Sunday morning on the way to church. And I hated my shoes that had to be high
enough “to support your ankles;" I was never allowed dirty, sloppy, loose sneakers. I
didn’t stop wearing those high shoes until I developed an infection on one foot from
the shoe’s friction. Nevertheless, Mother strongly believed in the importance of
looking nice and she didn’t mind spending perhaps more than she could afford on her
son’s appearance.
No, Mother certainly didn’t neglect me. Being away from me during the
day, she overcompensated at home by not letting me out of her sight. Whenever
possible, it was she who ministered to my needs. Before I could do for myself,
she got me ready for the day before she left
for work in the morning. In winter in our
frigid house she stood me on a chair in front of
the coal-burning kitchen stove and got me
dressed. It must have been frustrating for her
at times: I was a finicky kid, insisting on
having NO lumps where my socks were pulled
over my long johns! (After all, my legs still
hung out below my short pants or knickers.)
Then off she would go, leaving me in the care
of Ma and Jeanette.
In the evening I returned to Mother’s
care and close attention. Often she would let
me play near her in the cellar while she
scrubbed clothes on a corrugated washboard
in a big metal tub.
Often Mother would entertain me by
playing the popular song-hit recordings she
brought home from down town. “Yes, sir,
she’s my baby - No, sir, I don’t mean maybe."
“Yes, we have no bananas - We have no
bananas today." “Pack up all my care and
woe, here I go, singing low - Bye Bye,
Blackbird." “Charleston" was the tune to
which the young crowd did the Twenties
dance craze of the same name. Mother would
play the record and do her version of the dance and I would try to imitate her. And
so forever will this line remain in the folklore of my babyhood, quoted every time
the subject of my dancing comes up: “Why, Billy could dance The Charleston before
he could walk!"
22
Jeanette Rohrer (left) and Kathryn Wallace
Rohrer in the backyard of the big house on
Baltimore Avenue. That’s CWR (Billy) lurking
under the grape arbor. Circa 1925
