Delano: Goodbye To Outdoor Toilets... Hello To Winter in Delano...

The little house on Fourth Avenue that Daddy rented had two small bedrooms, a fairly large living room, and small eat-in kitchen. There was also a back porch where we hooked up the bargain used automatic washing machine Daddy had found. You just put the clothes in, put the soap in, turn the dial, press the button and hang around so you could adjust them if the clothes got out of balance.  Which they always did. That machine could shout and dance louder than any preacher I ever heard. Lucky it had a safety mechanism to turn it off before it danced up the wall and turned over. We would adjust the wet clothes inside, and re-start it. Mama loved it. No more wringer washer with two tin tubs on chairs for her.

What I liked about the house on Fourth Avenue was that it had a real Bathroom, instead of an Out House. The bathroom was the only place I could be "alone." Oh, how I treasured taking baths in there. I could soak and dream, and look in the mirror and talk to myself... My brothers complained that it was their turn, and my parents urged me to hurry up. Still I tried to find Un-Busy times where I could linger as long as I liked.

There were no halls in that little house. From the kitchen we had to go through both bedrooms to go in the bathroom. Daddy and Mama slept in the bedroom directly attached to the bathroom. Jim's and Ray's bedroom had two doors, one into our parents' room and another into the kitchen.

Richard and I slept on a mattress on the floor in the living room. There was a free-standing gas heater in the living room by our mattress. I remember lying on my right side at night, facing that heater. I could see inside the hole where someone would poke a lit match in there and turn on the gas to light it. It would then have a beautiful blue flame that I could look at for awhile till I fell asleep. There was something so cozy and pleasant about watching that gas flame...

Christmas of 1955 was our first Christmas as a family. I wanted a doll. I had been required to leave my beautiful bride doll in Pine Bluff. I left it with Aunt Berl for safe keeping.

We kids drew names and our parents took us Christmas shopping in the Dime Store. (Yes. Dime Store. Not Dollar Store.) In those days a dollar or two would have bought a nice doll of the sort I wanted. But dollars, even dimes, were in short supply in the Ballentine household that Christmas. I saw beautiful dolls with hair all fastened up on a high display out of reach of little hands (probably more to guard against smudges and smears than against theft). You had to look, not touch. Oh, how I looked at those dolls.

But Mama said, "Jean, you can't buy that. You're here to buy a present for whosever's name you drew. None of them wants a doll. Go find something boys like." In those days, everyone knew that girls and boys are basically different. Girls were girly and boys were, well, boys. If someone didn't like that fact, they just dealt with it and went on. I've now forgotten whose name I had drawn, but I'm sure it was a boy. (I'm smiling.)

I think Richard got my name, and he (with parents' help) bought me a ball point pen. It was very simple, and nice, with a tan bottom and dark brown top, and the clicker thing was gray. When, on Christmas Eve, I opened it, I considered it a good gift, and appreciated Richard for knowing how much I liked to write, though I suspected he would have rather bought me a toy knife or bow and arrows, hoping I would pass it along to him when I got tired of it.

Ray was the adventurous brother who took every opportunity after the shopping trip to search for hidden presents. Mama and Daddy had hidden presents up in the high shelf of their closet. Since we kids had been forbidden even to open the door of that closet, I ignored Ray's hints that there were probably presents in there for me. I just kept looking under the tree as wrapped presents appeared, and trying to figure out how maybe, just maybe, that little bitty box with my name on it could possibly be a doll. Even if it was, it was too little to be the kind of doll I wanted. Sigh. Oh, well. I wasn't going to disobey and search where I shouldn't... (But it was hard.)

Finally, Christmas came and the suspense was killing all of us kids.  Daddy and Mama had determined that we would open our presents on Christmas Eve Night. Whatever their reasons, whether to be able to sleep in the next morning, or what, I never heard. But the end result was that from that first Christmas we always opened gifts on my birthday.

My birthday is Christmas Eve, but I never had a birthday party as a child. Actually, I don't remember any of us having birthday parties, but certainly not me. I would get Christmas presents that were labeled Happy Birthday-Christmas. Since it had never been any other way, and no one made a big deal about anyone's birthday, I didn't mind.

That Christmas Eve in 1955, after we kids had opened our presents from whoever had drawn our name, I sat there holding the nice little ball point pen, and trying not to cry or look disappointed because all the presents under the tree were given out and there was no beautiful doll for me. Daddy left the room, and Mama came over and sat beside me on the couch. She put her arm around me, put her face down by mine, and whispered, "I know you're disappointed, Jean, but you be a good girl, now. Don't you cry..." I knew she knew what I was thinking. I tried to smile and batted my eyes a lot, holding back tears.

Just then Daddy came back into the room with a big box. It wasn't wrapped. He brought it over to me and turned it around so that I could see the big, beautiful doll with hair... mmm, not orange, not tan, but something in between those two colors. She had enormous blue eyes that batted when you tilted her back and forth, pretty dress, shoes... Everything. Then I couldn't even see her anymore because my eyes were stinging, and I burst into tears.

Ray was jumping up and down, and forgetting that he was telling on himself, he was saying, "See? I told you. I told you they had more stuff in there than was under the tree. I told you. I told you." Everyone was talking, Mama and Daddy saying, "Happy Birthday," and Jim trying to get Ray to shut up before he got all the boys in trouble for searching in the closet, and Richard playing with his toy, oblivious to the high drama.

Later, Mama told me she and Daddy had talked before shopping about how much they could possibly afford for each of us, and it wasn't enough for a doll. Daddy had seen me looking up at those dolls with admiration and longing in my eyes. After Mama had sent me away to find a present for my brother, after I was out of sight and hearing, he said to Mama, "She's going to have that doll." And he had picked it out.

Oh, how I loved him for that. He sacrificed to get me that doll. I enjoyed the doll, but I cherished my Daddy. That was December 24th. Coming up on January 5th was their first anniversary... Yes. I really had me a Daddy.
(See "The Wedding," the first post on this blog.)