My Early Years

Mom, Dad and I lived in a small town 60 miles south of Omaha, NE called Auburn until the end of my first grade year when we moved to a town a little farther south. I remember very little about the move or about the new first grade I was ushered into. However, there are many little adventures that I recall over the next few years. Even the bad memories become good memories after many years of contemplation.

Falls City was a nice place to live, to grow up, and to experience a peaceful existence as a child. The town was nestled into a pretty river valley in the most southeast corner of Nebraska, and it boasted at the time a grand total of 5,280 people. Anything that happened that caused tears for me was surely of my own making. I was a good girl and obeyed my parents out of love and respect. Of course, I had my moments when even a good little girl makes very bad choices. But those stories are for other times. Today’s story is a story of revelations and changes into a new world that previously had been unknown. And at the age of seven, there is much in the world to be awakened to.

We had settled comfortably into our new home on West 14th Street, and I was ready to meet new friends and experience the neighborhood. I had seen two young girls playing at the house just west of us. They seemed happy and full of fun, and I could hardly wait to meet them. They didn’t venture over to introduce themselves, so I knew there was nothing for it but to take on the introductions myself. That was a problem. I was very shy, and I had no intentions of going up to strange people and speaking. If they were to speak to me, of course, would be even worse, because then I had to make a choice. Either I speak or I run to hide in my mother’s skirt. I usually chose to run. My mother’s dress-tails were a very safe place to hide when strange people took notice of me. Even some of my distant relatives were strange enough for me to retreat to my favorite hiding place. (When mother wasn’t around I learned to improvise with my own dress-tail, bringing it up to cover my head.)

Finally, on a beautiful Saturday morning, I decided it was time to step out and do the unimaginable. With every bit of courage that I could find at the age of seven, I remember stepping up to the enclosed porch at the side of their house. I needed two more steps to get to the kitchen door and amazingly I found them. It’s always been remarkable to me that anyone in that house heard my faint little taps on the door. They surely must have been sitting quietly at the kitchen table with their half-filled cups of coffee and waiting for the new little girl that just moved in to come gently tapping at their door. Within seconds I stood staring up at a very pretty woman who I assumed correctly was the mother.

“Can your girls come out to play?”

I couldn’t believe it! Those words actually came out of my own mouth! Shocking! And yet, at the next moment this pretty lady was responding to my words.

“I’m sorry,” she answered. “They can’t come out now. They’re watching Looney Toons.” And the door shut. I stood there staring at the closed door. The door had a nice window in it that was right at my eye level, and there were pretty yellow curtains hanging on the inside with just enough space for me to see her return to the table where two other adult people sat, one woman older than the mother, and one man who looked to be a teenager, only maybe just a little older.

I turned and walked off the porch, up the sidewalk, across their driveway and stepped onto our property. And then it struck me. “What the heck was a Looney Toon?” I’d never heard of such a thing. She said they were watching it, so it must have been something that was on the television. When I got back to the house I asked my mom if I could turn on the television, but she said no, there were other things to do. I’m sure there were, and I’m sure that I found them, but I’ll never forget how I pondered the notion of a Looney Toon. Of course, over the years I became very familiar with Looney Toons; Porky Pig (my favorite) and Petunia his girlfriend, Daffy Duck, Bugs Bunny (dat wascallwee wabbit!), and Elmer Fudd. Great fun! I even remember a small yellow 75rpm record someone had given me with all of the characters playing out their great fun. I, too, became a dedicated Saturday morning watcher because everyone else was, and there was no one to play with.

I don’t remember how it happened, but the two girls, Margie Lockard, age 5, and Candy Lockard, age 4, and I became fast friends. We enjoyed many fun days together building imaginary cities, making flower dolls out of hollyhocks for our cities, gathering dandelions for our mothers’ bouquets and playing many pleasing games. I’m sure there were times when we didn’t get along, but I remember none of those. I think our friendships were constant and enjoyable.

Captain Kangaroo

Another morning brought a new excitement into my world through these two girls. This was another moment of introduction to a wonderful new friend who would be my constant daily morning fare. His name was Captain Kangaroo. I can hardly speak of him without tears welling in my eyes and a large lump developing in my throat. Captain Kangaroo was the best friend a child could ever have, and he showed up every day, every morning with his keys and his friends Mr. Moose, Bunny Rabbit, Grandfather Clock, and Mr. Green Jeans. Captain taught us good behavior, good hygiene, how to brush our hair and our teeth. He read to us, and told us wonderful stories of ducks and monkeys and Tom Terrific! And through all of his teachings we laughed until our sides split at the antics of the Captain’s friends. We laughed when Bunny would trick the Captain out of a bunch of carrots. We laughed when Captain counted to three, and then call to Grandfather Clock to wake up, and Grandfather’s eyes would flap until they opened wide, ready for another good story.

We especially laughed when hundreds of ping pong balls came falling from the sky onto Captain’s head. Mr. Moose would play some kind of joke on the Captain and he would stand there with such big eyes as little white balls were falling, wondering how in the world did he fall for this again. It happened every day, and it never stopped being the funniest joke in the whole world.

Mr. Green Jeans was a farmer that came to visit the Captain every day with stories of his farm and of his barnyard friends. He brought many of them with him so that all the children would get to see and learn about them. That farmer was not the brightest card in the deck, but he certainly was one of the most beloved.

Captain Kangaroo came to children through the tube for many, many years. He was loved by children and parents, and he was a great humanitarian in his private life even after the Captain was retired. Bob Keeshan was noted for his efforts to promote reading and education for young children. He was a wonderful man, and I miss the friendship we shared through a television screen. I loved him.

One more thought. In the early 1950s there was a wonderful, very popular and classic program on television called “Howdy Doody”. I watched this when I was younger; pre-school age. On this program was a funny clown who never spoke, but tooted his bicycle horn, played by Bob Keeshan, who later went on to be Captain Kangaroo.

Clarabel Clown

Margie and Candy’s mother was named Dora. She lived with her mother, Marge, and her brother Kenny. Her father lived there as well, but I didn’t see him often. Their last name was Harper. They were nice enough people. Dora worked hard at the Creamery where they made lots of food products, but I know that she made hot dogs. Her hands were constantly stained red with the dye that they used in the product. She worked long hours, and since there was only one car for the family, she walked to work every day which was about a mile and a half each way. In the 1950s this was just the way of life in a small town.

Dora was divorced, and this too was a new word for me, a new concept. I hadn’t known anyone before who was divorced. I’d never had a friend who didn’t have a dad living at home, and these girls never saw their dad. This was unimaginable to me. Who did they call “Daddy”? “ No one”, was the answer, and it broke my heart. How on earth could I ever live without my “Daddy”? How did they?

The Lockard girls were at our house a lot, and my family became very fond of them. I believe my dad felt sorry for them, not having a daddy, and he was happy to give them special attention when they were around. Candy was an especially pretty little thing with dark eyes and long, dark, curling hair. Her eyes sparkled when she smiled and giggled, and she was a delightful child. I remember the awful feelings of jealousy when they were there if my dad were around. I was his only girl. I was his “Tootsie”, his nickname for me. It was very difficult for me to share this man that I adored, especially with two little girls who I knew to be prettier than I was. I never voiced my feelings that I remember, and I have never thought about it until now; how jealous I was!

I don’t remember my first meeting with the girl that lived to the east of us. Her name was Harriett Hunker, and she and I must have hit it off from the very beginning. Harriett was an only child, living with older parents. This we had in common. She was musical, played the tuba and piano, and sang. I remember delightful times with her learning and singing some of the new songs of the day. Perry Como, Patty Page, Teresa Brewer, Tennessee Ernie Ford, Eddy Arnold, are just some I remember.

Harriett was three or four years older than I and was very sociable and popular with her school friends, only one of which lived close. I attribute this to be the reason we became acquainted at all. She would have had to be the one to make the first move. She was a delightful friend, and treated me as if I were the same age as she was. We were both creative and loved to sew and create clothes for our dolls and paper dolls. She and I didn’t get along as well as I did with Margie and Candy, and I remember times when we wouldn’t speak. But soon we were together again, creating and singing.

One thing that I believe Harriett helped to teach me was to come out of myself. She had a friend who lived directly behind her house that I became acquainted with. Charlie and Harriett and I would talk across the back fence. Many times I would sit in my yard and listen to the two of them practicing their instruments, together, yet each in their own yard. Charlie played beautiful trumpet. He practiced a lot, and I remember when I got older listening to him in orchestra and band and marveling at his skill. Harriett would play her tuba, and I was content to listen to these extraordinary friends of mine who had such talent.

Many summer days Harriett and I sat on a wooden bench in her long and narrow back yard among the garden plants and trees shelling sweet peas. Oh, what a lovely memory! Most of the peas made it into the bowls, but every so often, when moms weren’t looking or weren’t around, two or three would slip into our mouths, and we would enjoy the sweetness of summer. We stemmed, or popped as my mom called it, green beans and husked sweet corn. We were helping our moms, but it was so much fun to sit and enjoy each other and the beautiful days.

I am especially fond of my memories of Harriett Hunker. In later years we lived with my father’s mother due to her illness and age. I had been away from Harriett only a few years when news came that she had been in a fatal car accident when traveling alone to Hiawatha, Kansas, which was just a few miles across the Nebraska/Kansas border. Her appearance was so that they would not show her at the funeral, and I mourned that fact as much as I mourned her death. I had not seen her for about 3 years, and I would have liked to look upon her face one more time. As it is, I have good memories of a very special friend at a very special time in my life. 

These were the girls next door, my friends, my companions in fun and games, in good times and bad, in mischief, and they were instruments in helping to open the eyes of a naïve little seven year old to a new world of cartoons and life. Ah! The innocence of youth!