In 1924 we moved around the corner to Sacramento Boulevard, to a bigger, nicer apartment, right on the corner of Lexington.
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The middle window didn’t open. The side windows did. So in order to wash the big middle window, my father got a plank and put it out a side window. He had my mother and us four kids sit on the end of the plank, and then he stood out on the other end of the plank and washed the window. Isn’t that awful? He said that if any one of us got up that would be the end of him. Nobody budged. We were scared stiff while he was out there.
The fortune-teller told her that her husband would be hit by a car and probably killed. This was not long before Christmas. In our house the tree and everything were gotten after the kids went to bed on Christmas Eve, because Santa brought the tree along with the presents.
That was the same year pa took my sister Marge and me downtown to see the Christmas tree. This was before Christmas. The tree was on Michigan Avenue at Congress, where the Indians are. A great big, big Christmas tree. And afterwards he took us to a record shop, and he bought “That Old Gang of Mine” and “Last Night on the Back Porch.”
