1958 Mayonnaise

When we lived in Normandy, my mother used to make home-made mayonnaise.  It became an obsession with her.  Apparently, it's not that easy and sometimes it curdles.  One day I got home from school and she was telling my sister and me how she had made her best ever batch of mayonnaise, and that she was going to give some to her friend Jen.

We were hungry and ready for our "gouter", so my sister went to the fridge and pulled open the door.  When she did, as if in slow motion, we saw the fridge start to topple over towards us.  I remember shoving my sister aside and jumping back just as it fell forward onto the floor with a tremendous crash.  My sister was crying and my mother was standing there, in shock, with a wooden spoon in her hand.  We didn't know what to do.

When my dad got home, we managed to get it back upright.  The door had completely broken off because it fell with the door open.  Everything that had been inside the fridge was left on the floor, splattered, spilled, and broken.  Shards of glass were everywhere.

In the middle of this fiasco, my mother calmly went over and got a spatula and proceeded to scrape all the mayonnaise off the floor and into a bowl.  She didn't give any to her friend Jen, though we ate it.

1965 My 18th Birthday

Lucky me, I spent my 18th birthday on the Eiffel Tower in Paris. I have never liked parties, and my birthday treat was always going out to eat. My choice this time was the restaurant on the Eiffel Tower. We went up to the top first, then to restaurant.  I remember sitting at a table near the windows, with a fabulous view of Paris in the dusk and approaching night.

View from the restaurant

Then casually my dad said "You know, this might not have been such a good idea". 

"Why not?" my mother asked.
"Look at those rivets. The metal is buckling and the rivets are loose. If there is a high wind, they might not hold! It's possible that the whole thing could come down!"

Restaurant

I looked out the window and sure enough, you could see rivets that did seem loose. The restaurant was built in such a way that the glass of the restaurant fit inside the metal framework of the tower and the trusses and crossbeams were clearly visible. He kept talking about this during the whole meal. My mother and sister were visibly upset. Personally, I really didn't care, I didn't believe it for a second and I was too concerned about my meal (sole meuniere, my favorite). I even had some wine.

Workings of the Tower

As we were leaving and getting into the elevator, my dad said "Aren't you glad you got to do this? It will probably have fallen down by your next birthday." Then as my sister and mother turned pale, he laughed and said "I guess Fay is the only one who understands the physics of construction. You have to have some give in any solid structure to allow for movement due to heat and cold, wind, etc.".

It was great moment, one when I felt really close to him. I treasured those moments as he rarely showed emotion and disliked any drama or emotional intensity.  Like father like daughter I guess.

1958 Jeanne d'Arc

Notre Dame de Gravenchon, where we lived twice when I was a child (1952-1953 and 1956-1959) was about halfway between Le Havre and Rouen. 

Rouen

I remember going to Rouen to see the cathedral.  It was very famous and Monet painted it quite a bit.  Actually, I loved going to see cathedrals because I was fascinated with the details, that it was all made of stone.  And the stained glass was always amazing as well.  This cathedral has quite a history.

Rouen Cathedral

300s Original church on site
800s Demolished by Vikings
1100s Construction on current building  
1110 Struck by lightening  
1200 Burned
1300s Ornamentation added  
1284 Struck by lightning  
1353 Spire blew down  
1360 New chapel  
1400s Tower finished  
1507 Southwest tower completed 
1514 Gothic spire burned
1530 Portico completed
1625 Struck by lightning  
1642 Struck by lightning 
1683 Hurricane damage
1822 Lightning destroyed spire
1944 Bombed by Royal Air Force
1944 Bombed by US Air Force  
1999 Hurricane damage

But what I really remember was seeing where Joan of Arc was burned to death.  Back then, probably it was around 1958, there was not a lot of fuss about it.  It was just a small area roped off with a plaque.  

Plaque where Joan of Arc was burned.

Looking at it and realizing that a girl not far from my age was burned alive at the stake at that very spot, perhaps was the first time I really connected with history and at the same time I realized France was inside me.  I don't know why they seemed to connect at that time, but those two feelings have stayed with me for the rest of my life.  The feeling inside me was something I still cannot explain, it was like  a chill than ran through my body from my feet through my head.  

It shook me quite a bit and stayed with me a very long time.  

The Old Market Square.  
Memorial to Joan of Arc in the green area.

1958 "Pas de Poison pour les Enfants"

When I was about eight or nine, we were in Rouen, at the square where Jeanne d'Arc was burned at the stake.  It was a hot day, so we went into a small cafe to get something to drink.  My mother ordered Coca Cola for my sister and me.  The woman in the cafe was shocked.  She said they didn't serve "la Coca Cola" there, "absolument pas!"  My mother was surprised, and asked her why.  The woman replied, "Non non non, et jamais pour les enfants!  C'est la poison!".  My mother laughed, but it was true, it had cocaine in it.  

I never hear about Joan of Arc without thinking about that day.  As a matter of fact, I feel a strong connection with her.  I have had many dreams, especially when I was younger, that I was there, in that square, when she died.

1960 When Velvet Almost Died

I had a secret horse named Chess that I visited almost every day when we lived in Maine.

One day Velvet, our Boxer, went with me to visit Chess. Usually I didn't let him because he tended to chase Chess, but that day he came. As soon as Chess and Velvet saw each other, I knew it was a mistake. Chess wouldn't come to me and Velvet kept barking. I was afraid someone would hear him and my days of visiting Chess would be over. Finally, Velvet started to chase Chess and I knew there would trouble. How was I going to catch Velvet to make him stop? The more upset Chess got, the more Velvet chased him. Finally, Velvet got really close and Chess kicked out. I heard a yelp and then Velvet fell to the ground. Chess stopped in front of him and just stood there in a sweat. He let me come right up to Velvet, who was lying on the ground totally still.

I knew he was dead. He had a big gash over his eye and he had blood all over his head. He was totally still but he was breathing. I dragged him out of the pasture and tried to get him to stand up, but he just kept falling to the ground. I realized I had to get him up the hill to the house, so I just started to drag him with my hands under his front legs and backing up that steep slope. I imagine he weighed about 50 lbs and I was not very big for 12 years old. 

Finally, I had to give up and go get my dad. I so dreaded doing that. Velvet was his best friend. I believe I actually told him I thought Velvet was dead. He loved that dog so much his face just turned white. He didn't even asked what happened, I think he probably thought he had run out into the road on one of his famous escapades.

We both ran down the hill and my dad just threw him over his shoulders and got him back to the house. He was still breathing. My dad put him on the couch and got a cloth and water and washed off his head. That was the first (and maybe the only) time I saw my dad cry. He got some of his Johnny Walker Red and put a few drops in Velvet's mouth, then a few more.  I can still hear my mother saying "For God's sake, Travis, you love that dog more than us", and I think it was probably the truth.

I remember being on my knees on the floor with my head on his chest listening to his heart. When we were in Australia I used to lie on the floor using Velvet as a pillow but his heartbeat always seemed too loud and it kept me from falling asleep on him. I thought of that now because it didn't seem that loud anymore. My dad kept talking to him, and stroking him, and finally Velvet came around. My dad immediately loaded him into the car and drove him to the vet. I was not allowed to go, I imagine in case Velvet's injuries were to prove fatal. My dad would have wanted to grieve alone. But that was not to be, thank God.

Velvet came home with many stitches in his head and a shaved head. Apparently he also had a concussion. We nursed him back to health and he never had any ill effects from his kick in the head. However, I had to explain the whole incident to my dad, and I was forbidden from seeing Chess again. He explained all the reason, trespass, liability, etc., and oh yes it all made perfect sense to me, but I still had to go one more time to say goodbye. As much as I loved Chess and our adventures, I felt as though that was my punishment for letting Velvet get hurt. And I accepted that, because I did love Velvet more.

The next day, I went and took him extra apples and laid them in a pile for him and told him it wasn't his fault. It was so hard to say goodbye that day. It was raining and I could smell that wonderful warm horsy smell and the apples. But it had to be I guess.

1960 Pal

We lived in Toledo, Ohio from 1960 until we left for Venezuela at the end of the school year in 1961.  Every week I went to a riding school in Michigan.  There was a really beautiful Palomino named (surprise) Pal, but you had to earn the right to ride him.  Finally, Mr. White, our instructor (who was black), told me it was my day!  I was excited.  We did our routine exercises, then it was time for jumping.  

Pal and I flew over the first couple of jumps, then we approached the next jump.  Then he stopped.  He didn't tell me he was planning to.  I slid up his neck, over his head, and over the jump, landing on my knees on the other side.  Then he decided to follow me over.  Seeing a large airborne horse looming over me, I rolled over.  When I looked up, his nostrils were in my eyes.  "What are you doing down there?"  he asked.  My back hurt so badly I couldn't move.  My mother started to run out to the arena, but they stopped her.  Mr. White came over to me and helped me up.  He asked me if I could get back on.  I said yes.  So he helped me up into the saddle.  

I took one turn around the arena and had to get off, I was in so much pain.  It wasn't Pal's fault, either.  It was mine.  I should have been gripping tighter with my knees.   My mother took me to the doctor and we found out I had torn all the muscles in my lower back.  I was off school for a week and spent most of that week in a hot bathtub.  They told me if I got pregnant I might have to wear a back brace, since the muscles were weakened. Luckily, that wasn't the case.  I never got the chance to ride Pal again, because not long after that we moved.  

1960 The Grace Line Sisters

We flew to Port Everglades to board the ship to Venezuela.  My dad went with us.  I remember being amazed at how the houses in Port Everglades all seemed to be on canal with a boat at each house.  After my dad got us all settled on board, he was going to fly to Caracas and be there when we arrived a week later.  Turning my mother, my sister, our dog, and me loose on a cruise ship was probably not the best idea he’d ever had.  My mother immediately developed a mad crush on the purser.  Oddly enough, the purser’s office was almost right around the corner from our cabins (we had 2, one for my sister and me and one for my mother).  Velvet was installed in the kennel on the upper deck but he always got out and finally the captain decided it would be easier for him just to stay with us.  I was in charge of him, which was wonderful, because all I did all day was wander all over the ship with him in tow.

The second night out, we had dinner at the Captain’s table, and he told us he would take us on a tour of the engine room if we wanted.  I was ecstatic.  My sister didn’t come; it was just Mother and me.  I couldn’t believe how huge everything was and how amazing clean, and noisy.  We could actually see the bottom of the hull.  It was incredible.   We pretty much ran wild for the whole trip.  Mother was ‘preoccupied’, so we just caused as much havoc as possible.  

We docked in Haiti; I’ll never forget how beautiful it was.  We took a taxi to the top of a mountain where there was a restaurant where we had lunch.  My dad had left his Zeiss-Ikon camera with me and I took a ton of pictures.  One of the things I remember the most about Haiti was that as soon as the ship was docked, canoes filled with little kids came out alongside the ship, and they kids called up for money.  All the passengers threw coins down and the kids would catch them or jump out of the canoes and go diving for them.  I remember the water was really dark green.  Haiti really made an impression on me, probably because I had heard about voodoo and I kept looking for traces of it like snakes hanging from trees, etc.  We were only there for one afternoon and evening.  We had to be back on the ship that night to leave early in the morning.

We also stopped in Curacao, which I loved. It reminded me of Holland.  The ship had to make a sharp turn to get into the harbor and the dock.    

We took the Santa Rosa one way, and the Santa Paula the other way, but I don’t remember which was first.

The trip home about 9 months later was not half as exciting.  Velvet stayed in the kennel.  There was no handsome purser or running through the hallways at midnight.  We stopped in Aruba.  It was nothing but a big rock in the middle of the sea.  We tied up at a barren dock and were driven to a small restaurant.  We took a taxi and drove around the island a little, but there was basically nothing there but some oil facility buildings.  It’s hard to believe it’s the same Aruba as one sees now.  

We also stopped in Jamaica and there was a Russian submarine docked there.  It was amazing to see that.  I loved submarines and ships and anything to do with them.  Standing on the deck looking down at that little submarine, and hearing Jamaican music playing was surreal.  There was a big storm in the Caribbean, which was why we went to Jamaica instead of the Dominican Republic, as had been originally planned.

1963 Cleeter

I had a red furball with eyes and feet named Cleeter, who watched the games with me.  Cleeter was one of those furry round things with feet, and he was red.  He was named after New York Yankees 3rd baseman, Clete Boyer, #6.  I had met Clete at an event and apparently he asked me to send him a picture of Cleeter (I didn't remember the conversation as I was in shock at the time).  I had been writing stories about Cleeter and his adventures on the road with the Yankees, etc.  I put all the drawings and stories in a packet and sent them to Clete.  

The red one looks like Cleeter

A few weeks later, my mother and I went to a Yankees game, which we did fairly often, and we were standing outside waiting for the players to go in.  Clete went by with a couple of other players (Moose Skowron, Phil Linz, Whitey Ford, and a couple of others, I can't remember who).  Clete saw me and yelled “I got the stories about Cleeter!".  Moose yelled "long live Cleeter!".  I thought I had died and gone to heaven!  From that time on, I sent them on a regular basis for probably 2 seasons until we moved to Paris.  It was awesome!

1963 Clete Boyer, NY Yankees

In 1963, we lived in Short Hills, NJ, and my baseball hero was Clete Boyer, who played 3rd base for the Yankees; his brother Ken was the All Star 3rd baseman for the Cardinals and his brother Cloyd was a major league pitcher.  I loved Clete the best of all the Yankees.  My aunt Audrey would say he was 'tall, dark, and schmutzy‘.  My mother had a crush on Bobby Richardson (he had beautiful blue eyes) who played 2nd, and my sister had a crush on Joe Pepitone (the young Italian stud) who played 1st - we loved our Yankee infield, although no one seemed to have a crush on the shortstop, Tony Kubek.  

One night in 1962 when I was 14 I had gotten undressed and was doing my homework when my mother suddenly came and told me I had to get dressed quick!  She had just found out that Clete Boyer was at a local restaurant in Millburn called the Chantecleer giving a presentation for some local Little League teams.  I never got dressed so fast in my life!  While I was getting dressed, she called the Chantecleer to make sure they would let us in.  I guess when she told them she had a 14-year-old daughter who was a total baseball fan, Yankee fan, and Clete Boyer freak on her hands, they told her to bring me down right away

We got to the Chantecleer and someone in a fancy tuxedo let us in , then led us into a big ballroom where there were probably 100 Little League players, their parents, coaches, etc.; and on the stage, there he was!  He was standing with a couple of other men almost as though he was waiting for us,  He had his pinstriped uniform on, #6!  I was speechless.  He was so handsome I didn’t know what to think.  He came towards me with a big smile and said  “Hi I'm Clete, what's your name?”  And I swear all I could say was “f-f-f-f-f…” Finally my mother took pity on me and said “Her name is Fay“.  I was in shock, all I could do was stare at him!

When I got home that night I was appalled that I remembered almost nothing of the encounter.  Fortunately, my mother realized I had been in shock and paid close attention to everything so she could tell me about it later.  I guess he talked to me quite a bit, asking how long I had been a Yankee fan, etc.

Also, she had told Clete about Cleeter who watched the games with me, and Clete apparently asked me to send him a picture of Cleeter.

I only have a vague memory of that night; although I still remember the dress I was wearing, light blue with pictures of sailing ships on it. (I hated that dress).  I was so shy at that age, with no social graces at all and very few friends.  That episode with Clete Boyer was one of the most embarrassing moments of my life and my family never let me forget it!  “What's your name?"  "f-f-f-f-f".  My whole family started calling me "fff".  I will never live it down.  But at the same time, it was one of the best moments of my life too.

1977 Walter Cronkite

When I lived in Rockport, Maine, with my mother and my sister, we used to walk to The Corner Store right around the corner from my mother's house.  It was a great coffee shop.  One day it was pouring rain but I decided to go get something there.  It was very crowded when I walked in, and most of the people seemed to be crowded around a small man in the back, wearing a yellow slicker.  I sat at a table and eventually most of the people cleared out.  The small yellow man sat down at a table and took his hat off and I realized I knew him, or at least I knew who he was.  It was Walter Cronkite!  

I was stunned that he was so small.  My mother adored him, so I got my courage up and tore a deposit slip out of my checkbook, and walked over and asked him for his autograph.  He was very nice indeed.  My mother was terribly upset that she missed him.  
He was an avid sailor, and had been sailing up the coast when the weather turned bad, so he decided to come in to Rockport Harbor.  Apparently he came quite often, because several people at The Corner Shop seemed to know him quite well.

1954 Dollhouse

We built a dollhouse in Australia.  I don’t know how it started, but both my parents were very involved.  It was made of sheets of balsa wood.  My dad did the planning and construction, and my mother did the decorating, with the help of my sister and me.  We carved furniture and appliances out of balsa wood, which is very soft, and then painted them.  My mother and I sewed little blankets and upholstered furniture.  My sister didn’t really do much but make a mess (she was only 2 or so).  

The house was huge and covered nearly the entire the dining room table.  My dad wired it and somehow he made lights for the inside.  

When it was time for us to leave Australia, we were all heartbroken.  We gave the dollhouse to some friends of my parents and they promised they would finish it.   I think about that dollhouse all the time.  

1954 Curry in Calcutta

In 1954, we moved to Australia.  We left New York and flew to London, where my dad had to meet with the London office of his company, Foster-Wheeler.   Then we flew to Sydney.  The trip lasted four days.  

We flew TWA in a Super Constellation (Super Connie), a 4-engine prop plane with a triple tail.  We even had sleeping compartments.  It was more like a train than a plane.

Calcutta Dum Dum Airport

 We landed in Calcutta and I remember eating at the 
airport restaurant.      
    
My mother ordered curry, and when it arrived, it looked like dirty dishwater.  My father said "Are you really going to eat that?".  My mother said "Yes, I am", and she did. 

She always said it was the best curry she had ever had.

1953 Colombia, A Strange Place

We lived in Barrancabermeja, Colombia,  when I was about 6-1/2  I believe, because my sister was around 2.  That would have made it late 1953.  It was a very strange place and I knew it even then.  It was so hot and humid.  The windows had no glass, just screens.  Sometimes at night snakes and insects would crawl onto the window.  My dad slept with a World War II machete under his bed to kill snakes (learning later how terrified he was of them, I really admire his fortitude).  My mother would make bread from scratch and I remember watching her chase the flour across the counter because it was so full of bugs, they would be mixed in with the flour and covered in it, so the flour would just scamper away.  We lived in an oil camp for safety.  I remember a neighbor down the street had a black panther in a cage outside his house.  One day the panther was gone never to be seen again.  

We had 2 maids in Colombia.  I remember hearing them arguing and chattering in Spanish all day long, I imagine they were teenagers.  They taught me a lot and I spent a lot of time with them, until one of the got fired (I never knew why).  I remember them killing a rabbit and hearing it scream.

I remember my dad coming out and chopping up a snake under the carport which extended from our house to the maids' house.  Then he put it in the back of our pickup and we (he and I) drove it to a dumpsite.  I looked out the back window and I could see the pieces jumping around so I told my dad "it's alive, it's alive, and it's coming towards us".  Of course, I was joking but he was not amused.  He was so afraid of snakes.  I usually was looking for them until my dad told me they were poisonous.

Barrancabermeja is a city in Colombia, located on the shore of the Magdalena River, in the western part of the department of Santander. It is home to the largest oil refinery in the country and is the capital of the Province of Mares. Barrancabermeja is known as the Oil Capital of Colombia.

1953 Grampa Arthur

My Grampa Arthur died in early 1953 while we were in Normandy.  I remember my mother crying in her room.  It made me sad too.  I used to sit on his lap and comb his hair for him.  

My mother and I lived with her parents when my dad got out of Texas A&M and went to Abadan in Persia (now Iran), so I spent my youngest years there.   She said it was so sad that he never got to meet my sister Lydia.  

Back then, it wasn’t so easy to travel from Europe to the United States.  For my mother to have flown back to Boston would have been incredibly expensive, and it just wasn’t possible.  They were very close, so it must have been very hard for her to be so far away.

1952 The Grand Arrival

Before my sister was born, my mother and I painted a screen to go around her crib.  I remember it was a painting Mother did, green hills, blue sky, lots of trees and flowers, and white fluffy sheep.  My job was to paint the sheep.  It came out terrific.

My sister was born at the Catholic hospital in Le Havre.  The day she and my mother were coming home, my dad took me to the hospital and sat me on a bench in a hallway.  A nice French nun came and sat with me and told me about the baby.  I already knew, of course, and I was not impressed.  I really didn’t want a baby around.  Finally, my dad came back out with my mother and my new sister.  I was still not impressed.  She was ugly and had a red scrunched up face, and she was screaming her lungs out.  We got in the car (the little Hillman) and my mother sat in front with the baby.  I sat in the back behind my dad, trying to get as far into the seat as I could, trying to disappear.  

I never really did like her.  She made a lot of noise and people paid way too much attention to her.  Apparently she was a very pretty baby; I wouldn't know.  I remember very well at Christmas when she was about 2 months old, they put a pretty bright-colored blanket on our beautiful antique wood dining room table and laid her on it, with her presents around her.  What a silly thing to do.  

A few months later, when she was sitting up, I remember my dad taking a picture of us.  She was sitting on that dining room table again, and there was a glass vase of tulips beside her.  She was reaching for the flowers and I was on the other side just looking at her, wearing an embroidered pale blue satin bathrobe I had gotten for Christmas.  I hated that picture, because the attention was always on her reaching for that red tulip.  

The best thing about her being there, though, was that they stopped worrying about what I was doing.  We left France when she was about 8 months old.

1952 Scarlet Fever

Right around my birthday in September, I got scarlet fever.  I remember being in my room in the dark all the time.  I couldn’t look at my books or anything, so my mother would sit and read to me.  My eyes watered so badly I couldn't have any light on at all.  Fortunately, I wasn't in school yet.  

My poor mother.  She had a sick kid and was only a couple of months away from her due date.  It's a good thing it wasn't measles or something that would have been harmful to the baby.  It lasted forever, about six weeks I think.  

I know my parents were worried about me being sick when my sister was born, but I was well recovered by then.

1950 Brookline

When my dad got back from the Pacific, they moved back to College Station so he could finish Texas A&M University.  After graduation, around 1948 or 1949, when I was still a small baby, he was sent to Abidan in Persia (now Iran) by his first employer, Foster-Wheeler, to work at the refinery.  At the time, it was the world‘s largest.  My mother and I went to live in Brookline, Massachusetts, with her parents until he returned in 1951.  I don’t remember much about that time.

Refinery in Abidan

​​

I would sit on my grandfather Arthur’s lap facing him and comb his hair down over his face.  In the style of the times, he had long hair combed back.  I would come it all down over and over again.  I remember he had a mustache and he laughed when I did this.

Another thing I remember is going to nursery school.  My mother would walk me there and back, or sometimes my Aunt Audrey did.  She was my mother’s sister and she loved me, I was her little doll.  She was probably around 20 or so at that time.  My grandmother Frieda and my mother both would yell at her for putting her laundry rack in the bathtub and never taking it out.  Funny the things you remember.

We would take my mother’s Cocker Spaniel Muffin for walks in the snow.  I remember a coat with a round collar with a bunch of buttons that took forever to fasten.  I remember we lived on Sewell Avenue.

I don’t remember it, but apparently we went to see the Red Sox at Fenway Park fairly often. 

1947 St Joseph's Hospital

My dad was going to Texas A&M University when I was born.  I don't remember it, actually.  However, I have been told that my mother was so damned hot that she took 2 or 3 showers a day.  When she went into labor, they called an ambulance to take her from College Station to St Joseph's Hospital in Houston.  When they loaded her on the stretcher, her Cocker Spaniel, Muffin, jumped up on her stomach.  I always say I was born with pawprints on my forehead.