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A
Summer in Trinidad
Evon and I spent three months in the summer of 1967 in Trinidad
while our mother Gianna Hochstein was doing anthropological
field work there. Our father did not accompany us.
Gianna
recently (2003) reminded me that she was working on population
and birth control issues.
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In
that summer of 1967 I had my eighth birthday in Trinidad.
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| Right:
Playing with the local kids on the hood of a VW Beetle in Trinidad,
1967. I think we may have rented this car during our time there. |
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Left:
The view out out the back door, Trinidad, summer 1967.
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We
lived in three different houses and locations in three months
in that summer of 1967.
I
recall that my mother was very sick for a period of time, and
that I was very scared and lonely during her illness.
I
had some comic books that I valued greatly. I played with some
children who stole them from me.
~
During
1967 I would have completed most of second grade and begun the
first months of third grade, at Lakewood Elementary School,
in Durham North Carolina. (Below: two possible pictures of
me in 1967, undated).
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Above:
Miles and Evon at one of the houses where we rented lodgings
in Trinidad.
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Above:
Lakewood Elementary School, recent (circa 2001) photograph.
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Here
(above, right) is a picture of Lakewood Elementary School, taken from
the web 31 years after I last saw it in 1969. If I'm not mistaken
that is the auditorium or cafeteria on the right. The concrete benches
look just as they did in 1967. You
can see it from space in 1998 here.
Below is my earliest known report card, from the second grade. I was,
if Nancy Dowell is to be believed, a fine boy. And if I wasn't a fine
boy, she would note this? The whole idea of this kind of evaluation
is something I have come to abhor. But this was considered good responsible
educational practice in 1967, and probably still is today in most
schools. And, even though I don't like the idea of grades and evaluations,
it is interesting to have such documents as an historical record,
so she accomplished something of value in making her evaluations.
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It
may sound silly, but owning an American Motors car was an identity
statement that I recognized. It meant we were different and
somehow not mainstream. At age 8 I picked up on that little
detail.
Right: My mother stands in front of our 1965 Rambler Classic
station wagon at what was probably the Durham, North Carolina
American Motors dealership. Photoprocessing date of January
1967 and my mother's winter coat suggests this photo dates to
the winter of 1966 or to January 1967
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home
revised
April 2004
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