POST SCRIPT TO THE BLOG “THE UPS AND DOWNS OF COLLEGE LIFE”

What did the letter in the sealed envelope say? I don’t know. I didn’t open it because I wanted her to know the truth. I felt that I would be with her for the rest of her life and when she would find that I told her the truth, she would always trust me to care for her and never have to apologize if she was wrong in her judgment of me.

THE PEACOCK, THE BATS AND THE MOSQUITOES

Painting by Debra L. Hoover

The summer of 1937 was an exciting one, to say the least. I played with the school orchestra, the Wilberforce Collegians, was on tour for three months under the supervision of a professional promotion company. We were booked up from late June to early September. We started in Kokomo, Indiana, and ended in Michigan. The promotion company in Traverce City, Michigan, represented and traveled with us.

Many interesting and some unforgettable things happened during our travels. One week began in Cleveland, Ohio and ended in Dayton, Ohio. Incidentally, we had an exceptional trumpet player with us named Snooky Young who later became a national sensation. Go to “Google” to see him.

The week started in Cleveland at the Trianon Ballroom. Monday, Tuesday and Thursday. What a beautiful place. The state was huge, the space for the rhythm section was large, and had a separate platform for me and my bass. We were as proud as peacocks. The orchestra felt and played like we were on top of the world. When we finished there Thursday night, we packed our things on the school bus and were on our way to a small mining town in West Virginia. My personal blanket was pulled over my head and like the rest of the guys, I was settled down for a midnight ride. By the way, the night after West Virginia was Dayton, Ohio. As usual, the contract for the gig in West Virginia read that we would be paid off by the named individual at intermission. Our manager said that he would meet us in Dayton at the intermission. The West Virginia orchestra leader would pick up the money.

The dance area was on the second floor. I usually estimated the size of attendance by the number of people arriving before the starting time, plus the number at the starting time. We were going to have an overflowing crowd at this affair in the little mining town. The orchestra played well and the place was packed.

At the intermission, there were a few people still arriving. I saw one fellow come in with five girls and when he found the pocket with the money, it all came out and I doubt he could tell one bill from another. He was feeling pretty good.

Our orchestra members went to see the man who was to pay the orchestra. After about 45 minutes, they still hadn’t found the money man. They began to ask questions and confront some of the orchestra members. By then, the sheriff arrived and from the stage, he told the people the situation. They still were not satisfied and had become a bit unruly. He called for help. They came and the whole second floor was cleared, to our relief, the mob around the bus had to be cleared away, too, while we loaded our instruments on and were safe inside.

Two police cars, one in front and one in the back, escorted us until we were out of danger. This was in the mountains of West Virginia, there were no guard rails and every curve was potential danger. Still in the middle of the night, we were finally out of the dangerous part of the mountains, on our way to Dayton, Ohio. What a relief. But as luck would have it, boys will be boys. During a little horse play, they had loosened the right half of the bus windshield and somehow it came out.

We tried to fix it to no avail. I wasn’t expecting any success with the repair effort. There were only about 25 of us. Out of about 250 musicians, finding one with mechanical skill would be a miracle.

We each put our blankets over our head traveling at 55 and 60 miles per hour, we had to fight the night bugs and mosquitoes flying in the bus as best we could for the next several hundred miles. Once in awhile I would peep out of one corner of the blanket and duck back in as I saw and heard the little bugs coming through the open window at me. I was wondering if possibly any bats might be passing through, also.

We were all tired when we reached Dayton, Ohio. The two or three hours sleep was not of much help.

We did well that Saturday night, however, I forgot to mention that my friend Paul Brown, was the guitar player on that summer trip. You have to read my earlier blogs to know my friend, Paul. Perhaps, this will give you a little idea of who Paul was.

That Saturday night, we were all dead tired, but like real troopers, we held forth until the final note was played.

When we played the hottest number, “White Heat” at one point I was upstage in front. The bass was placed on its side on the floor and I was straddling it like a horse and “Cab” Dixon was riding on the back. I was “whipping” the bass in time with the music. It was a hot number, and funny.

I glanced over at Paul and he was sound asleep, his head down and eyes closed and playing “White Heat” with the orchestra and he never missed a beat. ha

THE UPS AND DOWNS OF COLLEGE LIFE

At Wilberforce University, the third week in May was quite exciting in Ohio because the physical education department had their outdoor exhibition and the gym team was a big attraction. We practiced hard, especially when our girlfriends were watching. Most of my senior year, I was living off campus at our homestead. We were also on a strict diet during this time.

The day of the exhibit was a beautiful Saturday afternoon. Everything went well. My Aunt Effie was among the spectators, and there was a huge turnout that evening. My Aunt Effie said to Aunt Sarah, “I had no idea that Billy was so good at these gymnastic things.” I smiled as if it was nothing, but what a day. I also had met the young sister of one of my best friends and the daughter of Dr. James Robinson, dean of the sociology department. She was one of the spectators. She was a sophomore and I had been escorting her to some of the affairs on the campus. I was sort of free at that time and told her brother, my friend, I would sort of look out for her -– but back to that day on the campus.

That big day was not quite o ver. My fraternity was having their Spring dance that night. I was on the committee to decorate the gym and we were out in the woods gathering green shrubbery and plants for decorations. The school is in a very country area.

I had dinner after that, dressed for the dance and went to the dorm to pick up my date, my friend’s sister. She had to sign out of her dorm, write down where she was going, and the approximate time that she would return. What a day so far. – We arrived at the dance and sat at a table near the orchestra. I enjoyed sitting there listening to the music. The Collegians, my band, were playing. They sounded very good. I had taken a night off from the orchestra. We had an excellent bass player who took my place when necessary.

It was relaxing to sit there with good friends and my friend, Jimmy and his sister. What a day – a successful gymnastic exhibition, a good dinner, a trip out in the woods with the frat brothers, and now a time to relax at the Alpha phi Alpha Ball with friends. Although some of the guys would find a way to get their choice of drinks and have them before and after, or during an affair like this, it was seldom discovered by school officials. However, the brothers had some non-alcoholic beverages at the table. I didn’t try to bring any drinks. Not that I would not mind a little, but I didn’t have the money, the connection, or the time for that. And being with Dr. Robinson’s daughter, I would not indulge if I could. So I decided to have a few sips of the juice on our table. It was very tart, but okay.

After ten or fifteen minutes, my stomach started cramping and I was so sick, I couldn’t stand up and walk. The fellows at our table realized that my condition was serious and with one on each side, and my arms over their shoulder, they half-walked and half-carried me out. I’m sure that everyone thought that I was drunk.

I don’t know how I got to the house, which was about a twenty minutes walk from the campus. Very few students had a car of their own. My guess is that some teacher, maybe a fraternity brother provided a car – I’m sure that I was driven to the house.

Aunt Sarah, who was never married, was always the one to help us four boys when help was needed. She could see right away that my condition was serious. My oldest brother was there. He was an assistant teacher in the biology department. Frank sort of took over and got me to bed.

I guess they both thought that I had been drinking, especially Aunt Sarah – but neither of them knew if I had been in this condition before. The question was how serious was my condition.

They called the school doctor. He came in a short time. He told them that I was bilious and I think he told them it was probably from the tart juice that I had, plus something I had eaten for dinner that was off (not fresh). He was probably right. He gave me medication and by the next afternoon I felt okay, except that I felt a little weak and had lost so much liquid in my system. My whole body seemed to have shrunk by 30 or 40 pounds, and I looked like a ghost, but in spite of that, I decided to go back to the campus. The house wasn’t really home to me. The campus was “home” and the house was mainly for eating and sleeping. I immediately went to see my date, Dr. Robinson’s daughter, to explain what happened to me. I sent word to her and waited for her to meet me in front of her dorm.

When she finally came out, she looked at me and said nothing. We walked around to the right side of the dorm. There was a bench made of cinder blocks with a flat piece of slate on top. We sat there and talked a little I told her that the doctor said that I was bilious from too tart food mixing with perhaps, food that was not fresh.

She handed me a white envelope sealed with a message inside. I looked at her beautiful eyes, and saw a tear in one eye. I had the envelope in my hand – I reached down and put the sealed envelope in an opening in front of the bench that we were sitting on. I never read it.  We walked around for quite awhile. When we got back to the dorm I said, “I’ll see you tomorrow. Reading my lips, she said, “Okay.” If that bench is still there, so is the envelope.

That night I sat in my bed with pen in hand and wrote a Dear John letter to a previous girlfriend. Four years later I married my wife and we had two children and were happily married for 68 years!!

Dad celebrating his birthday with his Spanish class at Church of the Ascension

MUSIC, MUSIC, MUSIC

The Mills Brothers: Herbert, John, Donald and Harry

I had to spend an extra year in high school because of a serious case of athlete’s foot. I was out nearly a month of my senior year. That is why I finished with my friend, Paul.

I had a little extra time that year and decided to learn to play an instrument. I loved music, in any form, especially classical. Paul played in the school orchestra and the marching band. He had perfect pitch and could write music having never taken a lesson. He had that kind of mind. I wanted to play an instrument. Hopefully, I could learn rather quickly. Mr. Van Pelt, the director of music, showed me several instruments and they looked difficult to learn. I saw a large cabinet that was about half the size of the average closet. I said, “What’s in there?” He said, “Oh, that’s where we store the base violin." When he opened the door I said, “I’ll try that one.”

I had taken regular violin lessons when I was about 7 or 8 years old. I didn’t learn very much because my brother, Charles, would take me to a movie with the lesson money. We had enough money for the movie a sandwich, and street car fair, and perhaps a little left over. We seldom had the violin lesson.

Mr. Van Pelt wrote a few notes on paper and told me to practice them every day, which I did, for about two weeks.

The school had a very fine orchestra, however, the one bass player had graduated that June. I think Mr. Van Pelt started me and my bass, almost immediately because the orchestra just wouldn’t look right without someone standing beside the big bass with bow in hand. In the beginning, I would just play the first note in each measure when possible. The average person is not born with perfect pitch, meaning, they cannot tell when an instrument is sounding the proper note at the proper time. Mr. Van Pelt and my friend, Paul Brown, had perfect pitch. Occasionally, Mr. Van Pelt would say like “The lad on the bass, tighten your G string just a little.”

There I was struggling to read the music and play the proper notes and keep the instrument tuned just right. The most important thing was the bass and bass player. All of that is to say this, I got off to a wobbly start but was soon able to hold my own as a musician, but never aspired to be one of note…pardon the word, “note.”

During our senior year, Paul and I played with some small local groups. Two or three dollars a gig. Our first job paid $.65 per man – that was a percentage job. ha – but guess who came to town – a family of 6 or 7 from Pique, Ohio (pronounced Pickway) including 4 handsome young men, from ages about 19 to 24. John, Harry, Herbert, and Donald Mills and one guitar. The four Mills Brothers. The boys were staying at Chauncey Bennett’s a local young piano player, nicknamed Father Hines, after a famous orchestra leader, Father Hines. His family had a rather large home right on Chapel Street in our neighborhood. The whole neighborhood was abuzz – later the whole city, then the whole nation.

They performed two or three nights a week on WLW radio (4 boys and a guitar) to listen to them you would hear a guitar, a trumpet, a saxophone, and a bass horn. To see them perform, you would see boys and a guitar. The other instrumental sounds were made by the boys.

They were almost an immediate sensation and they were living right in our neighborhood.

A small group of us were invited to Chauncey’s house for a little get-together on a Sunday afternoon. We had met one or two casually, but all four together…We had fun. Chauncey played a couple of numbers on the grand piano. Chauncey’s family was not wealthy, but the piano was important for him. we finally asked the boys if they would do a number for us. they said sure, but the guitar is down the Gross girls’ house. The Gross’ were a family of 5 girls and a widowed father. They went to my church, their father sang in the choir. They were only about one block away. Immediately I said that I would run down and get the guitar. Without hesitation, John took the instrument. He was sitting on the other side of the piano. He checked the strings and was ready. John remained seated, Donald, Herbert and Harry stood up. They sang two or three songs. At least one had the trumpet sound and the saxophone sound. We were thrilled. I probably was not clear on what sounds they made. John, the oldest, was as I said, sitting on the other side of the piano. I sort of raised up to see what he used to make those deep bass sounds one could hear throughout each song. I stood up and all I saw was a guitar. No bass – nothing else. ha – of course, they went on to New York and Hollywood.

I’ve told this story many times. We had a sand lot football game. Donald, the youngest, was the only brother who would join in sports with us. He was closer to our age. At one point in a football game, he was running toward the goal for a touchdown and a tough little short guy named Sheridan was between Donald and the goal. Sheridan hit him head on. Picked him up and Donald came down head first. The ground was more like gravel than grass, like a large playground. Donald took it well, but his face was really -- the only words I can think of is – messed up.

They were scheduled to be on the Sidney Ten-Eyck’s program that night. Donald took it all like a man. He wanted to be like any other l7 or l8 year old kid. That night when Sidney Ten-Eyck introduced them, he said, “The Mills Brothers, 4 boys and a guitar, but Donald looks like he’s been HIT by a run-away freight train. haha

They went on to have a long and successful career.

Unfortunately, John, the oldest and the bass, passed away age 26 while on tour in Europe. He was married to one of the Gross girls, Alice. His father replaced him as bass. When his father passed, they stayed together as a trio. They were a wonderful family and loved by all.

One more important note.

Donald was the only person I know who would buy a pair of shoes and have a brother wear them awhile until they were well broken-in before he would wear them. ha –

Enough.

Next, a few of my musical happenings while in college with my friend, Paul Brown.

THE BAD, THE BOLD, AND THE BEAUTIFUL

In Cincinnati at an early age, I noticed that there were nice neighborhoods and some not so nice areas also, and that there were those who were well thought of and others who were not – well, who were downright bad. Of course at that time, I didn’t realize that this was true of almost every city, regardless of size.

I was about 9 years old and my brother, Charles, was about 11 when my parents signed us for our first YMCA day camp. We were to be picked up for camp the morning of August 9th. I could hardly wait for the day to come. Brother Charles had no interest in camping, especially for two weeks. However, he was told he had to go at least for one week.

Two of the larger boys got off and helped us with our bags. Mother was out there to say good-bye. The ride to camp wasn’t too long and two older boys had us singing and laughing. Charles was not very happy.

When we arrived at the camp, I saw a lot of kids there. The whole group gathered for lunch in the mess hall and soon were assigned to our cottage. We met our group leader, unpacked, and were ready for our afternoon activities. Softball, volleyball, swimming, and anything else we might choose. I don’t know what my brother chose, probably checkers or cards.

Charles was not an outdoor kid. If it was left to him, he would not have been there. Actually, in the middle of the ? he wrote to my mother on two penny post cards, each saying, “We are not having a good time. Please come and get us,” signed Charles. On the other card he wrote, “We are not having a good time, please come get us,” signed Billy.

My card was the opposite and I’m sure mother noticed the different pens. It was sent to Mary 3 Lee, instead of Mary E. Lee. ha. But she came out after the first week and took Charles home.

I had a ball. I took part in about every sport, enjoyed the singing around the campfire at night and enjoyed the food. In the evening around dinner time, we could smell the food cooking in the mess hall long before the bell rang.

We did our swimming in the Little Miami River which flowed right by the camp. I don’t remember any formal lessons, but I do remember how I started actually swimming.

My buddy and I had our own little area where we practiced. It was called “mud-crawling.” This could only be done in a river, in the shallow part. With your head and face up, you lay flat and kicked your feet with toes pointed and most importantly, your arms rotated up, over and down, but your hands, with fingers pointed, went straight down in the mud and you sort of walked on your hands. This way, you didn’t worry about drowning. That’s mud-crawling.

We had about two days of rain one time and of course, no swimming. After a day or two, swimming was resumed. My buddy and I went to our choice spot and went back to mud-crawling. Suddenly, we bother realized that there was no mud down there. Our hands couldn’t reach the mud. From that point on we never touched the mud again. We were happy. There was a good current in the Little Miami River. Some of the better swimmers were allowed to go up stream and swim down to the area where we swam. It was beautiful as the current made them look like Olympic champions. Of course, I later learned the various swimming strokes and became a certified swimming instructor.

You may recall that my father told me that I would meet new kids from other parts of the city. I guess he wanted me to understand that I had not met every type of boy and at camp I would meet many different types of kids.

As I reflect on these YMCA camp years, 4th through 12th grade, today I would say that a summer camp in a large city like Cincinnati, is an essential part of having healthy and happy children ready for their studies in the fall, especially for the middle and low-income families. There was no segregation in Ohio, but the usual separation. There were no serious discipline problems at the camp. An occasional boy would be sent home, usually because he did not like camp or the camp activities.

Interestingly, we had an open court every day after breakfast. It was usually fun. One young adult leader would be the judge and another would be the prosecuting attorney, and a camper would be on the stand. The most serious cases might get the gauntlet. (Two lines of boys facing each other and the guilty person has to run as fast as he can through the two lines as the boy s try to hit him on the rear with their belts.) Addressing prosecutor, some of the younger boys would say, “prostituting attorney.” ha ha

Most of the boys I enjoyed being with in most activities were not from my part of town. They were from what we call today the “inner city.” Sounds much more respectable. Most of these boys were better in sports and better company for me.

Later I found out why I preferred these boys. Their environment was not that good, but there were also a number of professional people, also living in their area because it was difficult for them to buy homes in other areas at that time. There were always a number of black students living at the YMCA, undergrads, graduate students, some in law, some in education, and some in other fields. Usually, there were also one or two University of Cincinnati athletes who lived at the “Y.”

The YMCA and the YWCA , (Young Women’s Christian Association) were good outlets for these young adult people of all ages. Most of these young people who took advantage of programs offered were ambitious and forward-looking youngsters. They were bold and to me they were beautiful.

TIMEOUT FOR THE NOW

Honored guest, Forrester Lee, at the Alpha Phi Alpha Ball, the only living member and founder of the Zeta Episilon Lambda Chapter.

THE PRESENT, THE PRESENT AND THE PRESENT

I’ve been writing about interesting things in my life. I have also said that the present and the future are more important than our past and our heritage. The following is no exception. The emphasis is really on the people involved.

On this Saturday, November 6, 2010, Zeta Epsilon Lambda Chapter of Alpha Phi Alpha Fraternity, Inc. invited me to their 55th anniversary scholarship gala at the Sheraton Hotel in Eatontown, New Jersey. It was the 55th anniversary formal dinner and dance, attended by about 250 people. It was one of the most elegant affairs. They honored the daughters of Zeta Epsilon Lambda Chapter of A Phi A, and all Alpha daughters who were present, including my daughter, Marian Lewis. The special honorees were Pat Battle of NBC and Wendy Williams of the Wendy Williams Show on Fox and BET.

They wanted me to be one of their special guests only because I was not only an Alpha brother, but because I am the only living charter member and also the founder of the chapter.

This part of my story is really about what one may face when the goal is always in sight, but seems to be moving away two steps for every time you take a step.

I went to Red Bank, New Jersey as executive of the branch YMCA. At age 34, I had a lot to learn about being head of a small branch YMCA and also how to relate to the many facets of being a good influence in the community, which was not a real problem for me. In the spring of 1950, I met several fraternity brothers. We would give each other the fraternity handshake and talk frat stuff and be on our way.

Red Bank, New Jersey, is a relatively small town, and I knew five or six frat brothers during the first year or two. By the end of the year, I began to realize that there were a number of small communities and towns close by, and I also became aware that they were socially connected business people, working people, professional people, etc. To make a long story short, I realized there was a close connection of people in these towns.

About the third or fourth year, I knew a number of frat brothers and arranged a meeting and we discussed applying for a charter. The only real objection was that they were already involved in one or more community local organizations in their towns. They finally decided to go forward.

I contacted our national office in Chicago, and was informed of all requirements such as minimum number, the proper I.D. regarding schools, degrees, and location.

It was l955 by the time we had the number of brothers and all other requirements. The national office was to send a member to install our new chapter. The fun part, if you want to call it that, was three days before the installation date. I called the office and we arranged for the brother on the staff to arrive in Newark, New Jersey, the morning of the installation. We would pick him up at the airport. The installation was to be a dinner that evening.

The office informed me that the national president was on vacations with his family and would be back on the day before the installation. I called the office back and told them to call him and explain the situation. They called back and said that he and his family are out in some location away from the main office and we were not to call him there. Somehow, I got through to him and the first thing he said was “How did you get through to me?” I joked with him; I had met him before. His signature was on that charter in time. I say again, “all is well that ends well.”

Forrester with daughter, Marian Lewis

Forrester Lee with Zeta Epsilon Lambda Chapter president

Two distinguished alpha men, Gary Lewis and Forrester Lee

Barbara Ham, Forrester, and Marian Lewis

Jay and Barbara Ham with the honorable guest, Forrester

The Hamms were the only people that we knew at the ball from Red Bank

some 55 years ago

ADDENDUM FROM MARIAN LEWIS

To say that it was an honor to attend this illustrious event with my father just does not say enough. He is a celebrity in our own community, and he was certainly a celebrity that night. People were coming up to him just to get their pictures taken with him. It was amazing.

He may have been the oldest guest there, but don't let that fool you. The band had the whole place jumping, and although my father may not have been on the dance floor, it was such a pleasure to see him enjoying himself at the table, rocking out with the rest of us. He is too modest to say how much of an honored guest he was. These Alphas picked us up in Delaware, escorted us to our room at the Sheraton Hotel where the event was, and drove us back to Delaware. It was such a joy to see young brothers have such an appreciation for their elders and the rich history of African American Alpha brothers. Everything was paid for by the fraternity. One brother, Quincy, met with us the next morning after we had our breakfast at the hotel. He asked if dad paid for it. He told him that he did. Quincy reached into his pocket and took out $32.00 of his own money to reimburse my father. My father asked if he could get the fraternity to reimburse him. He said, "I won't even ask them. It is a privilege and an honor just to be here with you." Brother, Richard Hall, drove us up and back. He is an exemplary Alpha brother dedicated to service and mentoring young brothers in need. He has spent time with my father, getting his history and can do nothing but sing his praises. Dad found out that he actually knew people in Rich's family from his time at the YMCA in Red Bank. They were children at the time that he worked at the YMCA, and he had just told me the story of how he had met them, not knowing that Rich was a relative and would be driving us to the ball. We found that out on the ride up to Eatontown. Not unusual. Dad knows everybody.

I was blessed to be able to follow along in my father's footsteps to attend this affair. I only wish that more family members had been there to share the spotlight cast on a living legend, as we have all been blessed to personally benefit from the light that he has shone on us.

Thank you, dad.

A TON OF BRICKS

In the 1800s my mother’s father was Aaron Mossell, Sr. (Google). He was an exceptional man who moved his family out of Baltimore, Maryland to Canada to avoid slavery. There he established a successful brick-making business, which he later moved to New York. A great story -- but later –- this story is of a later date but involves bricks, a ton of them.

In Cincinnati living at 1311 Myrtle Avenue, which extended from Montgomery Road through our area, it seemed to be at least three or four city blocks. We had a large lot (playground) on that north side. Living in the next house were the Wautters, an elderly white couple, very nice people. From their house on to Montgomery Road were all white families. The whole neighborhood was probably middle class blacks and whites.

As mentioned earlier, I had lots of friends to socialize with, however, age 6 or 7, I was playing with a kite or ball, and found myself, well into the white area. The street was a little uphill and not the best area for playing. There was a boy about my age standing in the middle of the street. We met, we played together, we talked, we rested and played again. We seemed to have a lot in common. When we parted, we agreed to meet the next day.

On the way home, I thought about my other friends. They were fun and I liked the games we played, but my new friend, well, he spoke about things other than sports and I was interested in those things, too. He also said that he would ask his parents if he could have me over for dinner.

The next few days I would look up the street to see if he was outside playing, he wasn’t there. I had already decided that if I saw my new friend, I would just tell my playmates that I will be right back and invite my new friend down to play.

A few days passed until I saw him in front of his house. I was really excited and as I recall, my usual friends were not with me.

I immediately ran up to greet him. He was standing almost as a soldier might stand, reciting his code of allegiance to a superior officer. It started like, “My father said your people are…” then he recited a whole litany of words like “dirty,” “ignorant,” “lazy,” etc. so he could not play with me and he could not invite me to dinner.

Today I would say it hit me like a “ton of bricks” all 2,240 pounds, but as an 8 year old child, it would be more like hit me with a 25 pound bag of marbles. ha

It was hurtful and it made me very sad, but even as a 3rd grader, I learned at home that this truth abounds in every race or group of people. The good, the bad, and us INBETWEENERS. ha

1311 MYRTLE AVENUE, CINCINNATI, OHIO

"...I enjoyed my buddies in about every sport from mumbelty-peg , to football, basketball, baseball, tennis, swimming, marbles and games we made up."

We finally were in our own home. A three-story frame house. The kitchen and dining room, the furnace, and the coal bin were below ground level. The living room and bedrooms were on the first level. The second floor was an apartment and the third floor, a small area for living. There was a front porch and swing. There was a large lot on the north side of the house. There was a brick wall on the north side with a walkway and steps for entrance to the kitchen or dining room from outside.

Most of the family was together there. My brother, Mossell, may have been in school at Wilberforce with the aunts and grandparents some of the time – you get the picture – most important is the happenings were during the 6 or 7 years we were there.

My friend, Paul, was in a different school most of these years. Also, he was an indoor kid during these early school years. For me, indoors was only for sleeping, unless ordered otherwise! The side yard was a playground for me and my friends.

During these early years, my two older brothers were involved in their own friends and activities and I enjoyed my buddies in about every sport from mumbelty-peg , to football, basketball, baseball, tennis, swimming, marbles and games we made up. I never knew where my brother, Charles, traveled. He was only two years older. I was never more than two or three blocks away from the house. I think he was really a wanderer.

Shortly after we were settled in the neighborhood in Walnut Hills, my friends and I were playing in the side yard, and Charles happened to be there. We heard this fire engine in the distance. When we realized it, it was turning down our street. We all ran to the front and saw this huge red fire truck speeding towards us. The siren was screaming and the bells were ringing. We all stepped back a safe distance and waited. This was in the l920s and technology was nothing like it is today. Lo and behold, the fire engine came to a sudden stop, noise and all, right in front of us. We were all stunned and scared. Our eyes fixed open. The driver looked down at us and shouted, “Any of you kids know where Lincoln Place is?” We just stood there, with our eyes about to pop out – but my brother, Charles, spoke up immediately and said, “I do.” One of the firemen jumped off the fire truck and tossed Charles up to the crew and away they went, bells ringing and sirens screaming.

It wasn’t very long before they came back and dropped Charles off. It was a big deal for him. He was soon gone again. Just wandered off…?

Sometime after that incident, I knew the neighborhood quite well, and had even ventured a few blocks outside of our immediate area. My brother, Mossell, had taken me to the zoo a couple times, up to McMillan go right and after passing the General Hospital, keep going and follow the signs to the zoo. When I got to the zoo, I would turn around and come back. I followed my plan. The hospital seemed to be a little further than I thought. When I finally got there, the building seemed much larger than I remembered. As I stood there across the street observing the buildings, a bus pulled up to the curb. A lady passenger got off. As she walked in front of the bus and across the street, a speeding car hit her. As she lay in the street, two men rushed to aid her. They picked her up and carried her directly into the hospital.

I immediately headed for home. I was frightened thinking of the sound of that car hitting that woman. It was a sound that I had never heard before. The whole situation made me long for comfort and words of understanding. How a person could be living in this world one moment, and suddenly taken away…There was no doubt in my mind that that woman was no longer among the living. I wanted someone to put their arms around me, close, and tell me that would not happen to me or those I loved.

That evening at the supper table, I was quiet. Every time someone spoke I would look at them and thing that they could be taken away just like that. The thought made me almost cry, yet I had not said a word about the accident, not because I was afraid of the punishment that I might get…my parents would never use physical punishment. I just didn’t want to explore why I was so far away from home by myself. It’s strange because every now and then when there was a quiet moment, I would have an urge to tell what happened. I never said a word then or ever.

THE FUNERAL (continued)

Model-T Ford

That morning, finally, everyone was dressed and ready for the funeral. During this time my father, Benjamin Franklin Lee, Jr., was recovering from an operation. The car that I was to ride in was a model –T Ford (in 1926 a model-T Ford was the latest means of travel for the middle class. The next step down was the horse and buggy.)

It was snowing again that morning about six inches had already fallen. Four or five of us managed to squeeze into the car. One of the men cranked it and we were ready to go. When the driver let up on the clutch a little, the rear wheels (the only wheels that had power) began to spin and the rear of the car slipped and the back of the car began sliding in the ditch. Not a problem, several men got on that side and pushed it back straight while the driver slowly let out the clutch as he pulled the accelerator down. We were now okay, as long as we stayed in the tracks made by the previous car.

The funeral was at Galaway Hall on the Wilberforce campus. When we arrived, the hall was full. We were escorted down front. Wilberforce was always a fun time for me. Two or three weeks of summer fun. Somehow this was not a sad occasion for me. Grandfather had told my cousin and me that he would not be there for our next visit. He passed at age 84, quite remarkable at that time, and he was never “Pop Pop” to us grands. He was our grandfather, the Bishop. His daughters, Aunt Sarah, Effie, and Aunt Addie tried to help our parents keep us on the right track.

So I was not grief-stricken or very sad at the funeral. He was always grandfather, the Bishop. I was rather curious that the hall was full of people. As we sat down, I thought that I recognized some one from Cincinnati, so I turned around to see who else I might recognize. There were a couple more and by that time someone pulled on my coat and said, “Turn around.”

The service seemed to go along smoothly. There was music, brief remarks by several people. Then at last, the speaker, Bishop Ransom. He seemed to be very well received. I had heard his name mentioned at the house and also at home in Cincinnati.

Years later, I learned that at the time of my grandfather’s passing, Bishop Raverdy C. Ransom, (Google) was a very powerful minister who had just become a Bishop at the time of my grandfather’s passing. He was a tall, handsome man with reddish hair and was an excellent speaker. People were impressed with his calm, low-key, direct and forceful method of presentation. People listened to every word he said because he feared no man and would talk straightforward and say what he believed regardless of race, color, religion or political affiliation.

Years later, I learned also why there was such a large attendance at the funeral. My grandfather was known and revered in this country and in England, as a very learned man and was highly respected for his ability to oversee and provide guidance to any group or organization. His honesty and trustworthiness were impeccable.

P.S. My Aunt Sarah, who was the daughter who cared for him in his last days told me this.

Papa was bedridden in his last days. Shortly before he passed, he raised-up in bed and said, to Mr. Short, the seminary student in the house, “Bring me my hat and coat. I must go home now.” My Aunt said, “Papa, you are home,” and he said, “I know, but now I must go home to the angels.”