RAY DEAN JAMES - My Life chapter 5

This is installment #5 from my Dad's life story, taken from a 30-page document he wrote in 1999 and added to here and there until the time of his passing in 2015. When we left off, he had just left the hills of Tennessee where he was born and raised to live in downtown Cincinnati with his Mom and older brother sometime in 1942.

This was a whole new beginning for us. Strange city, a new way of life in two small rooms, and no Dad. I'm sure I thought the world had come to an end. From the wide open, quiet places like Statesville, Watertown, and Lebanon, to a crowded, noisy, dirty, and unfriendly city. From birds and rabbits, flowers and vegetable gardens, to concrete sidewalks with iron basement doors that rattled when you walked on 'em and burned your feet in the summertime. We moved into two rooms on the second floor over Pop's barbershop at 211 Liberty. We had inside plumbing but no hot water and no inside toilet or bathroom. The toilets were in little unheated outhouses in the yard between the buildings and they were the only ones of their kind I have ever seen. The seats when not being used stayed at about a 45-degree angle and were spring-loaded so when you sat on them the water flushed or ran constantly and shut off when you stood up. We were right across the street from where Hughes street intersected Liberty and on one corner was Art's Pool Hall and on the other corner was Oscar's Meat Market. I thought Oscar was the friendliest man I ever knew but now I realize he was trying to put the make on every woman who came in. I realized when I got older and found myself using some of Oscar's technique what it was that he had been doing. Right next to the barbershop on the alley was where John Burnzott lived. John was a crippled man who would stand in his doorway for hours each day and talk to everyone who passed by. 211 East Liberty and all the other houses and buildings that were located on the south side of the street were torn down years ago to widen Liberty Street. But if I drive by there today I could still pinpoint everything from memory.

My best friend at that time was Richard Lucas who lived a block away on Orchard Street. My mom had a photo of me and Richard when we had the mumps and our faces were twice their normal size. One time Richard and I found this old dud of a giant firecracker and we were going to break it open and light it and stomp on it like you can do with the smaller ones. I broke it open and bent over to light it when BOOM! rang out and bright lights flashed before my eyes. The darn stuff exploded like a stick of dynamite and underneath my right forearm all the skin was missing. Fortunately my face had been shielded from the blast. I was assigned to a third grade class at Peasley School and on the first day there the crossing guards chased me all the way home, about four blocks, because when I crossed in the middle of the block they started running after me and I outran them. We didn't have crossing guards where I had come from. I knew I had screwed up badly and done something wrong but I didn't know what. I was just a little kid from Tennessee that everyone laughed at. I've seen some of the pictures and I would have laughed too. The haircut, the shoes, the funny way of talking.

Now enter Mrs. Olson, third grade teacher. She took me under her wing and decided to citify me and make me acceptable to the other kids. She recognized my ability to stand up front and act or entertain and she put my talents to good use. She featured me as much as possible in class projects and plays. Hell, after entertaining the US Army, 20 kids were a snap. I also began writing poems and short stories which she let me read in class. It wasn't long before the other kids were asking me to write another one to read in class. I soon became the school clown and I wonder if Mrs. Olson ever regretted the monster she created.

I was finally popular with everyone except the school bully who was a little guy named Joe Somori. One day I stood up to him and we fought for a tough 15 or 20 seconds and I became Joe's friend all the way through High School. Joe became the best at everything except getting along. He was our high school's best athlete, best dancer, and best dresser. But, to put it bluntly, he was a prick. He used and took advantage of people. Joe had always been a disaster looking for a place to happen. He always had to be proving himself. Playing Sunday football with younger men until he was almost 40. Everyone, including me, had always envied Joe. Hell, in 4th grade he was a champion gymnast and tumbler. He would put 10 or 12 kids side-by-side on their hands and knees and do a running dive and flip over them and land on his feet. Joe was eventually killed by his wife's father for beating her.