ASH AVENUE FELON

Our Duplex Home on 9th East

   
     Wow! What a trip! So this is earth? Pretty awesome. Yup. Real cool! I popped onto the scene while Dad was finishing up his doctorate at Stanford University. He was thrilled to have his first little boy, but I'm not so sure Mom shared his enthusiasm. It was her third delivery in three short years. Her first girl, Kerri, lived for only a few short minutes. A cause for great sadness for my parents. My sister, Kay, was the next child, and she was just what the doctor ordered. I'm sure Mom was ready to enjoy her sweet, happy, good-natured new baby girl. It was time to take a well deserved rest, when, voila! I wormed my way into the family.

   After his graduation, Dad packed us all into his old jalopy along with everything they owned. Only a week old I got to ride in my cozy bassinet on top of the spare tire in the back seat. We were soon on our way to settle in the quaint town of Provo, Utah, and Brigham Young University. That's where my dad would teach for the next forty plus years.

Early 1940s Desoto 4-door sedan.

   The first place I remember us dropping anchor was in a duplex apartment at 750 North 900 East, close to campus. That house is still there today. I don't remember much about living there but I do recall pulling up our landlord's newly planted flowers at age 3. It turned out to be a blessing in disguise. I still remember Mom's kindness in dealing with me. The landlady however was pretty brutal while unloading her annoyance on Mom. This situation was the catalyst that led to my parents building a home on Ash Avenue. Grandpa Francis's banking connections helped seal the deal. My parents continued to live in this home until they both passed away. It was their first and only home, a place filled with treasured and lasting memories.

Kay (age 2) and Francis (age 4) in front of the 9th East home.

The 9th East duplex home today.

Francis and Kay having fun in the snow at the 9th East home.

Life on Ash Avenue

    At the time we moved in to our house, Ash Avenue was a dirt road in a new housing development. One block away was Briar Avenue which was paved. Briar also held all the mailboxes for the new homes in the area. This complex of mailboxes contributed to my first run in with the law.

Max and Florence Rogers home at 1167 Ash Avenue.

     Playing mailman was on my list of favorite activities. Shuffling the mail from box to box was innocent fun for me, but not for the mailbox owners. One day a policeman showed up at our house. The gig was up. I had been found out. I was a felon at age 4! Between the policeman's grumpy face and his intimidating pistol and cuffs, I was convinced I should stay away from mailboxes.

    My first stitches came from the wooden seat of a swing Dad had built in our backyard. It caught me square under the chin on the return trip. After watching Dad pound and saw while helping build our house, a tool box with kid size tools was the perfect birthday present! Sawing down our newly planted fruit tree didn't get me the same recognition as George Washington, however, but it did get my tool box grounded for a time. 

Francis and sister Kay working in the yard of their new Ash Avenue house.

     In our backyard was a clothesline Mom used to sun-dry the wash. There's nothing quite like the fresh smell and crisp feel of line dried linens. I still remember playing hide and seek between drying sheets while Mom was trying to hang clothes with wooden clothes pins. Mom would pile up the clean laundry on her bed where I would take a few high bounces off her spring loaded mattress before belly flopping into the soft clean pile. 

Francis, age four, watering the new lawn.

     For my fifth birthday my parents invested in a deluxe tricycle which took me a short time to grow into because my feet didn't quite reach the pedals. Flying down the sidewalk, with pedals spinning

Francis, age five, on his new birthday trike.

out of control, and a screaming passenger hanging on for dear life on the back was a lot of fun. If we crossed Cherry Lane, we were doomed. About the only way we could come to a stop was to capsize the trike onto someone's lawn and abandon ship. The person on the back would usually jump off before that to save his life. Great fun!

   I was a skinny little runt and wanted to look strong like my dad. With enough encouragement he would flex his biceps. Incredible! They were huge. Eat your mush and scrambled eggs, and plenty of white bread, was his advice. I put away a lot of mush, scrambled eggs and bread, but my biceps were as puny as ever.

R. Max on his bike with Kay, Francis and Paul

    Sometimes Dad would come home from work, lie down on the living room floor, and start reading the newspaper. Just when he got well into it, he was jumped on by all his kids. Kay would hold down one arm and I would subdue the other while my younger brothers, Paul and Russ, would bounce on his belly. His best defense was the dreaded "Scissor Lock." With some effort he was able to squeeze all four of us between his legs. Years later I found myself using the same tactic on my own kids.