In the fall of 1951 we had a German family move into the two-story house at the end of our block. They had two children, a boy and a girl. The boy was my age and his name was Martin Marback. He had bright red hair, and wore leather pants with white shirts and suspenders. He did not speak much English when we first met, but he was really good at climbing the mango trees with me which were in the grove between our houses. Therefore, our play was mostly limited to climbing trees, gathering the mangos, eating some and putting the others in a box for my mother to give away. I quickly learned that he did not understand hardly anything I said, but would copy me in almost anything I would do.

His sister, who was two years older than him, also wore “funny” clothes: typically a white blouse over a red, black and white plaid skirt. She was way overweight, and had long brown pigtails. Whereas her brother Martin was kind of skinny like me. Martin would try to speak some English with me, but I do not remember his sister ever speaking a word. She would simply stand back and watch Martin and me play.

By the time Deerfield Elementary school started in September, Martin and I had become “friends”, even though we could not communicate very well.

We had only been in school a few days when “the fight” happened. About six of us were lined up in front of the water fountain to stand upon a wooden box and get a drink of water. Martin was in front of me. Robert Sloan, a year younger than us, but a few inches taller, was at the end of the line. Suddenly, when Martin started to get his drink in front of me, Robert Sloan jumped out of the line, rushed forward, grabbed Martin by the back of his head pushing his face into the fountain and twisted the fountain handle to keep the water flowing onto Martin’s face as though he was trying to drown him. He also was simultaneously screaming “you’re a dirty Nazi.” Martin started sputtering, lifted his head and tried to get away from Robert and the fountain.

Before I could even think about it I grabbed Robert Sloan’s shoulder with my left hand and shoved him backwards away from Martin and the fountain. He responded by hitting me with his right hand to the side of my face. I tackled him and we proceeded to roll around on the floor of the hallway with fists flying. Everyone else was screaming. Within seconds it seems, Ms. Henry, the school principal, was there and grabbed the back of my shirt collar pulling me up and off of Robert.

Ms. Henry took us into her office around the corner from the water fountain, and demanded to know why we were fighting. I told her that Robert started it by attacking Martin. She asked him why? He told her that his father had been a soldier and Germans had killed a lot of his father’s friends. She looked at both of us kindly, but firmly told us that fighting was not allowed. She told us to go to the chair next to her desk and bend over, then she reached for a wooden paddle. She proceeded to spank both of us with about three strong licks. Neither of us cried, but neither did we ever fight again.

David Eller, Publisher

3-20-08