Mom was always taking me along with her on her neighborhood projects. One evening, it was to the March of Dimes. She took my sketchbook away, laid it with my pencils on the dining room table, and said, “You can do that when we get home.” Handing me a clean white T-shirt to put on, pulling it down over my ears for me, combing my hair with her fingers and out the front door she led me. Still straightening my shirt, down the front steps we went. No matter where we were going, Mom found some speck of dirt that required her wet handkerchief. Ears, still hurting from the t-shirt being pulled over them, were now wet from Mom's cleaning.
Handing me a March of Dimes collection can, she directed me to go up to our neighbor’s front doors and ask for a donation. “Remember to introduce yourself, smile, and tell them who you are collecting for. Thank them even if they choose not to give.“ Mrs. Mathew was a mean, old neighbor who yelled at us kids every chance she got. When shoveling snow off our driveway, onto her lawn, there came a quick rapping from her window, and her orders to stop that. Why I had to introduce myself was beyond me - she knew who I was and I knew she wasn’t going to give a dime… Walking up to her door, I looked back at Mom, who was waving me forwards to knock on the door. Turning back to knock, and there stood Mrs. Mathew looking down at me from her open door. Being so close to her, I forgot everything and turned and ran. I heard Mom saying, "He's a bit shy.” Mrs. Mathew's response was "Keep him out of my yard and keep your dog quiet.” Mom smiled and thanked Mrs. Mathew.
Mom always thanked people, even when they were like Mrs. Mathew. Sometimes I purposely ran into the Mathew’s yard when I didn't need to just to feel brave. Mom seemed to know when I did such things. She always told me how much better I would feel if instead of running into her yard I had waved and smiled at Mrs. Mathew. Waving and smiling didn't work with Mrs. Mathew or Ray Gasber, one of the Pigeon Hill bullies.
I got a black eye from him when I tried to hold onto my sketchbook and pencil box. What felt good was punching him back. Even though I got beat up and Ray got away with my sketchbook, Mom walked me down to the Gasber's house where I said I was sorry to Ray and shook his hand. My sketchbook was his now. Mom just said, “Maybe he needs it more than you do,” wiping the tears away with the same hankey she used to clean my ears.
The way Mom and Dad brought us up paid off when Kenny Matis accused Jimmy Dollinger and myself of stealing his bike. Father Headermen, standing there watching us race around the school's black top playground, stood up for us when Mrs. Matis accused us in front of him. He assured her neither Jimmy nor I were brought up that way.
It was Jimmy who planted the idea in my head to become an artist. He commissioned me to do a portrait of his niece who was just born. That $2 commission was the start. In High School I did portraits of guys' girlfriends for $2. I treated friends to pizzas at the local Pizza Hut by drawing pretty girls at other tables - as long as they were with a guy. The girl would always ask her boyfriend to buy the drawing for her. My charge then was a pizza and a pitcher of Coke. After a while, guys were bringing their dates in just to get a portrait of their girlfriend done. The manager began handing me a stack of napkins as soon as my friends and I walked in. Unsold portraits were pinned up over the counter and many times we were still given our drinks free.
