Event circa 1921.
Written ????.
It wasn’t the way it was supposed to be. My Prince Charming had invited me to see
his home — meet his family. I had met his mother and father previously. They seemed
friendly and warm. I approved of them. It was their home that surprised me and
even shocked me.
As a very little girl, when we were on the trains traveling to and from Mississippi, the train would always travel through the congested parts of Chattanooga, Memphis, and Cincinnati before arriving at their gorgeous railroad stations. In these slums I would see ragged little children playing on the fire escapes, in dirty courtyards, or on dilapidated porches — no grass, no trees. I felt so sorry for them and prayed to the Dear Lord that I’d never have to live in a big city. If I could, I would have liked to have shared my pine woods playground or the neat lawns of my relatives’ homes in Ohio.
My past experiences solidified the notion that all proper homes had to be spacious white houses surrounded by spreading green lawns with lots of flower beds around the edges, and perhaps a white picket fence.
This is not the way my Prince’s home looked. It was the most urban dwelling imaginable. It was on one of the busiest, noisiest streets of the city. It appeared to be strictly commercial buildings, for there was a bank on the street level and one other little store.
Their home was upstairs. On the left, three rooms served as the father’s offices. On the right was home. A large living room lined with bookcases with a front sunroom that looked out on the busy, noisy Avenue with its streetcars, trucks, buses, and other traffic. Behind the living room was a big dining room with an oblong table, a dozen chairs, the usual big buffet, and a china cabinet. The kitchen with its big gas stove — ???? was just beyond.
A long hall ran clear around in the back of the living quarters, off which were all the bedrooms and baths — enough for parents and each child, plus a couple of spare rooms.
All in all, it was a pretty snug place to live in a big city — but it wasn’t the white house with a fine lawn and a white picket fence around it on a quiet suburban street.
It didn’t pass! It wasn’t the way it was supposed to be.
Mary W. Dial
Transcribed ???? by CED
Posted Dec 15, 1988 at 00:02.
Revised Jan 23, 2023 at 20:00. EDT.
Retrieved Jun 1, 2026 at 22:20.
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