On September 17, 1955, 6:45 am, my brother, Keidi, was delivered into this world at Columbus' University Hospital and I arrived two minutes later. We were fraternal twins; two peas in a pod. In our infant years, up to the age of seven, were a matched pair.
The memories of being a twin are vivid. You never heard anyone say that twins are ugly babies. I remember hearing, “Oh, they’re so cute,” about a million times before getting to the first grade. Another lasting memory is of all of the ladies at Allen Chapel A.M.E. Church coming up to hug and kiss on us. Recalling the heavy scent of perfume as heavy breasts nearly smother us, our mom, Delores, dressing us the same and having everyone call us by the wrong names are some of the fond memories of being a twin.
It isn’t until our fourth grade that the regular pedestrian can distinguish one of us from the other. At nine years old, I fell and chipped my front tooth while playing basketball; soon after I’m sporting a "silver tooth."
The Neighborhood
All the Frazier parents are involved in some fashion with the kids and there’s always a meal to be found. During our formative years, we pinched cherries and apples from Miss Stripling’s fruit trees, and then would run off to the woods to devour our stolen goods. In our teens, we’d sneak over and steal beers out of Mr. Jefferson Cheek’s garage refrigerator, which stayed fully stocked.
Back then, we children believed that our parents sole purpose for having kids was to have personal servants. Those days in our strawberry patch wore me out, as did our duties of mowing the lawn, weeding the garden, taking out the trash, feeding the dog, washing the cars, cleaning the house, hand waxing the hardwood floors, and in the pre-remote control days, changing the television channels.
Summers in Frazier Estate were great; constantly having races up and down the drive, with mailboxes being the start-finish lines. Our age determined how much of a head start that we got. And making the races fair honed our competitive spirits.
There were enough kids to organize baseball games in the remaining vacant lots and backyards. I remember a particular baseball game in the Howard's backyard when the bat flies out of Keith Morrison’s “fat-boy” hands, travels ten yards and glances off the fence in such a way that propels the bat another twenty feet, smashing through our downstairs, storm glass window. Crash! As summers turned to fall, the football games continued in our back yard. With four to five on a team, can you imagine the noise?
Going to work early in the morning (4:30 am), our pop, George, got off at 1:30 p.m. and was usually home by 2:15 pm. We’d make sure that our chores were completed just before he gets home. Pops came outside and pitched baseballs to us, instructing us how to hit. And we’re old enough to join the Plain City Little League, dad is the coach of Super Duper Market baseball team. His skills, love for the game and ability to develop us kids, was intuitive.
During our formative years, music remained as constant as the food growing in our gardens. From our basement, the sounds of organized chaos eventually turn into listenable music. Because of WVKO Radio, the Motown Sound was the soundtrack of our young lives.
Then there was also the blues, beaming on 1510 a.m. radio, late-nights from Nashville, Tennessee and radio station, WLAC. It aired a program sponsored by "The World's Largest Mail Order Phonograph Record Shop," called Randy's Record Shop in Gallatin, Tenn.
I remember the teenaged neighborhood bands and how the Davidsons gave our household occasional relief from the noise by rotating the rehearsals to their basement. By the time we hit high school, all of the Frazier Estate kids had an appreciation for music and dance.
During those years I was recruited to the Pioneer wrestling team, as were most of the older boys ahead of me. I spent my four years at Jonathan Alder training with two of the toughest brothers on the planet, the Stalnaker Brothers; Rick and Steve. If ever a family was bred to wrestle, it’s those Stalnakers!
On Saturday mornings, we’d all tune in and watch Soul Train. Then we’d go in the Crump’s garage and practice the dance moves. I was always dancing and never wanting for a dance partner at any of my brother’s gigs. The years that my brothers played Top Forty Rock (now it’s called “Classic Rock”) is filled with memories of intoxicated women wanting to dance’ with me; I theorize that my lifelong desire of women originated on the dance floor.
My high school graduation day is still a vivid memory. Sheila Mathis, Keidi and I are the only Blacks in the Alder class in of 1973; Howard Pace graduates from Columbus Public Schools. By this time our Black consciousness is awakening and only Sheila elects to post a picture to our graduation book.
My focus then became to no longer to stay in the place in which I grew up. Graduating high school was the ticket I needed to explore the world outside of Central Ohio and the U.S. Army is the vehicle that makes it possible.
I am now living in Houston and Seattle and have been working for Boeing Aerospace on exciting projects for over twenty-five years.
