My Earliest Memories

Well, enough of trying to please the new readers. Back to the same old crap you've come to expect. If they want to stick around, they'll have to get used to it.

Here’s something interesting to think about: What is your earliest memory?

I’ll give you a couple of mine. One occurred in real-life, while the other was a nightmare. The real-life story is somewhat fuzzy, but the nightmare is still sharply focused. I'll give you the nightmare first.

In the dream, I’m sitting on the couch with my parents. We're watching our TV, which was a big old Admiral from the late 50’s. It was pretty much the set pictured in the ad above, except our set had knobs. I don't know how you change the channels on the one in the picture.

(Short digression: I can still recall, with crystal clarity, the feel and sound of the knobs on that Admiral. There was a distinctive "ker-chunk" sound when changing channels. It was solid and somehow very reassuring. You knew a sound like that wasn’t going to bring you ephemeral programming.

That TV was my buddy when I was a kid. I had real friends, of course, so this isn’t background for a story about some sad little lonely kid, but TV was utterly non-judgmental, whereas some of my real friends called me names and made me cry. OK, maybe this is good background for a story about some sad little lonely kid.

Anyway, after my folks bought another television set sometime in the late 60's, the Admiral was relegated to the cellar. It sat there for years, somehow still a comforting presence even though it didn’t work. It probably could have been resurrected via a simple tube replacement of some sort, but I don’t know enough about electronics to say for sure. However, when MY WIFE and I moved to Watertown in 1994, the Admiral was left behind. I've always imagined that it was a horrible mistake leaving it behind. Whoever occupied our home next probably found it sitting in the cellar and sold it for about 10 gazillion dollars to some collector of rare antique television sets. If I could have done that, you wouldn't have to be sitting through this.

OK, it was long a digression. My apologies.)

So, there I am on the couch with my folks and a show comes on the TV. It is a show about a big angry giant. This giant is coming towards us and I’m getting scared. I get up off the couch and try to change the channel, but the angry giant is on every channel. I flip the knob more quickly, but it’s no use. The Giant is still coming towards us. He’s just about to come out of the TV into our living room when I wake up.

(I’m sure there’s something in there for a psychiatrist to gnaw on, but I gave up thinking about any deeper meaning long ago. If you want to try and figure it out, that's your problem.)

The real-life memory is of a fellow named Bert Green. He was a friend of the family, most especially my Dad. They grew up together, were in the navy at the same time, both did some boxing – Bert was heavyweight champion of his fleet - and were very good friends until Bert died. I have nothing but good memories of him. He was "Uncle Bert", the only person outside of blood family that I ever gave a family title of respect.

Uncle Bert was a big, strapping guy. I don’t actually have any photos of Uncle Bert, I’m sad to say, but I can show you what he looked like. He was, facially, a perfect twin of the actor Claude Akins. The first time my Dad and I saw Claude Akins on TV, we were spooked by the resemblance. He was an exact match.


They were similar in size, too; height, anyway. However, long before weightlifting and bodybuilding became more common pursuits, Uncle Bert did both. I’ll give you an idea of how muscular he was. Uncle Bert had a tattoo. He had gone into a tattoo parlor, looked through the sample drawings, and chosen the one he wanted. Problem was, that tattoo was supposed to go on a man’s chest or back. It was a huge battleship with guns blazing. Uncle Bert told the guy to put it on his bicep.

He did. It fit.

I said that Uncle Bert died. It was extremely sad. He wasn’t much past 40 when he contracted Leukemia. All the big muscles and rigorous workouts couldn’t do a damned thing to save him. He just wasted away. It broke my Dad’s heart to visit him in the hospital. He was my Dad’s best friend at the time.

The memory I recall about Uncle Bert took place much earlier, when I was 2, I think. That would have made him 26 or thereabouts. He was visiting our home in Dorchester. He gave me a two-dollar bill. I'm not really sure why he gave it to me, but I think this may have been during a time when my Dad was working for Eastern Airlines out of New York, which he did for a year or so. I think Uncle Bert may have been trying to help my Mom and me, by giving us a couple of bucks for groceries, but my Mom probably refused the gift directly. So, Uncle Bert gave ME the two bucks, knowing that a little boy wouldn’t refuse a gift from a beloved "family member." I do clearly remember going shopping for food at the First National Supermarket with that money, thus why I think that’s what the gift was about.

(I don’t know if my Mom remembers this at all, but she may. If she’s reading this, and can shed any more light, I’m sure we'd all appreciate it.)

Those are my earliest memories. What are yours? I’d really like to know. I think it would be interesting to compare how far back they go; whether they’re nice or something you’d rather forget; if they involve loved ones no longer around; and all of the other attendant details. I’d love it if you tell me one or two. Be free with the details. Thanks!