The Birthday of Jack the SMLaker
Jack the SMLaker caused the Great Depression. Blame me for it all. I can take it and come out with a smile. I’m proud to be the cause and not many can have such and accomplishment by just being born on February 25, 1929, in Washington DC.
My memory is poor on the events of that day. My aunts told some of the traumatic experience. I must admit the story differs depending on which side of the family the aunts resided. Dad’s sisters were probably more correct because they always said I was a beautiful, alert, and a very fine fellow. Mother’s sisters said I was ugly as sin and had a cry like a pig, no chin and a total throw back. I always thought mother was the black sheep of the family and got no respect from her siblings. Now I know they were jealous of her since brother Bud and I were the best kids from both sides and unmatched by the cousins to this very day. But then, there aren’t many of us left above ground.
Mother’s talk about their children’s birth, but boys don’t listen to anything so disgusting as childbirth-especially their own. Two things I am sure: One, I was a mistake and not a planned child. Two, I came anyway.
There was fourteen months between Bud and me, so for sure I was not planned. I give my parents credit for how they dealt with their mistake. I never knew about child mistakes until we had a few of our own and I could do the math, and had knowledge of the facts of life. At the age of forty or forty-five, one thinks about such things.
Headline: Garfield Woman’s Hospital. Washington DC. On Monday, February 25, 1929 at 2:15 AM. The vital signs were: “7#-14 and 1’-8 9/16” according to Dad’s measurements. (He was Arlington Counties first Land Surveyor.) Let me stop here and say my birth did not cause the stock market crash and the Great Depression, which started that month and year. History has shown that the crash was longer in coming than me, we just happened to arrive together. I could say that there was a great blizzard and the temperature four below zero, Dad driving the old Huppmobile just made it in time, but I really do not have the slightest idea of the weather or the trip to the hospital and do not remember the trip home one week later to “106 Maple Street, Lyon Village, VA., Clarendon.” That is the address on a “hope to see you soon” letter sent by my Uncle Bill Leemaster from Ft. Sam Houston, Texas. Arlington had not been invented as yet as a post office.
In those years they kept new mothers and babies for one week in the hospital. Dr. DeWitt C. Cradwick was the first to get his hands on me and then Nurse Miss E. Ridgdy was the one to clean me up. I wish someone would tell me why all the nurses who help deliver babies are women, unmarried and never had a pregnancy. They always are the ones to say, “It doesn’t hurt that much mother” and then give advice on how to care for babies.
My name Jack was not a name but a nickname for John, everyone said. Mother was asked three times by the doctor if she was sure about Jack for a legal name. Dad’s sister Aunt Maude was married to Jack Weidlich and my parents both liked him very much, so my name was Jack. Dad’s note on my name read, “Uncle Jack was all worried. Grandmother (Burns) does not like it, but boy I hope you do!.” I have liked it just fine. Thanks, Mom and Dad. That name helped make me a fighter and a “Radical Right Winged Conservative.”
The aunts on both family sides, when visiting mother in the hospital, told her about a baby in the nursery who squealed like a pig at dinner time and joked with mother about that poor mother who took that kid home. Little did they know, I was it. Mother discovered the truth soon after our triumphant entry home. It was reported that mother cried tears and said, “We got him. We got the pig.” I was one ugly baby according to mother’s sister, Aunt Margaret, who was fond of telling the story year upon year. Dad was not pleased with Margaret when she first heard me cry and said to mother, “You got him. You got the pig.” Mother cried one more time.
As an expectant father I remember wishing each of our babies would be ugly as me since I developed into a very handsome young man and seem to be getting better each year.
“Ugly can only get better with time, whereas beautiful babies peak at birth.” (Wisdom from Jack the SMLaker.
I have a quirk, I like to be kissed on the back of the neck to this day and I could not explain until I read my “Infant Chart and Health Guide Compliments of The Evening Star--The Sunday Star Washington, D.C.” sent home with babies. I found it under “General Instructions” with one entry in the “DO” column. “Let there be regularity in all things.” What ever that means?
In the “Don’ts” column. “Don’t rock, jiggle, or walk the floor with the baby. Don’t lift by the arms. Don’t use a pacifier. Don’t fatten your baby--a fat baby is as sickly as an undernourished one. Don’t give drugs or medicine (except milk of magnesia) unless ordered to do so by your physician. Don’t expose baby’s eyes to bright lights. Don’t permit loud or harsh noises. Don’t give castor oil. Don’t allow anyone to kiss the baby except on the back of the neck.”
Now I know I must have been ugly but I did and still do have a beautiful back of the neck that likes to be girl kissed.
My first shoes cost two dollars. They cost us $25.00 to bronze in 1968. Wonder how much bronzing baby shoes would cost today?
My memory is poor on the events of that day. My aunts told some of the traumatic experience. I must admit the story differs depending on which side of the family the aunts resided. Dad’s sisters were probably more correct because they always said I was a beautiful, alert, and a very fine fellow. Mother’s sisters said I was ugly as sin and had a cry like a pig, no chin and a total throw back. I always thought mother was the black sheep of the family and got no respect from her siblings. Now I know they were jealous of her since brother Bud and I were the best kids from both sides and unmatched by the cousins to this very day. But then, there aren’t many of us left above ground.
Mother’s talk about their children’s birth, but boys don’t listen to anything so disgusting as childbirth-especially their own. Two things I am sure: One, I was a mistake and not a planned child. Two, I came anyway.
There was fourteen months between Bud and me, so for sure I was not planned. I give my parents credit for how they dealt with their mistake. I never knew about child mistakes until we had a few of our own and I could do the math, and had knowledge of the facts of life. At the age of forty or forty-five, one thinks about such things.
Headline: Garfield Woman’s Hospital. Washington DC. On Monday, February 25, 1929 at 2:15 AM. The vital signs were: “7#-14 and 1’-8 9/16” according to Dad’s measurements. (He was Arlington Counties first Land Surveyor.) Let me stop here and say my birth did not cause the stock market crash and the Great Depression, which started that month and year. History has shown that the crash was longer in coming than me, we just happened to arrive together. I could say that there was a great blizzard and the temperature four below zero, Dad driving the old Huppmobile just made it in time, but I really do not have the slightest idea of the weather or the trip to the hospital and do not remember the trip home one week later to “106 Maple Street, Lyon Village, VA., Clarendon.” That is the address on a “hope to see you soon” letter sent by my Uncle Bill Leemaster from Ft. Sam Houston, Texas. Arlington had not been invented as yet as a post office.
In those years they kept new mothers and babies for one week in the hospital. Dr. DeWitt C. Cradwick was the first to get his hands on me and then Nurse Miss E. Ridgdy was the one to clean me up. I wish someone would tell me why all the nurses who help deliver babies are women, unmarried and never had a pregnancy. They always are the ones to say, “It doesn’t hurt that much mother” and then give advice on how to care for babies.
My name Jack was not a name but a nickname for John, everyone said. Mother was asked three times by the doctor if she was sure about Jack for a legal name. Dad’s sister Aunt Maude was married to Jack Weidlich and my parents both liked him very much, so my name was Jack. Dad’s note on my name read, “Uncle Jack was all worried. Grandmother (Burns) does not like it, but boy I hope you do!.” I have liked it just fine. Thanks, Mom and Dad. That name helped make me a fighter and a “Radical Right Winged Conservative.”
The aunts on both family sides, when visiting mother in the hospital, told her about a baby in the nursery who squealed like a pig at dinner time and joked with mother about that poor mother who took that kid home. Little did they know, I was it. Mother discovered the truth soon after our triumphant entry home. It was reported that mother cried tears and said, “We got him. We got the pig.” I was one ugly baby according to mother’s sister, Aunt Margaret, who was fond of telling the story year upon year. Dad was not pleased with Margaret when she first heard me cry and said to mother, “You got him. You got the pig.” Mother cried one more time.
As an expectant father I remember wishing each of our babies would be ugly as me since I developed into a very handsome young man and seem to be getting better each year.
“Ugly can only get better with time, whereas beautiful babies peak at birth.” (Wisdom from Jack the SMLaker.
I have a quirk, I like to be kissed on the back of the neck to this day and I could not explain until I read my “Infant Chart and Health Guide Compliments of The Evening Star--The Sunday Star Washington, D.C.” sent home with babies. I found it under “General Instructions” with one entry in the “DO” column. “Let there be regularity in all things.” What ever that means?
In the “Don’ts” column. “Don’t rock, jiggle, or walk the floor with the baby. Don’t lift by the arms. Don’t use a pacifier. Don’t fatten your baby--a fat baby is as sickly as an undernourished one. Don’t give drugs or medicine (except milk of magnesia) unless ordered to do so by your physician. Don’t expose baby’s eyes to bright lights. Don’t permit loud or harsh noises. Don’t give castor oil. Don’t allow anyone to kiss the baby except on the back of the neck.”
Now I know I must have been ugly but I did and still do have a beautiful back of the neck that likes to be girl kissed.
My first shoes cost two dollars. They cost us $25.00 to bronze in 1968. Wonder how much bronzing baby shoes would cost today?
posted by JackSML | 9:40 PM
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