Painting the House for A Fishing Trip, 1954

Early in the summer of 1954 Dad made a deal with Don and I. If we painted the house he would take us on a fishing trip to Kamp Kokomo in Minnesota that August. Don and I had fond memories of a fishing trip there a couple years earlier so we eagerly agreed to the contract. Lamar Hammer, our constant companion during those years, was soon brought in on the deal.

We commenced to convert the house from traditional white to an exceedingly bright yellow. We called it “city yellow” as it resembled the utility shade used in town. There was no difficulty in distinguishing our house after that. We‘d tell people, ”Look for the bright yellow house, you can‘t miss it”.

The three of us approached the project in a nonchalant manner. We were not avid workers, and could easily be lured to wander leisurely through nearby Learner’s Woods (now the Delco Park) or along Wildcat Creek. The job was finished some two and a half months later - a couple days before we departed for Minnesota. I would hazard to guess that a good portion of the job was completed during the last week.

The family had first visited Kamp Kokomo in 1952, and really enjoyed it. Minnesota was known as the land of ten thousand lakes, and though we lacked the opportunity to canvas all of them, we got the notion the number was most probably accurate as there seemed to be a lake around every bend in the road.

We had often sat on Indiana shores getting more bites from mosquitoes than fish, and after the Minnesota experience had concluded that Indiana was "fished-out". The northern state was a fisherman’s paradise in the early 50’s.

We would go fishing in the morning and bring back fifty to a hundred pan fish by noon - mostly blue gills and cat fish. We ate fried fish every day - they were delicious in a way we had never imagined. Fish bought at the local store could not compare in taste with those fresh out of water. Some older guy who worked at the camp cleaned, wrapped and froze our daily catch for a nominal fee, so we brought a cooler of frozen fish home to enjoy later.

The camp was 730 miles north of Kokomo, and we drove all the way without stopping for anything other than gasoline, rest stops, and to eat. Driving straight through, without an overnight stop, was the family practice for as long as I could remember. Mom would sometimes spell Dad for a short break in the middle of the night, but if the destination was within a thousand miles he would go all the way. Don turned sixteen that year and had a license, so he probably helped Dad drive, but I have no particular memory of that part of the trip.
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