It is early spring 1962. The decade had so far more resembled the staid fifties rather than the coming social upheavals looming on the horizon. The Beatles had not yet triggered the "British Invasion" and JFK and Jackie's "Camelot" still enraptured the public's attention. Dallas, Texas was sprawling over the north Texas plain, proud of the growing skyline and falling in love with their new NFL team, the Dallas Cowboys.
In their ranch home on Dykes Way in Dallas, the seven children of Ken and Beverly Barnes sat down for dinner in their respective places on the long benches fronting each side of the dining table...3 per side with one in the perpetually used high chair. The usual high pitched animated chatter was shushed down by dad as he announced he had some news for us. He told us that we would soon be moving...to Yakima, Washington! We thought: "Where?". We were going back to Washington State where we had lived prior to moving to Dallas. I was then in the middle of 5th grade and would be moving for the 3rd time already in my young life. My first move, from Cleveland, Ohio to Bellevue Washington left me with a bitter memory. Mom and dad were loading us 3 kids into the car to take us to the train station for a 2 night cross country trek. I suddenly jerked away from my dad's grasp as I ran back to the house to retrieve my almost full sized boy doll that I had for some reason named Carl. Dad took a few quick steps and pulled me back kicking and screaming into the car and we quickly drove off.. Evidently dad thought this was a good time to rid his son of Carl and make a "man" out of me Despite this bitter memory, I was initially excited by the news but soon the reality of leaving my school and friends hit me hard, as well as my two older sisters, one of whom was in her first year of high school.
Dad had accepted an offer of a job from his good friend from his own high school days in Spokane, Washington. Seems Bob Paisley had bought an archery manufacturing company in Yakima and wanted dad to come up and manage it. Dad must have spent maybe two seconds to ponder the idea before leaping. Bob and dad had both started working for Kaiser Aluminum in Spokane as salesmen after the war. It was there where our parents were married and started their family with the arrival of their first child, Stephanie. Dad was soon transferred from Spokane to Cleveland, Ohio where we lived for 5 or 6 years and where mom had two children, my sister Sally and me. He was transferred once again to Bellevue, Washington. a Seattle suburb for several more years where the Barnes family grew again by two, Stacy and Jon joining the brood. Kaiser evidently needed Dad in Texas and we moved to Dallas in 1958, where again, the number two seemed to be the charm as mom had another pair, Scott and Shelley.
The U.S. suffered a recession in the early 60's and Kaiser let go a large number of employees including one in Dallas who happened to have 7 children. Dad found himself taking any job available in north Texas...traveling salesmen for White Swan, a ladies lingerie company and later Swank, a men's accessories co. His region was most of north Texas, driving to local, usually small department stores, showing samples out his car and taking orders. One of my only memories of one on one time with my dad was when he asked me to accompany him on one of his sales trips. He had a rack installed in the back of his sedan that could hold a number of hanging garments and kept sample cases that held the cuff links, tie tacks, etc. I remember riding mostly in silence as telephone poles whipped past along dead straight, two lane blacktop roads leading to various small towns with the ubiquitous water tower with town name painted on the side, the only way to distinguish one town from another, most looking like a set from "The last picture show". I sat in the car while dad went inside to speak with the buyers. The suffocating heat bounced off the black asphalt. I waited for what seemed an eternity to a 10 year old. We spent the night in small, cheap hotels and ate in main street cafes of small town Texas. These are strong memories of time and place. This was what dad was ready to leave when the phone call from Bob Paisley came out of the blue. My folks had 4 kids in parochial school, two in diapers and one toddler.
There was a snag however...Dad was needed immediately or as soon as possible. That meant that mom would be left behind by herself to sell the house and prepare the move... a household of furnishings and 7 children! They of course wanted the kids in school to finish the year...Catholic schools ended their year in late May so an early June departure was penciled in. The logistics of the move must have seemed overwhelming. The first question was how...how to move that many kids as cheaply as possible. Driving was the obvious first choice, except that mom's car was an old 1950 DeSoto Custom sedan she nicknamed "Agatha". The entire front end would shimmy at any speed over 40 mph. So the new idea was to buy a Volkswagen bus and drive 2,000 miles not unlike the "Partridge family". That was by far the best idea I had ever heard. A possible epic adventure loomed in my head as I surely shrieked my wholehearted approval. I remember I went with mom to various used car lots with the long strings of light bulbs, flapping flag pennants and prices painted on the windshields. Sadly however, those dreams of National Parks and unknown dangers were dashed forever...it was decided we would fly...a distant 2nd choice.
Steph, Sally and I constituted what mom and dad referred to as the "older kids" with a 5 year gap in ages behind me. We were considerably more invested in our current life in Dallas than the rest of the family. When we voiced our various concerns and complaints with Dad about the relative remoteness and paucity of attractions in this unknown Yakima, he waxed on and on about skiing, horse back riding and other outdoor activities that area boasted. Years later when we were in Yakima and had never been either skiing or horse back riding he straight faced told us: "I said that they were available...never said that you were going to do them".
Mom selected the Mayflower moving company for the big move and they delivered many boxes and stacks of paper for wrapping up all our stuff. Us kids did a lot of the packing as I remember. We didn't have very much in the way of high value or extremely fragile dishes or anything...any that might have been was packed by mom or the movers. As our departure day approached it became unbearably sad to have to say our goodbyes to our friends. I was the leader of a little club I created called the Scorpion club and had to select a new leader in my absence. I gave little mementos to my best friends and they in turn gave me something to hold on to as well...in fact I still have some of them to this day.
BACK TO WASHINGTON STATE
Mom and Dad were happy to return to their home state for many reasons, one of which was they were closer once again to mom's parents still living in the old family home, built by mom's grandfather in Hillyard, Washington, later incorporated into Spokane. Hillyard was a railroad town built by and named for the great railroad tycoon, James J. Hill, the "Empire builder" who owned the Great Northern railroad. It was a gritty, workingman's burg of modest but sturdy homes. This home however stood out from it's immediate neighbors being considerably more grand and on a prominent corner. Mom's grandfather had moved out West in the early 1900's from Minnesota. His name was James F. McGinnis or J.F. for short.. He was married to a little Irish gal named Maggie and together had 5 children including our maternal grandmother, Anna. The youngest, Ida, had developed a respiratory problem that her doctor thought could be helped by moving to a milder climate, so the McGinnis' were off to a new life in Spokane, Wash. or Hillyard, to be specific at the time. James built the new family home on N. Cook St. by his own hands which was pretty typical of the time. Two stories, 5 bedrooms, 2 baths, a large covered porch with swing and a second story veranda all.painted in a brilliant white. A detached small garage was in the back. By the standards of the time a fine home indeed. As it turned out, Anna stayed in the family home, even after marrying Ed Berg and raised two children of their own in the big house, Beverly,our mother, and her older brother Ted. J.F. and Maggie lived with Anna and Ed until their deaths as did J.F.'s dad, Patrick McGinnis, the Irish emigre from County Sligo before him...he was nicknamed "Foxy grampa".
Dad's parents however did not live in Washington and in fact did not live in the U.S. at all.
Raymond, dad's dad was an engineer who worked for a company called Howard Cooper who was commissioned by the U.S. government to help emerging countries with large infrastructure projects, dams, highways, etc. in Afghanistan, Pakistan and India. They were expatriates who moved often themselves between exotic locales, Kabul, Peshawar, Lahore, e.g. They would sometimes visit and bring all kinds of brass and silk items for the family. Margaret, dad's mom, at first bristled at the often crude living arrangements but later grew to enjoy the life of the expat community and having servants do much of the dirty work.
Mom and dad did not fit in well with the larger Texas lifestyle which in the Dallas area was dominated by a Southern Baptist ethic...they enjoyed partying which was hard to find but they managed by joining a small country club and finding like minded "fun" neighbors who would visit. But now, with the Paisley's and others they knew previously they hoped for a more, let's say, relaxed time than they had lived in Texas.
In early June we flew from Dallas' Love Field to Portland Oregon, where Dad met us having driven down from Yakima in a rented station wagon. There was considerable hubbub around the gate and toward the car with luggage and bodies everywhere...eventually dad takes off toward Yakima going several miles before anybody realizes that poor 5 year old Jon had been left behind at the airport! Much hullabaloo followed and we quickly returned and found Jon, none worse for the wear in the care of airport security and without realizing he had even been left alone.
It was a long, hot drive from Portland, through the Columbia gorge, up to Goldendale and into Yakima, a full 6 hours crammed from front to back with tired, hot kids. Dad had found an affordable motel where we were to hole up for a week. I think we had at least two rooms with a kitchenette. To describe the "Johnny Dietz" motel as barebones was to be most generous. It was located on a noisy industrial road on the north edge of town looking at dry, brown sage covered hills...we thought we had landed in outer Mongolia. There was a grassy patch and a tree and perhaps a picnic table in the center courtyard, but I mostly remember actually playing in a large mud puddle in the driving area. Thankfully, mom and dad took us to spend much of our time at the Paisley's relatively luxurious home that had it's own pool! Bob and Phyllis had 4 children with a boy a year younger than me, Skipper. We became pretty good friends with swimming and all, while his older sisters were closer to Sally and Steph's age. I'm not sure how they got on, but I know they were at least friendly with each other.
We soon learned from our folks that a snag had sprung up with the building of our new house a couple of miles away from the Paisleys. Dad had decided to have a custom home built that included many of the nicer touches that he liked from the Dallas house. It was to be larger, rooms larger, larger kitchen, larger family room but would look and feel much like our previous home. The contractor, evidently was given a substantial down payment which was to be used to pay the various sub contractors: plumbers, electric, painters, etc. Well, the kids learned much later that this guy was a crook and took off with the money without paying the subs, so the subs stopped working and turned around and sued dad for monies owed. Anyway, what all this meant was that we did not have a home to move into and the motel was not going to be any kind of solution. The answer was we would be taking an extended visit to Spokane at mom's parents home...our grandparents. "Yikes" was heard from both ends, I'm sure.
GRANDMA'S HOUSE
Yakima to Spokane was another hot, long drive of about 4 hours or more...no freeways back then. The house had one b.r. on the first floor where grandma and grandpa slept and a small bathroom. The upstairs had 4 bedrooms arranged around a central landing...only 2 were able to used by us kids...one was completely filled with museum quality stored items, a working Victrola phonograph player with records and trunks filled with wonders to discover. The other b.r. not to be used was the nicest of the bunch but was rented out to a boarder, "Paul", which was a total mystery to us kids and kind of scared us. Of course we explored his room even with orders to stay out...he was away while we were there but we found out he had his own small refrigerator and hot plate to boot...we were completely confused and a bit creeped out by the whole arrangement. So we were crammed into just two bedrooms...the small babies were kept on the first floor. The bathroom upstairs was another wonder to behold...a clawfoot tub on old tile floor...strange pedestal sink with odd looking faucets and no shower! There was a hose of some kind but you had to sit to use. The light switches were the old push button with mother of pearl at the ends. The house had it's own smell of old creaky wood and an unidentifiable "grandma's house" scent. She had a window with glass shelves that displayed her collection of small glass menagerie critters and other "exotica". Most important to us children of the 60's was their old and relatively small television set. Definitely not up to what we thought were our minimum standards but worse was Grandma had viewing rules! No daytime TV watching! "Huh?" You have got to be joking! What were we supposed to do all day? Play? We were used to the game shows, reruns, soaps, old movies, "American Bandstand" and cartoons, that was the staple of daytime TV....it provided the background soundtrack of our existence.oftentimes the TV was turned on with "Captain Kangaroo" and not turned off until after the National anthem. It was beginning to dawn on us Barnes kids that this summer had taken yet another dark turn for the worse, especially when we were told that mom, who had driven us to Spokane was dashing back to Yakima to recreate with Dad and the Paisleys, essentially dumping all 7 children on her elderly 70+ year old folks for an unknown length of time.
That summer in Spokane was very hot and Grandma's house was stifling...we had just come from Dallas and had gotten used to central air conditioning that is not a luxury but a necessity in that part of the country. Old painted shut windows were the norm and nary even a fan! Sleeping became a struggle with stagnant air, strange beds and old house creaks. A massive wave of homesickness for Dallas overcame us older kids. We were corresponding with our old friends and on occasion managed to squeeze in a long distance phone call...station to station of course.
Mom had just one sibling and our dad was an only child so Ted Berg, mom's older brother was our only uncle. Oddly, to us kids he lived on the next street over. He was married to Louise and had 3 boys, twins my age, Kevin and Kelly, and Greg, Steph's age. Aunt Louise's mother lived with them too and helped to raise the boys as Louise worked most of her life. Her name was Regna, Norwegian for Queen and looked like she just stepped off the boat. Her hair was braided in tight circles, had a lined face that belied a life of hard work, one of those wayward eyes you were never sure which eye to look in and a strong, almost unintelligible Norwegian accent. Our cousins adored her and when Sally kept intentionally mispronouncing her name as "Eggnut" they chased her down the street in tears. I hung out with my Cuz's and their friends. I borrowed a bike and explored their neighborhood. We sometimes played records in their basement...they were fond of Bob Dylan I recall and the Ventures,"Telstar". Hillyard had it's own business district of older brick storefronts.
4th of July was approaching and there was to be a local parade down the main street. We wanted to participate and decorated a wagon up to be a kind of tank with flags and strung red, white and blue streamers through our bike spokes and pulled the tank in the parade in front of hundreds of folks.
Some even clapped...So, for a boy of 11, I managed to eke out a fairly decent time keeping busy with my cousins and their friends. My sisters, on the other hand were not so lucky. Grandma seemed to have it out for Sally...they never really hit it off. Steph was old enough to have a sharp tongue and was quick to use it. Grandma was pure Irish and a large intimidating woman with a kind of blue tinted permed hairdo. We were cautious around her, not necessarily scared but wary. We nicknamed Grandma "Old bossy cow" for her strictness but our elfin-like Grampa who we called "Pop-pop" was sweetness personified. He was Norwegian and seemed to us to be perpetually old... white haired as long as we knew him. He entertained us with endearing little sayings, for example if we got a scrape he would soothe us: "If you stub your toe, say "oh", let it go, be a man if you can, but do not cry".He was a master of the disappearing nose trick and nickels behind your ears, etc. He was a safe haven in the storm that was often a perturbed Grandma. They drove an enormous Oldsmobile sedan and I remember Grandma would sometimes take us to the local pool and park and on other errands. Her driving style was the infamous white knuckled "lead foot, brake foot" that had us all either pressed back in our seats with acceleration or bracing ourselves from being heaved through the windshield from a sudden, screeching brake. My sister Sally almost always wound up nearly burping up from the experience.
Chores were of course, a part of every day...meals, laundry, cleaning rooms, even some yard work. The house had a basement accessed by tiny, spider webby stairs and was where the washing machine was kept. I was fascinated by the ancient tub with the clothes ringer...no dryer...clothes hung on lines outside. Imagine laundry for 7 children including cloth diapers for two of them! Stephanie complained to Grandma that the diapers were coming off the drying line like cardboard and was giving the babies terrible rashes. Occasionally we went to the laundromat to dry the diapers, but rarely and under protest. In addition,downstairs there was a room for storing canned vegetables and fruit and other wonders to discover. I suppose one could say we were spoiled, growing up with modern conveniences which at that time not everybody enjoyed... an electric dishwasher as well as modern washer-dryer units so, along with the television issues mentioned earlier, we were living in a virtual time machine in our minds. That summer gave us children a lesson in appreciating many things we had taken for granted. One evening the older kids were in the kitchen drying dishes after our supper. Grandma was in the living room and shouted a warning to us: "You better not break any of those dishes!". Stephanie was drying a dinner plate and I looked at her who then suddenly had a strange look come over her face. Sally and I about puked when Steph waited a couple of seconds and then literally threw the plate on the floor shattering it in a mini explosion. That scene actually helped to relieve much of the growing tension between us and our grandparents. Mom was called and I believe our "visit" was cut short by a week or two.
We gathered our things and piled into mom's borrowed car for what we hoped was a mercifully quick trip to our new home. The August heat had arrived turning the car into a virtual oven. Desperate for a cooling breeze of any kind we started hanging our limbs out the open windows...legs and arms waving in the wind past the brown stubble of the cut hay in the sun burned fields. Tempers were short as elbows and knees pushed against each other seeking precious space with which to sweat in peace. Two hours of hell and then it happened...the car broke down outside a farm burg in the middle of nowhere...Othello had a service station that could repair the water pump but it would take a while. It was a Sunday afternoon...a park beckoned close by, however we had stumbled upon an old timey-style Christian revival meeting, tents and all. The loudspeakers beckoned so we moseyed over to have a look see. There were tables with refreshments and cooling weeping willow trees for shade. All in all a rather strange spectacle to behold for a Catholic family of 7. Despite our sinful ways, especially of late, we managed to sneak out of town with nary a conversion... the car was fixed, the day had cooled and we were on our way to our new home. Pulling into the driveway we were disappointed to find the house was still unfinished and with rough, powdery dirt for a yard, no carpeting, light bulbs hanging off wires for lighting but we were home and grateful to be there.
We needed to get ready for the coming school year, learn our town and meet new friends. I was going to my first ever public school, Gilbert, while Steph was going to Central Catholic high school, Sally was going to spend one year in a public Junior High before joining Steph at Central the next year...Stacy was going to Gilbert as well. Dad, perhaps out of guilt took us to Seattle to see the big Seattle World's fair and that fall the Cuban missile crisis shook us all to our core. Grandma and Grandpa did visit us later without any lingering hard feelings. We had visits from Uncle Ted and Aunt Louise too sometimes with the twins in tow. Grandma developed Hodgkin's disease and died just 3 years later with Pop-Pop only a year behind her with what mom called a broken heart. Sydney, mom and dad's eighth child was born after Pop-pop passed on and never met her grandparents on her mother's side. Dad's folks lived on for some time afterwards. The big house was sold of course but stands today looking very much the same as it always had. An anchor home for the neighborhood and surely a bit of a landmark after 110 or so years now on the corner of N. Cook St. and Wellesley avenue, Spokane, Washington.
 |
| J.F. McGinnis |
A few years ago I was traveling through Spokane and thought about revisiting the old homestead on N. Cook st. GPS helped us to maneuver through parts of town that progressively got browner and shabbier. Suddenly the old house appeared, much smaller than my memory, needing paint and missing the pretty hydrangeas that graced the yard but relatively much the same as the day J.F. laid down his hammer and saw. I gathered some courage and approached the front door examining the details as I remembered. I knocked on the door and watched through the glass as a body stirred off the couch and suspiciously opened it. I stammered out a "Hello" and explained who I was and proudly informed him of the history of the house and finished with "my great grandfather built this house". Totally unimpressed, he said "yeah, well we live here now" and shut the door without further explanation. And I thought, well, that is fine. Why should he care? They're making their own memories. And I got back in the car and drove on putting a period on the end of this page of our family's history.
