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E-Mail Submission: We received the following and found the attachment to be full of wit and fun that we believe you will enjoy. Thanks to Dick and his family for sharing.

Hello,
The attached is part of a letter written by Dick Williams...a collections of ruminations about his growing up years told in the style of a true storyteller.

Dick is my uncle. A few years ago he found out he had cancer and he started writing down his memories for his kids. He ended up writing more than he expected and thought others would enjoy it so he sent a few copies to other people besides his kids. Everyone loved it and told him he should try to get it published but he isn't the type of person to pursue that. He wrote for the pleasure of writing and, I think, the need to leave something of himself behind for his kids should he not survive. He is still alive but struggling. I thought that seeing his own words published would really make him happy.

Thank you,
Renee

The country had been through ten years of depression; there was talk about a new war in some far away place called Europe. It cost 10 cents to see a movie, milk was 15 cents a quart, and you would be astounded at how much candy you could buy for a penny. A lot of people were out of work. Many, if not most, were struggling hard to survive. Some people referred to this era as "The Hard Times". I remember it as mostly "The Good Times". I always had something to eat. At times it wasn't much, but I did always eat. I had clothes on my back. I was warm, dry, and I had a place to sleep. Actually, I had a pretty happy childhood growing up during those so called difficult times. That is what I want to share with you, my memories of those "Good Times".

I had a lot going between the ages of eight through 14 or so. I could comfortably wear either one of two different hats. That of the street wise city kid, or that of the hayseed, the country bumpkin. My relatives on Mom's side were all small town people, many of whom were farmers at one time or another. Nearly all were farmers at heart. Mom was the fourth youngest of 12 kids, all raised on farms. I had literally an army of aunts, uncles, and cousins in the Sycamore, Illinois area. And yes, you did need a score card to keep track of them. Dad had a sister (Annie) who lived in Forest Park, Illinois with her husband, Uncle Billy, and their five children. We would visit with them once in a while. It was fun because they talked funny. Dad came from South Hampton, England. He talked excellent American with no noticeable accent. Auntie Annie and Uncle Billy both had strong cockney accents. They both sounded as "Bloody British" as you could get.

When our family went visiting our country relatives on weekends and holidays, it was generally out to Aunt Fanny's in Sycamore or to Uncle Jack and Aunt Etta's farm in the same area. Often, we would drive out on Saturday, stay overnight and came back home on Sunday. Sometimes during the summer or at spring vacation, they would just leave me there and I would stay with relatives till school started. That's how I got my country education.

We lived in the city mostly and sometimes in the suburbs. Mom and Dad rented apartments and we moved around a lot. I mean a lot. I can vaguely remember attending seven or eight different grammar schools since I started the first grade. During that time, the babies seemed to keep coming and that kept Mom pretty busy. There was always a baby in the house. One would barely start to walk and another baby would show up. I couldn't understand where they kept coming from. I remember when my sister Vivian was brought home from the hospital. Now we had the first girl in the family and Mom and Dad were quite happy about it. I knew girls were different, I learned that on the farm. My brother Russell was too young to notice anything at the time, but my brothers Jim and Bob noticed something different about the new baby, and they were troubled by it. The way I remember it is that right after Mom got home, she had put Vivian on the kitchen table in her birthday suit to give her a bath. It was then that Jim and Bob came over to me with a puzzled look about them and one of them whispered to me, "Hey, where is the rest of her?". What could I say?

One place I remember living was at 326 South Seeley Avenue in Chicago. Jackson Blvd was to the north of us, Harrison St to the south, and Madison St was in there somewhere. The ethic's of the area at the time was mostly Italian. I used to speak a little Italian, all the bad words of course. Couldn't carry on a conversation in Italian without using Italian cuss words it seemed. We may have lived there for maybe four or five months. It was a very old jump actually and I remember a little ditty that best described it.

"I woke up in the morning, and looked upon the wall

The roaches and the bedbugs were having a game of ball

The score was six to nuttin, the bedbugs were ahead

The roaches hit a homer that knocked me out of bed."

I went looking for the place about 30 years ago. The Congress Expressway passed right by it. The building is not there anymore. It was torn down for yet another housing project.

Thanks for your participation.

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