Yesteryears . . .

The youngster raced down the steps of the two-story house.  It's barn-style roof made it appear larger than the homes on either side.  Slinging his belted books over his shoulder, the young boy took the stairs two at a time, youthful energy bubbling from his small, wiry body.  If you could have looked into his large, hazel eyes you would have seen a glimmer of mischief lurking behind his innocent smile.

Halfway down the street, he stopped to adjust his knee-length socks which never stayed tucked inside his knickers when he ran.  Wool tweed knickers, long black stockings held up by garters that always seemed to be too tight or too loose, black high-top, lace-up shoes, white shirts and bow ties were standard school attire for boys his age.  Jack hated the baggy pants and itchy socks.

At the corner, he turned right and ran the short side block to the school yard.  The school and playground took up an entire city block with the front of the school facing the residential street Adeline and the rear and playground backing up to State Fair, one of the busy city streets that bounded the State Fair Grounds in Detroit, Michigan.

The large playground contained swings and slides in several locations.  However, he had no time for play.  The first bell was ringing as he entered the massive wooden doors on this side of his school, Grayling Elementary.  He was seven years old and in the second grade.  The year was 1919.
  * * * * *
The little girl jumped down the steps of the small bungalow-style house she shared with her mother and father.  Her large, expressive, hazel eyes sparkled with enthusiasm and her small slender body seemed charged with energy as she bounced her way down the steps, one at a time. 

Her long dark brown hair was parted on the side with a big red bow and curled in the Shirley Temple ringlets that were a popular style of the times.  She was wearing a red, white, and blue gingham dress, smocked and gathered in the front, with white collar and cuffs, sewn on her mother's new sewing machine.  Red tights and sensible brown Oxfords completed her apparel.  The dress was one of many lovingly hand-made by her mother.

At the bottom of the stairs, she began skipping and singing her way down the street.  Reaching the corner, she turned right and ran the short side block to her school, Grayling Elementary.  She was seven years old and in the second grade.  The year was 1945.

* * * * *
Serendipity.  Life is full of it.  That little boy and girl?  Each spent almost ten years of their childhood on the same street albeit twenty-five years intervened.  Big deal.  So what . . . unless you know the little boy became the father of the little girl.  Serendipity. 

Of course a lot of things happened to the young boy known as little Jack Hopps between the years 1913 and 1945.  By then he had married and fathered a child--the little girl--who he adored almost as much as he did her mother.  And in 1945, he was about to become a proud father once again, this time of a son.

His daughter certainly thought it was unusual that she and her parents lived just a few houses down from her father's childhood home. Unfortunately, she didn't learn this until she was grown and long gone from her childhood neighborhood.

As a child living in this community, she had always been especially drawn to the two-story house a few doors down from her own.  At the time, she thought it was because of it's Dutch roof.  Anything that looked like a barn or smelled like a farm always drew her attention.  That's because her mother's father had a farm in Tennessee and every summer they would spend a couple of weeks with him.  She loved visiting Grandpa Roberts on his farm.  Although he sold the farm and moved to town when she was still a little girl, throughout her life, the smell of barns and horses and hay would always be to her the best smell in the world.

As far as the barn roof house is concerned, maybe it was something else that drew her attention; that beckoned her.  An aura perhaps, a presence, of the laughter, the tears, the sorrows, the joys of the people who had lived there 25 years earlier. 

Whatever it was remained a mystery.  She never knew the people who lived there during her childhood well enough to be invited inside.  And never had the chance to heed the beckoning of the house by venturing inside.  Years later, when she learned it had been her father's childhood home, she remembered the emotions the house had stirred in her.  And wondered.  And desperately wished she could have gone inside and seen--"experienced"-- the rooms where her father and his parents had lived a portion of their lives. 

When the girl was just thirteen, her paternal grandmother died.  And her paternal grandfather moved to California long before she was born.  In fact, she only saw him twice.  Being in the house where they once had lived would have enriched her memories.

But the essays I'm writing are not about the little girl.  They are about the boy.  And some of the significant and serendipitous events that took place in his life between the years 1913 and 1945.  Events and circumstances that shaped him into the man he was to become.  A man of responsibility and integrity and scrupulous honesty.  A man who respected the authority of his parents, his church, his community, his country.  A man of peace who nevertheless stood firm for his principles when confronted with conflict or controversy.

The little boy became a man.  The man became my father.  One of my heros . . . . except I’ve never told him so.

If he reads my essays, he'll know.

Sarah Barnes
June 1996

My Detroit Neighborhood -- Back In The Day (Originally Written in 2010)

Detroit Neighborhoods--Back In The Day
Boundary of Woodward/John R - 7 Mile/State Fair

My father lived at 492 Fernhill as a boy in the 1920s; I lived with him and my mom at 456 Fernhill as a child in the 1940s.

When I googled the neighborhood and rode the cyberspace arrow up and down the streets, I could not believe the destruction and neglect. At least half the houses on Fernhill are gone.

When I saw the empty lot where my house used to be, it broke my heart. How crazy is that! It was more than 60 years ago! My dad's house still standing was a wonderful surprise. In my mind's eye, I can see the street and the people as they were so long ago. I don't know why I care. Maybe it has something to do with being a writer.

On the North side of the street, it appears the house once owned by the Maynards, the Etheringtons, and the Hopps family (492) remain.

On the South side, across from where 456 used to be, the house owned by the Luscitch family in the 1940s is also still standing.

Time has not been kind to this little community but it was a wonderful and safe place to grow up in the 1940s.

From Fernhill we walked to the corner of Havannah, turned right one block, and there was our beautiful school, Grayling Elementary. What has happened to this school? The building remains but it is not listed as a Detroit elementary school.

From 456, my friends and I would walk two blocks to Beauman, turn left and pass a little convenience store on the right filled with penny candy or continue a few more short side blocks up to 7 Mile to Brown's Creamery, where my Grandma Hopps, the store manager, would give us delicious double-dip chocolate cones for TWELVE CENTS!

In the summer, my friends and I would walk the 2-1/2 blocks over to State Fair and spend the entire day at the Fairgrounds!

I remember the fire there in 1942. I was four and sat on my dad's shoulders as he and half the neighbors walked over to watch the horror and listen to the screaming horses.

We did not have a car then and my dad rode the bus to and from work. Sometimes I would walk to the other end of Fernhill, to Charleston, (remember when they built that manufacturing plant there?), turn left two short blocks and meet him at the top of the stone steps he walked up when he got off the bus by the viaduct at State Fair.

Or we could walk up Charleston to 7 Mile and turn left a block or two and be at Trinity Reformed Church, where my dad went to church as a boy and my grandma still attended in the 1940s.

Our next door neighbors, the Hoffmans, attended Epiphany Lutheran Church located across the street a little ways from the creamery. It was such a beautiful church, I wished I was Lutheran so I could go there. It is now known as Oasis of Hope Christian Church.

If you have memories or pictures you are willing to share of those "grand old days", please contact LibralLady@aol.com

Thanks!
Dawn Hopps Coyle Bohannon
AKA Sarah Barnes

Sarah's Story . . .

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