My life started out in Portsmouth Navel Hospital in Kittery Maine, where it borders New Hampshire. I was born James Patrick Dillon IV, after my father, James Patrick Dillon III. My father was enlisted in the US Navy, and had meet my Mother, Marilyn Freeman Kimball who lived in Bath, Maine. Our family moved to Jacksonville, Florida soon afterwards, and then to Norfolk, Virginia, where my father was assigned to Norfolk Navel Air Station. I was about 3 or 4 at the time. It was 1958. My family consisted of my Father, my Mother, myself and my sister Linda, from my mother's first marriage. Linda is 4 years older than myself. Some of my first memories are watching my older sister board a school bus to enter elementary school. I was so proud of her. I was living a pretty normal suburban life in Norfolk. My family had a small two bedroom ranch house. My sister and I shared a room with a bunk bed. I was on the top bunk and loved to climb up there and jump down to the floor repeatedly. My mom hated it when I did that.
I was a precocious child from a very early age. My partner in crime was Rusty, my next door neighbor. We had a great many adventures running amok throughout the neighborhood. We rode around on a Radio Flyer little red wagon, played baseball, and generally had adventures. One escapade stuck out in my mind. Rusty and I assembled a small raft from a pallet of wood and two by fours. There was a small creek behind our house. It was more of a drainage ditch that ran for miles and emptied into the Atlantic Ocean. We launched the homemade raft into the creek and climbed aboard. Before I knew it, we were carried downstream, past our neighborhood, and surprised that it floated at all, much less that it was able to carry us away so fast. We were moving at a pretty fast clip and were about a mile away from home with no way to control it. We were, literally, up a creek without a paddle. We eventually jumped into the water and got back on the bank of the ditch. We found some adults and told them what had happened. They drove us back to our homes where our Parents were frantic, not knowing about our homemade raft and the adventure in the creek.
One day, my friends were pushing each other in our Red Flyer wagon, in a cul-de-saq near my house. I was the one getting pushed from behind, with no real way to steer or stop. I was moving fairly fast when I plowed into the side of a school bus, and got the wind knocked out of me. I lay on the ground for what seemed like hours before I slowly made my way home. Such were the adventures of a four year old child.
My only other entertainment was television, a black and white TV with a knob to change channels. I mostly watched Howdy Doody, Captain Kangaroo, westerns like Gunsmoke. Saturday morning cartoons were mandatory.
Part Two: A new Little Brother:
One day my Mom and Dad went to the hospital. I had no idea what was going on. My older sister Linda knew, but everyone was quiet about it. Mom and Dad came back the next day, with a new baby boy, Peter.
I was overjoyed! Here was a new Baby Brother to play with, to watch, to teach, to grow up with. I spent hours watching him, making eye contact, holding his hands, letting him hold my finger, and talking until I was told to go to sleep. I wanted somebody to play with and hang out with. My older sister just didn't seem interested in hanging out with me. But this was Somebody who would play ball, go on adventures, run around and get in trouble with me.
One morning, I woke up early, I think around sunrise. I was too young to understand what was happening. Peter lay in his crib, motionless and still. He didn't cry overnight, that would have awakened me. He was blue, the color of a bruise, but it was all over his body. His tiny face was expressionless. I was scared. I screamed for my Mother and Father, who were both home at the time. My Parents came running in, and my Mother fell to her knees, crying hysterically. I was confused. My Mother was inconsolable, screaming. A darkness fell over the house, and I realized Peter was never coming home again. My parents made arraignments, but I could hear my parents talking late at night. There was a problem I could not understand. I was too young to know, but the Chaplain at the Navy base refused to preform last rites on my little brother for some reason, maybe he had not been Baptized yet. My Father was raised Catholic and wanted it very badly, my Mother was from a Protestant background, but was not religious at all. This was the beginning of a decades old argument in my household.
Part Three: Go to Napoli, young traveler.
At the age of 5, I was to go on the trip of a lifetime . I was 5 in 1960, when my dad was given orders to Naples, Italy. My mom and dad and my sister Linda were about to embark on a journey to the home of NATO AFSouth. Bella Napoli.
This came just after my baby brother had died at 6 months old. My parents got us as prepared as well as they could, but nothing can prepare one for a culture shock of the magnitude we were about to experience. My mom was from a small town in Maine and was terrified of flying. We got to travel by sea, on the U.S.S. Rose. It was huge trip for me. We were at sea for weeks. I had fun just looking over the bow and watching the waves as the bow of the ship cut through the Atlantic ocean below. At 5, I was a world traveler.
I was a precocious child from a very early age. My partner in crime was Rusty, my next door neighbor. We had a great many adventures running amok throughout the neighborhood. We rode around on a Radio Flyer little red wagon, played baseball, and generally had adventures. One escapade stuck out in my mind. Rusty and I assembled a small raft from a pallet of wood and two by fours. There was a small creek behind our house. It was more of a drainage ditch that ran for miles and emptied into the Atlantic Ocean. We launched the homemade raft into the creek and climbed aboard. Before I knew it, we were carried downstream, past our neighborhood, and surprised that it floated at all, much less that it was able to carry us away so fast. We were moving at a pretty fast clip and were about a mile away from home with no way to control it. We were, literally, up a creek without a paddle. We eventually jumped into the water and got back on the bank of the ditch. We found some adults and told them what had happened. They drove us back to our homes where our Parents were frantic, not knowing about our homemade raft and the adventure in the creek.
One day, my friends were pushing each other in our Red Flyer wagon, in a cul-de-saq near my house. I was the one getting pushed from behind, with no real way to steer or stop. I was moving fairly fast when I plowed into the side of a school bus, and got the wind knocked out of me. I lay on the ground for what seemed like hours before I slowly made my way home. Such were the adventures of a four year old child.
My only other entertainment was television, a black and white TV with a knob to change channels. I mostly watched Howdy Doody, Captain Kangaroo, westerns like Gunsmoke. Saturday morning cartoons were mandatory.
Part Two: A new Little Brother:
One day my Mom and Dad went to the hospital. I had no idea what was going on. My older sister Linda knew, but everyone was quiet about it. Mom and Dad came back the next day, with a new baby boy, Peter.
I was overjoyed! Here was a new Baby Brother to play with, to watch, to teach, to grow up with. I spent hours watching him, making eye contact, holding his hands, letting him hold my finger, and talking until I was told to go to sleep. I wanted somebody to play with and hang out with. My older sister just didn't seem interested in hanging out with me. But this was Somebody who would play ball, go on adventures, run around and get in trouble with me.
One morning, I woke up early, I think around sunrise. I was too young to understand what was happening. Peter lay in his crib, motionless and still. He didn't cry overnight, that would have awakened me. He was blue, the color of a bruise, but it was all over his body. His tiny face was expressionless. I was scared. I screamed for my Mother and Father, who were both home at the time. My Parents came running in, and my Mother fell to her knees, crying hysterically. I was confused. My Mother was inconsolable, screaming. A darkness fell over the house, and I realized Peter was never coming home again. My parents made arraignments, but I could hear my parents talking late at night. There was a problem I could not understand. I was too young to know, but the Chaplain at the Navy base refused to preform last rites on my little brother for some reason, maybe he had not been Baptized yet. My Father was raised Catholic and wanted it very badly, my Mother was from a Protestant background, but was not religious at all. This was the beginning of a decades old argument in my household.
Part Three: Go to Napoli, young traveler.
At the age of 5, I was to go on the trip of a lifetime . I was 5 in 1960, when my dad was given orders to Naples, Italy. My mom and dad and my sister Linda were about to embark on a journey to the home of NATO AFSouth. Bella Napoli.
This came just after my baby brother had died at 6 months old. My parents got us as prepared as well as they could, but nothing can prepare one for a culture shock of the magnitude we were about to experience. My mom was from a small town in Maine and was terrified of flying. We got to travel by sea, on the U.S.S. Rose. It was huge trip for me. We were at sea for weeks. I had fun just looking over the bow and watching the waves as the bow of the ship cut through the Atlantic ocean below. At 5, I was a world traveler.
My main recollection of the trip was playing cards with some pretty girl about my age. She dropped a card on the floor. I was going to pick it up for her. She was really cute, after all. I bumped my forehead as I was reaching for it. All I remember was blood everywhere, gushing from a small cut about an inch long. In seconds, my dad scooped me up, my mother right behind him, running up the stairs to the medical center. I kept telling my parents "You told me never run up the stairs".
After 3 stiches in my forehead, my little cut was healing, but I was doomed to have my older sister follow me everywhere on the ship for the rest of the trip.
When we landed in Rome we went to Naples, Italy, about 90 Km south. Naples is a very old city, full of strange sights and smells. We had a apartment on the 16th floor on Via Manzoni near my school. I has stoked! I was finally going to get ot go to school!
Our apartment had a really nice view of the Bay of Naples, with Mount Vesuvius across the Bay. It had mable floors, and my sister and I made quick friends with the other American kids in the building. We had an old-school stereo record player console with a record changer, the type you can stack up to 6 LP's on and let it go all night. Television was just comeing back after the war, but it was all in Italian. Mostly spagetti westerns and Topo Gigo show, sort of like Howdy Doody Show stateside, but all in Italian.
My friends would come over after school and play albums in our living room after school. It was 1960. We would take our shoes off and do the "twist" on the marble floors, sliding around and playing Chubby Checker, Elvis, Ray Charles, The Kingston Trio, whatever we could get our little hands on. I would lay in front of the console some nights with my head right in the middle to get the full stereo effect. Total Bliss.
My shool was Forrest Sherman Elementry just down the Via Manzoni. I started 1st grade there. My first teacher was Mrs. Gould, and she was so sweet to all of us. We had a recess that consisted of playing dogeball and running around a fenced in area. I would see her again 12 years later while I was a senior at Forrest Sherman High.
I was close enough to school I could walk there, through the old brick starways that have been around for thousands of years, old limestone bricks that had cracks running thru the mortar joints. I noteed a few lizards poking their little heads out, poking around and sticking out their tounge. I watched them for a few days and decided "I need to catch one of these and bring it home as a pet".
I devised a lasso out of a blade of grass, held it over the crack in the brick, and waited. After a few minitues, my wait was over. A little green lizard came out to sniif the air with his tounge, and I snared it with my improvised grass lasso. I felt like a big game hunter trapping a Kamono Dragon. I put Little Lizze in my pocket and ran home. Thankfully, my Mother let me keep it. I kept it it a cardbord box in my room and feed it flies and lettice.
