When I was 4 my mother married Floyd Hamilton (later known as my dad) in Charles City,Iowa. It should have been a happy occasion, but my vague memories were of my grandfather and Floyd getting drunk and getting into a big fight and not speaking to each other for the next 10 years or so, and then being yanked out of my comfortable Iowa farm home, placed in the back seat of Floyd’s 1940 something blue coupe, and whimpering on the floor all the way to our new home in Minneapolis
When I was 5….(1942)…..I must have been alive, although, if the number of memories retained has any validity, I must have been unconscious for several years, or really leading a boring life. Or maybe I was so traumatized by adjusting to life on this planet that I repressed much. I remember making a friend, Billy, who used to come to our North Minneapolis little rented house and yell for me by the kitchen window. I remember joining a “gang” for a day and stealing candy from a local store which the owner had forgot to lock when he left it on a weekend.
Here is me and Floyd, aka Dad, in front of our first of several residences in North Minneapolis.