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Of Train Tracks, Foxholes, and Blackouts, by Dick Hanzelka, 2003 |
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I
was born in Belle Plaine, Iowa, but the first place I have any real
recollection of is Traer, Iowa where we moved when I was probably three
years old. We moved to a home I heard my parents often refer to as
"the old Axler place." I
know it was residential and that it was probably two or three blocks from
town where my Dad worked at Charlie Vonicek's butcher shop. Between our
house and downtown was a set of railroad tracks. The reason I know about
the tracks is that I crossed them once with my friend "Gordy"
who was probably all of four years old. Our purpose was simple---we were
going to the butcher shop to see my Dad to get money for candy. It
was an ill-fated trip since when we got to the butcher shop, my Dad (as he
enjoyed telling the story) told us to, "get for home!" Of
course, we did just that very quickly with that kind of encouragement. I
learned later that he had the butcher shop helper watch to be sure we got
back across the tracks safely. I
have a hazy memory about hiding under the table when Dad got home, for
fear of what might happen to me. There are a couple of things that can be
called into question here. In the first place I'm not sure I remember
hiding there or if the story was told so many times that I remember it
second hand. In the second place, there was really nothing to fear There
are two other distinct memories about Traer that I have. In the meat
cutting area of the butcher shop, the sawdust on the floor, it seems to
me, was probably three or four inches deep. That may be a small child's
recollection, but I think it's pretty accurate. For Since
I was born in August 1939 and the Second World War started in December
1941, I have several memories of the war as well. It was foxholes, ration
stamps, and blackouts that I recall as vividly as anything in my life.
Gordy and I played in a fox hole in his year and, as a three year old, it
seemed like it must have been six or seven feet deep. I don't recall any
details about its digging, but it was probably Gordy's father who was the
digger. I know I certainly couldn't
have dug more than a few spoonfuls of it! We did play "war" and
had a wonderful time. The
ration stamps had the same fascination for me that stickers have for kids
today. I know I liked to look at them and that I would love to have licked
each one and pasted it some place of my choice, but there was real
seriousness about the use of the stamps so I had no opportunity. The
blackouts were the most impressive and left me with a little sense of fear
and apprehension each time they happened. The air raid siren would sound,
and that was the signal for all houses to turn off lights and pull all
shades. A blackout warden would then walk the streets checking to see that
no sliver of light was visible from any house. In a real air raid, the
theory was that such light would give advantage to the enemy in dropping
bombs. A fine or worse was the result of not complying. Although
(or maybe because) I was only three years old, any time I think of
wartime, I think of Traer, Iowa. I sometimes wonder why I don't remember
more, because was seemed to consume everyone then. When
I was four years old, we moved on to Toledo, Iowa for six months. Our
house was behind the county jail building. It was a white, two-story house
with a porch facing |
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