1 July 2021

Trigger:

On the street where you lived…

Give us the flavor of the sights and sounds and lives of a street you lived on during your childhood

On Ravenswood Drive

Purchased with the help of the GI Bill, we moved into 3022 Ravenswood Drive in late 1948 when I was about 20 months old. It was to be my house until age 14 when my folks built a house further out of the center of Evansville, Indiana in the north suburbs. Built in 1940, it was a typical small square white shingled house that still exists all over the middle of the united states. At the time, it was the last house on the street,a 3 block dead end extension of Ravenswood Drive which came from downtown. At the end of our street was the last vestige of Raven’s Woods, a three block square old growth forest that had survived somehow from being cut down to add to the flat agricultural land that was the dominant feature of the east side.

Moving in, winter 1948

Our house was the last built on the street until after the war when Gis and their baby boom families caused a huge building boom aournd us, planting houses on what had been corn and wheat fields for a hundred years. Our house had two features that differentiated it from those built after ours further on down the street to the woods. First it had a basement, a dank, mostly dirt walled space that induced terror in me at that early age. That also meant it was built on a foundation. The after war houses built on past us were put up quick and cheap on concrete slabs. And second, we had a full, house-wide concrete porch along the front of the house on which I was to play during my youngest years.

My early play world, the front porch. Window on left was to my bedroom

The lot next door to us was purchased not long after we moved in by my Great Aunt Maude and her husband Norm with their son, Jack by then in college and an ersatz big brother to me. On it was placed a similar small box of a house with a garage next to ours. The two driveways were next to each other as one. Norm built a fishing boat in that garage and I hung out there with him as it was made. I later enjoyed its use going fishing with Norm.

Me, Jack, Dad, Norm 1950

By the early 50s, all the lots had been purchased and the little box houses built up to the edge of the woods. Behind our houses remained flat farm land that began to be developed at about that same time. So by the mid 50s, when I was 7 years old all that farm land now had similar boxes of houses in neat row upon row of streets filling in every space.

Almost 7

But Ravenswood remained the only street not connected to any other street, other than to Vann Avenue, one of the main north/south streets that served the east side. I suppose today it might be described as a cul de sac, but in those days it was a mini neighborhood of its own all filled with young families. The houses closest to Vann, that had been built in the 30s were owned by older couples without kids at home. But as the street approached our house the kids began to sprout.

Next to us were the Grabberts with Glenn and Duane. They were exotic in two ways. The mom was a former circus performer who was injured in falls and had a hitch in her walk. And the older son Glen, went off to seminary to become a priest which was a big deal in those days. Across the stree were the Waters with daughter, Mary Lou a year younger than me; and the Newboles with son Randy, also a year younger. Then came the biggest and best house on the street the Troutmans, It was owned by a plumber which made him the richest man by far in those days as the rest of the fathers, just home from the war worked in factories or offices like my dad. Their house was actually not square and had wings and a two car garage, which Mr. Troutman used to store his truck and plumbing supplies. That was grand design to the rest of us living in our little boxes. Their son Ronnie was skinny as a rail and a year older than me. He didn’t really hang out with all the rest of us.

Next to them were the M*******’s with son Skipper. They were the bad sheep of the street. Both were blustering bullies that used their size to try and intimidate. One day, Skipper and Ronnie got into a typical kid fight and Ronnie hit him and Skipper ran home. Next thing here comes Mr M******** with his belt out of his pants forcing Skipper to go back and fight Ronnie. I’ll never forget him yelling,” You either fight him or you’ll have to fight me”. Skipper tried to flail away at Ronnie, who kept his cool and would wait and hit him again. Skipper began to cry and ran into the house with his dad chasing him with the belt. In our little microcosm world of Ravenswood, that was an eye opening event.

Finally at the end of the street, next to the woods was the house of the Connor’s with the girls Connie, Janice and Donna. Donna was already a teenager which of course brought great sighs of wonderment from us scrufty young boys. Opposite their house was one with another girl, Ruth. Then coming back down our side was the Ambrose’s with Donnie and David, the Hickman’s with son Terry. Those three and me and Randy pretty much hung out together all the time. Then there was an older couple with no kids with Aunt Maude and Norm’s house finally next to us.

With all those kids, all about the same age and all in one microcosm of a neighborhood, there were always birthdays being celebrated by one or another of us. They were traditional affairs in those days with the obligatory hats, games such as pin the tail on the donky and certainly, a big iced cake with number of candles corresponding to the age to be blown out with the wish.

The Ravenswood Gang 1952: Top from left Duane, Randy, Me, Donnie, Ronnie; Bottom from left: Michael (another french war bride son), David, Jerry (my uncle from my grandfathers second marriage), Ruth, Mary Lou, Connie and Janice.

As it was a dead end street, the only traffic would be from our own parent’s cars. So the street and down into the woods was our common play ground. And there were no fences in between the yards either so the gang of us would wander through the day on bikes for a while or then on foot into the woods, There we would build forts and either play cowboys and Indians or Gis against the Germans or Japs. We all had cap pistols and would fake dieing in suprise attacks.

It was also a great place to play hide and seek. As we had the yards to roam and houses to hide behind as well as the woods, hide and seek games would go on for hours until finally the seeker would give up and shout out, “Allee, allee, oks in free.” And the successful hider, who had been cramped behind a garage door or a shrub or fox hole in the woods for an hour would come out in the open, bragging of being the winner. And when you found a good hiding spot, you never told anyone, because of course you wanted to keep it for yourself. The games would go on until dark of night. Our parents never worried because we were under constant surveilance by one or another of the parents. It was really far more like group parenting. Any one of the parents could and would discipline us.

Sports were played along with the seasons. Spring and summer would be baseball, played across several back yards. We would take on the name of our favorite player and be that person incarnate for the duration of the games. Fall was football season but with our small hands, we could barley manage to throw the ball with any degree of accuracy.

And throughout, there was basketball, the formost religion of Indiana. At the time, there was the myth that whereever there was a boy in Indiana, there would be a basketball goal. And that boy would be out bouncing the ball and shooting at the goal until it became too dark to see any more. My dad put up a goal for me but it was against the garage wall with a cinder driveway, not with a back board and good place to dribble. The only one that was a propper post and backboard with a concrete surface to play on was at the Troutman’s. So it was only when Ronnie was outside that we were able to play as teams, or shoot HORSE where you had to make the exact same shot as the guy before you.

For the most part our parents were friends as well, especially among the moms, none of whom worked. My Mom was especially close to Opal Newboles and Ann Waters. They became lifelong friends after we all moved away. They would pass the time together playing cards or organizing parties for the kids or picnics and outings.

A day at the lake 1953 with Opal Newboles, Ann Waters, Mary Lou, my sister Mary Anne with Randy and Me

The adults would gather in the evenings and play cards or sit outside and watch the kids together at night when it was still too hot and humid to be inside. None of us in those days, other than the Troutman’s of course, could afford to have Air conditioning. TV’s were still a rarity well into the mid 50s. The only shared culture came from radios which broadcast dramas and humor shows like Amos and Andy, and Groucho Marx and Bob Hope, and cowboy shows. All made the transition to TV with the audiences built in.

My father was always working to imrove the house. First thing he did was put in what was officially a pool but more affectionately know as the “concrete pond” because its gravely bottom produced more scratched knees than future olympians.

Our backyard with the Concrete Pond: Summer and Winter playground

The big project was to significantly enlarge the house with the advent of my baby sister coming along in 1952. As a nascent civil engineer (his degree also made available by the GI bill), Dad drew up the plans and undertook the work by himself during any time he was not at his job. A combination, kitchen and dining room was added in the back so that my Mom had a nice place to cook and entertain her French friends and our family. On the far side was another wing added to give my folks a large bedroom. It made our box of a house a lot more habitable. It also gave me my own room on the front of the house off the porch.

The kitchen wing addition. The ghostly image of my Dad on the roof.

On a break from my busy job as go-fer. Comic book in hand no doubt.

Ravenswood Drive was an idyllic place for us youngsters in those early years of the 50s. The parents joined in celebrating all holidays and engaging the kids in activities. Summers were lived outside on that street with front porches and shade trees to beat the summer heat. The kids left the house after breakfast in the morning,running in and out for lunch, and not coming back until the dad’s came home for dinner at 6 in the evening. Then it would be back out, catching fireflies and playing until called in well after dark.

Unfortunately for me, my bedroom off that large slab of concrete porch was almost unbearable during those hot humid Hoosier summer nights. The porch gave off all the heat it had accumulated during the day. I would lay at the foot of my bed, in front of the screened window, hoping to catch the faintest feel of a breeze, or better yet, hear the sounds of approaching thunder and a cooling rainstorm to wash its way through the Ohio River valley where we lived. Being too hot to sleep led me into my lifelong habit of staying up late reading or listening to the crystal radio I got with 4 box tops of Rice Krispies. I would catch sounds of baseball games or music in the far off places of big cities and dream of one day being there and out of my little cocoon of a life.

When I became eight our life began to change as we spent more time away from Ravenswood Drive than living there, due to my father’s engineering job drawing him away, and us with him, for months, then a year at a time. In the few months each year of my return, I would go back to the same school as many of the kids, the catholic ones, but my link to the chain of life there began to weaken. I had seen life in places far beyond Indiana and Ravenswood Drive and I knew I wanted to experience that opportunity of life in the outside world. That place that had nurtured me now seemed so small and limiting.

By 1961, my parents undertook to build a new house on the north side of Evansville and we moved away in 1962. And as I sit here reminiscing, I don’t believe I ever saw any of those kids again other than the Waters and Newboles famililies as their parents were friends with mine, and they also moved away from the street.

And I left Evansville for university and would come back occasionally to visit with my Aunt Maude. But as with me, the kids had also moved away. And then the need for housing grew, and the forest was thinnned and a road pushed through. Apartments replaced the foxholes and forts of my youth and the isolation of the street changed.

Now many of those old boxes of houses have been renovated and added on to. But the street still has the same general look as it did back in the 1950s up to where the woods used to be. Two newer houses have been built what was an empty lot across the street from us. And the former Troutman’s house does not look at all as big as my memory told me.

At 3022 the big porch has been built on, expanding the living room. The window to my bedroom is still there but a porch roof built to shade it from the sun. The maple trees my folks planted 70 years ago have grown up and those empty fields no longer expand out into the distant prairie. A shopping center now anchors Vann Avenue at the end of Ravenswood. Life has moved on along with all of us now senior, citizens.

Here is a link to a street view as it is today: https://www.instantstreetview.com/@37.956164,-87.51247,5.27h,-9.52p,1z,Jqptr6LEOwuvzZVAk6M2QQ

I’m certain much of who I became, and am, was due to that special little time and place. A time of optimism and energy. We were given an early chance at freedom and responsibility. We were expected to be good and be respectful of others and of our surroundings. We were privileged to have good nearby schools and teachers who cared about us…in a way, an extension of the families and our life on Ravenswood.

And I did leave and lived in big cities and traveled and worked and transcended those early years. But the foundation had been laid long ago on that little stretch of street. Perhaps now, living in my small village, surrounded by woods and fields, with only one street, in a little corner of the world, brings me back to those easier, quieter times. I am content to just be here and enjoy each day, much as I did, long ago on Ravenswood Drive.