Another thing, prior to our getting electricity: I got an old ice box, and cut a hole in the side of the house for it. Every few days, I'd stop on the way home and buy a cake of ice. Worked real well too. But I had a little "interchange" with the seller of the ice. He would always give me a lot of coins for change, and he had a bunch of slot machines there, hoping I'd spend the change there, which I never did. Apparently it made him angry. His pricing of the ice was strange because he charged more per pound for a large block than a very small block. I called him on it, and he got even madder, saying "I don't want your business anyway!"
I may have mentioned that shortly after I began work at Naval Air Test Center, Patuxent River, Maryland, the Korean War started, and things there started humming. Besides receiving offers from firms in Connecticut, I received another offer from the government, for a GS-4 position. I showed it to my boss, who said, "I think we can beat this." And he did, and I got a decent raise, to a GS-5, which actually would be normal for a recent graduate.
Our property straddled the right-of-way for the defunct Washington to Cape Lookout Railway. It had been graded I guess all the way down to the cape, but no tracks were ever laid. Our shack bordered one side of the grade, and the outhouse was just a few feet beyond the grade on the other side. The sspring of 1951 I put in a vegetable garden, hauling chicken manure from a chicken farm willing to give it away for nothing.
In the beginning, we had no next door neighbors at all, but after a while, the previously mentioned "hill-billy" neighbors moved in, but they were friendly. It was a couple and their teen age daughter. One late evening we heard a lot of hollering next door, and a sound like someone in their kitchen trying to quickly rustle up a big kitchen knife. Next, their back door slammed, the car started with a lurch, and as it was "gunning" out of their driveway, there was a big explosion, and a sound of buckshot hitting the side of the car. (I was mindeful that there was only 1/2" or 1/4" of Gyplap on our house as a buckshot stopper). But the next morning, the lady next door was very nice about it and apologized for all the hub-bub. And a day or so later, I heard the man of the house singing "Never speak harsh words to your ever-loving husband; he may leave you never to return", - - a verse from one of my favorite songs entitled "The Wreck of the ole '97". (A railroad song, and as a matter of fact, I think he may have worked for the railroad, but I'm not sure; they didn't believe in "fast time" (daylight savings), and neither did the railroad, nor Virginia at that time).
At work I did testing of electronic armament control systems, in the division called "Armament Test". Occasionally my work would take me over to another hanger where there was another division called "Electronic Test". There there was an engineer by the name of Doganzis, and when he did a test, everyone called it a "Doganzis Special", and it would be somewhat spectacular, making use of oceans of oscilloscopes, oscillograph recorders and the like.
With my wife Marjorie, two little kids plus one on the way, I was very disinclined to participate in any test flights, and as a matter of fact I was successful in avoiding them all. Test flights crashed on occasion, and in fact, the test pilots were all military, but still somewhat nervous about it (though of course always trying not to show it). One test pilot, having to crash-land his plane, took 1/2 hour just to sign his name. My bosses boss and a bunch of others took a Grumman "Wigeon" plane for a trip out west on business, and flew into a mountan; all aboard were lost. In those days, even typically there would be several airline crashes per year, and often it would be flying into mountains.
But the pilots also would have fun. I was there when the first jets came out, and they got a kick out of putting them through their paces. I remember one guy flying a jet to St Louis in just a couple of hours; unheard of in those days. His comment: "Gotta hurry".
As time went on, I felt the need to get more land (maybe like Monopoly, you know). It was cheap, and now I was making more money, so I got the lot next door to the North, and the two lots behind our original one plus the new one. And I fenced them all in. The following year I planted a big potato field with no fertilizer. I planted a peck of seed potatoes, and in the fall harvested a peck of potatoes. So much for that.
In my spare time, I built a shortwave transmitter, put up a long antenna over the potato field, went up to Washington D.C., and took the amateur radio test for morse code and a license. I didn't make the required 13 words per minute for a full licence, but did make the five words, and so obtained a "novice" class licence, and was given the call letters WN3UBI. I went on the air and "worked" hams within a 200 or 300 mile radius.
For some reason the kitchen drain emptied into a large hole in the back yard, and became even more full due to heavy rain. Little Patricia was out there, slipped, and fell into the hole over her head! Marjorie, who was expecting our third at that time, saw what had happened, and rushed out to rescue, but instead she herself slipped and fell on the ground. It could have been a double tragidy. But fortunately, she was not injured, and immediately pulled Patricia out safely.
I was not happy with the mail service, and thought to do someting about it. So I wrote up a petition, and went door to door around the whole area collecting signatures, finally presenting it to the post office. But at the same time, so that it wouldn't simply get lost in the Post Office burocracy, I also sent a copy with covering letter to the local newspaper. It went on the front page, saying that "a group headed by Gifford Neill" got up the petition, etc. Ha! I was the "group". It did bear fruit, but not too long before we were to leave the area.
Later I got promoted to GS-7. With all this wonderful new money, we got a TV set, and were able to watch Jacky Gleason, among others. Also I watched General Eisenhower giving a speach relating to his deciding to run for President. We got an oil-burning stove also at some point. Also for a while I had a truck, and was able to put on a 6' x 8' addition to the back of our little house. To save money, I built it out of slabs I got for nothing from the lumber yard, and covered it with tar paper. At some fairly early point in time, I had decided not to build a regular house here, but rather keep my eyes and ears open for a better position in Connecticut. I didn't care for the environment, both physically and morally here. Physically, the place was full of ticks and mosquitos. Morally, there was lots of heavy drinking and gambling. Not a good place to raise children.
On June 27, 1952, Marjorie said it was time, because of the pains, so we all piled into the car quickly, even leaving all the doors and windows open (it had been hot), and buzzed up to the hospital in Leonardtown. According to the then standard operating procedure, I was sent home with the kids. We got hope just in time before the big storm broke, and shut all the doors and windows. Meanwhile, as I learned later, big things were happening in Leonardtown. The storm hit there too, and knocked out all electricity in the hospital! But it came on again just as Marjorie was about to deliver Yvonne. They kept her in the hospital a week to 10 days, and then we brought them home. The next day, as I came home from work, Marjorie came running out to open the gate as usual. However, the day after that, she was "flat out". Too soon a change.
Generally speaking, she always said that the times she was pregnant were the times that she felt the very best!
Shortly after Yvonne's arrival, while I was at work, Marjorie's mother appeared, with a basinet, baby clothes, and legal forms giving Mrs. Holzer the legal care of the newborn, if only Marjorie would sign! Marjorie "sent her mother packing" pretty fast!
I guess I had neglected to say that after Patricia was born in Connecticut, Mrs. Holzer also had appeared with the same sort of deal while Marjorie was still in the hospital, and my Dad did the same thing then, "sent her packing"!
Now with a wife and 3 kids, there was a big incentive to improve our lot. I thought I had something lined up in Connecticut, but it never did materialize. So we took a little vacation up to Connecticut, and searched the newspapers, finally landing a job with the Allen D. Cardwell Mfg. Co., in Plainville, Ct. Then the thing to do was to find a house. Driving around the source of employmnet in ever increasing concentric circles, I came to a wonderful spot atop a hill somewhere in Bristol. (I never could find that spot again). But I couldn't find any suitable places for sale there. Finally, I found a couple of houses in Unionville, though one was actually just over the line in Burlington. After all the bargaining, we bought the one just over the line in Burlington, at a development called "Lake Garda".
Going back to Maryland, I gave notice and put the place up for sale: "$1,680 or better offer". The "better offer" was so that if there were several buyers, they could bid it up. Turns out psychologically I don't think it works like that. People read it as "or best offer", and would offer less. But I did shortly get the $1,680, and we were on our way.
Well, this is enough for one sitting. Time to go.
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