We flew a two-propeller KLM plane, I presume a DC-3, my first flight. There were only two seats on each side of the aisle. We flew at 12,000 feet. That was before the days of pressurized cabins, and our ears really felt the altitude changes. Descending was the worst. My dad taught me to hold my nose and blow gently to force some air through the Eustachian tube to equalize the pressures during descent. When successful, one would feel a little pop, instant relief of the discomfort, and suddenly could hear a lot better. The nice stewardesses handed out little complimentary cardboard boxes of Chicklets (two per box, peppermint flavor), since chewing helps to open the Eustachian tube. From that low altitude, we were fascinated by the multiple shades of blue (representing varying depths of water) surrounding the islands we would fly over. In those days, we flew directly over Cuba on our way to our one stop at Kingston, Jamaica. We thought we had finished flying over Cuba when we came across another land mass, which puzzled us for a while until we checked our map and saw that a direct line from Miami to Kingston took us across Cuban territory twice (due to the peninsula which juts to the west from the southernmost coast of the island).

We next lived in a temporary bungalow along the street that ran from the area of the refinery gate along the Big Lagoon, I believe #7 (Judging from available maps, either my memory is flawed, or this bungalow was removed or renumbered at some point.) Later we moved to our permanent bungalow #335.

Memories of school: From the 4^th grade classroom, we could look out to the sea where there were always lots of oil tankers lined up waiting their turn to come in and offload their cargo of crude oil. There were Dutch and a few British students together with us Americans, and at the beginning of each day, we sang the Dutch, British, and American national anthems, in that order. During recess, we played a marble game called A pots.@ We dug little holes in the dirt, and if you flicked your marble and it went into the hole, you could then shoot from the edge of the hole, and if you could hit someone else= s marble, you claimed it as yours. Shortly after arriving in Aruba, I got a bike and rode it to and from school. We never bothered putting locks on our bikes in Aruba.. I had to ride against the trade winds going home and often carried books with no basket. I thought it was quite an accomplishment when I learned to ride with books in one hand while standing up to pump against the trade winds holding the handlebars with the other hand.

THAT'S ME, IN MY TOY SOLDIER SUIT ON THE FRONT STEPS OF OUR HOUSE,  BEFORE THE PLAY.  CLICK ON PHOTO TO GO TO LARGER SHOT.

Jack Wiley sat in the middle of the back of the room and often was reading A Hardy Boy@ books during study periods. Later, in one of his A Phenomena, Comments, and Notes@ section of the Smithsonian magazine, of which, as John P. Wiley, Jr., he was an editor, he mentioned how he had always been an avid reader. I could personally vouch for that. He got me interested in these books by Franklin W. Dixon about Frank and Joe Hardy, and by the time I left Aruba in 1947, I had read all 26 of them written up to that point. We bought them in San Nicolaas, I believe at the Aruba Trading Center there.

Memories of Sunday school: Sunday school was held in the elementary school and was in two parts. For the first part, we all assembled in the auditorium on the second floor, where we sang hymns. There were certain hymns that I remember we sang often, including A Love Lifted Me@ (A I was sinking deep in sin, far from the peaceful shore...@ ), A Follow the Gleam@ (A To the knights in the days of old...@ ), and A The Old Rugged Cross@ (which ended with the words A ...and exchange it someday for a crown.@ ) I sometimes wondered if it was referring to a British coin!

The second part consisted of individual classes, presumably by age, which were held in the various rooms in the single story diagonally oriented row of classrooms separated from the main building.

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Memories of the temporary Esso Club: It was the only club I knew, since we arrived in Aruba after the old club burned and before the new one was built. Proceeding from the direction of the refinery and school, it was just past the Commissary and across a field from where the Cub Scouts met. The walls were of corrugated metal. Entering at the near corner, one came into a long hallway which ended in a dining room, where there was also a soda fountain, where we would get malted milks. Soon after entering, one came to a hall which went off to the left leading to the other side of the club, the street side, where my dad used to drink and gamble (mostly craps). Halfway down that hall was the place where we bought our Esso coupons as well as chewing gum. They had Dulce 16, a sort of Wrigley= s Latin American version of Juicy Fruit in chicklet form in blue paper packages of four. There was also PK (13?), in a pink package and peppermint flavored. Dad bought his cigarettes there.

Memories of Cub Scouts: I vaguely recall our meetings in the scout room across the field from the Esso Club. One day, we went into a cave in the colony, carrying flashlights and unwinding a ball of string as we went so we could find our way out. There were crabs running across the ground. I also recall an overnight hike to Bushiribana where we slept in pup tents. I hung out with my good friends John Dascanio and his younger brother Bob. Someone forgot to bring water, and soon we were very thirsty! Finally my dad and someone else I don= t recall went and found some water for us. At my first Aruba reunion in 1977, I met the late Bob Borbonus, a classmate, and he recalled the incident and remarked, A I was never so thirsty in my life!@

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Memories of the Little Lagoon: When I arrived in Aruba, I didn= t know how to swim. Like many of us, I learned in the Little Lagoon (now A Baby Beach@ ), taught by my dad. I recall that near the reef on the left side, there was a large very shallow area called A pink island@ due to the pink color of the sand as seen through the shallow water. There was a raft anchored in the center of the lagoon. Every so often, my friends would tell me not to swim there because a A Man > o Ray@ had gotten into the lagoon! (I later learned it= s manta ray.) For me, the Little Lagoon was one of the most memorable places in the colony. When I got bolder, I swam in the big lagoon and jumped off the diving boards.

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In our living room, we had a short wave radio, which we used to listen to live Joe Louis fights. There was a long dining table. The doctors met regularly to play cards, sometimes at our bungalow and would sit around the table and play various types of poker and a game called A red dog.@ We kids often drank Kool Aid, made from variously flavored powders in thin paper packets put into a glass, add ice, water, sugar, and stir. It sure tasted good after running and playing in the Aruba sun. The undissolved sugar at the bottom was always a treat at the end. For milk, we drank KLIM. On a recent trip to Aruba, I saw that it is still available.

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Other miscellaneous memories: In the summer of 1946, myself, John Dascanio a bunch of other kids decided to put on a sort of carnival. We called it the A Circus-carnival-show.@ I guess we wanted to cover all the bases. We had comedy acts, magic tricks, animals (incl. a large sea turtle, hermit crabs, and a rabbit), and refreshments. John Dascanio described it in his contribution to the 1946 Ink Spots.

I don’t recall who gave us the sea turtle.  I named it Tortuga.  There’s a picture of me holding it at the “Circus-Carnival-Show.”  It lived in our garage.  It would eat anything.  Every day, it would wander off, and we wouldn’t see it all day, then by evening, it would return to the garage.  One day, it didn’t return.  We never knew what happened to it.  Maybe it met with some mishap, or found another owner, or maybe it had been searching for the sea and finally found it.

CLICK PHOTO ON LEFT TO GO TO A LARGER VIEW.

One lady from Argentina started Spanish classes in her bungalow. I recalled her name as Mrs. Smith, but I have been told that is incorrect. I was the only non-adult at first, then a girl about my age also started attending. I can= t recall who it was. Later, we studied Spanish in school (5^th grade).

Post Script: When we left Aruba, it was like leaving paradise. I dreamed about it for years, finally returned with my family in 1970, again in July 1973 and did some inquiring in the colony and was put in touch with Marge Oliver, editor of the A Church Chronicle,@ as it was known then, learned that I had just missed the first Aruba Reunion in May, 1973. I made it to the second one in 1977. My wife Beverly couldn= t go, so my mother went with me. That was her only time to return. We met Bob Lloyd and his mother and became good friends and did lots of things together. We stayed in the elegant Aruba Caribbean, the original name of Palm Beach= s first high rise hotel built in the late 1950s. It still had an open lobby, where the trade winds blew through, causing the caprice shell chandeliers to rustle. There were more activities in those early reunions, incl. a buffet dinner at the ESSO Club hosted by Lago (later replaced by the barbecue on Rodgers Beach), a party at Casa del Mar hosted by Bob Borbonus, a buffet dinner and Bingo game at the Eagle Club (before it burned) hosted by Jim Downey (later replaced by the party at his home for all who had attended the school), a one-time party for all former colony kids at the home of Xenia Sriberg Swarz (1977), and fascinating speeches by former CEO Frank Griffin about the history of Lago at the farewell banquets (I wish I had recorded them). Sometimes a caravan of cars was organized which drove around the island.

The next reunion I got to was the fourth one in 1984. We changed planes in Miami and met other Lagoites there. We flew to Aruba on ALM (the very nice Antillean little brother of KLM), and as we took off, Steve Fremgen said, A We= re going home!@ That impressed Beverly, my wife, who was on her way to her first reunion. We= ve made it to every Aruba reunion since and, despite Beverly= s severe stroke of March, 2002, we plan to continue for as long as we can.