PRETTY BABY

We wanted another baby, and our prayers were answered when our fifth child and fourth girl arrived. 02/29/2016

PRETTY BABY

            By September 1962, we had lived in our Eichler home for two happy years. In October, the Cuban missile crisis arose. Many Americans feared the possibility of nuclear war with the Soviet Union. Fortunately, Kennedy did not blink during and the immediate threat abated.

            But neighbors asked, “What if those Russians bomb the Eichler Highlands without warning?” In response to this hypothetical question, a group of engineers living in the neighborhood took it upon themselves to assess the feasibility of building a bomb shelter within the boundaries of the community to protect its residents in the event of a “first strike” event. I scoffed at the concept, thinking it far-fetched and zany. The study group spent a number of months at this task, and presented their findings at a meeting. Their analysis determined it would be cost ineffective. Too few people would likely make it to the shelter in time to be saved from the first bomb which surely would land right in our community pool.

            I am glad we were not asked to ante up money to build the shelter. I did not think it possible for me to get home from work before the bomb hit. As it was, the evening fog always beat me there before I could take the kids swimming.

            In 1963 we enrolled Jamie in first grade at St. Bartholomew’s parochial school located in downtown San Mateo, a ten-minute drive. Laura and Ellen attended pre-school and kindergarten in the Highlands. Barry had the house and the back yard to himself, most days. We set up some neat playground equipment back there, including swings, slides and a four-person carousel contraption.

            By this time they had all learned to swim, despite my frustration with the weather. Some days I’d race home from work, grab the kids, head to the pool, only to find fog rolling in, whipping up the wind, and making it impossible to enjoy swimming.  The coastal range blocked off some, but not all of this misty stuff.

            At other times of the year, I’d play golf at the nearby Crystal Springs public course. Most of the holes sloped sharply toward the reservoir, and no matter how straight I hit the ball, it always ran off into the dense underbrush, lost forever. The greens had numerous undulations which caused me to four putt most of the time. However, no one else ever seemed to play there, and I usually had the entire place to myself.         

   Angie became pregnant again. We thought a boy would help balance our brood and provide Barry with a kid brother. Should it be another girl, we would be thrilled. We hoped only that it be born healthy. 

   The new family member turned out to be a girl, whom we named Carol. We continued our pattern of naming our children with five-letter first names. When it came time to choose a middle name, we picked “Michele.”  Of course, we did not realize we omitted a letter, but over time, Carol got over it. I think. “What the ‘L,’ right Carol?”

She arrived on September 29, 1963, at Sequoia Hospital, Redwood City, California, the same locale where Angie had given birth to our other children. They had a bed reserved for my sweet wife. Once again, fortune blessed us with a beautiful and perfectly healthy child

It may not have been the most appropriate time to have another child born to us as my job fortunes were in turmoil. FWC had every intention of extricating itself from the cooling tower business. I began looking for another work opportunity.

My life insurance agent suggested that I apply for a job at Northwestern Insurance Company. With no other prospects in mind, I applied for a position after reading his company’s training book he thoughtfully provided me. This enabled me to pass their pre-employment qualification test with an exceptionally high mark and resulted in their offering me an entry-level job. After considering how difficult it would be for me to earn a living selling insurance, I chose not to enter this field.     

   The book my insurance friend loaned me taught me more about the subject than any other before or since and made me a firm believer in its benefits. Not so with Angie, who always thought differently about its need. Sometimes, when we suffered a loss that our insurance covered, I gloated. When I had to cancel a policy because we could no longer afford the premium, she said, “I told you so.” Thank goodness we had plenty of insurance to cover the cost of her giving birth.

   Carol came home from the hospital, but took no interest in any of these affairs, a happy infant who delighted us. Asthma and eczema conditions were not yet of concern to her or us. The other children delighted in having her join the family.

   Did I mention she was beautiful?

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