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Mary Ann Laier, my mom, grew up in Chicago and attended Marshall High School. My dad, Gene, grew up in Maywood and went to Proviso East High School. After high school, dad joined the Marines and fought in World War II. After the war, mom and dad worked together at City National Bank downtown. They worked in different departments, but every once in a while they ran into each other. One day my dad decided to ask my mom out for a date. Apparently they hit it off. They eventually got married and lived in Maywood with dad's mom.
I was their first child, born in Oak Park Hospital, a little over a year after they were married They decided to move us to Hammond, Indiana where dad went to work delivering milk for Borden’s. This is where I remember my first recollection of life. We lived in a quiet neighborhood in a ranch house with a fill-up pool in the back yard. Back then, milk got delivered door-to-door in glass bottles and your order was left in an insulated metal box on the front porch. You would place your order for eggs, cheese, and dad's favorite - buttermilk. How he could drink that stuff, I will never know. Somewhere along the way I acquired a brother, Michael, when I was 2 years old.
We moved into a duplex on west Monroe Street in Chicago for a couple of years. I attended Immaculate Conception Grade School for kindergarten and first and second grades. We then moved to LaGrange, Illinois when I was about 9 years old. My dad went to work at LaGrange State Bank as an Assistant Cashier. He went to night school downtown at the American Institute of Banking in order to get ahead. He would walk to work and I would meet him down the block when he walked home for lunch. Dad was a quick learner and was eventually training people to do his job as well as that of others. He later got promoted to Cashier.
Dad moved up in the banking business and assumed the position of Vice-president of the Bank of Clarendon Hills. So we then moved from LaGrange to an unincorporated area south of town known as Marion Hills in January of 1959. Dad had also become a contractor to save money and have all of the say in the design and building of our very first new home. It was outside of the village limits and all of the roads were gravel. We had to walk four blocks to ride the bus into town so that we could attend Notre Dame Parochial School.
Dad got real involved with the neighborhood and the politics and before you know it, he and two other guys succeeded in getting Marion Hills chartered into the City known as Darien on December 13, 1960.
My summers were mostly spent mowing the lawn and playing baseball. Baseball, of course, being the past-time of choice. When I say I played baseball, I mean every spring, summer, and fall day of the week, every daylight hour of every day. My brother Mike and I would either be playing catch with each other or with dad after dinner until it got so dark that we couldn’t see the ball anymore.
Mike and I lived for the game. We would play wiffle ball in the back yard and hard ball at one of two of the neighbor’s yards – didn’t want to break our own windows. We did, however, break the neighbor’s windows on a regular basis – it was in right field. Down the street there was a vacant lot full of tall, thick weeds, and rocks. Mike and I would spend weeks trying to clear a site for a game. We called or visited every kid in the neighborhood in hopes of forming two teams so that we could have a real game. We had aspirations of forming a small league, but I guess there wasn’t the same amount of interest with the rest of the kids in the neighborhood.
Dad, along with some of the other dads in the neighborhood, helped to form a Little League franchise. We spent many hours helping to build a field raking and picking up all the stones - it was all part of the game.
Living in a remote area and having to be bussed to a Catholic grade school in another town made it difficult socially. In high school, I didn’t know anyone and I was shy to begin with, making it socially challenging. Almost all of the other kids there grew up together and went to the same school together in Hinsdale. Kids from my area were looked down on as a lower class. There certainly was a big difference in social status. While they bought their lunches in the cafeteria, I worked in the cafeteria for my lunch. While they shopped for clothes in the men’s stores in downtown Hinsdale, I bought mine at Sears. Other kids from rich families got big allowances (probably for doing nothing), had nice clothes, new bikes (I got my mom’s bike passed down from when she was a kid). My brother and I would mow the lawn, take out the garbage, and shovel snow for our allowances – then spent it all either chasing down the street after the ice cream man or on baseball cards.
If this sounds like I was jealous, I certainly was not. I would not have traded it for the world. My mom and dad both worked – my dad had two jobs in order to provide for the family and send us to a Catholic school. I think this made me appreciate things more since they weren’t handed to me. I will never, ever, forget one day my dad was sitting in his recliner in the living room and called my brother and me in to the room. He reached behind the chair and pulled out three brand new baseball mitts – one for each of us. There was a special bond we shared when the three of us would go out and play catch in the back yard. I always wished that I had been able to share some of those times with my two sons.
My dad helped to build the house that I was raised in. He did most of the inside finish work himself. He was an up-and-coming successful banker (then Vice-President of the Bank of Clarendon Hills) – how did he know how to do all of that stuff?
My dad always had at least one hobby going at any one time. He built electronics stuff from Heathkit (later known as Radio Shack), like a ham radio and all kinds of test equipment. He took guitar lessons and practiced every night after dinner. Then he learned to play the organ and practiced every night after dinner. My dad loved music. We even had a HI-FI. He would play Errol Gardner, Ella Fitzgerald, Sarah Vaughn. He would play Bob Newhart comedy albums. My mom listened to Mantovani. To this day when I hear Bob Newhart's voice, it takes me back to thoses days. I also have Mantovani downloaded to my iPod.
My dad was always putzing around the basement. He loved to make things out of wood. I would spend hours down there just watching. Those were good times.
I was about 11 years old when my mother gave birth to my sister, Kathy. My dad worked during the day and my mom slept during the day because she worked downtown at night. Well, did that ever put a crimp in this 11 year old’s social life. Did I mention that I liked to play baseball? When Mike and I were not making ice cream out of snow or making candles by melting crayons in a frying pan on the stove, I would be changing diapers or feeding the little girl. I potty trained her, taught her to feed herself, and taught her to walk – all before her first birthday. We cruised along for four years and mom and dad presented us with yet another sister, Cindy. How this happened, I’ll never know with those day/night jobs going on.
As a family, we all played games together, went to drive-in movies, went camping (OK, not so memorable). On Saturday night we would drive into town for the Sunday papers and pick up a pizza so that we could come home and sit and watch Have Gun Will Travel and then Gunsmoke. On Sunday nights it would be Lawrence Welk, Ed Sullivan, and then Bonanza after one of mom’s infamous casseroles.
There were three bedrooms upstairs and the middle room was quite small, but that served as our TV room. We had a black and white set, dad had his thread-bare rocker-recliner handed down from my grandmother, and room for a small couch. We would sit up there and watch the White Sox games at night a lot. That is until my sisters were born. Then the room became the nursery. Painted pink at first, then purple.
When I got to high school, I took a liking to wood shop and drafting class. I’m sure I got that from hanging around my dad in the basement. I got very good grades in my drafting classes. When I graduated form high school, my dad suggested that I apply for a job at Western Electric. I schlepped my drafting samples, went for an interview, and was hired. Seventeen years old and I was working downtown at a full-time job doing what I enjoyed. Kept that job for 35 years before finally retiring. Good advice Dad.
As I mentioned previously, I didn’t have a lot of friends during my school years. I was kind of a loner. When I wasn’t playing baseball, I liked to read Sherlock Holmes. My dad had a collection and I read it cover to cover. I wasn’t a brain by any means. My grades certainly reflected that - I dreaded the days that the report cards came out. But I did like to read mysteries. When I was in high school I somehow became involved with what was known as ‘The Book Nook’. I worked there after school and sold/traded used paperbacks to students. Looking back on it, I think it was just a nerd’s club in disguise.
My mom and I spent a lot of time together when I was growing up. She was the one who helped me with my homework. I remember her helping me with my math one time. It was when that ‘new math’ came out. I don’t remember there being a problem with the ‘old math’. Either way, it was all quiet baffling to me. I didn’t know an integral from a Weber grill. I will never forget once when I asked mom to check my math homework and she sat there scratching her head. She blurted out, “This is all back ass-wards!” She didn’t know what the correct answer was, she just knew I didn’t have it.
Mom was also my Cub Scout Den Mother. Our den always had some project to work on. Once, I decided to build a display that included a covered wagon like those used on a wagon train. I started out with a cigar box, glued on some cardboard wheels, and used some pipe cleaners and part of a cut up sheet for the cover. Well, the wheels sagged and the top was so lopsided that it was difficult to imagine just what it was I was trying to build. Of course I had to bring it in to school the next day. Mom and I got so frustrated working on that stupid thing, I don’t think she ever helped me on a scout project after. Come to think of it, I think I was on my own with my math homework, too.
Mom liked to shop. Her and her sister, my Aunt Sis, would shop and shop and shop. They would be gone all day at the mall. I didn’t know what it was that she shopped for at the time, but she was a pro. I don’t think dad knew either. He would always just grumble at the end of the month when it came time to pay the credit card bills.
After my mom died, dad went through mom’s clothes closet and dresser and only then did he discover what she spent all that time and money buying. She had sweaters, blouses, and slacks – most of them identical and still having their price tag on them. I guess she didn’t shop for need - she shopped for the habit.
While I was attending Notre Dame Grade School, I decided to become an altar boy. I don’t remember exactly why I wanted to do this. It must have gotten me out of having to do something else, I don’t know. I was raised a Catholic and attended Catholic grade school and went to Marion Hills Seminary (later called St. Mary’s) every Sunday for Mass. I became an altar boy there, as well. I would serve morning Masses at the school church and Sundays at St. Mary’s. I must have really gotten into it because I decided I wanted to become a priest. To this day I can’t believe this, but it’s true. I applied at Quigley Seminary and went and took the admissions test. And passed! But I chickened out. Phew! I later learned that they closed the school down. There must have been an investigation and found out they thought I might be coming.
Mike and I used to caddy at the golf course during the summer when we weren’t playing baseball. We would set our alarms for 6:00 a.m. and ride our bikes over to Ruth Lake Country Club. At first, we were the new kids and had to pay our dues. This meant waiting until everyone else had been assigned to their golfer. It also meant that more than likely we would get assigned to a foursome of women. I’m not being chauvinistic here when I say we would have preferred to not be assigned women golfers. Typically a round of golf with men lasts about 4½ hours. With women it was more like 6 hours. Plus we had to work harder. They did not hit the ball quiet as far as the men, which meant that we had to stop, drop the golf bag, and select a club a lot more. As we became regulars showing up early every day, we got better assignments. We would head out earlier and carry ‘doubles’. We would be caddying for two golfers at a time. It was a lot more work, but the pay was so much better. On most days, we would be back at the caddy shack by noon or so and head back out for another round. On Mondays when the course was closed, they allowed the caddies to play golf for free. That was a great job. We were making $80 cash a day and free, unlimited golf all day Monday.
Anyway, such was my youth. I would not then, nor would I now, trade it for the world. Aside from grumbling about having to do the chores, I was very fortunate to have been blessed with a very loving family. My dad taught me a lot of things, whether or not either one of us was aware of it at the time. Looking back, my mom wasn’t all that great of a cook. In all fairness, she did have to do some creative menu planning while trying to stretch the grocery budget. Maybe that’s why I’m not a big fan of casseroles. Anyone not having had the opportunity to sample a tuna fish casserole topped with potato chips are among the lucky ones. She was, however, always helping us with our homework and was a great den mother for the cub scouts. We always had a clean house and clean clothes. She even ironed our socks.