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THE BATHTUB AT 808 NORTH WILLOW - SHERMAN, TEXAS


     In the early 50’s my family moved to 808 N. Willow Street in Sherman.   This was a house, converted into a duplex with remarkably thin walls.   The kindly Mexican-American Aleman family lived on the other side and included the parents, Pete and Helen, along their children Abraham, Abel, Rebecca, Israel (Izzie) and David.  All older than me.  The Aleman’s and we were all packed into close quarters and tight sleeping arrangements.  

     In the mornings, we could hear through the thin walls and the daily rousing, scratching, body noises and exclamations of Abel as he arose for another day.    He would sigh, groan,  mutter expletives 4 or 5 times before I would hear his feet hit the floor.    The wall might as well have not been there and I realized they could hear everything in our household as well.    

     When the home was divided, the Aleman side got the bathroom so our back porch was converted to the bath.  The windows to the outside and adjacent bedroom were painted green to provide privacy.   A single gas stove served to heat the room.  My two brothers and I shared the room on the other side of the window from the bathroom. 

     After we were put to bed, my father would fill the tub, smoke his pipe full of Sir Walter Raleigh tobacco and soak, while reading a copy or “True” or “Argosy” magazine.  He could hear us and and we had to remain very still or he would arise in his nakedness and threaten to “beat the mortal hell out of anyone not asleep”.  One evening my brother Bob and I were attempting to quietly wrestle, while brother Bill was asleep in an adjacent bed.    Bob jumped, I dodged and he crashed through the green window in a shower of glass onto my father in the tub.  Dad quickly checked Bob and himself for cuts, miraculously found none, carefully put Bob on the floor, dried him off, changed his pajamas and proceed to “beat the mortal hell” out of all us, including Bill who was asleep.  The  Alemans, who heard everything…glass breaking, children screaming and my father yelling… were banging on our front door to see if we were all dead.


     Even after the beating, I thought we got off pretty light.  As soon as Bob went flying through the window everything went into slow motion.  My 6 year old life passed in front of me and I knew I was going to be stomped into a small greasy spot on the floor.    We all lived and I considered it a major victory.     The next morning, I thanked God for letting us see another sunrise and even hearing Abel Aleman’s morning ritual was somehow comforting.

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