THANKSGIVING 1939

4570 Sequoyah Road, Oakland, California. I’m 10 years old, it’s Thanksgiving Day. The driveway is full of relatives cars. The once abandoned estate overlooking San Francisco Bay had come to life again. Thanks to a tip from a neighbor, the brand new FHA, Mr. Keys, & Bank of America, we have moved from Berkeley to this oak studded hillside, once foreclosed upon. Now replastered, remodeled, and repainted rural home.

Mom had the burden of putting on the turkey dinner for the whole gang. She had spent hours plucking the missed feather tips, setting out the best linen, and the once a year crystal and china. She mashed the potatoes, made the stuffing and gravy, filled the celery with cheese spread, and washed up after everyone left.

The men gathered outside before dinner. Both cousins, Leila and Marie, arrived. They boarded here during their first college year. Peaches and beans, crops from Uncle Charlie’s Denair farm, paid their way, along with some farm credit. Both were married to husbands Lee and Jay, who were standing in the French doorway, between the livingroom and grandma’s now sun porch-bedroom. She now lived with us. Dad was home from another Forest Service Trip.

It was a full table and driveway. Dad’s 37 Buick, Uncle Lee’s ‘35 Pontiac coupe, Uncle Jay’s ‘34 C Chevy Tudor, and my Granddad’s ‘27 Chrysler he had willed to me. I used to jump in my car after school and pretend practice driving, waiting until the day I would be allowed to drive for real.

Today was special.! I ran outside with my BB gun, to show off for the men. Now Uncle Lee was an S.P. Railroad freight rate manager, originally from Alabama, bringing his good natured smile and humor with him. “Hey Boy! Ya’ know how to shoot that thing?” “Yes, sure can !” Well, let me see you do it !” I turned away from the group and shot at the trunk of an Oak tree. “Ping !”

“Well now, that’s pretty good” I’ll tell you what, let’s see if you could shoot that little glass ball of the top of my car radio antenna!”

I knew he was putting me on, however our nearest neighbor was a quarter mile away. Skipper and I just use to scour those hills, hunting and shooting at mustard flowers, little puffy white dandelions., or anything that could be a target. When I looked down that peep sight and adjusted for the distance drop of the BB, I knew that 1935 Pontiac radio antenna mast top, some three car lengths away was a goner. That little brown marble glass bead just blew away, leaving the antenna bouncing back and forth.