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Major Monochrome: White
The Long, Long Way Home

Railroads hire topographic engineers and surveyors to find the best route between two points. “Best” is usually translated “shortest”. It seemed as though our train was taking the long way home. The problem was that we were so far from home, there was no short way, though it was shorter by rail than the highway route we took getting to Red Deer, due to following roads that alternated between due west-bound and due north-bound with no diagonal “shortcuts”. An interesting perspective on that trip: the 2,170 miles we drove was only 445 miles shy of the distance from Red Deer to the North Pole, 2,615 miles. There is bound to be some interesting scenery crossing the southeastern corner of Alberta, southern Saskatchewan, South Dakota, and central Minnesota, a fact I would verify on later excursions through those areas, but on this trip, everything was a monochrome wonderland of white. There were massive snow drifts where the plows had cut a passage through, leaving banks that were taller than the train, blocking the view. In areas where we could see beyond the rail right-of-way, we saw buildings that were drifted-over on one side, with just a corner of the structure visible. Many houses had ice cicles from the eaves of the roof reaching to the ground. Wes and I entertained ourselves trying to see a higher drift or a longer ice cicle.  

If my mom had learned anything at all in her days of traveling with small boys, it was that sooner or later boredom will likely overtake even the best of kids and bring out potential disagreeable tendencies that might make those around them uncomfortable, and embarrass their mom. In the family sedan, this is inconvenient; on a public conveyance this is intolerable, and preventive measures imperative. She had a sturdily constructed shopping bag that could appropriately be called her “boredom-buster-bag”, because it had been strategically assembled to improve most situations she imagined that she might encounter. My favorite boredom-buster was a snack, a quick-fix, but not long-lasting. She would make up a small box of peanut butter and jam filled saltines to be doled out sparingly, a few nickel bags of peanuts to be shared, a box of raisins, a few dried apple slices, a bag of lemon drops and a bag of hard peppermints would round out her inventory. In the amusement department, she would have two cowboy-themed coloring books, or similar subject matter for growing boys, crayons, pencils and a sharpener, a thick school tablet for tic-tac-toe and “hangman”, and drawing. Other amusements for passing the time were the pocket-sized pseudo pinball games called dexterity puzzles. Try those on a moving train!

There would be times that nothing in that bag could head off the embarrassment, which illustrates why small boys should be seen and not heard. My dad had probably gone to wherever the men on the train went to smoke their cigarettes, and Mom was the only one occupying her seat. A young lady, probably in her mid- to late teens moved to sit by her, and help entertain the boys in the seat ahead of them. Wes was sitting by the window, just watching the world go by. I was kneeling on the seat bench and looking over the back-rest at Mom and the young lady, who had brought a bag of various flavors of hard candy and was sharing it along with good conversation. I was very impressed with her and I was trying too hard to make an impression on her. At times like this it seemed I was attempting to be the youngest contender to earn my black belt in “smart-aleck”! The conversation was going great, and then she asked me how I felt about moving back to the States. I piped up and replied, “At least I’ll be getting away from those dumb Canucks”. She never changed her expression, but still smiling, said. “I’m one of those dumb Canucks”.  I wished Mom had a large rock in that bag that I could crawl under!

After arriving at Minneapolis, we still had over 700 miles to travel to arrive in Tulsa. The countryside was snow covered the entire trip, to Des Moines, Kansas City, and Tulsa. We went directly from the Tulsa depot to the home of Dad’s sister, Carmen, by cab. Through the slushy snow, the remnants of last summer’s grass could be detected in her front yard; it wasn’t pretty, but it was grass. Carmen and our family were very close, and we would be staying there while Dad was wrapping up his checklist of business agenda items that had to be attended to with the home office. He needed to order a family sedan; there were price and delivery advantages through the company fleet program. A vehicle that was needed by the crew would be our transportation to Texas, and would be available for us to use around Tulsa until we were ready to leave. We still had some things that had to find their way to Grandma’s house. I was anxious  to tell her my wristwatch was not just for decoration any more. I had learned to tell time!

Early March had a winter-like grip that nature was having a hard time shaking, and arriving on the border of North Central Texas was not providing much relief. Winter coats and hats were still required, and Mom was still dressing us in long-john underwear, which I hated, almost as much as I did the bibbed overalls. At  home in Locust Grove and in Mississippi, nearly all the boys wore “bibs”, and in Canada, as a “foreigner”, I was expected to look a little different, so it mattered less. Here, just a short seven-mile distance below the Red River, the Oklahoma state line, the boys were wearing jeans and leather belts, and I longed to conform. This must have been my introduction to peer pressure, likely more imagined than actual, but something perceived as a problem can become very real to a child, otherwise there would be no need to check under beds for monsters. To a second-grader-new-kid on the playground, invisibility would be a blue ribbon winner of an asset; maintaining a low profile comes in a weak second place. As for my wardrobe, I had two options, out-grow it, or wear it out!

If, and when, summer would arrive, Gainesville had much to offer a seven-year-old, turning eight in a matter of mere days. Frank Buck, of “Bring ‘em Back Alive” fame, well-known actor and producer at the time of popular jungle-genre movies, was born here and had a zoo named in his honor. It was in a park with a ¼ of actual size scale locomotive and train that would take up to fifty passengers around the perimeter of the grounds. Also, the city had its own circus, which began as a project of the Gainesville Little Theatre in 1930. Characteristics distinguishing the Gainesville Community Circus from other circuses, it was presented entirely by amateurs who had full-time jobs and were residents of Gainesville. The performers had no professional circus experience, received no remuneration, and provided their own costumes and most of their rigging. In 1936 the Community Circus played before large audiences at the Texas Centennial Exposition in Dallas. Billie Rose, a famous showman of the era, called the Gainesville Community Circus, “the most delightful thing I have ever seen.” By the summer of 1948, it had became a three ring circus with trapeze artists, clowns, jugglers, high-wire performers, a 20-piece band, and acrobats. The big top covered more than 20,000 square feet and could seat 2,500 people. The circus had seven tents, six ornamental wagons, a calliope and hundreds of costumes. The circus animals included an elephant, lions, chimpanzees, and Shetland ponies.  In the next four years, by 1952, the circus troupe would have given 359 performances in fifty-seven different cities, and were on a par with most touring troupes of the day. We could walk to their rehearsals and practice sessions where attendance was free!

Or, you can take me out to the ball game! The Gainesville Owls were Class B, Big State League, and played quality ball. We attended several times per week, and once, Dad caught a high foul ball, hit by Lonnie Goldstein, league-leading hitter, who autographed it for him. It  really stung his hand. Their rivals were Sherman-Dennison, and Texarkana. Grand-dad, a fervent baseball fan who had played in the minors, came for a visit while Texarkana was in town for a double-header. I thought he was having trouble telling the uniforms apart because he kept cheering for the wrong team. He was pretty vocal and gave no quarter when the fans around us were hassling him. Who would have thought! Guess where Grand-dad played in his minor league days? Texarkana!

Dad returned to Tulsa to take delivery of his new personal vehicle, arriving back to his family on my eighth birthday. Life was back to “normal” and Spring was gaining momentum. Our weather had finally become more like the seasonal norm. I was enjoying telling the neighborhood kids the new sedan was my birthday present. As though someone had flipped a switch, spring was arriving in a hurry to be here for Easter Sunday on the twenty-eighth.

The very top of my favorite Easter list would be the Spring we returned to the “States” after living in Alberta. I had met a girl my age living close by and we enjoyed walking to school together. We had plenty of time to enjoy all the flowers coming into bloom as if to celebrate the season. The hyacinth had the best fragrance, the daffodils the brightest color, the iris offered the most variety and majestic pose, the forsythia was the most profuse, and the lilac and wisteria not far behind. There was  a special place where the clover was thick and large, making the ones with four leaves easy to find. As if not to be outdone by the blossoms, songbirds were every where, setting up housekeeping and foraging groceries for their young. All of this gave Mr. Bunny a hard act to follow.