My parents purchased a building in downtown Kokomo, Indiana in 1953 - the biggest investment of their life. The place was on Taylor Street, sandwiched between the Moose Lodge and the Courtland Hotel. It’s unlikely they would have been interested had Dad not been the manager and secretary of the Moose. Mom worked as his assistant in the office. Both spent six days a week on the job, so it was an opportunity to have an investment that would be easy to manage.They paid $16,000, which seems modest these days, and by late spring the family took possession of commercial property. Don and I learned that it was to be a family affair, signaling that we were to be involved. Thus began our passage into the world of child labor, informal instruction in various skilled-worker professions, and general education concerning the larger world of life.
I was thirteen years old in 1953 - Don, fifteen. When school let out that June we discovered our halcyon days of wandering leisurely through summers were forever curtailed. We found ourselves in the cramped, dungeon-like basement of our new property. The building was run-down and in significant need of repair. Don and I were to start at the bottom, and with Dad’s guidance, work our way up.
The property appeared to be two separate buildings when viewed from across the street. My impression yet is of two entities grown together like Siamese twins. They were probably constructed at the same time - somewhere around 1890. The one next to the Moose was two stories, while its taller sibling stood three.
They seemed large. I never heard any dimensions, but would guess the buildings’ footprint covered two to three thousand square feet of downtown, with all floors totaling around six thousand. Red brick facades, typical for the era, gave the two a nondescript acceptance. If I had not spent so much time in them, I wouldn’t remember they were ever there.
The bottom floor was occupied by the Howard County Trustee. Its drab interior had high ceilings, and offices looking out onto the street through big plate glass windows. Commodities for the poor were kept in its cavernous back reaches. I rarely went in, and have only vague memories of it.
The office was managed for years by a thin little man, who seemed shriveled and ancient. His name was Elmer Cox, and I remember him wearing black baggy suits, with matching vest, a broad tie, and a black fedora. He retired shortly thereafter and became our first tenet when we finished the upstairs into boarding rooms. He rented number three till he was moved to a nursing home or the mortuary - I don’t remember which.
The door leading to the upper floors was in front-center of the building. It opened to a long stairway that had a level section about half way up. A hall at the top lead straight to a restroom at the back of the building. If you turned right at the top of the stairs, you would pass under a broad archway into the “other” building. Another turn to the right led to the third floor stairway.
There were three bathrooms, each at the end of a long hall. Only one room had a private bath. It looked onto Taylor street, and rented for ten dollars a week. Four other rooms had street views. Most rooms were rather small, going for seven dollars. Three or four had sinks, so they cost eight. We had sixteen rooms, and they brought in about a hundred and twenty dollars each week when all were occupied.
The Courtland Hotel had once used the upstairs rooms, probably during WWII, but the place had remained vacant and neglected for years. The first inspection opened the families eyes to the amount of work necessary in repairing and redecorating the place. That is where Don and I came into the picture. We started in the basement rebuilding the old boiler, the heart of the heating system.
GO TO: Part 2 - Child Labor
Lamar married a young woman, Bonnie Maish, in 1964 and adopted her young sons, Scott and Todd. I left for Alaska in 1967, and they moved to Minnesota in 1976. I guess he wanted to extend that fishing trip of so many years before. My wife, Mary and I, visited them in Minnesota in 1983. We met again in April of 2002, a week after brother Don died. Don and Lamar were nearly the same age; Don being 27 days older. Lamar returned to Minnesota and died eighteen days after Don. They were both about two months past their 64th birthday. Don died first, but lived nine days longer than Lamar. 
Lamar hooked onto the biggest pike. We were trolling in a neighboring lake and turning around to avoid a weed bed when it struck his lure. The fish, about four feet long, came rolling and cart-wheeling our of the weeds, and was gone just as quickly. I forget who caught the biggest one - not me, but we cut its head off and sealed it in a used canned ham tin to bring home. We tried our talent at amateur taxidermy, mounting it on a wooden plaque by attaching it by its gill plates. They stuck out perpendicular to its head giving it the appearance of an alligator with ears, but we kept it anyway, hanging it on the wall of our “Club Room” in the back corner of the basement.
We met Lamar Hammer that first year at Central. He was in Don’s 6th grade class, and the three of us became inseparable over the next seven years. I remember the many times that we walked between his house and ours. We spent more time at our place. That was because ours was on the edge of town. Also, Lamar’s parents had divorced several years before we met, his three siblings were several years older, so he became more like a brother to us, and a member of the family. He often stayed over night and shared meals.
