My only resolution this year is to oraganize, edit and prepare my memoir for publication This is the opening, a short prologue and new title. I am currently rewriting the content and trying to place all my free standing essays into some kind of order. I value your opinions.
“Gentlemen we’re history,” Rufus aka George Carlin to Bill & Ted in their Excellent Adventure moments before they are swept back to 1805 Austria ensconced in a time traveling phone booth.
BOY IN A BRICK VILLAGE
© 2010 BY David Wainland
Once upon a time there lived a boy in a brick village, a smaller than small town called a neighborhood in a fabled land known only as The Bronx.
On the twenty third day of April, 1940, the second Seder night of Passover, they rushed my mother to the Lebanon Hospital, the Old Lebanon as it eventually became known. I came into the world easy enough although my father used to tell me that on my way out I got hung up on my big ears. Marion, my mom, was grateful and relieved. A year and a half earlier her first child, a girl, had died in child birth and while she looked forward to the birth, she dreaded the delivery.
Izzy, my dad before he changed his name to Martin and Marion named me David Michael after my father’s father. I would be one of several Davids in our extended family and when, at future family events, somebody call called, “David,” we would all come running.
Our family lived on Stephens Avenue in those days, though I have no memories of that home. What I do know was that twenty months later, December 7, 1941, the Japanese bombed Pearl Harbor. My father tried to enlist, but the Army rejected him. He had served with them in the mid-thirties, managed to get himself in trouble and they sent him home with a bad conduct discharge. As an alternative, he went to work in the shipyards and because of his background as an electrician they transferred him to the New York Ship Building yard in Camden, New Jersey. There he eventually obtained a Top Secret government clearance and worked as an installer in the early days of radar.
In 1943, on my third birthday, we moved back to Bronx, onto Walton Avenue and Dad went to work in the Brooklyn Navy yards.
This is where my travel through time begins.