Poems and Thoughts    by Frank Maurer

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The Numbers in My Childhood. Strange. I was headed to the computer to view photos of African Nguni cattle And the computer froze. I was frozen out, so on to the next writing project. I have been fascinated as to how many numbers and names are remembered from my childhood. Here is a rendition of those things from that time: My home phone number was DEcatur 2-0466. I used this phone many times, especially during my teenage years, Calling friends, my love Seta, classmates and church appointments. My family's main car was a Ford station wagon, license plate 43541, Massachusetts. I learned to drive in that car and took my driver's test among six foot high piles of snow! I passed. My first date with Seta was at her home. I drove my double bass over to Watertown, And had a 'romantic' evening playing a Bach flute concerto. H2289 was licensed to a little yellow Nash Metropolitan Which my father drove and surprised us one evening. He needed a second car for his work at Arthur D. Little in Cambridge, Where he created and invented product models for businesses of all kinds. Father rejoiced when there were no more elongated bolt holes--US license plates were finally uniform! My street number was 301 Lake Avenue, between Walnut Street and somewhere far north. It was named for Crystal Lake which was a few blocks north of our house. I fished there; I learned to swim there and we were banned from swimming as polio reared its head. (My mother, Elizabeth, had a deformed foot from childhood polio.) My address always had Massachusetts,? 61,? We always argued where the comma should go. That was the small beginning of the North American zip code! We had 72 storm windows and screens we had to change every season. Long extension ladders were needed for the three stories of our old house. I was told this house was originally built by the Mafia. There were six rooms on the first floor-- A dining room with carved wooden dragons at the upper corner of each door frame. My mother, tending the fireplace there, rose quickly and as was said, 'cracked her skull'. We lived with that reminder during all of our childhood. There was the living room where my parents entertained And where we had the other fireplace and stood the Christmas tree by the bay windows. When the presents were distributed, I always hid one to have an 'extra' at the end! Across the hall there was the music room with the record player and the upright piano. We had groups come and we played with combinations of instruments. My father even played his fiddle occasionally, and, of course, my mother played the piano-- Even in the evening to put us all asleep. There was a small bathroom, a laundry room, and a pantry. These all joined the main kitchen where we read comics on Sunday, Cooked, and measured and quibbled over the size of pie pieces. (There's a photo!) There was a back stairway leading from near the kitchen area to the small hallway on the second floor. My father closed it off and stored food cans and liquor! I found this and snitched some, now and then! Dad also put in a 'side door' to the driveway, where I would meet Frank the Milkman, so named. Back at the main hall, there was a stairway with, I believe, 16 stairs to the second floor. The kneul post at the base of the railing was large and magnificent. (But at the finish of sliding down the railing, one had to always watch out for that large post.) At the top of the stairs, which turned twice to the left, was another hall reaching our parents' bedroom, My sister Susan's room, and the 'boy's room', ('Chip' and John) looking over the flat roof, towards the street. Three rooms in all plus a bathroom, where Dad would tell stories, while sitting on the John! A fourth by the bathroom was Dad's office and study, where we often grouped To view collections of old Pennsylvania glass fragments,coins, and his anatomy books. Going back to the top of the stairs was a door leading to the third floor. That was my realm. A small room to the left, where the old upright phonograph stood, which we cranked and played, A huge unfinished attic to the right, and my room straight ahead, past the skylight. My room had a linoleum 'rug' with the US map, a bed, my rolltop desk, bookcases, and a big closet. The window faced out to the street, and near which we had a rope tied to the radiator, In case there was ever an unfortunate fire which did occur many decades later And which I saw on a second visit, probably because the then inhabitants Had a large radio system, and just plain overloaded the whole system. Because of my mother's fear of snakes, I hid one in the bookcase. I also had a bullfrog which roamed the room, hopping occasionally into a pan central on the floor. This is where I listened to Public Radio, announcing the frightening sounds of the Korean War. That room was where Seta visited and we gently snuggled (only!) on my bed. The skylight I mentioned was a straight-up wooden shaft. I figured out how to ascend it, Open it, and have a view of the whole neighborhood! The basement stairs started at the kitchen and down 12 stairs. This is where the coalbin was, the furnace room, with the huge heating device, And a hallway where my father butchered rabbits (mine!) and an occasional squirrel. To the right of the stairway was my little work bench for carpentry. Further over was my father's work place with layths benches, drill presses, etc. He worked several years 'laything' 'cutters' to punch out gaskets for Armstrong Cork Company. Under one of the benches were six model heads designed by my Dad, which were used during WWII To model face shapes for pilot goggles and masks which he created. I always remember those white plaster faces staring out at me. His non-freeze goggles and breathing equipment helped win the war. Our house and large garage were situated on 1/2 acre of a rectangular lot. We had at least two very large White Oak trees (Quercus alba), One of which I used to construct a 30 foot high tree house. There were also two moderately large Shagbark Hickory nut trees, Under which we collected and cracked open hundreds of little munchy morsels. I always liked looking at the trees' uneven 'shagbark' epidermis. High up on the bank above the driveway, stood a small Mountain Ash (A Hackensack'?, no that was the Larch nearby), Also called a Rowan, growing cosmopolitanly in the global north.) I was not aware at that time, I would later meet the Scottish Rowan (pronounced Rauwan) And my grandson, Rowan. During the summer, I was always fascinated with their small, lovely red berries. That so-called 'bank' was where I photographed my first bird picture (a Northern Flicker-- Then classified the Yellow Shafted Flicker) at eight-years-old. We had no Sugar Maple on the property, but there was a grove to the south In a neighbor's yard, where we also played. My father juxtaposed these native old-time residents, With hemlock, a small front yard boundary fir hedge, a large sprawling Forsythia, And masses of Rhododendrons with their magnificent blossoms, Interspersed with a population of Mountain Laurel. I lived 1/2 mile south of Crystal Lake, where I swam, ice-sailed, skated, and fished. In high school, I wrote a paper on how the Lake's water was plped miles north, To Bigalow Lake to increase the water volume in order to service a mill there. These were what surrounded near me as a child. I remember it as if it were yesterday and as I have done so all my life, To take in every detail of my surroundings. It is just the way I am. 30 October 2025 1500 Hours.