Page 72 - People & Places In Time

Growing Up In Exeter
Carolin Newcomb in the 4th grade
our desks to quietly listen. Listening to this music in her classroom became something I really looked forward to. I don’t remember hearing it in any other class; perhaps it was only listened to by the fourth grade. I consider this program and her effort as a major contribution to my appreciation for classical music today.
Mrs. Moffett was also an artist; in later years I was aware of her paintings being displayed in galleries. She was the first teacher to take an encouraging notice toward my own artistic ability. Her interest in me has remained so very important to me throughout my life. I’ve not forgotten her encouragement.
And now to the last and third thing; it was in the springtime when our family moved from the Palm Street house to 323 Lenox Avenue. Not so far away, maybe a half mile or so; but in Exeter at the time, a mile would have taken us clear out of town. Lenox was in the new- est part of town, the Avery edition. A half block north of our new home, was the high school football and base- ball fields, and beyond these, the high school campus.
Our new house was built by my grandfather. He had previously built homes for his daughters. First was Pearl Heckman and husband Ralph on Sierra Drive;
then one for Velma Pruner and her husband Charles on their ranch south of town. The house on Lenox Avenue wasn’t large, maybe seventeen hundred square feet with three bedrooms, one bath, living and dining room with a large kitchen. It was a good house to raise two children, and for my parents to grow old in. Mom remained here for over fifty years.
Grandad finished my bedroom special just
for me, with stained, knotty Cedar walls. Dad later built two beautiful headboards for my twin beds, with matching nightstands, a dresser and desk. With the deer antlers, the ones found in the trash by me and mounted by my grandfather, hung on the wall, this was a bedroom any boy would envy.
My father was an accomplished cabinet builder, just like his dad, a talent passed down to me
as well. This should have become my dad’s profession, and perhaps mine as well. In researching my family his- tory, I’ve discovered that my great grandfather, Thomas Smith was a builder as well; while his grandfather, my third great grandfather, James Smith had brought his cabinet making tools over from England, in 1766. This talent for woodworking and construction is a heritage that I wish had been encouraged more for not just my dad but me as well.
Our house seemed larger than it actually was. As you entered through the front door, the view ex- tended the length of the living room. Stepping in from the entry hall, looking to the left was a long wall cov- ered mostly in red brick with the fireplace and raised hearth at the middle. The offset mantel was made of burl Maple and built by my dad; this mantel was at least ten feet or longer. At the end of the room was a single large, plate glass window, extending from near the floor to almost the ceiling and just as wide. It was flanked on each side by smaller windows that could be opened. This large piece of glass framed the back yard, a design element from more lavish homes.
Adjacent to the kitchen, yet separated by a low cabinet, was the breakfast table, with east facing windows on two sides; a cheery place to sit with the morning sunshine streaming past yellow curtains. It seemed then, as though there was someone stopping
by our house often, usually on weekends. Whether
it was my uncle from down the street, Earl Hayes or friends, Giroux Sellers, Bill and Muriel Moore or any number of others; there was always a pot of coffee wait- ing. The friends who come by were always welcomed, all knew the side door was unlocked and they could just walk into the kitchen, without knocking. Our kitchen table was the site for much
friendly conversation, likely
some serious as well, over
a cup of coffee. If some-
one happed by later in
the day it might be for a
highball instead of coffee,
with friends gathered in
the living room. Whether
for coffee or the cocktail
hour, our house always had
an open door for friends, there
didn’t seem to be any strangers.
Our Neighborhood
This is the neighborhood where Exeter’s new young families were building their new homes. We lived next door to John and Ruby Shultz and their sons John and Ron. Weldon Johnson and Hazel with daughter Becky, who was one year older than me and their two sons, Jim and Larry, who was the same age as my sister Carol, lived across the street. My mother and Hazel were the last of the original families to leave this neigh- borhood; after fifty some years they each would leave reluctantly, only a few years ago. Their routine in those last years was for Hazel to walk over to Mom’s about four in the afternoon for a glass of wine.
The last time I saw Hazel was after I had sold Dad and Moms house. I was standing in the front yard for a last photograph when Hazel came out and called me over. She gave me a long hug and said goodbye, there was some small talk to prolong the moment, but it was indeed all over. It was a very sad moment and I would never see her again. I still see her sons Jim (Jay) and Larry Johnson often about town.
Longtime friends of my dad from high school
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