克雷街的夏天

We moved to Clay Street in 1953 when I was two years old. Clay Street was an unpaved dead-end street， ending to the west. It was also a small 1）county island.

At the end of the street， blocked off by a 2）cyclone fence and wide gate， was the property of Mr. Kaiser and family. They had a large house and a two-car garage. Mr. Kaiser was an important man with lots of money and his own business and wanted nothing to do with us or any working man on the block.

On the south side of the street next to the Kaisers lived Elmer and Margie Gates from Mississippi and their two daughters. He was a security guard for 3）Gallo Winery and they raised Rhode Island Red chickens.

Next to them was our small two-bedroom house. My dad Tom Reese was from Texas and drove a truck. My mom Viola was from Wisconsin，and cooked and worked at Kline’s 4）Truck Stop and the Eagle Café. My brother Dallas was three， and I was eight. We were the same ages as the Gates girls， Dorothy and Shirley， our best friends. We raised ducks and Mom sold the eggs to local restaurants.

On the street behind us lived Mr. Green， who had a field with two brown horses， Rosie and her family the Manzettis from New York， the O’Reillys from Chicago， the Johnsons from Louisiana， the Hernandez family， A Japanese family whose names I couldn’t pronounce， and Mr. and Mrs. Wong （they owned a restaurant）. It was a diverse and wonderful group of people. And though we kids sometimes quarreled and 5）tussled with each other， I never knew on any occasion the adults quarrelling， other than spats between husbands and wives. In fact， the only violence that occurred was the night Mrs. Kaiser shot Mr. Kaiser. He lived through the incident， but we were never told why she had done it.

The summers on Clay Street were a paradise for us kids. It was continually hot， and the houses were equipped with swamp coolers， so we kids spent the entire season running like naked savages clad in swim suits or our underwear.

We tore through the neighborhood playing pirates and cowboys， tag， and hide and seek， through the alley and in every yard. We drank from garden hoses， we foraged from the fruit and nut trees and knocked at each door， where the moms of the houses would stuff us with sandwiches of boloney or peanut butter or toasted cheese. They gave us plastic glasses of milk， 6）Kool Aid， Nestle’s Quick chocolate milk. What a life！

When trouble hit the neighborhood everyone pitched in， no one went hungry or unclothed. Whether it was sickness， being out of work， or death， we took care of each other. The men worked on each other’s cars， they mended things. My dad and some of the other fathers would sand， 7）whittle， and make wagons， little trucks， wooden animals so that no child would go without toys for Christmas. We all raised ducks， chickens， rabbits， and such. So there was always meat and eggs. Everyone had vegetable gardens and fruit and nut trees， and the women baked and canned.

Our mothers and grandmothers prepared all kinds of treats， and when the cooking was done they also knitted and 8）crocheted and sewed. They’d pack blankets and clothes that were made or mended and donated them to the church. This wasn’t just for our neighborhood and church， but for anyone they could find that needed a little help. There was never any pity， only compassion. The adults never used the words“poor” or “broke.” They would just explain that this person or that one was having some “hard luck.”

But for us kids it was a worry-free summer of food， games， baby kittens and pups. We even pushed the new born chickens and ducks in our baby carriages until we were told to put them back. But the finest part of summer were the special weekends， when the moms would make goodies.

Mom made homemade spiced doughnuts， Margie Gates made lemon 9）meringue pies， and our Japanese neighbors brought festive sweet honey rice balls.

Mr. Johnson would put his huge BBQ wagon in the empty field and crank it up. Tables would be set up， and dishes， napkins， and silverware made ready along with the mustard， ketchup， pickles， 10）relish， and of course salt and pepper. Then when the coals were ready， Mr. Johnson， who was a big happy man， would get down to work. Thick sauce coated ribs 11）sizzled on the grill， filling the air with spicy scented white smoke， as fat and juicy hamburgers， and plump hot dogs squealed out to be bitten into.

Margie Gates fried up a mess of catfish that her husband Elmer had caught and stuffed in the freezer a couple of days before. She also accompanied the crisp golden fish with sweet 12）coleslaw， hot buttered corn on the cob， and mountainous mashed potatoes.

Mom piled up fried chicken， green salad with buttermilk dressing and mile-high biscuits so light we almost had to nail them down. She also made honey butter to coat them with （such a good mother）.

There were also 13）root beer floats， fruit juice， milk， sweet iced tea and Coca Cola. And for dessert there was fudge and homemade banana ice cream. Wow！ What a feast！

Everyone had a good time， and as we lay on our pillows along the dead-end street we stared at the stars， pulsing like white drips of fire. We sipped root beer floats and shivered as the cold beverages slid down our throats.

It was cooler to sleep outside， for occasionally a breeze would 14）slither through the cottonwood trees and offer some relief.

Such were the summers on Clay Street in Fresno， California. And such were the good neighbors and close friends whose faces still linger in my memory.

In 1991 there were only three original neighbors left…my dad and the Japanese neighbors we had known and loved for forty years. My father died in April of that year， and while I was at the house clearing it out I looked up and was surprised to see my dad’s friend， our Japanese neighbor， the last one left. He was sad to hear of Dad’s passing and hugged me with tears in his eyes. He told me in that gentle voice I had always liked， “I lost my best friend and my wife on the same day.”

We hugged again and sat talking of old times. He quietly returned to his home， but a short time later he moved away to live with his children.

Dad’s house was sold， there were difficulties with the estate， and for a very long time I didn’t want anything to do with Clay Street.

But lately memories of the sounds of children laughing， echoes of friendly familiar voices and root beer floats on velvet nights， have restored to me the innocent times， dispelling thoughts of darker events.

I guess there will always be a part of me running barefoot and half-naked through the summer nights on Clay Street.

1953年，我們住進了克雷街，那時我兩歲。克雷街是一條還未鋪上柏油的死胡同，路的盡頭在西邊。這里也是一個未被納入任何轄區的小地方。

在街道的末端，被一片防風柵欄和一扇大鐵門攔著的，是凱撒先生及其家族的房產。他們有一所很大的房子和能容下兩臺轎車的車庫。凱撒先生是一位重要人物，很富裕，經營著自己的生意，他不希望與我們或者街區內的任何一個工薪階層有一絲關聯。

在街道的南端、凱撒一家的隔壁，住著來自密西西比州的埃爾默和瑪吉·蓋茨，以及他們的兩個女兒。埃爾默是嘉露酒莊的保安，他們還飼養羅德島紅雞。

他們家的隔壁，就是我們那所小小的雙臥室房子。我的父親湯姆·里茲來自德克薩斯州，是一名卡車司機。我的母親維奧拉來自威斯康辛州，在克萊恩司機餐館和獵鷹咖啡廳當廚子和幫工。我的弟弟德拉斯三歲，我八歲。我們跟蓋茨家的女兒們——桃樂茜和雪莉一樣大，她們是我們最要好的朋友。我們飼養了鴨子，母親會把鴨蛋賣給當地餐館。

格林先生住在我們后面的那條街道，他擁有一片草地，養了兩匹棕色的馬；住在那兒的還有來自紐約的羅西·曼澤提斯和她的家人、來自芝加哥的歐萊利斯一家、來自路易斯安那州的約翰遜一家、赫爾南德茲一家、一戶名字我不懂如何發音的日本家庭，以及王先生和王太太（他們開了一家餐館）。這是美妙而多元化的一眾人物。雖然我們這些孩子有時候會斗斗嘴、打打架，但是我從未聽見大人們吵架，除了夫妻之間的小口角?！?br>