My first memory of San Francisco in terms of putting down roots was school. I must have been about five or six years old, in kindergarten. I have various memories of this time. My mother brought my sister Carol to school one time, and I remember pouring tea for her, play tea out of a pot. And I remember laying underneath the table with my feet up against the bottom of the table. My mother made me a pad that I would take to school to lay on the floor when we would have to have a nap.

That was either Frank McCoppen or George Peabody school, I went to both of them and I don't remember which one it was. Anyway, I didn't know how to tell time, and the teacher asked some children after school to go see what time it was. I volunteered to go and when I got to the clock, I realized I had no idea what time it was. All I knew was where the big hand and the little hand were, so I came back and told her. She made fun of me, not too badly, but it made me feel funny that I didn't know how to tell time. After that, I asked my father to teach me to tell time. I guess he taught me. Somebody did anyway!

Back then, I was five and Carol wasn't in school yet. We lived in one big room, a large room behind the shop. There may have been another bedroom and there was a kitchen and bathroom, but I only remember the one room, where I played with the things on the bed.

One good friend that I had back on 8th Avenue was Nancy. I don't remember her last name. There was a little grocery store on the corner and Nancy lived a few doors from that, and then we lived a little farther. And there was a hole in her back yard. She lived in a house, so she had a yard, and there was this depression in it. It seemed huge to me. Now when I think, it probably wasn't all that big, but it seemed big then. Nancy told us that if we jumped in that hole we would go to China. And you know, we would not jump in that hole because we did not want to go to China. But eventually, we did jump in it, and of course we didn't go anywhere but into the hole.

What else do I remember about that place? My mother had two canaries, Mickey and Minnie, and each one had a cage and they hung in the kitchen on 8th Avenue. They sang, of course. The male sang more than the female, but they were both beautiful. And there was a lady in the neighborhood, whether on our street or around the block, who was an opera singer, and she used to vocalize. It was beautiful.

My sister and I used to go down to the corner store and steal fudge. They had these little squares of fudge, and we stole it. Of course, stealing was not allowed in my family, rightly so. But it was one of the few times I can remember that we didn't get punished. We didn't even know we'd been found out. The store owner knew we were taking the fudge, and later I learned that my mother paid the bill. But we didn't get scolded. When I think back to how my dad could be, maybe Mom just thought there was enough pressure on us at that point, so she didn't tell him. I was afraid of my father because later on, when we moved, he punished us unjustly. I remember only one incident, but it was unjust.

Anyway, back in San Francisco, another thing I remember well was the ice man. Kids miss a lot. Nowadays especially they seem to know nothing. We used to have an ice man who came around in a truck, and he had these great big huge blocks of ice. He had an ice pick and he'd chop off a block of ice, bring it up on his back and put it in the ice box. If we hung around downstairs at the truck, he would chop off a sliver of ice for us, and we got to suck the ice. That was fun. And that was really fun.

You know, it's funny. I really don't remember real well, other than the incidents I tell you like being in the car with my father, and when he took us to Golden Gate Park, and jumping in that garden hole. But on the corner of Geary and 8th, there used to be a mounted policeman on a beautiful horse, directing traffic. I remember him.

During my school days at George Peabody--or Frank McCoppen, I'm not sure which--I was in a play one time. I remember we had tryouts, and a girl named Alexandria Pappas (we called her Lexie) and I got the lead. It was called "Fate and George Washington" and we both got to play the part of Fate. There were several performances, and they alternated us in it. I remember the cut of the costume with the period, the Martha Washington type of thing, with the little white hat on. There was a table on the stage, and it had a lamp and a book. I don't remember the performances, or anything, but I remember that.

My sister and I both had the whooping cough around this time. We had a gas oven and I remember my mother opening it and putting us in front of it with a bowl of water. The whooping cough was bad. It got so we couldn't breath. My mother would be there taking care of us, even though she had the shop across the street. She might have had someone else working for her too over there. I don't remember. In fact, I really don't ever recall being in the shop. But it was across the street, and we weren't allowed to go across the street. My mother worked there five days a week. Usually she took two days off, but one wasn't Saturday cause people wanted their hair done on Saturday. It was probably Sundays and Mondays she had off.

But my sister was a little dare-devil. We were not allowed to go around the corner. We could go up and down the one block, but not around the corner. We'd get to the corner and off Carol would go, off around the corner. And I can remember standing on the corner, shouting, "I'm going to tell Mommy on you!" I guess I felt responsible, because I was older. And maybe I was made responsible. But anyway, she'd go lickety-split around the corner. She'd come back around the other side, and it was aggravating. I don't think I ever told Mommy on that sister of mine.

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