Dumb and Ugly - Part 1, The Move

We moved across town in 1950. I did not want to leave the old neighborhood, to part with my friends. I liked the security of a familiar life, and did not welcome the chance to explore new horizons. I knew of no home other than that on Lafountain Street, so my lack of enthusiasm would probably have the appreciation of any ten year old in the same unwelcome circumstance. Dad and Mom bought a vacant lot on Sycamore Street at the east edge of Kokomo. They purchased a house standing on the street behind, and moved it a 150 yards across a corn field. The house had to be moved because it lay in the path of a new highway project, a by-pass around the east side of Kokomo. I remember parking on the construction site on the Fourth of July, 1949. We stood near the house’s old location while Dad, holding Roman candles at arms length, launched balls of flame down the newly bulldozed right-of-way.

Don and I switched from Riley Elementary to Central School in the fall of 1949. Central, in the downtown area, combined elementary and junior high classes, so we attended there until starting Kokomo High School, which stood directly across the street. I possess only the vaguest memories of my four years at Riley, remembering mainly that I brought a sense of failure to the new school. I began the fifth grade at Central, and recall that year with vivid imagery, not because I did it twice, but because it represented a major turning point in by life. Don started school in 1944, and I the following year. Beginning school at the tender age of five proved to be a mistake; little by little I fell behind. My education (and life) became side-tracked by the seemingly insignificant decision of my parents to enroll me a year early. A seed, sown in those first grades, germinated in the fifth, convincing me I lacked ability. I had no capacity for book learning. I had no merit. I was dumb. On top of that, I thought the back of my head to be misshaped. And my ears stuck out. And my red-orange hair, a flaming beckon, cast its light over me when I craved anonymity. I would have preferred a hair color more in camouflage tones. Chance and circumstance conspired to convince me that I was unworthy. I was ten years into the game of life, had two strikes against me, and expected the third to cross home plate at any moment. People thought I was dumb. I thought I was dumb and ugly. I was labeled, and labels are brands that burn deep into the soul. They are difficult to remove.

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