To be read after the story- "A Boy Named David" -Munjoy Hill, Portland Maine 1943



Thoughts on ‘A Boy Named David’

David’s story was difficult to write because it was not just HIS story. My Aunt Marietta had a great deal to tell about her brother. My father had things he needed to talk about as a result of growing up in the aftermath. I hope to talk more with my Uncle Phil after our last visit. I don’t want to upset him but I will be tactful with my approach. I think he may be more willing to talk about some of it. I wish to thank my Aunt for her willingness to share her memories and to allow me to post some of her writing. It was a difficult week for her and it also affected my father. Although I am further removed from David, I had an unsettling week as well. I received some thoughtful personal emails regarding the story. One person wrote that the fact David was found wrapped in a blanket indicated that he could not bear being without his mother, a thought that had the power to choke up the reader. Another reader wrote that the story was very moving, yet tragic the family was torn apart. She thought it was nice that his memory was honored. Another also found it a moving story. There is more to the story. I believe you will find the following poignant at times and uncomfortable at times. Nevertheless, it is part of the original story but I felt it needed to be separate. Last week was the first time I have ever heard anything about the boy named David, as just a boy.

After I sent my story to my Aunt and Father to make corrections, I received this addition to the bottom of my story, written by my Aunt Marietta.

      “ Not a day goes by that I don't think of my brother and my friend. It is about 65 years ago. That day was a favorite day of mine in school because it was the day of our Valentine party. We had a Valentine's box and Valentines were passed out on Friday 12th because Valentine's Day the 14th would be on Sunday. I was in the second grade at Monument Street School and Bobby Price had sent me a Valentine. That night out parents went out.

        David and I were listening to Mr. and Mrs. North on the radio on our parents' bed. The story was related to Abraham Lincoln since it was on his birthday. We got fighting as kids do, and he went to his room. I never saw him again. I awakened in the night probably around 2:00 am to see the hall filled with flames coming up the stairs. I was jumping from my mother's bed to mine screaming when she burst into the room shut the door grabbed my baby brother, Johnny from his crib, and broke the window, telling me to be quiet. That is all I remember until I woke up in the hospital. Blind for several days from the smoke, as was my brother, Johnny.

        It was a few days before anyone told me what happened to David. I asked every day, but got no straight answer.

        I missed him greatly. Now it is more like a loss. I try to pull in some concrete memories, but it’s more of an ache.
        We were, I was told later in my forties, by someone whose mother lived in our neighborhood that the two of us were like a couple of ragamuffins wondering around. Maybe so, but it was fun. Great for me, but unfortunate for him, he had to take me almost everywhere he went. I was his little sister. and even so, I know he loved me. Every week we were given a quarter to go to the movies. We got up in the dark in the winter and most of the time walked all the way from Vesper Street on top of Munjoy Hill to the State Theater to see Recess Time and to be first in line. There was a sing a long with a bouncing ball, cartoons, short subjects, newsreel. and a quiz show live on the radio which you might get chosen for- and the double feature. In fact once, David got chosen and won 80 cents. We would stay all day and sometimes see the movie twice and walk back up the Hill in the dark passed the grave yard, but I was never afraid when I was with him.
He was very smart and got mostly A's on his report card which made me want to do well, too.

        We would play for hours on the sidewalk by our front door flicking the bubble gums against the wall with the neighbor kids. I never won, but he was good at it. I think John still has those cards which were his treasure.
Wednesdays we went to Mrs. Reynolds apartment on Beckett Street for Bible School we learned a lot from her felt backed bible lessons, but I think we were mostly there for the Kool Aid and cookies. That year David and I won a Bible for perfect attendance and filled the air at home with blue language fighting over who would read it first. On the only day David didn't walk me to school, I stood crying until a policeman took me home. Years later I saw how close the house was to the school (which has since been torn down). That year when I was in first grade, David decided that he and I should run off to Peaks Island and stay with our grandmother. We stayed so long that the truant officer came looking for us and we had to go home. “

That piece added by my Aunt, made me smile a little knowing she had good memories of her brother and they were so rich with detail. She had more to say, and I was delighted by her memories.

        “Good morning, Suzan,
                 I have awakened several times during the night last night thinking about your notes.  I am going to send you a layout of the house at 32 Vesper which is so clear in my mind.  I know exactly where Philip and David climbed out onto the roof. I  have always wondered how they got out.  At the top of the stairs was the bathroom.  Over the toilet and beside the tub was a skylight which I loved.  It was slanted so you could also look out of it.  It was the first one I had ever seen.  At a right angle on the small hall was their room.  The next one down on the same side was where my parents and Johnny and I slept.  Downstairs led right out the front door to Vesper Street.  The hall was narrow.  Nothing was in it except the big radiator which I landed on when I tried to slid down the bannister , frontwards , slid off , slammed the wall, hit the radiator and landed on my back knocking the wind out of myself-not daring to tell anyone for fear of getting "killed".  One door in the hall led to the living room which was off limits mostly. The gold fish lived there on a library like table.  The banjo lived there, big sofa, and two over-stuffed chairs.  It was always neat.  The other door led to the big area which was a dining room kitchen and pantry.  There was a studio couch there where I would often take a nap in the twilight with my mother waiting for my father to come home.  When he came home, the light was turned on and the whole mood changed.  I still like sitting in the twilight.  Those were nice times with my mother.  There was an open archway leading into a kitchenette small area where the stove and sink were. In the archway is where my father hung the clunky wooden baby swing he made for Johnny. It hung there by two chains.  Once I was roller skating in the house and tried to pick him up and the two of us rolled under it across the floor.  (Never pick a baby up while wearing rollerskates.)
              On the right was the back door which lead out into a fenced in yard which was where we had a big vegetable garden and lots of flowers.  My parents, especially my father, loved to garden. There were Adirondak chairs which he made also.  Beside our house was a lane where you could walk through to Webbers little store where I stole lollypops and cookies.  
               Once I remember the whole family playing baseball in the lane-even my mother.  Once. 
 At Christmas, my father went to his family's woods in Westbrook and cut down trees to sell in the back yard.  My mother and Grammy and [her sister]Chrissy made ornaments out of walnut shell and candle holders out of logs, etc, decorated with glitter to sell as well. 

                My father worked at the shipyard and also painted signs on the side.   He made $23.75 a week.  One week Philip somehow picked up his check and lost it. 
My mother had a job which Uncle Walter got her in the parts department at General Motors where he worked on Forest Ave.  When she put on her red plaid suit she bought to wear to work, David told her she looked like a school girl.  She never forgot it.  
                It was the time of WWII and Philip, David and I collected newspapers, grease in coffee cans, and crushed tin cans to help out.  I was told that I was too little to get any money from our efforts.  I was always told that.  The basement was piled high with papers.  In the middle was a big pool table.
                 Philip, the artist that he was, contibuted extra by drawing Hitler and  Tojo (Hirohito) on all the leaves of the toilet paper and rerolling it.

                 I remember sitting in the barbershop while David got a haircut.  I liked to look at him when we sang at the sing- a- longs at the State Theater.  He was very patriotic and when he sang his favorite "The Marines' Hymn", he opened his mouth wide with his head high and his jaw out.  We were all very patriotic in those days. We knew all the words to every armed forces song-still do.  One of the songs that stands out was one that started another high school quiz show on the radio, "I Am An American; I'm Proud to Bear the Name etc."
                The summer after we moved to Munjoy Hill ,we found a dog or he found us.  We named him Ranger.  He had one split ear, a big German shepherd.  He followed us everywhere. When we needed money for candy, we would sell him for a dime.  He always came back and we still kept the dime.  My mother got tired of Ranger and told him to leave and not come back until Thanksgiving.  Sure enough, he was back at Thanksgiving.

                  Before we came back to Portland, we lived for two or three years in Houlton, way up north in Maine.  My father was sent there to open up a branch of United Neon.  Times were tough and he was sometimes paid in beans and chocolate pudding.  I never noticed any of that although I know my mother did.  The winters were deep with snow.  Once my father built us a sledding hill by the back door hosed it with water to make it slippery with ice and what fun  it was.

                Even though I was probably three or more likely four, David and I went to the cowboy movies every week.  Gene Autry, my first love, Roy Rogers, Hopalong were all in their heyday and we got free paper cowboy hats. We often got free tickets because my father painted the signs for the theaters.
                On the way down the hill to the movie theater we always stopped to look into the museum or library door window to see the head of the big moose on the opposite wall.  Afterwards with our pearl handled cap pistols in hand we would ride for hours (it seems) on the saw horses in the doorway of the barn where we lived in an apartment in the back of the potato farmer's(Mr. Gardner )house on 441/2 High Street. I was Mack and he was Tim. The fall of 39 when David went to school, I was at a loss. He never missed a day of school and got all A's
               Johnny was born at that address.  My mother called him the potato bug because we were in potato country.  Those were happy days as far as I was concerned.
.               I remember walking over to a hill and lying in the grass by myself.  I also remember thinking that would probably be the most carefree time of my life, ( I didn't have to go to school yet.)
                Business got so bad we had to go back to Portland and that was when we found a place on Vesper Street.

                 Before the war, maybe in 1938, we rented a cottage on Peaks Island.  It was leaky and wicked, but fun.  Snakes would come up onto the porch and one time when it rained we all had to get on my parents’ bed because it was the only dry place, but there was laughter.  I used to go up the little hill by myself and look for snakes under the rocks and wear them like bracelets.  My grandmother wore snake bracelets, but mine were alive.  One day I went way out on the seaweed to fish by myself and my mother had to sneak up and grab me for fear if she called, I would fall into the sea.  That same week, David who loved to play with matches almost burned down the cottage by starting a grass fire.  The firemen came and put it out.  There was a lot of commotion. 

                 I lived with guilt for many, many years about my brother's death.  It wasn't until my thirties that I realized it wasn't my fault.  Sadly, children blame themselves for many tragedies that occur, and then they carry them and forget that they were children and powerless to all that happened.    I cringe when I hear my children or grandchildren say means things to each other or their parents, because I know they don't mean it, but the words can't be taken back once they're sent out.
The things I might have said or did say to David ate at me for years.  It didn't seem to matter what he said to me.    
      
                 Willie Nelson's grandmother told him to keep his words sweet because you never know when you might have to eat them.   

                  David was the only one I felt I could rely one as a child.  He could be mean to me, but he never let anyone else be mean to me.  That is what families do.   He got into his share of trouble - often orchestrated by big brother, but after all he was only nine.  He was so smart.  He could have done anything.  I know his death brought me to a closer relationship with my beliefs. 

                  And I still miss him.”

Marietta shared another Houlton memory of her brother one Fourth of July. Probably the same day the picture on the original story of the 3 of them was taken.

             “There was a big parade and David was supposed to ride his decorated bike in it, but went the wrong way and never got to the parade much to his disappointment.  We went to the band concert that night in the park and that is the first time I ever heard "Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star".  There was a teenage girl there who pointed out the stars and taught me the words.”

Marietta’s memories are very detailed from this time. She wrote how she stayed with friends of the family by the name of Stearns or Sterns who lived on Washington Avenue while the others stayed with the Holts near Brackett Street. The Stearns and the Holts were related.
She recalled all her elementary friends from Monument School in Portland.

My father has different memories related to what happened as a result of the fire. He often felt he was invisible to his mother, and sometimes the unknown son. He had the opportunity to know his father in a different light as he also worked with him for many years in the sign trade, as did my Uncle Phil. When he was a teenager, coming home late, often he would hear, “Is that you, David?” This was when his parents had been drinking. It caused him distress and anger. His thoughts are shared below regarding the newspaper account of the story.

            “This story although revealing is tiring on my mind. I remember having a reoccurring nightmare when I was very small. Now I wonder if it is connected. I used to dream that I was in a suit of armor and in the middle of flames. I would wake up sweating. This was when I was 5, 6 or 7. My uncle came to live with us when I was 7. He took me to a lot of places, like father – son affairs run by the Masons. My nightmares stopped after he lived with us. He was a bright spot in my life at that time because he had the time to spend with me. My father would take me to work on a Saturday with him and I’d ride in the truck with him, That was fun. Little did I know that I was being groomed as a protégé in the sign business. We'd go fishing in the afternoons too.  “

As a result of dialogue this week regarding the story about David, a thought regarding my Uncle Phil has emerged.

Dear Suzan,
        As you can imagine the last couple of days have been rather intense for me.  Think about this.  Philip has remained mum all these years, and as far as I know or remember there was never a family discussion about the most horrible event in our lives, at least not a calm reasonable sit down talk with anyone listening to the other's feelings or fears or guilt.  What we lived with was a story written in the paper by someone who didn't have all the facts which spoke of a boy hero, that being David who "ran in to save us all." It was a comfort somehow to think in those terms.  It could well be true. We will never know, but it gives some meaning to it all. I can't remember the exact words, but as time went by it grew to be a legend in our house when at least John and I were compared. 
         As I said, I cannot stop thinking and rethinking about it, but when you spoke with Philip and got the answer to the question that I never could figure out.  "How did they get out?"  I was struck today that the real hero- the one who caused the rest of us to be here alive  today was Philip.  Philip got David out through the skylight.  Together they woke  my parents and the stranger, all of whom were in the living room passed out.  The tragedy of David running back in , would have been avoided if they had listened to Philip when he tried to tell them he had run in and there were others in the house.  Instead they put him in the police car because he was hysterical.  Imagine his horror.  If he hadn't awakened my mother, she wouldn't have rescued us, because the door to the bedroom was wide open, which she closed and she broke the window and we lived.
         Philip to my knowledge, never tried to take any credit, but I think it is way over due.  I hope to tell him when I am in Maine next time. 

My father responds to his sister regarding this new revelation.

            “The last few days have been filled with some “new” thoughts. I think that you are on to something about Phil being the real hero in the story. He probably had a lot to swallow after the fire. He, too, had things in his mind to block out and maybe some guilt which he put on himself. Phil’s personality was affected, too. I wonder if he ever felt safe in being close to anyone for fear that they would be gone again. It happened to him with Thelma and his daughter. I believe that he felt safe having things instead of family. Things don’t die or leave as people do. He‘s having trauma now because he is separated from his things. Steven has them and Steven is getting all the heat.

            I never felt close to my mother even as a kid. Her personality was nice sometimes and be a witch others. The older I got the more I tried to get away. When she passed, the only feeling I had was “It’s over, all the craziness is over”. The Fire did that to her and I guess it wasn’t her fault.”

If anything, dialogue is important. If anything were to become of writing about David, I am glad to honor his memory and I was pleasantly surprised about the latest revelation about My Uncle Phil. I think it will bring them all closer together, and, yes, it was out of my control. Dialogue is what brought it all about. Thank you to Marietta and John for sharing your deepest thoughts regarding your brother. I know it was not easy. Thank you to Uncle Phil for answering my question. It all just happened as a result of a visit with a simple question. I do not even know why I asked him and was most surprised when he answered me.