Читать книгу Dutch Clarke - The Early Years - Brian Ratty - Страница 14

Fairview Manor... I wonder why Grandmother gave that name to that house? From my earliest recollection, I couldn't remember any fair views. What I did remember was that house surrounded with other, more modern homes set on large parcels of land with tall trees framing long driveways. From what Uncle Roy had told me, it was Grandmother who had insisted that Senior build the house around the turn of the century. In its day, I’m sure that it was a fine, modern home. I understand that the original parcel of land was 35 acres, but that over the years, after Grandmother died, Senior sold all but five acres. The house was large, with three levels in the main house and an old wooden barn in the rear. The home was one of the first in the area to have electricity. It had four full bathrooms, or water closets, one on the top floor (the servant’s quarters), two on the second floor, and one on the main floor. There was a large steam heating system in the basement that worked as hard as it could to keep the drafty house warm in the winter. The kitchen had state of the art appliances—as of 1905. For its day, this made Fairview very modern. But after it had been built, with the exception of a few coats of paint and basic maintenance, the house had never been changed or modernized.

It was at Fairview that Grandmother raised my father and, after his death, tried to raise me. I remember her as being a big, warm, loving lady who always wanted to do things for me. Between Grandmother and our cook and housekeeper, Hazel, the house was full of laughter, good smells, warmth and love. After the devastating death of my Grandmother, a black cloud seemed to hang over the old house. Years after her death, I was still playing a game where I would walk the halls of the second floor, opening doors to the bedrooms and pretending that there in the empty rooms were my mother and father having tea with Grandmother. They would always invite me in and talk to me.

“Oh, Dutch, what have you been doing today? Dutch, sit here and have some tea. How is school going? Dutch, we love you so much, please come back and see us again.”

Then, more likely than not, a draft would fill the room and slam the bedroom door shut, which would startle me back to reality. They were all dead.

At first Grandfather tried to spend time with me, but it was hard for him because he was so busy. With schoolwork or a book in hand, I’d knock on the den door and ask for help on a project or even just a question about life. He would always give me the answer but never tell me why it was the right answer. If I pressed him, he’d lose his patience and say he was busy and would tell me more later, but later never came. During the holidays, Hazel and Uncle Roy tried to make them special. Although, I can't remember ever seeing Grandfather happy or laughing during these times. He would always escape into his den after spending as little time as possible with Roy and me. Roy always defended Grandfather by reminding me how much responsibility he had to the thousands of employees of Gold Coast Petroleum. But I’d always ask myself, What about me? Grandfather never had friends or business associates over for dinner, drinks, or any kind of get-together. Fairview had become just a place for him to eat, sleep and do business when he was away from the office.

For the first part of my education I went to public schools. It was here that I made a few friends and, most importantly, learned to play baseball. It was a game that I enjoyed, and the coaches told me I had some talent. Hitting the ball a mile, I could run and play all bases with ease. Getting better with each passing year of grade school, I kept learning and improving my skills for the game.

But my grades were only fair at best. This meant that if I wanted to play ball, I had to keep my marks to at least a passing level, so I worked as hard as I could.

It was the summer between the seventh and eighth grade that Grandfather called me into his den one evening. He told me that he had talked to several of my teachers and Uncle Roy about my future education. All had agreed that a school with stronger discipline and better academics would be better suited for me. Therefore, no matter what the cost and because he knew Grandmother would agree, he was going to send me off to a New England boarding school named Bradford Hall. He would hear no objections and didn't care what I thought, the subject was closed, and I was going.

Devastated once again, I would miss my last year in grade school with my few friends. Although I thought that not playing baseball for my team was the worst thing that could happen to me, Grandfather would hear none of my protests. I spent my eighth though twelfth grades at Bradford Hall. In boarding school, I did play baseball again, but it was just for a different team and never with the same joy. Growing apart from the few friends I had in public school, I had even fewer mates at Bradford. But as I look back on it now, it was better than living with Grandfather in that old musty house.

That old home was a ghost from my past, full of people, yet empty of love. It was a house big in size but small in caring. But my most vivid memory of those times was of me as that little boy, having tea from room to room in that damp, dusty, cold and dark home known as Fairview Manor.