When we were growing up, our house was the meeting point for all kinds of people. The governor would often drop by and bring my grandmother a bottle of rye whiskey. The whiskey had a sprig of herbs and it and a sugar crystal growing on the sprig.

The governor gave my grandmother a bottle of this expensive  whiskey. Then the governor would say to his Helper: “Joe, go out into the trunk of the car and bring Miss Alice some ham from Angola prison.”

They sat on the porch talking about politics, and what they were going to do. Then my grandmother would promise to rally support for the governor in her town.

Of course my uncle just loved my grandmother. It was like going to see his mother. That’s what I remember about front porches.

Whorehouse was painted white and made out of cypress wood. It was tongue – and groove wood on both the interior and exterior of the house. On the interior, the wallpapered over the wood.

I remember we had summer and winter draperies. In the summer we had lacy cotton voile curtains that were beautiful and elegant. They were sheer and ironed.

In the winter we put up least under curtains and lined damask over curtains.

I remember Mr. Roosevelt’s death. I remember the world stopping and crying, and President Truman taking over. I remember the bomb being dropped.

I remember going to the movies. At the movies I remember the newsreels; these were only moving images of the Second World War. I saw people being murdered, and cities bombed like we have on TV today. Otherwise it was radio and newspaper. But for a little person, those newsreels brought it home very vividly.

Our parents survived the great Depression, and they were glad of that. Then, they were thrown into WWII.