For the first time in
my ten years, I could not walk out the front door and be on street level. We were living on the second floor of an
apartment building on M Street in Washington, D.C. From the large double window in the living room I could see and
hear a new segment of city life every day. The windows also formed a backdrop where I, wearing my new pongee dress, and dropping rose petals, led the way for my oldest sister to stand and exchange wedding vows with a handsome Marine.
The windows were my favorite spot in the apartment. In the winter I had
a warm sunny place to do my homework, or to sit and read. The summer that I was confined with the mumps, Daddy
moved a small bed in front of the windows so I could watch the activity below. Winter or summer, there was always
excitement in the city. My ears became tuned to listen for the sound of the organ grinder with his little trained monkey.
Or the man with the banana cart. When we heard the rumble of the ice truck, it was a reminder to check to see if
someone had put the card in the window to tell him if we wanted 10 pounds or twenty. The watermelon man could be
heard long before he got to our block. I remember how he sounded as he sang, "watahmelons, watahmelons, watahmelons,
sweet as sugar and red to the rind." We used to mimic him and see who could sound the most like him.
Through the windows I heard sirens and saw police cars rushing after
criminals, and ambulances hurrying to someone's aid. Fire trucks screamed by, and one time I watched as they stopped
at a building in the next block, where flames leaped and soared, and I smelled the black smoke. In the evening, "Crazy
Mary" could be seen walking around the area, always singing "Stormy Weather." "Don't know why, ain't no sun up in the
sky, stormy weather, since my man and I ain't together, jus' keeps rainin' all the time, all the time, jus' keeps rainin' all
the time." I wonder what her life was like.
Evenings in the living room found Mama and my sisters, and me whiling
away the time with embroidery work. Mama showed us how to make bird's foot and satin stitches, French knots and the
little loops for flower petals. We never lacked for colorful dresser scarves or pillow cases. My brothers read True Detective
or Field and Stream Magazines. In this room was the fireplace where on Christmas Eve, I heard Santa Claus's voice
coming through the chimney, telling me I better go to bed or he would not bring me any gifts.
We lived in this apartment from the time I was about eight until I was
ten or eleven. I have good memories of those years. The D.C. area was safe then. I imagine that has all changed, and
I doubt that any youngsters are living in this same apartment now and storing up pleasant memories.
©Sue Hamilton
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