Life is a roller coaster ride of highs, lows and calm. Time, distance, religion, ideology and so many other considerations can tear apart the fabric of friendships, and even families. Over the years my brother and I have kept in touch, occasionally been in the vicinity and visited for short periods, but sadly being so many miles away has made it difficult to maintain a truly close relationship. A few days ago my sister-in-law called to let me know my “big Brother” was in hospital and the future did not appear bright. This was a catalyst prompting a return, in memory, to our childhood and a very different era.

I was born in 1938, at the end of our great depression. My brother, Bruce, preceded me by three years. We spent our early years in the shadow of WWII. One of my earliest memories is of the family all gathering in my Grandma’s kitchen…Aunts, Uncles, cousins. My grandparents were among the early recipients of Social Security, which kept them out of poverty. Their house was old, small farm house style with half of it taken up by an enormous kitchen. There was no refrigerator, the Icebox was on the back porch just off the kitchen. (Our father was, in fact, an Iceman! That was the waning of a time when people kept their food literally on ice, that came to them…as did milk…, in trucks on given days.) We were there to choose a name for my brothers new dog, a lovely German Shepherd our father had purchased for him. I remember there was a big discussion, and mild disagreements, finally ending with (no kidding) Dexter Christopher Fritz! My brother had many years of joy with Dexter, who sadly disappeared sometime at an elderly age, possibly to that proverbial farm.

One day my big brother was walking to the drug store on an errand. It was probably during our fathers absence while working in the Aleutian Islands for the war effort. He had me trot along beside him and let me look at the store shelves. On the way home I proudly showed him a candy bar that I had purloined into my pocket, Oh my, he immediately did a U turn, marched me back to the store, and had me apologize to the clerk! I never was tempted to relieve a store shelf of its contents again. I am not sure that either of my parents were ever informed of that incident, perhaps he was protecting his baby sister from further punishment?

Around the end of WWII our parents “enrolled” my brother and our cousin as actors in a children’s radio show on KOL, called, appropriately, “The Children’s Hour”. One day my brother let me tag along to watch the broadcast as they read the scripts in a large room, highly carpeted, with stand up mikes facing the director and sound man seated behind a large, long window. Remember, this was when Television was an infant and the internet a wild fantasy. Ms. Emil, the director, for some unknown reason invited me to read a script aloud, and suddenly I was invited to become a participant and joined the boys on their journey in radio. Being young, and probably somewhat egotistical about our acting abilities, when an opportunity came to audition at KOMO for a new show of course we bit. All three of us passed and were put on the list to be called when needed for a part. This was an absolute promotion, since now we were payed each time we appeared! $10.10 per call was a lot of money in those days for fifteen minutes on the air and forty-five minutes of rehearsal. Consider you could buy a coke for five cents! It also required us to join AFTRA, the union for radio/television actors, at a very young age.

In the late forties (I think) we moved from Seattle to Kennewick. There was a huge, empty field about a block from our house. One year the circus came to town, with great ballyhoo! My brother, in his early teen years, volunteered to join the roustabouts in working on raising the tents and preparing the grounds. He spent the day doing hard labor in order to earn two tickets for that night. Like a good brother he planned to take little sister along, and we traversed the long field with great anticipation. It was a windy evening, but rather pleasant. We found good seats and were thrilled as the clowns came in, and the ringmaster began the show. To everyone’s dismay the tent began to blow around us, threatening to come down and envelop the audience, animals and performers! My brother grabbed me and said we had to get out, so we hurried through the exit as the wind howled and pretty much extinguished all other sounds. As I recall Bruce tried to help with the animals and catching bits being blown about, but as it worsened he held on to me and we fought the wind back through the open field. Like Lot’s wife I turned once to look back, and saw what were now small figures rushing around trying to save what they could in the light spilling from the folds of the falling tent. It was a sad end to such a promising evening, but a testament to my brothers care and generosity.

Of course the trajectory of sibling relationships are never all candy and roses. When we moved back to Seattle there was the day when our parents were out and my brother, as a joke, locked me out of our apartment. Needless to say he had one really mad sister to contend with….through his laughter! Boys will be boys.

In my twilight years I find myself looking back at life. Our childhood experiences are part of the recipe that forms our character, and mine was deeply enmeshed with two brothers and I the lone girl. The sadness of our physical distance is always present, but despite our divergent lives and different belief systems the bond is always there. Bruce and I grew up in a far different era. We watched the world change from different locations and different life experiences, but our memories from the distant past are shared, and the family bond is unbroken.

To my brother with love!