On or about March 5th of 1947, Richard and Barbara Manning were fooling around in the bedroom of their home in Los Angeles and created an embryo who, nine months later, would be named “Craig”.
I don’t remember a lot about 1947. I now know that tubeless tires and transistors were invented in that year, that the Cold War started, that UFO sightings occurred near Roswell, New Mexico, that the sound barrier was broken, and that the C.I.A. and the State of Israel were created.
Little Craig was oblivious to that, as he spent most of his time eating, crying, vomiting, pooping, and sleeping. That was his job back then, and he was good at it.
My memories started in the Fifties. I can remember my Mom sewing clothes for me, my Kindergarten teacher “Mrs. Harvey”, riding my first bike, playing (baseball) catch with my Dad, and our German Shepard dog, “Duke”.
My Dad was a Ford mechanic and he worked in downtown Los Angeles. My Mom didn’t work, as she was busy in the Fifties having babies and tending to our (eventual) family of six. Our family income wasn’t great, but my parents raised us with a lot of love and special treats, like camping and going to the beach. My Dad and a buddy built us a ski boat called “Skisix”, and we spent a lot of time water skiing behind that boat.
My older brother Terry used to torment me and make fun of me when we were around the other neighborhood kids. He was bigger than the other boys, and could be a bit of a bully. My sisters, Kellie and Claudia, were several years younger than me, and I don’t recall engaging with them much at all way back then. Mostly, my brother and I hung around with our next door neighbor Mike and another neighbor named Paul. We got into all sorts of mischief, but neighbors would always point out the “redheads” as the culprits.
The Fifties were cool. Rock ‘n Roll was just getting started, televisions were beginning to appear in most homes, gasoline was 25 cents or less per gallon, and our neighborhood was thick with lots of traveling salesmen (Fuller Brush, Kirby Vacuum, Encyclopedia Britannica, etc.) and Good Humor Ice Cream and Helms Bakery trucks, and milk products were delivered to our back door every morning by the Carnation “milk man”.
I recall giant tail fins on cars (a neighbor of ours had a huge, garish Cadillac with oodles of chrome goodies) , TVs with porthole screens, girls swooning over Rickey Nelson on the “Ozzie and Harriet Show”, transistor radios, Hula Hoops, Pogo Sticks, Bozo the Clown, and such.
Our little 4-person neighborhood gang stopped by at a soda counter one day for a 25 cent Coke and the waitress was sobbing uncontrolably. That’s when she told us that the private plane had gone down carrying Buddy Holley, Richie Valens, and the Big Bopper. Awwwwww. We hardly knew the guys.
My Mom, beginning late in the 1950’s (I believe), sold Avon cosmetics to pick up some extra coin for the household. She didn’t really need the stuff herself; she was naturally beautiful. Back in the early Fifties she was a brunette; later in the decade she began to color her hair strawberry blonde, probably to match three of her children.
My mother would make us a lunch each day for school. Along with a sandwich and milk in the thermos, she would always put some special item in the lunch pail that would let me know how much she cared. I loved it when she would include a homemade chocolate eclair. All the other guys would drool in envy when I whipped out that puppy. Mmmmmmm!
The first President that I remember was Dwight D. Eisenhower. He looked to me to be very old, wise, and dignified. I learned that he had been a military hero in World War II, and I remember that he liked golfing to relax. His Vice President was Richard Nixon who, on TV, always seemed to be sweating and in need of a shave.
Occasionally, the family would go in our station wagon to the drive-in movies. My brother and I liked it because we would spend intermission playing on the swing sets down by the giant screen. Then, we’d go back to the car and eat popcorn while we watched the movie. Sci-Fi was big then: “Forbidden Planet”, “The Blob”, “The Day The Earth Stood Still”, “Godzilla”, etc. Good stuff.
I liked baseball from an early age. My Dad had been a high school pitcher, at nearby Alhambra High, back in the day. He was a tall, lanky guy who could still bring the heat even when he was playing an innocent game of “catch” with his young son. I ended up playing Little League, was a pretty good second baseman, and in 1958 we won the City championship. I don’t recall my Dad ever attending one of my games, probably because he worked so hard and didn’t get home until the evening.
He loved to read when he had time to. I can remember him doing the newspaper crossword puzzle every evening, in ink. He got me into that, as well as reading history books. My Dad was a fan of Winston Churchill, so we read all of his stuff. In addition, my Dad convinced my Mom to pop for the Encyclopedia Britannica set, which I pored over every time I got a chance.
Somehow, my parents scraped together enough money to go halfsies on a vacation house down in Ensenada, Mexico. My Dad and a work buddy named “Gordy” actually built a structure onto a travel trailer, so that the adults could sleep in the trailer, and the kids could sleep in the add-on structure in bunk beds. We had that vacation house for many years, and spent a lot of neat times down there swimming, waterskiing, fishing, and (my parents) scuba diving. We ate lobster so much that we would complain about it. My brother and I became junior arsonists, collecting fizzled firecrackers and making little bombs and we would blow up on the beach. Lots of fun, although I did have a firecracker go off in my hand once. Owwwwwwwww!
My parents, although not religious, sent Terry and I off to Sunday School when we were young. We learned the basics. However, our core values were learned at home where the Golden Rule was taught and observed.
My Mom had basically raised herself in a household of alcoholics, while my Dad had been raised by his parents with a good deal of freedom…as long as he didn’t “cross the line”. We knew where that line was and, if we crossed it, we could expect a painful spanking. My Dad had fashioned a paddle in his garage shop, made out of carnauba wood, which got the job done, believe you me. Before the drama began, my Dad would always say, “This hurts me more than it hurts you!” (I scoffed at that back then, but, later, when I became a Dad, I felt exactly the same way.)
I think that the most valuable lesson that I learned from my parents was a sense of honor: “Do the right thing”, be kind to others, don’t lie, cheat, or steal, etc.
And, they were great role models: hardworking, loving, and fun-loving, too.
I am 72 years old today, and I know I was blessed to grow up in the Manning household.
“Thanks for the memories, Mom and Dad!”