Memories of My Father: Music
and Growing Up in Eastern North Carolina
I grew up in a small
eastern North Carolina town. It was in
the middle of nowhere and had about 25,000 people in it. My father had come of age in the Great
Depression, worked for three years after high school, served in the Army in
North Africa and Italy in the Second World War and then, thanks to the GI Bill,
had gone to Duke University. There he
met my mother, nine years his junior, and they married after she graduated from
college in 1950. He had graduated in
1948. He went through Duke in three
years, so eager was he to get on with his life that had been postponed by
events beyond his control.
Not long after they were married, my parents
ended up in Richmond, Virginia, where my Dad worked for the DuPont Corporation.
My sister was born in 1952 and I was
born in 1954. I was actually born in
Richmond – Stuart Circle Hospital. But I
only lived there for two weeks. My
father had been transferred to the new textile fibers plant that was opening in
eastern NC. My mother lagged behind long
enough to have me with her trusted OB-GYN and then it was off to eastern North
Carolina.
By the time I was
born, my father had had plenty of excitement and change in his life. I don’t think he wanted more. Instead, he was happy being married, raising
a family, tending to the house and to the yard and working. Where work was concerned, he told me that he
had been referred to the company psychiatrist once because he kept refusing
promotions that would entail a move. Relocations
were the way to move up, with Wilmington, Delaware being Mecca where DuPont was
concerned. He wasn’t interested. He liked putting down roots, he liked where
he was, he liked stability.
The house I grew up
in was far from extravagant, though I always felt it was extremely
elegant. That was because every single
thing in it was carefully chosen. My
father bought antique tables and chests and refinished them. He found old, broken down chairs in family
barns belonging to my mother’s relatives or in second hand stores and lovingly restored them. He learned how to cane and redid all the
chair bottoms. The house was a work of art, all 1800 square
feet of it. I felt like it was a mansion
simply because of all the love my father and my mother poured into it. Although it is worth only about $88,000
currently (you can view it on Zillow in the link below), in my mind, it is
priceless.
As to the town
itself, I was incredibly happy to leave it at 18 years of age, to go to
college. It was an insular, tobacco
town, before DuPont arrived. There was no housing, so DuPont built its own
housing complex, called “Greenmead”.
This was where we lived until we moved to the “new house” (referred to
above and below) a year after I was born.
As a child, all my friends were the children of “DuPonters.” And we had a blast, playing war (our Dads had
all been in WWII), and in the woods (which surrounded us). When I entered Junior High School, it became
apparent that there were “cool kids” and then there was “us”. It was only looking back on it, years later,
that I realized, the “cool kids” were all natives and the uncool ones were the
“come-heres”. It seems so obvious but it wasn’t to me at the
time. Regardless, being an outsider has been a significant
part of my formation. I am grateful for
it, actually, and the perspective that it gives.
That little town was a great place to be a child, just not so great as I got
older. It was isolated, had few cultural
outlets, books stores etc. If you wanted to hunt and fish, which I didn't, it was great. If you were looking for other things, there wasn't as much on offer. But I will
say, I met some of the most amazing people there, especially through my
Episcopal Church. I learned that
there are top notch people everywhere in this world. Hidden treasures abound.
At any rate...back to my childhood home. At some
point when I was very young, my parents decided to enclose the screened in porch at
the back of the house and turn it into a den.
I was impressed by the workers who first had to chip
up the concrete deck that had been the floor of the porch before they could transform it into a den. I’ll never forget the jackhammers! The small
room that was created had dark wood paneling all around it, with a large, square window
at one end. There was a window seat in
front of the window with book cases on either side. My Dad installed a stereo system, with the
speakers mounted in the bookcases. I would
listen to the Beatles in that room. And
my Dad would listen to “Chet Atkins: In Hollywood”, “Chet Atkins: The Most
Popular Guitar”, and “The Boston Pops:
Music from Films”. He would sit there
in his chair, with his eyes closed, and hum….seldom in tune, but deep in
thought. I can only imagine he what he
was thinking…but I suspect he was glad he had work, having gone through the
Great Depression… I suspect he was glad
he was not at war, having served in the Army in WWII…I suspect he was happy to have a wife he loved…and I hope he
was glad to have children…I know he was…he changed diapers in an age when men
just didn’t do that! He was devoted. And I can just see
him there in that chair listening.
My Father died in
2000 sitting in a chair in that den. He had just eaten dinner and gone into the den to sit and wait for dessert...decaf coffee and cookies. When my mother walked into the room, he was sitting there in the chair, having peacefully breathed his last.
I inherited those LPs of his. And, I’ve been able to digitize them, so I can still listen to them. And my heavens, that music takes me back, body and soul…across the years…I am a child and there is my father…tall, strong, loving…just sitting there, humming. And life is good.
I inherited those LPs of his. And, I’ve been able to digitize them, so I can still listen to them. And my heavens, that music takes me back, body and soul…across the years…I am a child and there is my father…tall, strong, loving…just sitting there, humming. And life is good.
Check out these links:
The house I grew up
in:
