The Things I Do Remember, Part 1 - My First Memories, Chicago

You could compare my early memories to photography. The first ones were snapshots, images frozen in time, with nothing before or after to provide much context. Later, they evolved into silent movies and then talkies.

The year was 1942-43 and the war had changed everything. Dad was no longer an “Omar Man” delivering bread. He was a civilian employee for the military. We were living in Chicago. I remember Mom speaking of a “Scott Field”, but that is in southern Illinois, so I‘m not sure what connection it had with his work. We lived there for nine months while Dad taught airmen how to operate and repair the radios they would be using on warplanes - most likely the radiomen were to be assigned to bombers and air transports

My first memory was in Technicolor. We had an apartment in the Near North of Chicago, close to Lincoln Park Zoo. There was a woman living in the building who babysat for Don and I. She was older, and I don’t recall her name any longer, but her apartment was a sweet delight. It was like going into a giant candy box of sugar and spice. Her place was filled with bright colored furniture splashed with flowery patterns. Mainly, I remember the color red. The sofa and chairs were big billowy things with colorful cushions. The carpet and rugs probably matched the décor. I don’t recall any particulars - maybe there was a sweet aroma to it, maybe it was her pleasant manner. It was a magic place with a sugary softness, warm and cozy to both of us.

We often went to the Lincoln Park. It bordered Lake Michigan, and there was always a cool breeze coming ashore. Mom said we hung around there to escape the summer heat as it was cooler than the apartment (no air conditioning in those days). I remember going to the beach and playing in the sand. Don and I had little buckets and toy shovels. I brought a toy revolver along on one occasion - black metal one that clicked when I pulled the trigger. I got in to digging and making sand piles, and vaguely remember burying the gun, but could not remember its location - one sand pile looked like another. We dug up the immediate area searching, but for naught. I really missed that gun - for a couple days anyway.

The Lincoln Park Zoo is another place we spent time. The main attraction for us was a visit to the Bushman’s cage. He was a giant gorilla behind thick bars in what seemed like a small cage. I remember him sitting calmly, looking through the bars at us visitors. I have no memory of being afraid of him - nor did I want to go cuddle with him. Mom frequently described how he would daintily peel potatoes with his thick fingers, and neatly stack the peels to one side. He would eat the potatoes, and then gather up the peeling and eat them. It did not occur to me at the time, but I wonder if his life might have been rather empty. I don’t recall seeing him with other gorillas. I don’t know if he ever got out of his cage. He lived twenty years, dying in 1951. I heard he died of mal-nutrition - and probably of loneliness and boredom.
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