2. Mom, Dad, Judy, and Me
Mom and Dad were married in Pap and Grandma’s living room on March 8, 1939, the year before I was born. Their parents weren’t happy with the marriage, though Pap and Grandma were a lot more forgiving than Dad’s parents. As a result, we were much closer to Mom’s side of the family.
Mom, like most wives at the time, stayed home and took care of the house and us. While some wives worked, that was the exception. Mom seemed quite content with her high school education. But in her own way, she was pretty smart, too. And, like most mothers, she was the rock on which the family rested. She had most of the responsibility of raising us, and made most of the decisions about us, the house, and the way we lived. She suffered with us when we were sick, consoled us in disappointment, and celebrated with us in our victories. She was enormously proud of our every accomplishment. And she had a knack for saying things that were about 30 degrees off center. We spent a lot of time laughing at and with her, but she never minded. In short, she was a lot like your mother.
When I was very young, Dad worked at Kennametal, a maker of carbide tool bits, in Latrobe. Later, he was a clerk in the post office. He was a very generous man. I can remember many nights when, after supper, he would jump in the car and go around town delivering important letters that had come in too late for normal delivery. Looking back, it seems to me that Dad was very intelligent. He was a whiz at math and always seemed to be a step or two ahead of most of the people we knew. Unfortunately, for reasons that mystify me to this day, his parents chose to send all their daughters to college, but none of their sons. So my aunts were well educated, but did nothing with their educations. Meanwhile, my dad and at least one of his brothers could have made excellent use of a college education, but were denied. I never talked to Dad about that, though I wish I had. I think that if I had been in that situation, I might have gone quietly mad. I don’t remember spending much time with Dad. I may be wrong, but the way I remember it, it wasn’t easy to get him to play catch or shoot baskets or do the things that today’s fathers and sons take for granted. That’s not to say he was a bad father. He was typical of the times. Parents tended to leave their kids alone to amuse themselves and, truth to tell, we kids preferred it that way. I do remember one Sunday when we were playing ball along the side of Pap and Grandma’s house. I was batting, of course, while Dad pitched and Pap was the catcher. Unfortunately, I fouled one off, sending it through the kitchen window and into the bowl of coleslaw that Grandma was fixing for dinner. She wasn’t amused, but Pap and Dad thought it was hysterically funny.
Mom and Dad rarely argued. When they did, it usually was about Dad’s “gallivanting around,” as Mom put it. He liked to spend time at the bowling alley, or playing poker at the Rod and Gun Club, sometimes losing money we could ill afford. Sometimes, on Saturday mornings, he would take me along to the bowling alley. There were only four lanes, and he and his friends would have a friendly game on lanes 1 and 2. Meanwhile, I could bowl for free on lane 4. Of course, there were no automatic pinsetters, so I would roll two balls, run down to the pit and reset the pins, then run back and do it again. I remember there was a pedal at the end of the alley that raised ten metal pins out of the floor. The bowling pins had holes in the bases that fit down over the metal pins, thus positioning them correctly. Of course, at the age of six or seven, I barely weighed enough to depress the pedal, even if I stood on it. I must have been quite a sight.
Dad was one of the stars of the local fast-pitch softball league, playing for the Rod and Gun Club, as I recall. I remember one season he led the league in both home runs and bunt singles. Mom, Judy, and I used to go along to many of the games, sitting on the sidelines on a blanket. I’d play catch with some of the other kids, or retrieve foul balls for the players.
Mom and Dad were like most parents. They looked after us. They agonized when we were sick, and celebrated with us when we accomplished something. They were interested in our progress in school, insisting that we do our very best at all times. They recognized early on that Judy and I were pretty bright and demanded an explanation if we didn’t live up to that. And it was understood that if we got into trouble in school, the teacher was assumed to be right, unless we could prove otherwise. We never were rich, and sometimes we were on the edge of poverty. More than once, Pap and Grandma helped us over a rough spot.
Judy is two years younger than I. So she was always the
little sister that I had to protect. She’s also the little sister whom I hit in
the head with a baseball bat when she stepped up behind me just as I swung.
Later, she was a full partner with Mom and me in keeping our world together
after Mom and Dad split up. But more on that later. Like many of the Heacoxes,
Judy has red hair and a temperament to match. When we were young, she was sick
a lot, being susceptible to bronchitis, which was a problem in the drafty house
we lived in for several years. In fact, on one occasion, we had to go stay with
Pap and Grandma, whose house was warmer. On the plus side, our piano was left
at home and I never had to resume my piano lessons. Judy also suffered, and
still does, from extremely dry skin (a Heacox trait) and eczema, a disgusting
skin rash on her arms, which caused her considerable misery. But she and I were
always close and very proud of each other. The easiest way to start a battle with
one of us was to disparage the other. It was that way most of our lives. It was
her financial help that enabled me to finish my senior year in college. It was
only much later that we grew apart, to my regret. The picture at right shows Judy
on the right, our cousin Janet on the left, and me in the center. It probably dates
from about 1945.
When I was very young, we lived in a one-bedroom
apartment above Foster’s restaurant at 127 East First Avenue, just east of the
bridge across the tracks. Yes, we all slept in the same room, I in my youth bed
against the wall opposite the door, Mom and Dad in a double bed in the center,
and Judy in a small bed next to the door. I guess it was ok, although one had
to check one’s cereal bowl each morning for the roaches that came up from the
restaurant. About once a year, we had to stay with Pap and Grandma for a week
while the place was fumigated. I remember Mom almost in tears about that. But
it was all we could afford. We had terrific neighbors: Bill and Dorothy (whom I
called Dofie) Plummer across the hall from our kitchen door, and Carl and
Georgie Baughman on the other side of the stairway. I spent many a summer’s
evening sitting with Carl, keeping score for the Pirates’ games on the radio.
Later, when I was eight, we moved to a drafty three-bedroom house at 714 E. First Avenue, across the street from Dad’s parents, Grandma and Grandpap Heacox. Finally, we had our own rooms, though mine was so cold in winter that I had to share Judy’s room. I think Mom always hated that house. She seemed to be relieved a few years later when we moved into another apartment. My most persistent memories of that house are entwined with my parents’ breakup, so I wasn’t too fond of the place, either.