The first thing I noticed different in the summer of 1947, at age 5 ½, was that my mother started buying me some new clothes. We lived on Dixie Highway where the tennis courts are now, and the nearest clothing store, “Parman’s” was only three blocks further south on Dixie. We would walk there. The pants she bought me were all light brown khakis with turned-up cuffs on the bottom. I didn’t particularly like the cuffs because sand, sand spurs, and other debris would collect inside the cuff as I played outside. This would get me in trouble with my mom when the sand ended up in the house on the floor. She also bought me a bunch of short sleeve plaid shirts. Every weekday for years I was destined to wear a plaid shirt with khaki pants to school. It was not a requirement of the school; it was just the way Mom liked to dress me. Today you will not find a plaid shirt or khaki pants in my closet.

My best friend was Elmo. His mother worked for my mother helping her to clean the house, and wash our clothes. Elmo and I mostly played marbles in a patch of gray sand next to the steps in the backyard. Sometimes we also played hide and seek, but Elmo didn’t stand a chance since my dog “Brownie” would always help me find him. During mango season, at the beginning of summer, we would climb the trees in our backyard, and stuff ourselves with mangos. What we didn’t eat, we’d put in a paste board box for Elmo’s mother to take and share with their neighbors.

Elmo was my friend, and we were the same age. However, one day Mother explained that I would be starting school soon, and Elmo would be going to his school. “Can I go to his school too” I remember asking? “No” she tried to explain, “Elmo has to go to his school, and you have to go to your school”. “Why”? I cried. “That’s just the way it is David!” she replied. So it was, back then.

The first day of school came, and I was up early. Mother wanted me to take a bath before getting ready for school. After the bath I put on my khaki pants and plaid shirt and was ready for an inspection. I remember Mom looking behind my ears for some reason, and then declaring that there was dirt behind my ears. She grabbed a wet wash cloth, dipped it on the soap, and vigorously started rubbing. I thought my ear was going to come off before she got satisfied and declared me clean enough to go to school.

My seven-year-old-sister left early for school to meet friends there, so I had to walk the approximate five blocks by myself. I started out from the back yard to walk one block south and then four blocks east to the school. Just as I walked out the back yard I heard Elmo’s mother, who had just arrived without Elmo, say to my mother: “Are you going to dye today?” I heard mother say “Yes!”

I continued to walk for a few minutes, simultaneously thinking about what I had just heard. Mother is going to die today, I thought. I knew she had told me she was going to miss having me home with her. But could she actually miss me so much that she would die? Suddenly I felt nauseous. Mother is going to die because she’s going to miss me so much! I don’t want to go to school if it causes my mother to die, I thought.

Suddenly I turned around and started running back home. I ran as fast as I could. When I reached the back door I swung it open and rushed in to find Mother. There she was standing next to the washing machine with a box of blue powder in her hand. I rushed to her and started hugging her crying “Please don’t die. Please don’t die!”

Mother started laughing. “David” she said, “I’m sorry we must have scared you about this dyeing business. I’m not going to be dyeing like you’re thinking; I’m only going to be dyeing some sheets and pillow cases to make them blue today.”

Greatly relieved, I rubbed my eyes, pulled myself back together and headed off for school. This time I ran all the way without stopping. I knew my teacher was going to be Mrs. Henry, and that she was also called principal. When I got to the class room, which was next to her office, there were five girls my age there. I already knew three of them from church: Lynda Dame, Janice Brown and Mildred Gordan. However, I was the only boy in my first grade class. That’s how small Deerfield was in 1947.

David Eller
Publisher