My parents were authentic high school sweethearts. They both graduated from Lee High School back in the '60's. My dad grew up in Tennessee and moved to Baytown around his junior high years, but I believe all of my mom's time until she went to college was spent in ol' Baytown. For many years, Baytown was a pretty hopping place. Oil was big in town, and the industry employed many Baytown-ites. My mom's dad worked for Exxon and actually did quite a bit of travelling overseas with them. My dad's dad taught English at Lee High School from 1955-81, so both families were comfortably middle-class. Mom's sister and her daughter as well as Mom's grandparents also lived in town as well as her uncle and his boys, and my family's trips to Baytown would usually serve as a mini family reunion of sorts since for most of my childhood, we lived in Alabama and Ohio, and trips to see the relatives were not frequent occurences. Until I graduated from college, I can't remember flying on a plane more than about two times. I guess it's the mind-set my dad was instilled with, but whenever we visited the Baytown Gang, we always drove. Scratch that, I should say, my dad always drove.
610 Peggy, 312 Scott, and 1511 Echols: These are the addresses for my great-grandparents as well as both sets of grandparents in Baytown. Until maybe the late 1980's, Baytown was a fairly successful suburb of Houston. However, the last 25 years or so have not been so kind to the old town. During my last several visits, I have seen so many boarded up businesses and store fronts. Most of these are in the older part of town. However, there's a restaurant my grandmother likes to take me to when I visit that is in old Baytown. To give you an idea of the slang Nana still holds on to, she still uses "trades" to describe the purchases she would make when visiting a grocer or furniture store. Sometimes I really have to pay attention to her stories to understand even the context of what she's talking about. Oh well, it makes for an interesting trip down memory lane with her. Anyway, this chicken restaurant is located just a few blocks from where I remember my grandfather taking me to get a haircut maybe 30 years ago. I can't for the life of me remember the name of the salon, but I do recall the stuffed animal heads on the wall. Of course, I remember his car. My family always called it "Clifford," after the big red dog in the children's books. I believe it was a red Ford sedan. I can't remember the exact model, but I do know that it was big, and it was red. He probably held onto that car for close to 20 years.
My mom's grandfather, Pappy, was a self-made man. He had, at best, a 4th grade education. The same was true for his wife, Mamo. They married just before the Depression and struggled to make ends meet just like most Americans. When they finally settled in Baytown, Pappy not only built the house he lived in for 40+ years, but also the house next door to his. I've always had a tremendous amount of respect for the hard, manual labor Pappy did during his life. He was a giving, devoted, family man, and he will always have a special place in my heart. That's probably why it's so disheartening when I drive by his old house and see how unkempt and disheveled it is. It looks like some college frat boys live there. One large tree that not only provided shade in the front yard but also supported a bench swing (the setting for a nostalgic extended family picture) has been taken down. A large tree in the backyard is overgrown and in dire need of a trim. The grass is so high it wouldn't be too difficult at all to lose a small child during a game of hide and seek. Of course, the bowling alley where my sister and I and some of our cousins spent part of one mini-reunion is still in business right across the street from Mamo and Pappy's house.
My dad's parents' house held some special memories for me as well. I took after my dad's interest in distance running and ran during high school and college. Pops was captain of his high school cross-country team, and frequently I've in my mind pictured him going off on a long training run from his house around town, or up to the school, or perhaps, over to see my mother. I'd say round trip it couldn't be more than a 10 mile jaunt. Strange what kind of memories I create for my father. I remember my grandparents' house, with the exception of the bathrooms, was covered in hardwood floors. There was a big dining room table in the dining room and a piano (which was unplayed during just about all of my visits) in the front bedroom. I think the piano belonged to my aunt, but when she moved out, the piano did not. When my grandfather finally moved out around 2003, I'm not sure whatever became of it. I also remember their backyard. For some reason, my grandfather showed me how to shoot a BB gun back there during one visit. I believe my parents still have a photo of me with a helmet of hair pulling back on the trigger and aiming at some random target near the back fence. And the kitchen, yes, the kitchen. Both my grandparents were proficient in the kitchen. And one of their favorite dishes was "corndodgers." "Corndodgers" were basically long pieces of cornbread, and I never had them anywhere else. It's one of those things that I'll always associate with my grandparents. Well, over time, especially after my grandfather moved in with my aunt in San Antonio, the condition of the house suffered. In its "heyday," it was painted a lovely, strong white all around. Since Grandy moved out, it's served time in a yellow hue and is currently sporting two tones of blue, one around the house and one for the trim. The fence around the yard is still the same. In fact, I've got a sneaking suspicion that fence has been there since at least the Kennedy administration. Vaguely, I remember a large gate at the end of the driveway that would have to be opened and closed whenever cars would leave or arrive back at the house. However, seeing the house in its current condition seems to somehow distort those childhood memories.
And that brings me to the third house of the mini reunion circuit. It's probably the newest of the three houses because I know my grandmother has told me that one of her first parties in the house was a graduation shindig for my dad when he graduated high school in '66. I always wondered how five people, my grandparents, my mom and her two sisters, could all live together in a house with just three bedrooms. I'm assuming the younger girls shared a bedroom since my mom was only a year behind my dad in school and would be leaving herself for college at Lamar in Beaumont after a year at Lee College in town. Anyway, one of the lasting memories I have of that house is the brown wood paneling used to decorate the kitchen. All the cabinets remained in that faux wood shade until just a few years ago. For some reason, my grandmother decided to go white, all white. I remember the first time I laid eyes on the new kitchen. It was like a piece of my childhood had been taken away from me. Even typing that fills me with a sense of awkwarness. I mean, it was only cheap wood paneling, for crying out loud! For whatever reason, my grandmother worked for years and years in the cafeteria at Sterling High School in town. Both my grandmother and my mom (and dad, for that matter) attended Lee, the older of the two high schools. Well, Grandma's devotion to Sterling became pretty passionate. She'd frequently talk to me about the performance of the school's football team, and she would frequently attend my cousin's functions at the school when she was a student there in the late '90's. Believe it or not, another strong memory I have of that house is a Sterling parking sticker with a picture of Yosemite Sam that has for about 30 years been affixed to the door leading into her "playroom." I don't know why that parking sticker is so significant to me. Out of bias to my parents' alma mater, I always stick up for Lee when my grandmother or my aunt or cousin brag about Sterling's performance in competitive cup-stacking or underwater basket weaving or whatever else their students receive top notch instruction in. I'm now at the point in my life when I can help out my grandmother with her yard work. Sometimes it seems odd when I mow the yard that I used to play catch with my cousin or dad in. I remember one time walking with my cousin to the Little League diamond a few blocks from Granny's house to play some baseball. As is the case with much of Baytown, those fields are overgrown and in pretty poor shape now.
I even remember the preacher of the church my Baytown family attended. If for no other reason, he had a very significant name to a young boy with a strong obsession with sports and a steel trap memory of baseball, basketball, and football trivia. The preacher's name was "Bobby Thompson." For a long time, I thought he might have been the one who hit the "Shot Heard Round the World" for the Giants back in the '50's. Sure, it made sense. Parlay a successful Major League Baseball career into a second career as a preacher. I remember how packed the congregation was for services. I would always be introduced as the "son of..." or "grandson of...". It never bothered me. I always looked forward to it as a time to re-meet the members of the congregation. This past Sunday, Granny and I made it over there for morning services. I'd say the pews were about half full. Now, granted, there are a few more congregations in town since I was a kid, but it just seems like another memory made murky by time and change. There's even a for sale sign at the front of the building.
Like I said, it's strange what you remember about your childhood. I know my family couldn't have visited Baytown more than a dozen times when I was growing up, but there are still seemingly meaningless minor details that I still remember fondly. Now when I go back to visit, I try to just enjoy the time I have with my relatives without getting too caught up in the memories of the past.
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