Disclaimer: The purpose of this article is to offer readers a peek into the intricate narrative of resilience, hard work, and familial bonds by decoding “An Unforgettable Pastime.” The content shared here is a condensed representation crafted for engagement and does not encompass the entirety of the memoir’s depth and richness. For a comprehensive understanding and a true immersion into the family’s story, we encourage readers to explore the complete work by getting a copy from Amazon:
In the bustling era of 1961, my father was the unsung hero of our family, tirelessly supporting a household of thirteen. Amidst the chaos of daily life, a wife, a mother-in-law, and ten children—five boys and five girls—relied on his unwavering dedication. Juggling one full-time job and three part-time gigs, he worked up to sixteen hours a day to make ends meet.
One of his part-time jobs involved delivering medicine for a cousin’s pharmacy, a simple yet crucial task. Another part-time venture took us near Busch Stadium, home of the St. Louis Cardinals. My father and his dentist cousin, Dr. Pete, devised a plan: whenever the Cardinals played, they’d wave towels at passing cars, enticing them to park in their lot. It was a family affair, and I, a shy young boy, got to join in. Shouting and waving towels, we’d fill up the lot during good games, earning a dollar per car.
The best days were when the Cardinals played doubleheaders. Alongside parking cars, Dad would squeeze in extra vehicles, charging a dollar fifty each. With no time to go home for dinner during night games, Mom would bring us a meal, and we’d listen to the legendary Harry Carey and Jack Buck broadcast the games on the radio.
Amidst this whirlwind, my father took on another part-time job managing my Grandma Catherine’s four-family apartment building. Saturdays were rent collection days, and sometimes, I’d tag along as Dad knocked on doors, attempting to collect monthly rent. It was a mixed bag—some tenants paid, some needed more time, and some were unreachable. But overall, the tenants were contributing, helping our family financially.
My father’s knack for building and repairs shone through in this role; a skill passed down from his father. He tried to teach me, but his impatience clashed with my slow learning. Despite the challenges, his commitment to family and work never wavered.
For nearly two decades, his main full-time job was as a delivery route truck driver for Hostess Cake Company. Twinkies, Cupcakes, and Snowballs filled his truck, and during Christmas, fruitcakes joined the mix. His daily routine involved non-stop deliveries, a ten-minute nap break, and a relentless pursuit to complete a massive number of cake route stops.
However, as time went on, the job’s demands took a toll on his health. Approaching fifty, the Hostess Cake route became unmanageable, and despite pleas to reduce its size, his supervisor insisted on speed. Stress became a health hazard, and my father’s resilience faced its greatest challenge.
As the era unfolded, changes in our neighborhood mirrored more significant societal shifts. The slow deterioration of property value led to racial integration, unsettling some residents. In 1957, my family became part of the suburban migration, selling our city home to a Black couple, defying discriminatory pressure.
In 1958, we settled into a new home, accommodating a growing family. Living space was tight, but our unity prevailed. Shared bedrooms, improvised sleeping arrangements, and makeshift curtains on Jalousie windows became part of our daily lives. Winter brought chilly nights, but we endured, warming our hearts with family bonds.
About the book:
“An Unforgettable Pastime” delves into the remarkable journey of a family navigating the challenges of 1961. Against the backdrop of a father supporting a family of thirteen, the narrative unfolds within the confines of a neighborhood in North St. Louis, Missouri. As the family grapples with economic uncertainties and the evolving social landscape, the story becomes a tapestry of faith, love, and unyielding bonds.