McHenry County Blog

Two counties, Talbot and Kent County, are almost next to each other, separated by Queen Anne’s County, the one into which the Chesapeake Bay Bridge has its eastern terminus.

They took different paths in implementing the Supreme Court’s desegregation order.

While Talbot did one grade at a time, starting with the first grade, Kent County did not.

Sometime in the early 1960′s when when I was visiting my grandparents, James Clayland and Helen Roe Stevens, in Church Hill, we had just finished playing bridge with my maiden Aunt Louise, a commercial teacher at the all-white Chestertown High School.

She told of how that day they had had an all county high school teacher meeting at which the superintendent had talked about how a new high school was to be built to which all students, white and black (she probably said, “Negro” or “colored”) would go.

She seemed OK with that, although did mention that she didn’t know whether the teachers from the other school would be as qualified as those at her school.

My grandfather’s ancestors had owned a couple of slaves at the multi-generational relatively small 180-acre family farm near Barclay,   (My grandfather played a mean game of checkers around the wood stove in Barclay on winter days.)

The closest high school to the family farm was in Sudlersville, where both my mother and father attended high school,

But, back to the early 1960′s.

My grandfather shook his head and said something to the effect that that would be up to the next generation.   That night he had a stroke from which he did not recover.

Since I’m talking about the slave holding times of the maternal side of my family, I should mention that the slaves were buried in the family burial ground and, at least one stayed on the farm as a hired hand after he was freed.

Ironically, my father’s oncologist at Georgetown University Hospital in the late 1980′s was a black woman named Stevens.  She was from Minnesota, so I think the odds of her having any connection with the Eastern Shore of Maryland was remote.

More tomorrow.

My route to grade school, 1948-53.

I got into a conversation at the First United Methodist Church about Harriet Tubman, the Underground Railroad heroine from the Eastern Shore of Maryland, from when my family and I come.

It bought back all sorts of memories of walking to the three-story brick Easton Elementary School 3-4 blocks from our home at 212 S. Aurora Street.  No kindergarten there.  No Velcro either. (Guess who didn’t learn to tie his shoe laces until the day before the first day of first grade.)

There were several routes to school.

The one I took most was straight north on Aurora Street for four blocks, then left for a block and, where the Talbot County Health Department parking lot is now, was the asphalt playground of Easton Elementary School.

That route took me past the edge of a black neighborhood (to the right on the map.)

I wondered why those who lived closer to the school than I didn’t go to school there.

We moved to lily white Salt Lake City as I was entering sixth grade.  Before leaving I attended a couple of days of class with my old classmates at the old high school, which was converted for lower grades.

Well before my time, this photo of what became my Easton Elementary School was provided by the Historical Society of Talbot County. Note the granite "sliding boards" next to the stairs. Of course, our teachers tried to keep us from using them for that purpose.

The only black (I guess it was “colored” then) child I knew was the daughter of our cleaning lady.

We used to play on the concrete-anchored, two-inch pipe swing set my father constructed.  Most of the “colored” section of town was west of the courthouse and library.  And the only time I visited it was when the carnival came.

The door to the left of the main doors was where I paid 16 or 17 cents every Saturday to see the movies.

“20,000 Leagues Under the Sea” was a movie I saw in Easton.

It wasn’t showing at the Avalon Theatre where I usually went to the movies.  It was at the Easton Theater a couple of blocks away.

When we went to the Avalon we liked to sit in the balcony.  I remember being bored by some tap dancer and a magician entertaining on the stage, probably the last gasp of vaudeville.

So, imagine my surprise when I was told only blacks could sit in the balcony.  What a disappointment.

“Weren’t they lucky?” I thought.

That building is gone, but in its place I think there is a museum about local history.  I didn’t see any reference to the predecessor theater and how blacks had not been allowed to sit on the main floor.

Although there were not blacks at Easton Elementary, there was a Chinese boy whose family ran the dry cleaners.  I went over to his family’s apartment one day after school.

One other race-related experience made an impression.  My parents took me to a minstrel show held in the armory.  White guys dressed up in black face.  It was sponsored by some civil organization as a fundraiser.  I remember lots of physical comedy, but nothing specific.

After we moved to Salt Lake City, I was reading Life Magazine one afternoon and saw a picture of the front of my old grade school.  Besides the cut line, it was easily recognizable from the two granite banisters beside the front entrance.

And the reporting was about how someone had blown up a little bomb at the back entrance of the school.

Why?

The Talbot County Board (or Board of Education if there was a sub-board) had decided to implement Brown v. Board of Education by integrating one grade at a time, starting with the first grade.

Some resident obviously did not approve and took extreme action.

More tomorrow.

This aluminum reflective sign is designed to be affixed above a license plat.

It promotes by hometown of Easton, Maryland, by saying,

Talbott County, where I was born, has more miles of waterfront that any county in the country. Must have been (maybe still is) a smuggler’s paradise.

As with many items found in the basement, I can’t tell yo how old it is, but it is certainly older than when the Post Office stopped using periods after two letter abbreviations for states.

Earlier segments of this biography of my father can be found below on McHenry County Blog.

In 1952, my youngest sister Ellen was born.

That was also the year Dad switched his registration from the Democratic Party to the Republican Party in order to be able to vote for Dwight Eisenhower for president. (Maryland has a closed primary, unlike Illinois’.)

And the state was as Democratic then as it is now.

To understand how Democratic the area was and how significant it was for the President of the Easton Town Council to switch parties, let me tell you about the 1952 Halloween paintings I helped put on the barber shop’s front window.

It was a parade to a haunted house. On a wagon was a sign that said,

A day or so after we painted it, my 5rh grade teacher, Miss Ornett, suggested that I should change the sign to

Compliant child that I was, I did.

The Eastern Shore had always been conservative. Today my birth place is firmly in Republican Party control.

But I remember in 1948 when I was six asking my mother why she and Dad weren’t in favor of President Truman. I am not sure of the answer, but that’s the first political thought I remember…unless watching my mother cry when she heard the news that President Roosevelt had died in 1945 when I was two years and ten months counts.

Just as Dad may have been the first to get a student loan, he certainly was one of the first Democratic Party office holders to switch to the Republican Party—all the rage while Ronald Reagan was in office.

My mother, who was the daughter of a Queen Anne County, Maryland, Democratic Party county board member James Clayland Stevens didn’t follow suit until 1954.

Her father was the swing vote who tried to keep the county’s two Democratic Party factions honest after he was recruited by one to run on its slate.

First home in Salt Lake City, Utah: 1265 Harrison Avenue. Remarkably unchanged 56 years later.

In 1953, the family moved to Salt Lake City.
Dad found that he could not get a job at the National Canners Association because the national association did not want to offend its regional affiliate.

So, he looked outside of the food industry.

He found the National Chinchilla Breeders and Marketing Associations in Salt Lake City. It had lots of employees, but was looking to modernize and downsize. Dad did both. The association keep voluminous records of the genealogy of the little animals with the softest fur on earth. He implemented a pre-computer filing and sorting system using cards about the size of 4 by 6 inches with places to punch out indicators around all four edges.

That must have meant there needed to be many, many fewer employees, because by the time he moved the office to Middletown, New York, in 1956, the association did not need very many people.

The office was moved because Dad convinced his board that if the industry was going to survive they needed to sell some pelts for coats and stoles. Since the fur market was in New York City, being fifty miles up the Hudson was close enough to make sales pitches in the city and far enough to avoid the high cost of labor there. The pelt is pretty poor, but the black and gray fur you see above is the natural color. The marketers experimented with dying the pelts blue, among other colors.

After about a year, my father was let go. The board figured his two top assistants earning $5,000 each could do the job he was doing earning $10,000. (My sister Jan covers this much better than I.)

So, Dad was looking for a job while I was a sophomore at Middletown High School. What he found paid less than the NCBA, but it was a job. He was the natural resources man for the National Association of Manufacturers dealing with the big lumber companies, among others.

I suspect he immediately starting looking for a job that paid more and would allow him to see his family more than Wednesday night and weekend. (While Middletown was fifty miles from New York, the same distance as Crystal Lake is from Chicago, the train trip was at least an hour and a half. The track was so bad, the commuters called it the Eire and Lackadaisical.)

Addie Louise Skinner

He stayed in a single room occupancy hotel in NYC, meeting all sorts of interesting people, as he did in Chicago when he preceded us to take his new job as Manager of the Barley and Malt Institute.

“Tell Grandmom—his mother—it’s about malt, like malted milk,” he told me by phone. (You see Addie Watlin-Skinner in her mid-nineties here.)

Addie Skinner was not one who favored alcohol or cards. She and her husband left the Methodist Church about 1944 because it was getting too liberal. My grandfather Skinner built a Holiness Church near Crumpton, Maryland, where they retired.

Dad came to Chicago while us kids finished the school year. He lived in a single room occupancy hotel.

Dad and Mom decided on Crystal Lake as the place they wanted to live. It had a lake that seemed safer than Lake Michigan.

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Here are the links to the other stories in this series:

Biography of Calvin L Skinner – Part 1 – Second Son, School Years

Biography of Calvin L. Skinner – Part 2 – College, Marriage, First Jobs

Biography of Cal Skinner, Sr. – Part 3 – First House, Elected President of the Easton, Maryland, Town Council

Biography of Cal Skinner, Sr. – Part 4 – Storm Sewer Grates, Miles River Yacht Club, Slot Machines, Chesapeake Bay Bridge

Biography of Cal Skinner, Sr. – Part 5 – Switching Parties, Moving to Salt Lake City, Middletown and Crystal Lake

Biography of Cal L Skinner – Part 6 – The Early Crystal Lake Days, Dipping Feet Slowly into Political Arena

Biography of Cal Skinner, Sr. – Part 7 – Running for County Auditor, Precinct Committeeman, Calling the Meeting that Led to McHenry County College

Biography of Cal Skinner – Part 8 – The Star Reporter, Daughter Ellen Bored in High School, Prohibited from Attending MCC Classes

Biography of Cal L Skinner – Part 9 – Responsible Republicans’ Slate, County Board Reapportionment

Biography of Cal Skinner, Sr. – Part 10 – Unsuccessful County Clerk Try, County Airport Fight, Wife’s Death

This is the fourth in a serialization of my father’s biography. Previous parts can be found below on McHenry County Blog.

One of Dad’s inspirations for running for office involved an unresponsive city government.

I can hear the sounds of gravel to this day hitting the water below my feet as my Dad held my hands after I managed to slip into the open storm sewer.

Dad went to city hall and asked for a grate on the sewer. (You might say my and my father’s political careers started that day…in the gutter. That what I said about my own when I announced for the U.S. Senate in 1981 at my then in-laws’ Herb and Millicent Geist’s David Adler mansion at at 955 Lake Avenue in Lake Forest.)

Dad didn’t get what he requested.

So, when the post of president of the town council became vacant, he had a real reason for running.

Needless to say, storm sewers soon through Easton soon had grates.

Jan Skinner with parents Cal and Eleanor Skinner in 1965, the year they went to Europe.

First daughter Janet was born in 1944.

I remember the family joined the Miles River Yacht Club. We had a small outboard in what seemed to be a very big berth to someone about six. I remember the day we came to the yacht club and it had sunk.

More scary were the fireworks that blew onto our blanket when the wind blew in from the east during the 4th of July celebration.

Dad then bought a leaky, old fishing boat. We had just seen the “African Queen,” so it probably was in 1951 or 52. The boat ran aground in Kent Narrows and the men got off to push it off the sandbar. I was put in charge of the pump at age ten, while my eight-year old sister Janet sat with me inside the small cabin.

The yacht club is where I got introduced to slot machines. They were nickel slots and I have to admit I did not understand the sign above them:

I knew there were no mines nearby.

My father and his assistant Jack Rue, who became a congressional assistant to either Rogers C.B. Morton or his successor, took off the boat’s copper sheathing and spend hours putting wooden match sticks into the holes where the nails had been.

One day a snow goose showed up in the back room where the washing machine was kept. Dad had shot it. I remember Mother’s pouring boiling water over to loosen the feathers, which she plucked. I don’t think she was too happy about having that task.

Sometime in the late 1940′s Dad bought a used offset press and started a printing business in the side room where we played. I guess he thought the family needed more money than Tri-State Packers paid him.

Dad was in the caravan of Eastern Shore public officials who were the first to drive across the new Chesapeake Bay Bridge in 1952.

So much for the ferry rides across the Bay. They were a real treat to us kids.

That was the same year that second daughter Ellen entered the world. Jan and I were asked if we wanted a little brother or sister. My guess is that Mom asked the question after she was pregnant.

More tomorrow

= = = = =
Links to all the stories are below:

Biography of Cal Skinner, Sr. – Part 10 – Unsuccessful County Clerk Try, County Airport Fight, Wife’s Death

Previous parts of this biography can be found below on McHenry County Blog.

The night I was born, June 11, 1942, my father and his Methodist minister friend Charles (Charlie) Jarvis, who baptized all three kids and, having moved to Illinois to the first pastor the Oak Park Methodist Church, officiated at Dad’s funeral, sat on the porch of the Easton Memorial Hospital drinking beer.

His wife Eleanor was inside doing the heavy work.

It was the night of the first blackout. (During World War II communities prepared for air attacks by using shades to block light coming from their homes.)

Since I was conceived before Pearl Harbor, my father was not drafted. He also was working in what was considered an essential industry. Those two factors, rather than his mis-set broken arm probably keep him out of harm’s way.

A local owner of property, Mrs. Hubbard died and her homes went up for auction to settle her estate. Dad was bidding on her home, which was at 212 S. Aurora Street. As I remember the story, he had $2,000.

The bid went higher.

Mr. Frank Shook, his boss at Tri-State Packers, offered to loan him $500 and, with that money, he bid $2,500 and bought his first house. (It had weathered wooden shingles then. I remember tossing what Mrs. Hubbard had stored in the attic out the window, which seemed very high up to someone in grade school. I got a lot of great old stamps, because she saved every letter.)

Shortly thereafter Mr. Shook retired and Dad became the Tri-State Packers’ Executive Secretary.

That must have been about the time Dad was spending a lot of time on Capitol Hill. As one of the closer trade associations.

The National Canners Association often called on him to appear before congressional committees during World War II. Dad always got cannery operators to testify, knowing that congressmen would rather hear from someone in the trenches than a hired gun.

The high-powered attorney the national association retained gave him some advice I have repeated many times:

“Cal, there are two kinds of lawyers. Those who tell you why you can’t do what you want to do and those who tell you how to do what you want to do.”

Dad and I preferred the latter.

Besides working at the trade association, Dad managed a cannery at least one summer.

He also worked his father’s farm when his father became incapacitated. You see him behind the mule.

As an up-and-comer in Easton, Dad was elected president of the Easton Rotary Club, which met in the Tidewater Inn. From the award for club excellence I found, it appears that must have been in 1944-45. (Plaques just don’t take the place of those hand-lettered awards, do they? Click to enlarge.)

His friend Walter Barnes, who ran a men’s store across from the courthouse, was Mayor of Easton. When a vacancy occurred as head of the legislative branch, the town council, Dad ran unopposed and won. (I remember walking with my mother when she voted at the fire house on the side street near the Avalon Theatre.)

More tomorrow.

= = = = =
Links to all of the stories can be found below:

Biography of Cal Skinner, Sr. – Part 10 – Unsuccessful County Clerk Try, County Airport Fight, Wife’s Death

The first part of my father’s multi-part biography ran yesterday. Today, Father’s Day, we’ll

Dad graduated debt free from college in three and a half years.

Somehow I have gotten the impression that he was something of a lady’s man. I don’t know how he had time.

He had to take off one semester to work the farm while he father was sick, which I didn’t know until I read my sister Jan Patel’s memories.

Dad’s goal in life was to become a county ag agent.

One of his part-time jobs was candling eggs at a market in Washington, D.C. The Southeast District of Columbia market still exists and I believe it is now an upscale shopping area.

(Later, during the Richard Ogilvie administration, the McHenry County Republican Party sent out a list of jobs that were open. Dad had been elected Algonquin Township Precinct Committeeman in 1966, when I ran for McHenry County Treasurer, and served until 1988. He had been head of the local Nixon citizens committee in 1960. He lost a GOP primary race for County Auditor in 1964 to Harley Mackeben, McHenry County Board Chairman and Grafton Township Supervisor.

(In any event, “egg candler” was one of the jobs and Dad guessed rightly that no one else would have relevant experience. Don’t know where the job was located, but he didn’t get it. Of course, he didn’t really want it.)

Mom was teaching in Elkridge, Maryland. It’s on the Western Shore. Her first year, she coached her girls basketball team to second place in the state tournament.

My mother and father were married on July 31, 1938, in Wilmington, Delaware. The fancy marriage certificate says it was by a Methodist Episcopal minister named Wingate Daniel Short.

Mother lived in Barclay at the time; Dad in Sudlersville, both in Maryland. Helen Roe Stevens and Addie Louise Skinner were the witnesses.

After college, my father taught agriculture in Cordova, Talbot County, Maryland, but discovered it didn’t pay well enough to support a wife.

Then, he took a job with the Federal Land Bank in Baltimore. The two lived in an upstairs apartment in a row house.

As an appraiser, he worked with farmers who held loans with the Land Bank when the Pennsylvania Tollway right-of-way was being purchased, among others.

In 1941,he took a job as assistant to the Tri-State (Maryland, Delaware and New Jersey) Packers Association in Easton, Maryland, with the prospect of becoming its Executive Secretary when the man who hired him retired. I think his name was Frank Shook. They lived in half a house until I was born in 1942.

My September, 1941, conception occurred before Pearl Harbor and for some reason that kept Dad from being drafted. Dad also worked for what the government considered an essential industry–food production. That may have contributed to his deferment later in World War II.

I found a Red Cross Volunteer arm patch, which I assume was Dad’s.

I know he told me that he did serve as a lookout along the shore to see if German submarines were within site.

I’m not sure where, but the coastal areas were worried that a submarine would land spies or saboteurs, I guess.

Our home county of Talbot has more miles of waterfront than any other in the country. (And, the British did bombard St. Michaels during the War of 1812. And, the Nazis patrolled the Eastern Seaboard looking for Allied ships.)

Tomorrow – More of Cal Skinner, Sr.’s biography.

= = = = =
Links to all the articles can be found below:

Biography of Calvin L Skinner – Part 1 – Second Son, School Years

Biography of Calvin L. Skinner – Part 2 – College, Marriage, First Jobs

Biography of Cal Skinner, Sr. – Part 3 – First House, Elected President of the Easton, Maryland, Town Council

Biography of Cal Skinner, Sr. – Part 4 – Storm Sewer Grates, Miles River Yacht Club, Slot Machines, Chesapeake Bay Bridge

Biography of Cal Skinner, Sr. – Part 5 – Switching Parties, Moving to Salt Lake City, Middletown and Crystal Lake

Biography of Cal L Skinner – Part 6 – The Early Crystal Lake Days, Dipping Feet Slowly into Political Arena

Biography of Cal Skinner, Sr. – Part 7 – Running for County Auditor, Precinct Committeeman, Calling the Meeting that Led to McHenry County College

Biography of Cal Skinner – Part 8 – The Star Reporter, Daughter Ellen Bored in High School, Prohibited from Attending MCC Classes

Biography of Cal L Skinner – Part 9 – Responsible Republicans’ Slate, County Board Reapportionment

Biography of Cal Skinner, Sr. – Part 10 – Unsuccessful County Clerk Try, County Airport Fight, Wife’s Death

Saw this headline from WBBM-AM’s news feed a couple of weeks ago.

It referred to the quality of postal delivery in Chicago, a recurrent topic.

What it reminded me of was my childhood in Easton, Maryland.

212 S. Aurora Street.

Those days, back in the 1940′s, the postman came twice a day.

I remember when he started coming only once a day, but I can’t give you a year.

So, whether Post Office delivery has improved or not depends on your starting point.

Saw this headline from WBBM-AM’s news feed a couple of weeks ago.

It referred to the quality of postal delivery in Chicago, a recurrent topic.

What it reminded me of was my childhood in Easton, Maryland.

212 S. Aurora Street.

Those days, back in the 1940′s, the postman came twice a day.

I remember when he started coming only once a day, but I can’t give you a year.

So, whether Post Office delivery has improved or not depends on your starting point.

Imagine my surprise at the West Chicago school board president strongly criticizing bilingual education.

When I was in first grade (the only first grade class, Miss Callahan’s) in Easton, Maryland, in 1948 two really big girls joined us after school started.

After a while we saw them in the hall mixing with another class. I think it was the second graders in Miss Sullivan’s class across the hall.

Later they went to still a third teacher and then, they disappeared into the upper levels of elementary school at the front of the building.

I learned they were called “displaced persons,” “DP’s” for short.

The point of this little story is that there was no bilingual education in 1948-49 and these two girls presumably did fine.

Fast forward to 1975, I think, when Boris Antonovych, a Republican Ukrainian American in the Illinois House was sponsoring a bilingual education bill. He sat behind me next to Roger Keats. Both had been elected the same year.

We had the bill beaten when Boris prevailed upon his seatmate Roger to switch his vote from “No” to “Yes.”

The bill ended up passing.

I think it was later that I verified my early personal experience by talking to Gil Johnston, a professor at John Marshall Law School.

Before that he had headed legal aid in Hawaii.

Gil told me that the native Hawaiians who went to the native speaking schools generally “didn’t make it.” Those who attended English-speaking schools did.

Now, the Sunday Daily Herald’s lead story is about another immigrant, one from Mexico, who is now president of the West Chicago School Board.

55-year old Tony Reyes told reporter Rupa Shenoy:

“By the end of the first day, he and the rest of the Mexican kids had learned at least one English phrase: ‘Miss, may I be excused?’

“’It came out more like, “Miss bees cues?”

“‘It was like a rhyme,’ Reyes said. ‘If you didn’t learn it, you wet your pants.’”

His success story adds a third point in my belief that English immersion is the way to go.

And, here’s a tid-bit from far down in the long article:

“test scores seem to indicate something is working. As the school’s Latino population increases, standardized test scores have improved.”

And,

“In reading, 21.1 percent of Latinos met AYP goals in 2004. The next year 32.6 percent hit the mark, and in 2006, 43.5 percent did so.”

Any local high school able to show that kind of progress?

How different from the Waukegan experience where a teacher was fired because she couldn’t speak Spanish.