I was in a big old dilapidated two-story house which I was fixing up. Quite a few men were in the house working for me -- the repair would be extensive. I planned to fix up the house enough so I could live in it for a while. One section of the house circled around to rooms at the rear; I didn't know if I were going to use those rooms. I was looking over the middle living room while the workers were busy in other parts of the house. I had already moved some furniture and other possessions into this room, and I was already staying here. The walls of this room were pink and the ceiling was white. The paint looked terrible and I thought I might want to paint this room first before I continued with the rest of the house; at least I could get this one room in shape. 

As I began walking around, however, I realized this house was actually the Gay Street House. As I walked on, I also realized that my father owned this House and that he was running several businesses out of the House -- that's what he liked to do -- and that people were working at different jobs here. As I was walking around on the Eighth Street side, I passed the little room with the banistered-stairs to the second floor. A curtain hung in the doorway between this room and the large office on the Eighth Street side. This little room was now being used as a hearing-aid sales office, one of my father's businesses. I also noticed a camera and lights had been set up in the room for a photo studio.  I thought perhaps later I would have my picture taken in there. I was a bit concerned about the way I was dressed. I looked at myself in a mirror. I was wearing a hat, a sports jacket, and a tee shirt. I looked OK. 

As I continued walking into other sections of the House, I began looking for one of my workers, Bob Bell (a former Portsmouth acquaintance who used to work for my father). When I found men working on different projects, I asked one worker if he had had seen Bell. I was told that Bell and a couple other fellows had arrived early in the morning and then had left. Someone said Bell had appeared to be drunk on alcohol. That didn't sound good to me.

I was a bit concerned about how these workers were going to be paid. I saw my sister (about 30 years old), and since I knew she worked in the accounting section here, I thought I could talk with her. I started talking with her and she directed me to another woman who was the accountant who paid the bills. My sister said I should speak with the other woman and find out how the bills were paid.

I moved on. I really didn't know how I fit in there, and I didn't feel quite right about being there. I felt uncomfortable about working with my father and my sister. At the same time I felt somewhat important because my father owned this place and I was his son. I felt I could manage there, even though I still didn't know if I were dressed appropriately.

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