It was the year 1944, when my brother, William answered the call to be a soldier. He chose the Army just like my older brother but instead of being sent to Europe, he was sent to the Pacific. His job was to guard the enemy prisoners on the Island of Guam. Often, he sent home photos of this work and with his letters, Mom could tell he was prejudice toward those who had bombed Pearl Harbor, killing so many Americans. War being what it was, I suppose we all had bitter feelings toward the enemy.

William was the only one in our family who showed his Choctaw heritage. With his dark skin and jet-black hair sometimes, he was mistaken to be Mexican.

My mother who was a half breed Choctaw found it necessary to let us children know much about my grandmother and her people in the state of Mississippi. My sister and the others were all fair with a blond touch to their hair. I was the only blue-eyed in the bunch with my mother stating I inherited it from my grandfather's side.

Arsenal living sometimes could be boring but interesting enough to meet various people and their children. Neighbors came and went, especially when receiving word about the loss of their loved ones in battle. My parents had two sons now in service, one dealing with the Hitler atrocities, the other Japanese. I must say, it kept my mother on her knees before God, day and night praying for their safety.

Sometimes it was quiet as a morgue at our house. The only noise heard was my mother and a neighbor crying out to God for the safety of our nation. This went off and on for the duration of the wars.

Near the M&M Bldg., sat another row of buildings, much like a Minnie mall in today's world. It offered a grocery store, a barber shop, a bowling alley, and what was known as the P.X. Post exchange.

If money allowed, then the place would be busy with customers who worked all kinds of shifts making ordnances. It was at Bowling Alley where I found excitement. Meeting soldiers from all occupations and just knowing where they were from said much to my desire to learn more about my country.

I sat at times watching the grocery store send their delivery boy on a bicycle with a large basket filled with customer's groceries to their homes. I wanted to do that in the worst way, but the store refused to hire me because of my age and size. The manager said, "Son, even if I built the pedals with large blocks of wood, I doubt you could manage to peddle it." I left discouraged but knew that someday I would be big enough to make it happen.

As my boyhood continued in grade school, the wars continued as well. Inside the Arsenal was a hospital where nurses attended to the soldiers, some transferred from other vacilates such as Walter Reed and others who claimed to be full.

It would be my first time meeting a nurse whose duty was to attend to an injured soldier. She was a nice person who went by the name of Rosemary. My mother said Rosemary was a cut above the rest. A saying, meaning the lady was special.

I got to know the person who she treated and made it a point to visit when he was present. He liked me and I liked him. I place him in my mind as he was my big brother that I had never met. I knew he had been wounded by the enemy somewhere in Europe, but we never discussed it. What we talked about was baseball, a sport I cherished at the time. I loved the position of catcher because he and the pitcher controlled the game. If they could work together then they could create what we call a no hitter. Something seldom done.

Rosemary lived a few houses down from our place and when I saw a certain vehicle, I knew my friend was there for treatment. I learned the soldier's name to be Russie and I addressed him as such. It was not long before the announcement of His and Rosemary's wedding. Mother said they made a lovely couple and for sure Rosemary would help him through his tough times.

In the summer when school was out, many of us boys made money by cutting people's lawns. Those who worked late and midnight shifts making ordnance had little time to keep things looking neat.

It was an easy thing for boys like me. The M&M Bldg. was where all the lawnmowers were kept and to get one, I had to have a note from my parents giving permission.

Mother never liked the idea of me pushing a bladed lawnmower thinking I was too small and would hurt myself, but never or less, I managed to cut lawns for extra money, especially if I intended to pay mine and any company's way into the movies.

During the summer, we boys had a lot of leisure, we had a choice, either go skinny dipping at what we called third pond or be part of the boy's club events. The Boy's Club events consisted of boxing and other sports. The coach, being told that I was a fighter, talked me into trying out for the boxing match.

The boy I was to fight in the ring was a schoolmate and we liked each other. I never wanted to box my friend and he never wanted to box me. However, to satisfy the coach we tried it. Bill was his name and the girls relished hissing him on.

When the first round occurred, I managed to knock Bill against the ropes causing him pain. He immediately stopped boxing and stepped down from the ring, leaving me feeling terrible. I too walked out of the ring never looking back. It was certain I was no boxer, and I quickly apologized.

In hot weather when I was not cutting grass, swimming was on the list. About a mile down the railroad tracks were three large ponds of water, a place where dirt was removed for the use of constructing the housing area.

The first pond was deep, and snake infested, the second was the same. However, the third was wider and deeper with no signs of snakes. Some said it was because it was used more, and the bigger boys killed all the snakes.

Now, whether it be true or not, I would never say or at least I never saw any. However, we boys knew if caught swimming in the nude then it would be hard explaining to our parents.

The third pond was a great swimming area. Shallow in most places but deep enough for us to dive and leave our shiny buttocks showing. One of the train engineers said, when he looked out across the pond, he could see little buttocks sticking up like little white toad stools. It must have been true because when the train passed, it would always blow a horn.

At the grocery store, ice cream cups were sold for a dime. The container when opened always had a picture of a movie star or a ball player. They were collectable and I had my share. If we got the same again then they became tradeable to someone who needed it.

Fleers bubble gum was what many of us boys bought. Inside were pictures of baseball players. Babe Ruth was the one everyone was trying to get but for some reason, Ruth was scarce. Lou Greigh was the one I wanted, but mostly pictures of catchers.

As the summer months continued, my mind went toward making a drop box. A neighbor gave me a cigar box and I cut a hole in the center of the lid big enough to drop a marble. The rules were, drop it from the belt line into the hole and win a baseball card. However, all misses I kept. That idea earned me more marbles than I needed.

The baseball cards were something I cherished and kept them until a grandson who was playing catcher for his school team was getting ready to start college. I knew the value of each card I had and told him, if money gets tight and you need to part with them, then do so. However, he still has them to this day.

The year 1944 stayed busy for the establishment. I listened to older people speak about the war and how we needed more ammunition. The North Africa campaign had shifted into Sicily and onward through Italy. The next step was Normandy, which my oldest brother would participate. I suspected my mother may have felt troubles because it seemed to have kept her and the other ladies in constant prayer.

However, at the arsenal, things were as usual for us boys except for two boys I knew who were caught breaking windows in empty apartments.

The Military Police were told that I was involved but the truth was, I was not. However, my parents had to pay for a few broken windows. My father was unhappy about the event no matter how much I tried telling the truth. My punishment came with me cutting the grass and paying back the cost.

Sometimes it becomes a tiring time for us children. I found watching the German prisoners being made to gather the trash from the grounds and emptying garbage cans into a large white truck somewhat to be fascinating.

One prisoner, a young blond-haired fellow had my attention, and I had his. When permitted, he and I introduced ourselves. He was Hans and I was Charlie. We never got to speak to each other much because of the guards who always tried to keep us boys away.

At times when seeing the prisoners, I always looked for Hans. A schoolmate asked, why I wanted him as a friend, when I had a brother fighting them? I thought about that but being a boy who never knew the depth of war, it was hard to understand.

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