THOSE WERE THE DAYS

              I was forty years old before I realized that I used to live in a ghetto.  That is, if you could call the East side of Indianapolis a ghetto back in 1940.

             My parents were poor, but not verypoor. My father was a buyer in mens’ clothing in a department store.  I think he made about $20.00 a week.  My mom stayed home and took care of me – which took a lot of taking care of. 

             On December 7, 1941 (a Sunday) my parents and I went to a movie and saw a picture called “The Little Dictator” with Charlie Chaplin.  After the movie we walked back home and went past my sister’s house.  My brother-in-law was glued to the radio listening to a news broadcast. We said, “what’s up?”  He said, “The Japanese have bombed Pearl Harbor in Hawaii, boy, are we in for it now!”  He was right, of course.  I was too young to go into the Army, and my father was too old.  My brother-in-law was the right age, but he never was drafted.  Must have been 4F or something.

             I had a paper route on the East side of town and we picked up the papers at a “paper drop”, which was a gas station on New York St.  In those days, you did not pump your own gas, the station attendant did it for you. He also checked your oil and cleaned your windshield.  Gasoline at that time was like fifty cents a gallon.  What a bargain!  While we waited for the papers to come, we bought an 8 ounce bottle of Coke out of the machine (ten cents), and a handful of salted peanuts (one cent). Then, we poured the peanuts into the Coke and drank and ate at the same time. Delicious!

             Mom decided That I needed a bicycle for my paper route, so we walked up to the Western Auto store on Washington St. and we bought a red and white Schwinn with whitewall tires for $25.00.  Mom made me promise that I would pay her back the $25.00 out of my paper money, which I did.