In the Memory Glass: A Boy From Madison
In the offseason, the coach often played hearts with his son's friends. Coach Harry didn't like to lose. Come August, he'd say, "Sorry, boys, I have to go back to work." He invited them to team practice.
No play dates scheduled. Zero social media.
Just kids walking to Randall School, adults socializing on the screen porches, the weekly potluck and basketball at the First Congo. When they played games in the streets, like "One o'clock and the Ghost didn't come," the police might come -- but slowly, giving them time to hide.
"The next night, we resumed the game," Richard recalled.
Call it Midwestern charm.
In summer, "after supper was the best part of the day. The heat retreated in the breeze, the crickets were singing, and darkness didn't descend until 9 o'clock."
The boy from Madison's memoir is filled with words like "iceman" and "paper route," which have fallen out of common usage. In the '40s, there were war stamps, rationing and blackouts, but Franklin D. Roosevelt's confident voice on the radio bolstered the family.
Art history professor Jack Kienitz changed my father's life by taking a couple kids to the university tennis courts. The cement courts at West High became the playing field of his dreams, with regular partner John Stuhldreher.
Before long, Richard became part of the Madison tennis scene, which welcomed all comers. A place to belong, with monthly spaghetti dinners.
In a great building block for the rest of his life, Richard won the boys' city tennis championship, defeating John in the final.
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