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During the 1990s, a few years before my father, Dave, passed away in December of 2000, he wrote a 35-page autobiography. Excerpts from it will be published here, as companions to the diaries my mother, Dorothy, kept in 1945 and 1946—the year she met Dave. My dad was born in 1927, in Hamilton, Ohio. The family eventually moved to the south side of Chicago.
Part 17
Acclimating and Graduating
It was cold and windy, and snow was on the ground. I wasn't in the jungles of Burma anymore, where the temperatures had often reached over 100 degrees, and a cool day was somewhere in the mid-80s—at night. I was back home, in Chicago.
My army pay went towards new clothes, the first I'd purchased in quite a while. Shoes, shirts, and an overcoat. It took me a week or longer to where paying for meals and transportation no longer felt strange.
The intersection of 63rd & Halsted Streets, early 1940s. During this time, the neighborhood rivaled Chicago's downtown Loop as the city's busiest shopping and entertainment district.
The boarding house, where I'd lived prior to enlisting, was no more. Mrs. Raggio, the proprietor, had passed away. Luckily, tho, when I met up again with my good friend Chuck, he offered me the extra room at his southside flat. Once settled there, we began to spend time with our other pals, Bud and Doty. The four of us were now old enough to make the local taverns along Englewood's main drag, 63rd Street, our regular hangouts. Places with names such as Spody's, Tons of Fun, and Bucket of Blood.
Spody's was the establishment we frequented the most often. We'd been drinking there one night, when all three of my friends got into a bar fight with some non-regulars. For my part, I'd gone out the back door to lay down outside for a rest. My rest turned out to last all night.
I awakened at daybreak and shuffled my way home. There at the front door waiting for me, much to my surprise, was an officer from the 5th Army Chicago headquarters. Right away I assumed I knew why he was there. From Burma, I'd brought home my army-issued pistol, as well as a Japanese rifle I'd confiscated. I soon found out it wasn't about that.
“David,” he said, “I'm here to present to you the Bronze Star, awarded by the United States of America to you for heroic and meritorious achievement.”
I was aware that not only was I very hungover, but that I'd also probably thrown-up over my own clothes. And so, rather than step before me to pin the medal on my shirt, the officer handed it to me in its box, saluted, and walked quickly away.
Dave, 1946, age 19
Often I've thought that I might have liked to continue army life. Perhaps I could've made a good career out of the service. However, I was much too young to really appreciate the experience. Being in the OSS left me with the knowledge that anything is possible. Self-confidence and a reliance on common sense are the important tools to possess in life.
It was now 1946. I hadn't graduated high school, and so, during the early part of the year, I took a GED exam, passed it, and, at age 19, had my diploma. Fortunately, the exam didn't cover spelling!
I'd been contemplating that my life's work might be in the medical field, and so I began taking a medical technology course. During the day, I worked at Hines Hospital in the morgue, assisting with autopsies, while going to school from 4 till 10 pm. I enjoyed, and had no problem with, my tasks at the morgue, finding it to be of help with my classroom training.
Hines Veterans Hospital, Maywood (since demolished and replaced by newer facilities)
Upon completing the course, John Straika, a fellow student, and I discussed an idea.
“What do you say we open a laboratory? We can do routine blood and pre-marital tests, and so forth. How about it?”
We got right to it. We pooled our money to rent a couple of rooms in an office building on North near Western Ave., bought some second-hand equipment, and quickly set up shop.
Within a month, it was obvious that this was not going to fly.
Not only didn't we know a thing about how to get doctors to refer to us, but–outside of my experience selling kitchen knives–we had no business knowledge whatsoever. We managed to do a few pre-marital tests, and about a dozen or so blood works, but it was strictly a bust of an operation. John finally bought out my share at a loss to me. I was out. I never saw John again, or learned what path the lab took afterwards.
In the spring of '46, Governor Dwight Green issued “Well Done” certificates to veterans on behalf of the State of Illinois, along with a check for $300 [worth $4,200 in 2020.] In addition, the federal government had a program called “52-50” which granted unemployed vets $50 per week for up to 52 weeks, so long as the vet looked for employment. Once I had signed up for this benefit, I was ready to do to just that.
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End of Part 17
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