One Family's Journey to Houston Heights

It had turned very cold by December 28, 1940. A soft snow gently coated our old black 1929 Oldsmobile parked in the driveway. Mother and Dad were trying to finish packing the car for the long trip ahead. The Christmas tree still stood in the corner like a deserted child, and the ornaments and tinsel swayed each time the door opened and a gust of wind blew them, as though trying to draw attention and not be forgotten in all the activity.

The decision for the family to leave their home in upstate New York and move to Texas had not been an easy one. The effects of the Depression were still being felt in Buffalo and the economy was still shaky. Mother had a brother in Dallas who had started a thriving commercial refrigerator franchise in 1937, and his letters urged us to come south, as many others were doing to try to better their economic situation.

We children were reluctant to leave our pleasant, tree shaded house and our friends at Holy Family School, but leave we did on that cold December day with everything we could fit into our car, plus six people, to start a new life in Texas. Mother carried our baby sister on her lap most of the way. Almost every time Mother got out of the car, our aluminum coffee pot clattered noisily to the ground. We had to laugh at ourselves because we must have made quite a picture.

We saw many other families on the road headed south, who had not been able to make a good living in the north. As we made our way through Pennsylvania and Ohio, we often stayed at Tourist Houses, which were much like the B&Bs that are popular today. They were clean and comfortable, always with shared bathrooms and reasonably priced. For us children it was an adventure to go into someone else's home and sleep in their bed. We all had many memories of that trip that we joked about for years, like the waitress who served soup with her thumb in it, and a spooky (to us children, at least) Tourist Home in Kentucky where we were forced to stay because our car had broken down.

Once along the way, a box of our belongings that had been tied to the trunk flew off and was lost. We later realized that we had lost most of our family photos and memorabilia from many years. Mother and Dad were philosophical about it, though, and didn't let it get them down; their minds and hearts were set on the future and nothing could daunt them.

After six days on the road we finally crossed the border from Arkansas into Texas at Texarkana. We were jubilant, not only because we were near our destination, but also because the roads were beautiful and wide, in contrast to the roads in Arkansas and some other states. In Arkansas especially, the highways were narrow and winding, with seams in the blacktop every few yards that you could feel as the car went bumping along.

On the outskirts of the (then) little town of Garland, near Dallas, our car again broke down without warning. Fortunately, there was a Texas Ranger station a short distance down the road, and in true Texas style they came to our rescue. They were courteous and handsome in their tan uniforms and stetsons, and our introduction to Texas was certainly an exciting one. It was a beautiful, sunny day and we were in awe of this gorgeous weather at the beginning of January, in contrast to what we had left in snowy Buffalo six days before.

We have some wonderful memories of the year we lived in Dallas, even though Mother and Dad had some rough times making ends meet. Dad's new job at Super-Cold Southwest Refrigeration provided us with a new gray Plymouth, which was very exciting and a great luxury after our old Oldsmobile. Dad traveled all over Texas collecting quarters that were inserted into some kind of meter on the commercial refigerators, which was the method of payment. No quarters, no refrigeration. He would come home every few days with tons of quarters, which we would help him count and put into wrappers. We thought this was great fun, and allowed us to share in Dad's work.

After a year in Dallas, Dad was given the position of branch manager of a commercial refrigeration company located on the corner of Dallas and Smith in Houston, now the site of Allen Center. We were fortunate to rent a nice bungalow located on Heights Boulevard. at 7th Street. Life was pleasant and interesting in our new surroundings, and we gradually learned our way around the Heights: grocery stores, Reagan High School, Heights Library, Studewood Theater, and our new church, All Saints.

At that time Heights Boulevard still had streetcar tracks, even though the streetcars were gone. Frequent buses took us downtown in a short time, where we could shop at the old Foley's, Columbia Department Store, Kress's 5&10, and Levy Brothers.

Since our country was now engulfed in World War II, we watched many troop trains pass beside our house on the old Missouri Pacific railroad tracks. We would all go outside and wave to the troops, who were laughing and hanging out the windows - no air conditioning in those days. There was a large lot next to the house and we planted a victory garden, as was encouraged by the government because of the war. I don't think we produced large amounts of food, but we thought we were helping the war effort.

For a time after D-Day, the Heights remained unchanged, as everyone settled into a quiet, peaceful period. In 1944 our parents purchased a house at 9th Street and Cortlandt where they would reside for nearly 50 years. The 50's and 60's brought great changes to the area which are still going on to this day. Our great adventure in making the move from New York State to Houston, Texas, receded into the past as each family member found his place in society, and we moved on with our lives in the Houston Heights and beyond.

(Near Northwest Banner, September 1, 2006)