade every year, andthe tiny marching majorettes were always en pointe. From the outside looking in, it probably did seem like just amuddy little hick town, a consortium of losers who didn'tknow how the sophisticated world worked, a collection of theworld's detritus that had coagulated into a jelled mass ofby Georgia A. Dorsey 33

As I Remember Itmisery. Yes, it probably did look exactly like that to thoselooking from the outside. Oh, but from the inside looking out!by Georgia A. Dorsey 34

As I Remember Iti HOMEIT'S FUNNY HOW SOMETHING THAT seemed so large andgrand when you were a child can appear so different later on.I'm not talking about our house, which would be judged smallno matter what. I refer, instead to the land on which it stood.When I was a child it seemed to go on forever. We ran outthe back door and kept running until we reached our swingset, which was near the rear of the lot. Behind our swing set—which nobody else had—thank you very much, was a pile ofold railroad cross ties that seemed to have been thereforever. I'm sure that my father planned to use them in someby Georgia A. Dorsey 35

As I Remember Itway, but he never did. We used to climb on top of them andlet our imaginations run wild. It seems to me that mybrother Jesse had the best imagination when it came toimprovising on the cross ties. And, speaking of him, I amreminded of the endless amounts of time that he could be onthat swing set, lost in his own thoughts and contemplatingthe world around him. Our swing set was nothing special. It was the standard twoswings with a seesaw attached that many families owned inthe 1950s. But, for some reason, nobody in our neighborhoodhad one and that made us unique but perhaps not in a goodway. Because interaction with outsiders was very limited,not very many children were invited over to play on ourswing set, so I presume for some that smacked of some sortof exclusion or elitism on our part. And, while I don't thinkthat was the primary motivation, I do believe that myparents, especially my mother, felt that the parents of thesechildren should buy their own swing sets and not tear up theone that her hard-working husband had provided for hisoffspring. And it didn't end there. My parents went out of their way tomake sure that we had many of the things that wereconsidered out of the norm for a lot of our peers, or at leastfor a family our size. For a time during my later childhood wehad home delivery of bottled milk and daily newspapers.Perhaps to ease the burden on my mother, my father startedhaving his shirts laundered at a professional laundry. Theshirts were picked up and delivered once each week by a manthat my parents called “Stanky” because that is how theypronounced the name on the truck, which was probablyby Georgia A. Dorsey 36

As I Remember It“Stenke”. Each Christmas, we would find thought-provokinggames, Lionel train sets, dolls (always black) toy pianos andother instruments and the like under the tree. There wouldalways be the traditional bags filled with oranges, apples andnuts that my father remembered from his childhood andwanted to bring into our lives. There would also be clothesand socks, of course. Each of the younger six wouldeventually have her or his own bicycle, which were really theoutside world's only other clue to the lives that we lived.That is, until my father bought the equipment from a defunctplayground. One day toward the middle or end of my youth my fathershowed up with the monkey bars and giant swing from aplayground. It was loaded onto this huge truck and defiedlogic as to how it would fit into our lives and yard. Thewestern-most end of our property, which used to flood andwas used as a skating rink, had been filled in by then. Iremember that the way this happened was by my fatherputting up a sign on the property that read “Clean FillWanted”. I also remember that my mother and we siblingswere terribly embarrassed by this but, somehow, it worked.The property still flooded but not as much and not as often,so that is where the new playground was constructed. Ifpeople felt we were elitist when we had the small swing, Ican only imagine their opinion of us once that giant swingand accompanying monkey bars towered over the street. I'm an outside child. A country child you might say. I was raised in the outdoors and nothing gives me more pleasure than being out in nature. This probably has a lot to do withby Georgia A. Dorsey 37

As I Remember Itthe fact that my mother, in order to get her houseworkdone, banned us from the house for hours at a time. Wewere left to roam the property and get into whatever formof entertainment we could provide for ourselves. Out there,we yelled at the top of our lungs, ran, screamed, played andgenerally enjoyed ourselves. There was an outside waterspigot where we could quench our thirst and wash off anydirt or mud, and there was usually an industrial-sized urnfilled with lemon/orange ade. My father would drive toMichigan to bring back bushel baskets of fruits, usuallypeaches and plums, that we could enjoy to our heart'scontent. It was during one of these all-you-can-eat bingesthat I overdid it on cantaloupes, or musk melons. In theend, I gave back all I had eaten and, to this day, I cannotstand to even look at one. I loved to climb trees and therewere enough on the property for me to indulge myself. Itnever occurred to me that this was not the proper behaviorfor a female because I was not acculturated to such roles.My brother and I would vie to see who could climbed thefarthest up, and I remember that bragging rights alwayswent to my brother Jesse. When the weather became toohot, we sat under one of the trees or made a pallet in theshade or sprayed water on each other from the hose. Later,there would be a small kiddie pool that only the youngest ofus could fit into. In the summer, we caught lightning bugsand held them captive in a jar, something I would neverthink of doing today. In the fall, the fragrance of burningleaves soothed us and served as a harbinger for the wintermonths ahead. There was usually a younger sibling to takecare of so one of us, usually my brother, would take themby Georgia A. Dorsey 38

As I Remember It onto the swings and give them a thrill. Even though this is my story, I think it deserves mentioning that my brother, in those years, had a wonderful way with children. Actually, he still does. He would take one of the youngest out on his bike and ride up and down Central Park for what seemed like hours. Back and forth, back and forth, from Claire to 139th street he would go. And, to my knowledge he never complained. Never. When my father came home from work, he would pause atthe end of the driveway until he knew that we had noticedhim. He knew this because we would all yell “Daddy's home!Daddy's home!” and run to meet the car. That car, which wecalled Nelly Bell, was a 1940 Dodge with running boards oneither side. We children would jump onto the running boardsand my father would give us a ride to the end of thedriveway, which was probably no more than 10 or 15 feet butseemed a lot longer. Then, after greeting us, he would selectone or two of us to hoist onto the lower limb of one of ourtrees. If you were the one selected, you were the happiestkid in the world, because Daddy had chosen you for hisattention that day. I know it may be difficult to understandtoday, but in those days parents were idolized and we lovedours without reservations of any kind. We thoughteverybody had parents like ours. We were so naive.by Georgia A. Dorsey 39

As I Remember It Nelly Bell, which was going on 20 years old at that time,was retired and my father bought another car, a Desoto.But we kept Nelly Bell for years afterthat, parked at the rear of thedriveway and used as storage and,when our parents weren't looking, asa hiding place when playing games. Ibelieve my father wanted to restore the car but he never gotaround to it. After some complaints from anonymousneighbors who considered it an eyesore, my father got rid ofthe car that held so many fond memories for us children.Looking back, perhaps my father should have sold it to theman in our town who wanted to restore it. Maybe then wecould have had an occasional glance at what was such amemorable part of our childhood experiences. If there is anything I love more than being outside it isseeing a fresh load of wash flapping in the breeze on aclothes line. This is a very rare sight nowadays, but on theoccasion that I am driving through an Amish community orcountry town and see it, it takes me back to my childhood. Idon't remember exactly which day of the week it was now,but there were specific days to do washing and ironing, justas there were specific days for other things. For instance,Saturday was always house cleaning and shopping day,Sunday was always for worship and not much else and Fridaywas for frying fish and and eating black walnut ice cream.Black walnut was my father's favorite flavor and it came tobe mine as well. Though the black walnut ice cream waspurchased at a store, we also had homemade ice cream thatwe churned by hand until my father finally bought an iceby Georgia A. Dorsey 40

As I Remember Itcream mixer with an electric motor. Anyway, on whicheverday it was, the tin washing tub and scrub board would bebrought out and water would be heated for doing laundry. Inthe beginning, we did not have a water heater, so all waterhad to be heated on the stove. Needless to say, with a largefamily this operation was a complex and involved one. But,after much effort, the brilliant white of my father's shirts andthe baby's diapers were a sign of pride for my mother. Shewas of the opinion that your reputation in the communitywas established by the appearance of your home, theappearance of your spouse and children and how white yourwhite clothes were when they hung outside. She alwaysstrove to have the whitest ones in the neighborhood and shespared no Clorox in her pursuit of this goal. Any garmentthat did not meet her strict standards was dried indoorsaway from prying eyes. Because of her standards, I canpractically spot a dingy garment with my eyes closed. Coming from the South, my parents were accustomed togrowing and raising their own food. And, while they did notkeep livestock like other villagers did, they had a hugegarden on the land behind our house. I don't know why itwasn't on our land, but it wasn't. Perhaps my father thoughtthat if he farmed it for enough years he could claim it bydefault. And I never knew who the actual owners of the landwere, either. I suspect it belonged to some absenteeinvestors who were also rumored to be the owners of theother lot that my father constantly tried to purchase. Even though we did not keep livestock, my father was notabove bringing home the occasional live rabbit or chickenand showing his disgusted children how to kill and dress theby Georgia A. Dorsey 41

As I Remember Itthing. I suppose if you are brought up eating freshly-killedgame that the appetite does not go away. But, for all of theother down home values they were able to infuse in me, thelove for this kind of meat was not among them. Instead, Ienjoyed working in the garden: weeding, hoeing and pickingthe vegetables when they were ripe and ready. My otherlament, besides not having a clothesline, is not having myown vegetable garden. I have tried growing vegetables inpots but somehow that is not the same as actually getting myhands dirty planting the seeds, pulling the weeds andretrieving the mature bounty. Lately, I have seriouslyconsidered tearing up part of my backyard and putting in agarden, then waiting for the blow back from myhomeowners' association. It may happen yet. I've already mentioned the old cross ties at the back of theproperty, but there was also something else back there thatwas unique to this time and place. Because there was nogarbage collection service in Robbins at that time, manypeople burned their garbage. We were no different. Lookingback, this reminds me of something that I experienced when Ivisited the township of Soweto in South Africa in 1998. I wasabout to pass judgment on the burning trash piles there whenit suddenly dawned on me that a portion of my childhood hadbeen spent around a very similar burning pile of rubbish. Wewould dump whatever garbage there was onto the pile andthen, when conditions were right, set it alight. This practice,though common, was very dangerous and toxic and claimedat least one casualty that I know of.by Georgia A. Dorsey 42

As I Remember Itby Georgia A. Dorsey 43

As I Remember It The eastern-most side of our property abutted the Smith's,though I believe there was a sliver of land there that was toonarrow for anyone to build upon so it was tended to by bothfamilies. For some reason, we children didn't spend as muchtime on that side of the property. Perhaps it was becausethere was really nothing there to attract our attention. Wetended to stay in the areas where our amusements were, andthat side of the house had a different feel to it. It was more ofa grassy refuge that my parents eventually turned into a sortof Eden by planting a few specimen trees and adding abeautiful water fountain/bird bath. They also plantedforsythia and, when the summer months came, zinnias formy mother and hollyhocks for my father. When we got ourbadminton set,though, we did put it on that side of the houseprobably because there was no room anyplace else. Our next door neighbors' kitchen was on the west side oftheir house and we could hear them washing dishes andmaking other noises. I will never forget the soundsemanating from there the day one of their children wasgetting their “last whipping” from their father. We couldhear the screams of the child, I think it was one of the girls,and the yelling of the father as they made their way throughthe house and past the kitchen and its window. Later, Mrs.Smith told my mother that she did not interfere when herhusband was administering this final corporal punishmentbecause it would be the last time they exercise this type ofcontrol over a child. This struck me as odd, because therewas no formal recognition in my house of when you were tooold to spank. I think my parents just hoped you'd learn yourby Georgia A. Dorsey 44

As I Remember Itlessons so that spanking would eventually be unnecessary.Some of us children were not spanked much at all and some,like me, received this type of punishment well into highschool. My father liked ghost stories. So did my mother. Again, Iam not sure if this stemmed from their origins in the Southor what. My mother's favorite story dealt with walking downa deserted country road as a girl and running into whatturned out to be a spirit coming in the opposite direction. Atfirst, as she told the story, she thought it was a real person.Then it got more and more transparent as they got closeruntil it disappeared. One could dismiss the story if it was aone-time occurrence, but she said it happened to her morethan once on that road. I don't know. I think I might havestayed off that road if I were her. However, she was notafraid of the spirits. Her Native-American grandfather hadtaught her that the spirit world was as real as the physicalworld, so she took it in stride. In her way, she tried to instilla lack of fear of so-called spirits in her children. But we had to balance her efforts with those of my father.His favorite activity on a rainy and thunderous night was togather us all around and tell ghost stories, particularly oneabout “Mr. Marlowe”, whoever that was. We children wouldgather around my father with the lights out. Then, he wouldbegin to weave his tale of intrigue, always ending with astartling knock on the wall, which we all knew was comingbut jumped out of our skins anyway. When I became an adult,one of my suitors wanted to hear the Marlowe story so Ibrought him home to hear it. He didn't jump. Spoil sport. Speaking of thunderstorms, if lightening was present weby Georgia A. Dorsey 45

As I Remember Itcould not use any electric appliances. Not the television northe radio. All electric lights were extinguished and we sat inthe dark until the lightening ceased. My father, who was notalone in this thinking, thought that using the electricaldevices would attract lightening and strike our house. Wewere also not allowed to make noise or run around while“God was doing his work”. I don't know why that did notpreclude telling ghost stories and frightening your childrenout of their wits, but apparently it did not. To be fair, I thinkthis was just a way to calm us children and keep somecontrol during bad weather. Once we children were all cleaned up in the afternoons, my mother would often allow us to sit on the front porch and be seen. Under no circumstances were you to be out front unless your hair was combed, your clothes were clean and pressed and the front yard was neat and tidy. Though we could be seen from the street playing in the back of the house, it was understood that we were playing and a certain amount of disarray was allowed. However, moving into full view of the public required that we be “Ship shape and Bristol fashion”. We were still loud, though. The Dorsey children had only one volume level. So when we played our favorite porch-sitting game called “there goes my car”, we did it at the top of our lungs. The object of this game was to spot a car coming down the street and claim it before one of your siblings did. One based one's claims on the newness and appearance of the automobile. None of us laid claim to the old jalopies. In those days cars were a fashion statement and a vital part of a person's prestige inby Georgia A. Dorsey 46