Tag Archives: Boise

My Folks #16: 30th Street #4, Needing Room

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By 1946, with my sister being three and myself having survived my first year, our tiny little house was getting snug. At the same time thelot across the alley had no more room for our expanding fleet of trailers. 

Two blocks north of our house on 30th Street, the block between 31st and 32nd Streets sat empty. It would sure be easy to move to.

It was a fine, flat patch of land perfectly adequate for my folk’s needs. It was in Boise City’s boundaries so was blessed with paved streets, fire and police protection and sewers to whisk our cares away.

It was also covered by Boise City rules, one being that neighbors could express their opinions about a business moving in next door. Years later my folks pointed out the home of the lady who thought the traffic, noise and dust of renting trailers would be too noisy, too much traffic and too much dust.  My folks had to agree but it did end their plans. They found another local some seven blocks away, south of State Street.

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After we moved from 30th Street the block my folks were eyeing for their business was filled with buildings even smaller than our 30th Street house. They were twelve freestanding buildings, made of cinderblock and all identical. Lined up in two rows, six were facing 30st Street and the other five had a view of 31st Street. 

At one time one of those buildings overlooking 31st Street was rented by my dad’s sister Reole and her handsome husband Earl. When I was six or so we visited Reole, Earl, and their sons Rodney and Craig at their home. 

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At the time we were living in a cinder block house and I had a legos-like toy set made up of cinderblock style pieces, so I identified with the life style. I vividly remember those cinderblock buildings standing alone on that otherwise empty city block. Now, in 2025, the buildings are still in use but there are carports, trees, awnings, and other additions making them much more cozy

My Folks #11: Birthing This Boy

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I don’t remember the day, but my Mother sure did. April 25, 1945. Five days before Hitler murdered his newly married bride and then shot himself. At 6:25 in the morning, despite Mom’s hard work and interminable efforts, my fat head just would not get beyond crowning. 

Finally the doctors decided to take drastic measures by placing a contraption with three suction cups on what was showing of my head and yanking all 9 pounds and 5 ounces of me from her body.

Babies skulls are soft, an essential part of our getting through the birth channel. It is why the three suction cups that pulled me out left three very prominent black and blue lumps crowning the fat glory of me.

Somehow, after all that, my beautiful mother generously still loved me!

Years later Mom told me how excited Dad had been, running along the line of new dads looking through a viewing glass to see their newborns for the first time. Cigars were passed out and lit up as he made sure everyone looked where he was pointing while he exclaimed: “That’s my boy! That’s my boy!”

It was then Mom looked at me and confided, “But Dean — you were the UGLIEST baby I had ever seen!” 

Gosh. Thanks, Mom!

My Folks #10: It’s A Gas #2 – A Modern Gas Pump

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Since we rented tractors by the gallons of gas the customer used my dad decided he needed an actual gas pump to do the measuring. This was when I was six or so and I have no idea how gasoline was measured before dad found a used pump and went about installing it. 

Acquiring the pump and getting it installed happened when my mother took my two sisters and I to see Aunt Carol in her new place on a farm outside of Hillsboro, Oregon. Being 1953, US Highway 30 was a miracle of modern Federal construction — two full lanes wide, paved, with no railroad crossings, and the same signage from coast to coast to guide our way. Yes, there were local speed limits through every town and lines of cars behind every truck struggling to grind its way to the top of every hill. But sometimes the highway was even three-lanes wide so cars could pass trucks on steep grades!

When we got home from Aunt Carol’s I was shocked to find a modern gas pump sitting at the end of our house. It was modern in that it ran on electricity, showed gallons pumped, the price, and it had a little twirly thing in a bulb full of gas so you knew gas was flowing to twirl the twirly.

I had no concept that you could have your own gas pump at your house. Even the idea was cool! 

During our absence dad found the used pump, installed it and ran underground pipes to two above-ground tanks he had installed some twenty feet to the north.

I got real good at using that pump. First to measure how much gas our customers used (for renting tractors we charged $5 for the first gallon, $4 for the second and $3 for all after.) Later I took it for granted to keep my parent’s cars topped off before heading out on teenage adventures. 

Now, six decades after returning from visiting Aunt Carol and finding a modern gas pump attached to our house, one thing still dangles in my heart about that day — scratched into the concrete anchoring the pump, was the date dad had built the pump’s foundation. And the word, “Alone.”

My Folks #9: It’s A Gas #1 – A Very Helpful Boy

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My mother gave me a very touching card for my 52nd birthday. She wished a happy birthday and a year full of pleasant surprises. She recalled fond memories and said I was always a joy to watch grow up. I was basking in the warmth of her when I read about one experience from 1948 —

“Of course there were times like the time you thought you were doing such a good job of filling our gas tank with water!! When you were about 3. I’ll never forget that scene of a 3 year old standing behind our car with the hose running water into the gas tank!”

Well. I ended up waiting tables for a profession. It seems I have always prided myself in being helpful.

On The Road #29 – The Way From San Jose

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I lit out hitch hiking from Twentynine Palms, California, in the late autumn of 1968. 

Earlier that year Dionne Warwick had released her first Grammy Award winning hit, “Do You Know the Way to San Jose.” It was a peppy little ditty opening with a beating drum and a satisfying cascade of “Woe Woe Woe”s. It made me want to check the place out. 

That was the reason three years later I found myself in San Jose while thumbing my way back to Southern California. 

Yes, I remember why I decided to go to San Jose, but I have no idea how I got from Boise to San Jose. It could have been my sister, who was raising a family in Freemont, giving me a ride after her family spent Christmas in Boise. But it seems I would remember some snippet of being crammed in a sedan with those five fine folks for a twelve hour drive.

Having completed what was obviously a completely forgettable journey to the southern edge of San Jose, I continued my quest to avoid freeways and found myself on US 101 headed south. Today I’m sure this, too, is a freeway but in 1971 it was a busy surface street. 

I figured any town with a cool song named after it would be good for getting a ride. And, yes, there were vehicles pulling over rather regularly to pick folks up. What I hadn’t counted on was being just another in a hoard of guys and gals and dogs all with the same idea. 

Well, folks, I’ve always been a rather meek soul, holding back and figuring it will all work out. But once I had seen three or four rides pull over and get swamped with desperate seekers I knew I had to jump into the fray. That or stand there for a week watching an endless line of other people getting rides.

About then a regular full-sized utility van pulled over close to where several of us were standing. The side door slid open and I was positioned to jump into the middle of this lucky batch. I lunged into a space toward the back of the empty cargo hold, figuring that might keep me from being tossed out if the driver and his buddy decided they didn’t want to transport a fully loaded van full of eager riders.

Yea. I had found the way to San Jose. And I was feeling real good about finding a way out. 

Golden Moment

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On Sunday, August 14, 2016, I took a little stroll up Camelback Hill just up the street from my home. On this path I usually stop at a favorite spot for a little thanking the Gods for their beautiful existence. Just as I got to my thanking spot the sun emerged from the overcast.

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The light caught the dried grasses of our southern Idaho hills and turned them golden.

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And did a fine job of lighting up Boise.

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Fortunately I took some photos before pausing for my thank-yous. By the time the Gods were properly greeted the sun was again behind the cloud and the golden was gone.

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