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Doughnuts, Bubblegum Cards, and a Mule
Boat-Builder and the Knights of the Realm

Town kids do not realize some of the disadvantages thrust upon them, whereas I, on the other hand, had the early, broadening experience of farm life in rural Mississippi. I had shucked corn for mules and fed them out of my hand. I had ridden mules, plowed with mules (but not very far, and do not recommend it for short folks), driven a mule-drawn wagon to harvest corn and melons, all this before I was exposed to any formal education.

The funniest mule I ever saw was in the third grade at Washington Elementary. I had barely been assigned a seat when I was given lessons in which my participation was expected; no honeymoon here or slack for the new kid! The first was a spelling list written on the chalkboard that was to be copied and taken home and learned. This is the type of work that was my nemesis, at least through the sixth grade, because it took me so long to copy anything; many times, the board would be cleaned and put to some other use before I was half way through with the copying. I finished getting it all written but I was glad it was for my eyes only, because it had the appearance of something that was written from the back of a running horse, which sort of brings us back to the mule.

The teacher had her little minions pass out mimeographed sheets with a picture, a line drawing of a mule, in profile. I have no explanation for the subject matter; I never asked, ”Why a mule?”, and no one ever said. Possibly we were providing illustrations for the children’s musical standard, “Old MacDonald”, and I missed the first dozen animals. Now, mules and I go back a long way, and I admire them for their intelligence and  work ethic, and I feel they should be represented with a proper degree of dignity. All we had to do with the mule picture was to do our best at giving it proper color with our Crayolas. We were somewhat limited by the choice of medium, but no one was asking for a blue roan; a simple brown mule would do. The young fellow to my left across the aisle got my attention and asked to borrow my “red”, so without interrogating him, I handed it over and continued polishing the final touches to my brown mule, When I was done, I looked over at my colleague, intending to retrieve my crayon, and he offered me a viewing of his handiwork. About halfway between the muzzle of the mule and its cheekbone, he had drawn, on the side of the mule’s face, the brightest, shiniest, reddest cupid’s bow pair of Hollywood lips you ever saw. The kid was a regular Salvador Dali.

In those days, except in major municipal markets, there was no television available; it was still experimental, or an expensive novelty, so we listened to baseball games, when in season, on the radio. Occasionally there would be a portion of the newsreel at the movie house that was devoted to baseball, or a very popular player, but this, too, would only happen during the summer when the teams were actually playing. Mostly, we learned what our big league heroes looked like by acquiring their cards out of packs of bubble gum. To accumulate a collection of baseball cards, it will be a small collection unless you buy a lot of bubble gum. If you buy a lot of gum, another phenomenon occurs; you wind up with a lot of duplicates. The reason the word phenomenon fits, the duplicates are of obscure players no one ever heard of, nor wants to collect. These become the “moose meat sandwich” (episode #29,  paragraph #3) of trading cards that no one ever trades for. And no one accumulates a fistfull of Stan Musial or Allie Reynolds cards. It is either Murphy’s Law or else the “fix” is in. Regardless, I could hardly pass the little neighborhood grocery on the way to school without popping in and leaving all my change for the gum with baseball cards. Having gum to give away doesn’t hurt one’s popularity with the fairer set, which brings us to the next “card” topic.

Another kind of card that made a spectacular entry into my life at Washington Elementary was the Valentine card. With Valentine’s day approaching, and I was just six weeks old in the neighborhood, I wasn’t getting too excited about this ‘Hallmark” holiday, but I found out the teacher had a fresh approach to the card exchange. She gave us the name of a certain drugstore where we could buy an inexpensive assortment pack of twenty four cards, just enough if we didn’t send one to ourselves, for our class of twenty five. These were of the “some assembly required” variety, and we would probably spring for a whole dime to get a special “single” card for the teacher. This plan would work, too, if there was someone in the class that you “really” wanted for your valentine, and the dime card would make you some points.. The teacher was allowing a portion of a class-period to work on our cards, from a list provided of all the names of the kids, row by row, so nobody would be forgotten or left out. The nicest ones of my cards would be for the girls, and the nicest of the girl-cards would go to the one in the second desk, third row, who had already learned my name and smiled at me on the playground. The teacher made a big deal out of letting four or five of the minion-ettes decorate a hat box with a lid, slotted  appropriately for the festive collection box at the front table. I could hardly wait to see what “2nd desk, 3rd row” wrote on her card to me!

Kids really get into birthdays, but this would be a novel twist; some of us had the pleasure of watching a little girl have a happy, happy birthday, and it was not even hers; it was mine! Four weeks and two days after Valentine’s day I would turn nine. The Curlee’s daughter, Dianne, wanted to get me something for my birthday. Being only four or five at the time, the big thing in her life was her modest collection of small dolls. When Joyce, her mom, asked her what she wanted to get for me, she quickly responded, ”a doll”!  Joyce told Mom, since she thought it was a cute situation, and Mom told her, “that’s what she should get for him then”. She picked out a four-inch plastic doll at the five-and-dime, wrapped it herself, and gleefully, with a countenance that would rival a sunrise, presented it to me on my birthday. I emptied a kitchen-match box and made it into a crib for the doll and named her “Dianne”, and the youngster was thrilled beyond measure.  In her case, truly, it was more blessed to give than to receive, and from my position, truly, it was the thought that counted. When she came with her mom for a visit, she always enjoyed “visiting” the tiny Dianne, and we all enjoyed her enjoyment. 
 
There was a movie house a few doors past the office building, and because it was close, it seemed Wes and I were allowed to attend a bit more often. We saw mostly Westerns and “swashbuckler” adventure flicks, but, also, we saw “The Mummy’s Ghost” and it terrified me. I was afraid to go anywhere alone for weeks, even to the bathroom. I had seen Dracula, werewolves, and Frankenstein movies with no harm done, but that unstoppable, foot-dragging bundle of bandages and bones got me out of my seat and to the safety of the lobby in a hurry! I finally got over it, and I never watched it again to see what it was that scared me so badly. On the other hand, I really enjoyed “Ivanhoe”. We quickly modified our play-time,  had sword fights and jousting matches and seemed to never tire of it. Fortunately, we had a nearly unending supply of sticks that were perfect for Medieval weaponry. There was a man who had a woodshop in the basement of the apartment building and he was in the process of  creating a speedboat. Fascinating to watch, especially when the weather improved, allowing his project to be moved to the outside; we got “first dibbs” on his wood scraps, and acquired first-hand spectators knowledge of the use and advantages of an implement of ingenuity, the Yankee screwdriver! Something about this fabrication process produced lots of narrow wood scraps, pieces long and slender; to us, swords and lances! This meant that we had to have shields and helmets, which meant that no cardboard box tossed into the alley-way was safe from our plundering.

A vacant lot, the one where our trailer was parked, separated the apartment building from the Salvation Army headquarters. The organization did a lot for the kids, not just in our neighborhood, but beyond, throughout the city. They would have stage shows, usually a story teller, a magician, or something equally entertaining, and of interest to kids, and it was all free. In addition, each youngster received a six ounce bottle of Coca Cola. We were thankful for these activities because it was taking a long time for winter to go away. Mom was getting lots of practice with her doughnut recipe because when we had to come inside to warm our toes and dry our mittens, she would make a pot of hot cocoa, and pass the doughnuts. If the mittens were slow in drying, that was not a problem; refills were free! Finally, we were beginning to detect a bit of change in the weather, and the feel of Spring in the air, though evidence of a hard winter was piled around us everywhere. When the sun had come out on the 5th of  January, it did not warm up, and the strong winds had not stopped, so the drifting continued, leaving some automobiles under ten feet of snow. Some deep drifts lasted into July and some railroads had been out of service for almost a month, as were the rural schools. It’s no wonder the “old timers” still talk about it!

With the constraints of  winter weather letting up, Dad, the incurable “shutterbug” planned a visit to the ski slopes of Mount Casper while there would be skiers to provide  “action shot” opportunities, and a chance for him to work on his repertoire  in this category. The drive would take us past the reconstructed Fort Casper, named for 2nd Lieutenant Caspar Collins, a U.S. Army officer who was killed near the site, in the 1865 Battle of the Platte Bridge Station, the original name for the establishment, against the Lakota and Cheyenne Indians. The Army officially renamed the post Fort Caspar to honor Collins, using his given name to differentiate the post from an existing fort in Colorado named after Collins' father. The when and why of the spelling change is unknown to me, but the older spelling can still be found attached to the fort, but not the town. I found the old military post much more to my interest than the skiers in their oversized playsuits. It is an acquired appreciation.