It was 1963, the year President John F. Kennedy was assassinated. My mom, my little brother and I lived next to the fire station at 37th and Main, here in Vancouver. There was no Safeway at that time, just two houses, the fire station and an empty lot behind us.
I was in third grade that year and it was great living next to the fire station. The firemen would talk to my brother and me when they weren’t busy and sometimes they would play a game of golf on the back lot and let me keep score. I learned two things while I kept score: Ralph was not spelled “Ralf,” and you didn’t want too many points in a golf game.
On Christmas Eve we attended a family get-together at my older sister’s house. It was late when we got home and so we went straight to bed. But unbeknownst to my brother and me, my mother had let the firemen have access to our house while we were gone.
When we got up Christmas morning, there were a lot of presents. Our family finances were not great in those days and Mom said the firemen had given us a lot of the presents. The gifts I remember the most were a bicycle (I hadn’t learned to ride one yet) and a new dress for my mother. I think that surprised her.
