258 Bishop Place

It’s hard to tell an actual story about a time I barely remember, but there are little glimpses and vignettes kicking around in my head of things that took place while I lived at 258 Bishop Place. 

Ours was a little grey clapboard house on a tiny dead end street in downtown Salt Lake City. There were ten small houses—each belonging to a different relative on my mom’s side of the family—the Bishop side. The house belonged to my Mom’s Grandma Aggie and was across the alley from her parents house—her childhood home. We moved in when I was three and moved out when I was six. At that age, the small things are just as important as the big ones.

I remember we all slept in the same bedroom. Mom, Dad, Mark, me and David. 

I remember when we got bunk beds. It seem to recall sleeping in a play pen until then. I slept in that same bed and mattress until I was 23.

II remember spending the night at Grandma Perry’s once while Mom and Dad went to Yellowstone. I didn’t know why we were there. It didn’t matter, it was just a nice time.

One night there was a huge thunderstorm and I crawled into bed with Mom and Dad.

I remember Dad sketching portraits of the three of us kids.

I remember the smell of Dad’s oil paint, and his paintings of dark turquoise pine trees and rivers.

I remember Mom taking us to “the smelter” early one morning. Dad had forgotten his lunch or wallet or something.

Once, Mom and Dad were arguing. They were in the bathroom. I was sitting at the piano. Our portraits were hung on the wall above.

The next memory is of dad moving out with no explanation. He had an armload of albums, and put them in the back of his yellow pickup truck. It had a portable spare gas tank in the back, with a big “X” painted on it with white house paint.

I remember Dad taking us to his new apartment. It was upstairs, dark and dirty. The bathroom had a rusty sink. I remember a can of shaving cream and a razor. We roasted marshmallows in his fireplace with a woman named Louise.

I remember playing Batman—sliding down the poles on the patio. We’d use the picnic bench to climb to the top of the poles. I dropped the picnic bench on my toe, tearing off the nail, and getting rushed to a dark, dingy hospital where it was scrubbed with a horrible brush.

I remember coming home with Mom one day, to find the neighbor kids jumping on her bed.

I remember Mom’s snowman with food coloring eyes.

I remember the sandbox with dump trucks in the back yard. The birdbath, the snowball bush.

I remember playing cops and robbers on our trikes in Mr. Droubay’s driveway

I remember my 5th birthday. I got a Jack-in-the-Box, a wading pool and a stuffed Smokey the Bear, which Mark threw onto the roof.

I also had a my pink hippo placemat and blue cowboy boot cup, along with a toy Winnie-the-Pooh who would dangle from my cereal bowl and watch me eat.

I remember watching Grandma Bishop standing in her window across the alley. She covered her ears with pillows to protect them from the thunder and lightning

I remember watching “Lost In Space” and seeing Dave hide behind the door—afraid of the robot.

I remember someone broke Grandma’s window with a ball. I remember that I knew who it was, but wouldn’t tattle. She asked if “a cat had my tongue.” A strange phrase to a little kid.

I remember the chest of drawers with our pajamas inside. I also had a little red swimsuit. It was heavy cotton with a little blue dinosaur embroidered on it. I had a brown corduroy coat with white fur trim on the hood.

I remember outings to the zoo and Liberty Park with Mom and her friend Betty Snyder. Betty had three girls to offset Mom’s three boys. Hogle Zoo had a drinking fountain shaped like a big yellow lion. They also had a talking garbage dumpster with a clown face that would suck garbage right out of your hand. 

I remember David slipping on the floor one day. Aunt Doris said “Whoops-a-daisy!” I thought that was a strange phrase, too.

There was a deaf couple on our street.

I remember Faye Lambert. She live next door to Grandma and Grandpa. Her dad worked at Sinclair oil and gave us an inflatable dinosaur. One day Faye, myself, and some other neighbors boys exposed ourselves to each other behind the car.

I remember O.P. Skaggs. The people who worked there. The candy, the butcher. There was a drug store across the street. I bought a Humpty Dumpty ladder toy there.

I remember sitting in front of the furnace. Mark was teaching me to read. It was a story about some ducks that walked through a dirty pipe and turned black. Mom was embroidering in the chair next to us.

I remember David writing our great big phone number (359-7073) in blue crayon on the outside wall.

I remember my first day of Kindergarten. Parents and kids filling out cards around little tables. We made construction paper stoplights. I finished mine early and made an extra one. When the class was excused for recess, I kissed Mrs. Hill on the cheek before going outside. It seems that I was hesitant to go out. I just wanted to stay inside with  her, rather than go out with the other kids. I remember the green vinyl sleeping mats and graham crackers.

I remember watching “Concentration” on our old black and white TV before afternoon school. I stopped in at Grandma’s to tell her and Mom goodbye before I left.

One day, on the way home from school, a dog barked at me from behind a fence, running the length of it. I was crying when I got home. Mom was there with some lady. They told me everything would be okay.

I remember one day our class walked to our house. Mom says it was to see our pet ducks. I remember Mrs. Hill shout “Somebody’s making chili sauce!” Mom gave her a jar of some.

Another day, we had our bodies traced on paper then we colored our “self-portraits.” 

We had a teacher’s aide named David Oreno. I remember sitting on his lap and reading a “Peanuts” book to the class before we all took off to the zoo. I remember whispers of disbelief that a kid my age could read.

I remember Mr. Oreno playing his guitar and singing “Puff the Magic Dragon” and “The Bloody Red Baron” on the steps outside.

In first grade, I remember taking a walk outside, gathering autumn leaves with Mrs. Coffee and the class. We also found horse chestnuts and a cocoon. She was the “advanced kids” teacher. I remember the coat rack, the walled-off reading area and her desk. I remember our class conducted a mock presidential poll between Nixon and Humphrey. It seems as though Humphrey won.

I remember the lunch room (vaguely). Big and dark with lots of stainless steel. This seems like it should be an important memory. I’m not sure why. I guess it’s vague, because I only spent a few months eating there. Maybe I went home for lunch. Actually, I remember brown bag tuna sandwiches. But something haunts me about this lunchroom. A telephone?

I remember Debbie Lucero, Rebecca Huff and Thomas Christensen. Rebecca lived in “Swede Town.” I went to Debbie’s house once. I don’t remember why. Thomas and I walked halfway home from school together. I didn’t play with any of the school kids. The Tweedy’s lived a couple of houses away. We’d play with them sometimes—Bobby and Loralee.

I remember the day of Mom and Frank’s wedding. Mrs. Coffee told me that Grandma Perry was coming to get me after lunch to spend the night with her because Mom was getting married and going to Nevada. This was news to me. But it really didn’t sink in until we moved into a nice new house on Pueblo Street with lots of rooms. I remember running down the long carpeted hallway like an airplane and plunging head first into my bed. Mom made bright bedroom curtains printed with colorful clowns. She also made matching pajamas. 

New house. New school. New family. 

New life.