Here I am, born on March 24, 1943, at 11:23 PM. It is my understanding that I was born during a WW II wartime blackout drill. My birthplace was the Old Columbia Hospital which was on Harden Street just below Gervais Street in Columbia, SC at the time.
My father was working as a taxi driver and my mother was listed as a domestic which I can only presume to be a homemaker. My brother Allen was about three years old at the time.
I don't have many baby pictures to post but I do have a few from later in my life.
When I was taken home from the hospital to my first home it was in the Elmwood section of Columbia. The address was 2019 Gadsden Street. Here I am relaxing in the front yard of 2019 Gadsden Street on July 13, 1943.
The old wooden duplex house that I do remember as quite old clapboard and one that was shared with a couple across the center hall. There was one front door leading into a hallway that ran the depth of the house and let out onto an open back porch. Here I am in the back yard watching my older brother Allen while my sister Marie plays in the background in about 1948.
That is where the only bathroom for the entire house was. I remember, later in my life of course, that the bathroom was only a short advantage away from having to make the trip to the outhouse as the one at my grandparent's house in North SC. The toilet and cast iron bath tub were always cold and it seemed dirty. We had to share this bathroom with whoever lived on the other side of the hall. It were a really scary place for a small child to go for an essential trip or to take a bath. The couple that lived on the other side of the central hall were heavy drinkers and were just as apt to stagger into the bathroom as not if you were in there for whatever reason.
The living arrangements in our side of the house was a setup of a front room that was the bedroom Allen and I shared until my sister Marie joined us there in 1946. The central room was the bedroom/living area that was shared by my parents. The last most and rear room was what was used as a kitchen/dining room area. All of the rooms were fairly small with the front door to our side being in the front bedroom opening from the main hallway. The kitchen/dining room at the rear had a door opening straight out into a dirt backyard. The old white wooded house had a tin roof that would scare you to death during heavy rain or especially a hail storm. I remember that we would need to get pots and pans from the kitchen to place under the spots where the roof was leaking. The plunk-plunk sounds finally got to be a soothing sound in the dark bedroom at night.
Two things I very vividly remember were once the man on the other side of the house got really drunk and got into a violent argument with what I supposed was his wife. The front bedroom door flew open and she came in screaming with him in hot pursuit with a big butcher knife. They ran through the three rooms and out the back screened door. I don't know what happened to them after that but my mother locked the front and rear doors for our safety. I do know it was in the evening and my father was not at home, as usual. He was either working or out with his friends, I just don't know.
The second very memorable thing was a bit funnier. For some reason, there were chickens always wandering around in the backyard. I remember my mother had been hanging laundry out on the backyard clothesline and when she came back into the kitchen, a chicken followed her in. The screen door has a spring and it came crashing closed right on that chicken's neck. My mother was terrified and did her very best to wrap gauze around the chicken's neck to stop the bleeding. She had been raised in Epworth Orphanage all her life until just before she married. She knew absolutely nothing about livestock or emergency care. She ran next door to neighbors to call for my father to come by and tell her what to do. He came in shortly and grabbed the chicken, unwrapped the bloody gauze, and threw the chicken into the backyard. The chicken survived for a spell but I'm sure it wound up on someone's Sunday dinner table, maybe ours!
Another thing was when I got the measles. Mother made me soak in a tub of pretty hot water until they broke out all over me. It was terrible, that itching and no scratching allowed. I was piled up in the bed with Allen and our Uncle Norman Reed came over with ice cream and a handful of comic books. We made quick order of the ice cream sitting up in the bed and almost read the ink off the comic book pages until the measles were gone. Uncle Norman was a very good man, even as a very young man.
I remember a friend of mine, Philip Lawson and I found a pomegranate tree very near where this picture was taken on Clark Street. We had a great time eating the strange but delicious seed like fruit inside. I think that was the first and only time I have ever had that treat. That day did get worse though. Philip had somehow wound up with a plug of chewing tobacco that we finally got up enough nerve to try. We had enough knowledge to bite off a nickle size chunk and chew away but not enough sense to not swallow the produced juice. We both found ourselves lying on the ground under a shade tree thinking we were going to die. First and last time chewing tobacco found its way into my mouth. They should rename it to "chewing and spitting out tobacco" to help out those adventuresome young boys in the future.
The old white house on Gadsden Street does not conjure up many fond memories but a few stand out. One of the first that comes to mind is that there was a grocery store on the corner named "Fogels Grocery Store". It was a small "Mom and Pop" style business that had a few essentials for the household but more importantly to me at the time was the big "two for a penny" cookies and the five-cent soft drinks. We would find soda bottles and turn them in at the store at the rate of two cents deposit on each. Back then the soft drink bottling companies would rewash, sterilize and refill their bottles. There was a goldfish pond next to the store and you could take saltine crackers, crumble them up and have a great time watching the fish fight for the food. The sidewalk in front of the house was paved and one boy, I regretfully forget his name, that lived next door had a pair of roller skates. He would let us take turns going up to the store which was on the high end of the walk. We would take turns skating down the sidewalk as far as we could and turn the skates over to the next kid. It sounds pretty dumb in 2022 but it was great fun in 1950.
On occasion, we would take the great adventure to walk over to the SC Governors Mansion at 800 Richland Street and visit the large fountain where there were lots of goldfish swimming. In the summer it was a cool place to play until we were caught there and shooed away by the security guards.
In those days everything seemed larger than in reality. The grounds of the Governors Mansion were certainly no exception. You could get lost in the maze of gardens and "trails" there. You would eventually wind up at the mansion house proper. It was, at least compared to the only housing I had any knowledge of, a real mansion.
The Gadsden Street house was about one-half block from Elmwood Avenue and a block away from where my grammar school, Logan, was situated. It was at 615 Elmwood Avenue and the corner of Gadsden Street and Elmwood Avenue. 
Me at age 7 in in 1950.
Aunt Beulah lived in a big duplex house right next to the school on Gadsden Street and she would make sure to be near the fence at recess and give me a cookie as a snack.
Mother would take us downtown Columbia on what she called "window shopping", that is you shopped for what you wanted but only through the store window. It was affordable that way. We would also walk down to the train station especially when the "Silver Meteor" would come in. She was an absolutely beauty to see. Stainless steel and chrome polished aluminum. You could see yourself in the sides of that train.
The New York to Miami run. It made a regular stop over in Columbia.
This was the sunliner club car. Note the windows in the roof line. I always thought it would be a magical ride if I could ever take one.
This is how the "other class" made the trip from New York to Miami, FL. 
Another great adventure when we had a dime to spare was the early afternoon movies on Main Street. It was a nickle for the afternoon shows, usually cowboy and indians style. Once in a while a movie star would be there in person and put on an appearance show on stage. It usually cost a dime for those shows. I remember being able to go to a Lone Ranger appearance but thinking back who knows who was behind the mask. One that was really a standout in my memory was when "Lash Larue" and his mighty bullwhip put on a performance. At one point he snapped a cigarette right out of a mans mouth at twenty feet. The snap of his whip was amazing to hear.
On Saturday afternoons the Strand theatre and Duncan Yo Yo would sponsor a contest. Any kid that had a yo yo could enter free of charge. Some of the tricks those boys could do with a yo yo were amazing. The only tricks I remember being able to do was "Walking the dog' "Rocking the cradle" and Loop the loop". It seems pretty silly and juvenile by today's standards but I guess that is what we were then. My next step up the educational ladder was to graduate from Logan Elementary to Wardlaw Junior High School. It was, and still is, located at 1103 Elmwood Avenue. It was only a short walk difference between the schools but was a scary jump on the educational and social ladder between Elementary (1-6) and Middle High School (grades 7-8). These turned out to be great years. I made good friends and learned girls could be nice friends as well.
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| 1954 school picture |
My first year of high school 1957
Onward and upward was Columbia High School. The old school has been demolished in the name of progress. It was located on the corner of Washington and Marion Streets. The official address was 1323 Washington Street.
The downtown Columbia High School was former Columbia Female Academy (established 1816) at 1323 Washington Street at the corner with Marion Street. This building was leased to the Richland County Commissioners of Schools in 1884. The school became Columbia's first public high school in 1895 as the Washington Street School. The original Columbia High School building was constructed in 1915 on that site.
It was the first year of my high school that medical problems started to haunt me. I was 14 years old and not a very stable and well-adjusted child at that time. My home life left a great deal to be desired but was being held together by a thread of strength from my mother. I was an angry and bitter kid that lived in confusion and conflict brought into my life on an almost daily occurrence by an alcoholic father with a mean streak. I thought I was injured playing football because a lump had arisen on the left leg groin area. The family situation and financial position at that time were not I was not the best so I was treated by a doctor of questionable ability and judgment whose name is forever burned into my memory but not worth mentioning here because I am sure he has met his just reward. His name at this point is not important but his medical diagnosis was. He was treating me for a pulled muscle in my leg by telling me to take 2 aspirin when my head hurt. I was not getting any better and had constant headaches and fever. My grandfather, Charlie Wiley Reed, insisted that I see a doctor in his church, Dr. Charles Sloan, for a proper examination. Dr. Sloan immediately saw that I did not have a pulled muscle but more likely was suffering from a tumor of some sort. Surgery was the only option at this time. I remember I was at home a few days later while arrangements were being made by someone to have me admitted to indigent care at the Baptist Hospital in downtown Columbia. My condition continued to worsen at home and I remember Dunbar Funeral Home was called as the ambulance service to get me to the hospital. Dr. Sloan quickly arranged surgery to see what was going on in my body. He performed surgery and an example was sent to Charleston to be checked for cancer as was the normal course at that time. The results came back and I was operated on again 5 days later. The confirmed diagnosis was that I had lymph sarcoma, cancer in the lymphatic system or also know as non Hodgkin Lymphoma . The next surgery got complicated because of the overlapping incisions that left an area about 2 " that would not heal over properly. I wound up spending about ninety days in a ward situation at Baptist hospital's old North and South buildings. This was in 1957, my first year in high school.
Fortunately, the high school was just across the street from the hospital so I was able to keep up with my school work thanks to the assistance of some of my teachers. I spent ninety plus days in the hospital this first time. Through whispers and overhearing medical staff comments, I was on a slippery slope during this time. I was by now undergoing radiation therapy as well as some types of experimental drugs to stop the spread of cancer into the rest of my body. The surgery had left a void in my leg that could not be closed at the time and skin grafting was contemplated but never done. I was treated with some experimental medicine that was dropped around the area each day to accelerate the flesh to grow back to cover the opening. The structures and seating of the leg muscles had been comprised by the surgery coupled with me being at complete bed rest for months. I had a five pound weight hanging over the end of the bed trying to keep my left leg straight to allow the muscles to return to their original seats. This was another period I would still rather forget. One of the worst of times was when I needed to eventually get out of bed and learn to walk again. I can almost feel the pain by just writing of that time. Day after day, tiny steps eventually led to my being able to walk by holding on to walls sides in the hallway. I graduated to a wheelchair to make the trips down to the radiation room on the first floor for my treatments. I was on the third floor and I remember there was an old gentleman that sat on a stool running the elevator. In order to make the trip up and down he had a large handle that went left for up and right for down. I finally got him to allow me to operate the elevator when there was no one else aboard. The inside door to the elevator was a wire type that pulled shut after the outer doors closed. the number of each floor was painted on the inside doors of each floor. You had to be very precise to make sure the bottom of the elevator was even with the floor lever before opening the inner cage door. After a period of time I got pretty good an gauging when to return the lever to the center position to hold the elevator still. There was some ups and downs in my life that I didn't have a problem with.
Over the next few years, I was in and out of the hospital, having over seven surgery events within four years. I remember spending three consecutive Christmas seasons with some portion of them being in the hospital. The longest single stay was about two and a half months. As I remember it my mother was only able to see me in the hospital less than ten times and then only because her sister, Beulah drove her there. Aunt Beulah was a wonderful woman. I remember lying in the hospital bed all day was very boring. You can only count the holes in the ceiling tiles so many times. 
Aunt Beulah brought me a small transistor radio that was the greatest thing at the time. I listened to that thing all the time. Rocking Robin, a tune by Dwayne Eddie were my favorite tunes as well as anything by Patsy Cline.
My mother, being blind in one eye from childhood never learned to drive a car. The bus line was available but with two children at home, she had no way to visit me in the hospital. That had to be a horrible time for her to deal with. I remember one time my father did bring her to the hospital and he was so drunk he had wet his pants on the way up in the elevator. That had to humiliate my mother to no end. The home life situation remained bad for my mother but the resentment toward me from my father grew worse when I was able to go home. The physical abuse toward my mother was now divided and directed toward me as well. It seems that I had become the reason for financial difficulties in the family because of my health issues. As the alcoholism worsened so did the aggression toward me as the thorn that would not get removed from my father's side.
My mother was great at keeping things going on a shoestring budget. I remember on time she attempted to give me a well needed haircut. Between the scissors and her limited knowledge my haircut was a mess. We finally wound up on the city bus and off to my Uncle Joe McGill who was barber at the Davis Hotel barber shop downtown at 1712 Sumter Street. I had to sit on the opposite side of the bus from my mother. I thought, for the longest time, that she was ashamed of the way I looked and didn't want to be associated with me. The real reason most likely was there we not two seats together on the bus.
The barber shop was located under the awning on the left building. The door to the extreme left side was the entrance to the shop. I remember Uncle Joe McGill (my fathers brother-in-law) had the center chair. He quickly got me to where I looked human again. We got on the bus again, dropped the token in and were on our way home again. A year or so later I returned to that barber shop as the "shine boy". I had to provide the shoe wax of several colors, black dye for the sole edges as well as the associated brushes and polishing rags. I would shine the shoes while the men were getting their hair cut. I got $.25 cents for the shine and any tips. I guess that was my first foray into self employment.
Another amusing thing I remember was one day my brother Allen and I were playing in the back yard on Gadsden Street and we decided to steal some pears off the neighbors tree. We figured to climb on his garage and reach the pears. When we got atop the garage we couldn't reach the pears on the tree. We climbed down and slipped through the fence to get some fallen pears. We were making a pretty good harvest until Allen decided to stick his thumb into a hole in a pear. The bee that was there didn't appreciate the intruder and wacked that thump with a stinger. Allen screamed, we dropped our pear harvest and scrambled back home. We never wanted to be pear thieves again.
The city bus was provided by SCE&G utility company, a favored means of transportation at that time. You could ride anywhere in Columbia and got two tokens for a quarter. It the bus didn't go exactly where you needed to be you could also ask for a paper transfer that would admit you to another bus. I remember trolly car railroad tracks on the main roads but the trolly system was long gone. 
The bus transportation was fully segregated then. Today I understand the ignorance of the concept but back then the schools and dining were just as segregated. Blacks couldn't eat inside a "whites only" restaurant or counter. Some places wouldn't even take orders to go from a black. I remember that on the bus the small section to the rear door back was the black section. If the entire front two thirds of the bus were empty and the blacks seats were filled in the rear, they would be required to stand behind the rear door of the bus. Anyone trying to get a seat anywhere forward of the rear door the bus would be stopped and the person removed by the bus driver.
As I grew older and stronger things only got worse between my father and me. I tried to defend my mother from his rage and physical abuse when he was drunk causing him to turn his anger on me. His favorite thing was to constantly tell me I would not be a man until I could physically fight and defeat him. He also always berated me because of my having cancer and all the related medical issues that went along. He constantly, when drunk, would tell me how weak I was and how much I had cost him financially. Knowing later that I had been on indigent care in the hospital I can't imagine how that could have been.
Christmas around our house was not a very happy time. I do remember getting a set of two cap guns and some cowboy plastic chaps one year. I think Allen was graced by Santa with a refurbished bicycle that looked like brand new. My legs were to short to ride it and that drove me crazy. I remember one Christmas mostly because of my mothers tears when she had to tell us she didn't have anything for us but a card she had made. I would give almost anything to have that card today.
By this time my older brother Allen had endured all he could stand and left home by lying about his age and joining the Navy. Allen was only 16 but my father signed for him to join and perpetuate the lie about his age. I think he just wanted him out of the house and I know Allen wanted out. Allen was a gentle soul that always tried to avoid conflict. Living in a household with an angry alcoholic there is never a time when there is no conflict.
I tried to stand the gap between my fathers violence and my mother as best as I could. There is only so much a young teenager can do with a drunk strong man of about six feet plus. I became frustrated and angry with the world within myself. I started to drink myself while in high school and found myself attracted to other young people angry with the world themselves. I never really got into any major trouble as did several of my friends. I was very fortunate and protected during this time, especially with the grace of misdemeanors being ex-sponged at the age of eighteen. Once a running mate, Buddy Sarvis came by in a new convertible and wanted me to enjoy a ride with him. He even offered for me to drive. For whatever reason, I declined and later found out he was caught and charged with grand thief auto. Another of my old running mates, Donald Justice, went to Florence Detention Center for writing bad checks. The worst of them, I guess was a friend that lived on Assembly Street near Elmwood Avenue, Roy Knight. He was a big, strong kid and in an argument, with his dad one night threatened him with an ax handle he always had handy. Know that when Roy would have made a move like that something really bad was about to happen. His father, out of true self-defense, had little choices so he shot and killed him. He was never charged for a crime. My best buddy was a lot more like me, mostly protected by the hand of God, not being as twisted as some we hung around with.
Joseph Walter Rich 1942-1968 
Nancy Jean Frye 1942-2011
My best friend was a guy named Joe Rich. Joe and I were all but inseparable for a while during our high school years. Joe's family was very stable and operated as I wished mine did. Joe lived at 2203 Sumter Street in Columbia. His mother was named Marie but I always called he Mama Rich. Joe was wildly in love with a girl named Jean Frye. Joe and Jean eventually got married as did I. Joe and Jean were out on a date one night while still in high school and got into a car accident. Somehow the car flipped over. Joe was relatively unhurt but Jean somehow had her hand crushed and her ring was crushed into her finger. I was working part time at the Baptist Hospital in the emergency room. I was charged with taking a ring cutter and freeing her ring from her finger. When I finished I went to speak with Joe and I saw Jeans father coming into the entrance. I redirected him away from where Joe, was seated nearby, to where Jean was about to go to surgery. There would have been a very bad scene if Jeans father had seen Joe at this time.
Vietnam was on the mind of every guy our age at the time. Joe got himself drafted and I didn't want to be in the Army. Joe was inducted into the Army and served his first hitch in Vietnam. A few years later I ran into him by accident one day in K-Mart. Joe was not his happy carefree self anymore. He said he couldn't get adjusted back to civilian life. He couldn't sleep and the lease noise outside alarmed him to the point of aggression. He reenlisted and went back to Vietnam. I had been preparing for deployment six months later after enlistment when I was questioned about the severe scarring on my left leg groin area. I was told that anyone having had cancer was not allowed in the Navy. Fortunately, I was granted an honorable discharge from the Navy but with no medical privileges. Joe and Jean had a son, Joe, Jr., and two daughters, first Cynthia and then Angela. My first children were Cynthia and Angela. I met the airplane when Joe was returned to the US in a box seemingly not large enough to hold a large child. There was a graveside service with no military honors at what is now Joe's final resting place, Southland Memorial in West Columbia.
I got married when I was 18 years old and I'm not really sure even today why, but I did. Out of that marriage, I gained three daughters, Cynthia, Angela, and Tracy. I stayed married a bit over ten years before it all came unraveled. There was a lot of "mother-in-law" conflicts and interference all this time. I'm sure I must have been a contributing part of that situation but being too young and growing up in a dysfunctional environment didn't help my judgments or knowledge of proper family standards during that time. For whatever reason, Cindy has seen fit to remain close to me over the years and I will always be eternally grateful and dedicated to her for that. After ten years and mistakes and situations on both sides, the marriage ended in a bitter child custody divorce.
In those days it was almost unheard of for a father to take custody of his children and that caused the situation to become even sadder for all concerned. Visitation with my girls became a great source of conflict since I needed to pick them up at my former in-laws house. This was never a peaceful time, either picking them up or returning them. I was suddenly alone, working two jobs to pay child support for three children and trying to find a way for myself. I guess I was feeling sorry for myself but I guess I brought most of that on myself.
After a time I was working a night job setting up theatrical shows in a dinner theatre. I first worked at the dinner theatre in Columbia then would go to Wrightsville Beach, NC to set the show up there in a dinner theatre. After doing that for a time I became involved with someone that apparently was as lonely as I which resulted in a brief relationship, then marriage. Shortly after the marriage, she became pregnant with twins. I don't think there is a way to properly express how happy I was at that time but the excitement was not equally shared. I remember outfitting the nursery room with white shelves filled with Tonka toys. There were two white cribs and a dressing table. The cribs had springs on each leg so when the boys would move the springs would rock them back to sleep. As they got older the boys learned than standing in their cribs and jumping up and down they could work their way over the hardwood floors. I do remember after bringing them home from the hospital standing in the doorway after putting them in their respective cribs saying that it just doesn't get any better that this. The reply from behind me was only "I really don't want any part of this" I think it was mostly the dream of her making it big in live theatre and not being encumbered otherwise was the tide that slowly at first then more quickly washed the sand from under our footing. She always wanted to follow the limelight of the theatre and I was not going to follow that and allow anything to cause me to stumble down the foolish path I had taken before. Nanda's parents were part of the upper crust of New Canaan, Connecticut. They never wanted anything to do with me or the boys because to their way of thinking, we were not equal to their social standards and worst of all, we were southerners. I don't think I ever remember even a Christmas card or birthday card from them for the boys. Weeks of dreams going in different directions dragged on to months and in a relatively short time, I was faced with the full responsibility of my sons. With the assistance of a young "nanny" that was in school at Carolina, I made it through some very tough times. Laura had her room next yo the nursery at no cost. La La, as the boys called her, had a life of her own to live after her school ended, so she moved on. She has remained in touch from a distance all these years.
My life took a very distinct and wonderful turn at this time. I had started a small country american furniture making company. I had a showroom/retail store on Shakespeare Road in Columbia. I needed some office help and someone to put a product catalog together. My eventual bride to be applied and got the job. We worked together for about a year and a half. We became very close and did she with the boys who were about six by then.
Some time later I applied for a divorce on grounds of continual separation. We tried to keep the boys from being pawns in our separation. Eventually my ex-wife decided to move on to seek her career aspirations and I asked Teresa to be my wife. We decided that we would have her exchange vows with the boys, them taking her as mom and she taking them as son. Teresa and I exchanged vows after that and we continue to be happy in marriage some 42 years (as of 2022) later. I had finally made a very good choice and decision in my life.
Shortly after our marriage in November of 1981 we heard of a program that was bringing young boys and girls from Northern Ireland to America for the summer. There was to be one Protestant and one Catholic around 8 years old to be fostered for the summer. We took in girls for two consecutive years. Our boys were a bit older but interacted well with the girls. One of our girls made a second trip to America to be with us. She was a Catholic girl and we fell in love with her. Her name was Margaret Walker, who we referred to as Maggie. Maggie has stayed in touch with us over the years from Northern Ireland and is now (2022) a mother and grandmother there. We are referred to as Mama T and Daddy T by her.
Teresa and I had made the conscious decision to not have any natural children of our own. I will forever be solidly and forever in love with Teresa for her commitments to me and our sons if for no other reason. We have had a wonderful life to this point and have no reason to think it will ever change. It may have taken me half a lifetime to realize what is really important in life, but I feel I did.
Tom
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