The Philippines

Dad was offered a secondment to Amoco to help startup a refinery at Maraveles on the Bataan Peninsula across Manila bay from Manila. He left in the fall of my ninth grade year and returned in the spring of that year. By this time, I was working at the library. I was 14 years old and the ‘man’ of the house. This was hard on my mom and I understand this a lot more based on the experience Kathy and I have had with my time overseas. There are several vignettes that I recall from this time.

At some point I had broken the rules to the point of deserving a spanking. Mom and I went into her bedroom, I bent over the bed and she began to spank me. Unfortunately, I started laughing and so did she. Her conclusion was that I had passed beyond the age where spankings were appropriate so she grounded me. She must have been right because I was so much more willing to have a spanking than a grounding.

The city had made sewer service available to our street the year before and my dad had hand dug (!) the sewer line from the back of the house, around the south side and to the street. (This must be 100 linear feet - think about it.) It sloped from about 2 feet deep at the back of the house to about 6 feet deep at the front of the property where it tied into the common sewer line. When I think about this I grow even more respect for Donald Senior.

The downside of this sewer is that it was constructed of concrete pipe. This would have been constructed of PVC by this time, but not then. Concrete pipes allow water to seep through especially at the joints. Oak tree roots seek water and the pipe seepage drew them like a magnet. The roots penetrated the pipe and began to impede the flow of the sewage downstream.

Dad had a solution to this periodic sewer blockage. Dad dug pits along the sewer and cracked holes in the top of the concrete pipe. He could then run a wire with a hook on it up and down the pipe to pull the clogs apart. He covered these holes in the pipe with bent over expired car license plates.

In his absence in the Philippines, as the titular ‘man’ of the house, when the sewer backed up, I got to dig these cleanout pits, do the clean out operation and refill the holes. I did this about three times over that winter. To say that I hated it is a significant understatement. I am pretty sure this sewer was a significant factor in the move to the Horn Street house.

Incidentally, the sewer line ran along the boundary between light and shadow to my mom’s left.

At Christmas, I got to be ‘Santa’s helper’ and assemble a toy table and a tricycle for my sister, Janice. Check out the chapter on TV to see the table.

It is almost incomprehensible to me now how Unconnected we were at that time. Snail mail was our mode of communications. I think Mom and Dad spoke by phone once or twice. With cell phones and Skype, this absence would have been so much more gentle.

I am pretty sure this is a photo for my dad.

Finally, when dad came home it took a while before Janice would have anything at all to do with him. I know he understood, but he really wanted to snuggle his daughter.

This is the umbrella Dad brought back for Janice and she likes the bumberechute but not the weird guy giving it to her.

Dad in about 1960