1963 - The Castle

I know that I was born in Michigan in 1962. I know that my father had grown up in Springfield and LaGrange Park, Illinois. I know that my mother grew up in South Bend, Indiana, and attended an exclusive women's boarding school in Troy, New York; Emma Willard. I know my father's folks moved to Indianapolis while he was in college. I know my parent's met at a coffee shop in Evanston when they were Northwestern students. I know that the summer after he graduated, when the pregnancy was revealed, they eloped in spite of my maternal grandparent's objections. I know that my corporate executive grandfather was not thrilled with his newly acquired son-in-law's prospects and that he relocated them to Michigan to be closer to the pregnant girl's mother. He had no confidence that my paternal grandparents, the Army Corps of Engineers guy and his housewife, would be able to help support this young and impetuous couple. I know that they/I lived in Michigan for less than a year when my father landed a job in Chicago and we moved back to the Lincoln Park neighborhood. Of course, this is all oral history of which I have no memory. Yet I claim it as my romantic launch into life, the product of star-crossed lovers from worlds apart.

What I do remember, probably because of the constant it played in my life in those early years, is the Franklin Village Castle that my grandparents inhabited. The view to the left is looking up to the back door from the stable on the far side of the circle drive. My Uncle Eric's bedroom window, the dormer to the left of the tower, is where we watched the Apollo footage of Neil Armstrong walking on the moon. The cylindrical edifice housed a spiral staircase that covered two stories for sure. I don't recall if that was also the stairs to the basement.

Visiting my grandparents in this house was like a fairytale for me. As the first grandchild there were no siblings or cousins to distract the adults from me. I had command of the entire house with Josephine as my personal assistant and playmate. When I wasn't in residence she probably had a much easier time as the live-in household help. She was a delightful woman who took very good care of me. I counted her as a best friend.

The house had a sprawling floor plan with grandiose grounds to match. The formal living room was two stories tall with a fireplace on one side and a balcony from a mezzanine level, staircase landing protruding over the piano. There was a family room with the television, couches, my grandfather's HUGE chair (he was 6'3" or 6'4"),a casual dining table, and a stereo cabinet. It also had access to the pool patio. There was a little wet bar room (with ginger ale in the tiny fridge for me) that transitioned from the family room to the kitchen and formal dining room. There was a big long table in the breakfast room with ladder-back, reed-seated chairs. I remember Josephine spoiling me with butter on both sides of my toast at that table, and Eric teaching me to tie my shoes as I perched in one of those chairs, concentrating with all my might to get it right. The only downstairs bedroom, that I think Josephine lived in at first, was off the breakfast room, and then a hallway led back to my grandfather's study (the library), the formal dining room, and the front entryway.

When scampering up the grand staircase, past the Shakespearean balcony, and turning into the upstairs hall, my grandmother's bedroom was the first on the left. Her room connected to a bathroom she shared with my grandfather, and then his room was next. They both had a view of the pool and patio out back.

My room, I guess it was actually the guest room, was across the hall from my grandmother's and had a colorful, cathedral-like, stained glass window in the wall common to the staircase. It was all the nightlight that I needed and certainly was proof that I was a princess in a palace. My bathroom was connected to my most perfect uncle's bedroom. Eric had an extra twin bed so I could sneak in to have a slumber party now and then. He went to boarding school like my mother had, so he wasn't always in residence the same times I was.

The house had a finished basement, but I don't recall the specifics. I only remember it being dark and musty.
My grandparents had the pool put in after they moved. It is rumored that I could swim before I was walking with any level of skill or confidence. There were very strict rules about the pool - and of course I managed to break them without drowning. I've been a skinny-dipper all my life. This picture is of me and Max or Maxi. The only recollection I have of this dog is of getting a lollipop hopelessly matted in his fur. It resulted in tears for me and a haircut for him. I don't think he lived much beyond that time or I would certainly have more memories of him.

In the picture below you can see the brand new pool that hasn't been filled yet. The patio deck was poured and a fence installed soon after this photo was taken. You can see the tall willow trees next to the stable in the lower right corner. I remember swinging from their branches, shirtless and yodeling Tarzan-style with Josephine and eventually my sister. On the left edge of the photo you can see the stone wall that contained two sides of a bowling green. There was also an immaculately maintained, two-hole, executive golf course on the property. My grandmother was an avid golfer - rumored to have been married to a pro who was getting her up to pro status. Apparently he was a jerk and my grandfather rescued her from that nasty relationship.

Some day I would like to go back to see if this place was as grand as my memory of it. Marnie and George only lived here until 1969. They moved to Arizona when I was eight years old. So I don't know if it seemed so big and enchanting because I was so small, or if it truly was as magnificent as I would like to remember. But no doubt, it was a fun place to visit!