In 1942, during the course of World War II, Dad (Felipe Morales Reyes) decided to move the family back to the Mobile area from Houston, Texas where we had been living for some three years. Our family had grown larger in Houston, Texas with the births of my sisters, Ruby Veola and Stella Louise, being added to my brother, Felipe Jr., and myself (Vincent Reyes). It was this caravan of four small kids, Mom (Shirley Mae Pruette Reyes), and Big Mama (Mom's mother, Ruby Veola Cochran Pruette) that motored back to Mobile to begin a new home.

Reyes Family - Click photo to enlarge.

Felipe, Vince, Shirley, Stella, and Ruby

     Housing was very scarce in Mobile during these War years because so many people had moved into the area to work at the shipyards building Navy ships or to work at Brookley Field, a large Army Air Force base on Mobile Bay. We would temporarily share a home with Uncle Toby (Oliver Roy Pruette), Mom's brother, and his wife, Aunt Dot (Dorothy Jean Steele Pruette). They had a small frame home on Main Street in Prichard, a growing suburb to the immediate north of Mobile. We were only with Uncle Toby for a few weeks when Dad was fortunate enough to "find" us a home just up the hill on Main Street where it intersected with Watt Street. It was a basic wooden frame house with an open front porch that extended across the front of the house, five interior rooms, one bath, a back porch, and a separate one car, wood frame, tin roof garage nestled on the back of the lot. The house sat on the southeast corner of the intersection which had small front and side yards, but a sizeable back yard. The house was a sturdy structure that was built under the discerning eye of my Great-Grandfather, Henry M. Cochran, who we called Big Daddy, one of the settlers of the area and probably its wealthiest citizen. Somehow, this house just happened to come available in this housing starved area for the tidy sum of $2500.00 which Dad was able to purchase from Big Daddy. There is strong family suspicion that Big Daddy arranged the transaction to eliminate the possibility of the Reyes moving near him into one of his houses in Eight Mile, a small city north of Prichard, where he then resided.

     The address was 273 West Main Street, Prichard, Alabama, and it would be our home for the next twelve years; during which our family would experience some of the happiest days of our lives. Our immediate neighborhood was saturated with children of all ages and we quickly made many friends, some that would endure a lifetime. It was a neighborhood of predominantly white, middle-class people that was, at first, a little disturbed, to say the least, of seeing four, brown skin, Filipino kids move into their domain. In just a short while, however, we were just another family as we began working our way into their hearts and lives. Our childhood neighbors and friends never regarded us as second class citizens and we were welcomed into every part of that 1940's Southern society. One factor that played a big part in our acceptance into that society was our relationship to the Cochran family in Prichard. Big Mama was Big Daddy's youngest daughter, and her four brothers were among the city's most influential citizens.

     The neighborhood was dotted with several small grocery stores within a four block stretch along Main Street. They all offered the locals "Bill" privileges which helped the families until paydays when they could satisfy the bill. Our favorites were Miles Grocery, which was the largest in the neighborhood, about three houses down from us, and Taylor's Grocery, which was about a block up toward Town, Prichard's main shopping district. In addition to the usual food staples they both provided a good selection of children's delights such as Double Bubble Gum, Royal Crown (RC) Cola, Lay's Peanuts, Baby Ruth Candy Bars, licorice sticks, and other goodies. A dime's worth of candy would last a day, and Mom would see that we were treated fairly often even if it meant "putting it on the Bill".

     The rather small (approximately 1/2 acre) lot proved to be a blessing to Fee (Felipe Jr.) and myself. As the appointed "gardeners" we could mow our lawn in about an hour. Fee would usually cut with a push mower and I would clean up with the rake. A little trimming along the sidewalks that bordered the front and one side yard and we were free to play. The back yard made up for the lack of space in the front and side yards as it there was ample room for us kids to enjoy our play times. In time it would become quite worn from our continuous activities and would not require too much effort to keep trimmed, a real side benefit for us boys.

     Treeless, our backyard hosted all the games children of that day played from "Mummbly Peg", a pocket knife game of skill, to "Side Walk Hopscotch", football, baseball, basketball; they all took place in the backyard. Oft times our play would spill out into Watt Street and our only concern was not to damage about seven lush crepe-myrtle trees that grew between the sidewalk and street curb.

     Large, green, trimmed hedges bordered the front porch which was always occupied with wood rockers and chairs. The front porch was our "window to the world" as we viewed life being lived in our neighborhood. I saw my first drunk man, first black person (balancing a large bundle of daily laundry on her head), first Catholic Nun (which scared the begezziers out of me), plus a long list of other first "sees" from this porch. It was the setting for rocking and day dreaming, good Story telling, or children’s songs. I can still hear Big Mama rocking in one of the wood rockers and humming the tune of "The Old Rugged Cross", just one of the many church hymns she committed to heart. Spacious, with its roof overhang, the front porch became our playground on hot, summer or rainy days as we shifted our activities from the back yard.

     A favorite front porch game was "Wall Ball" which required a player to proceed errorlessly through a series of ten body positions while simultaneously bouncing a tennis ball off the porch wall. Balance and agility, usually characteristic of the girls, aided in a successful run through the series. I once attempted to run off the porch and "fly" out over the hedges bedecked with my Superman cape (a towel tied around my neck). Big Mama pounded my back until I regained my breath which left me when my chest hit the ground just behind my outstretched, chubby arms.

     Entering our house from the front porch through a screened front door placed you in our living room which was sparsely furnished with a plush couch, two upholstered chairs, and some living room tables. Later it would accommodate an upright piano for Ruby and Prichard's first television set that Dad brought from New York on one of his seagoing, coastwise trips. Adjacent to the living room was Mom and Dad's bedroom accessed by a wide, arched, doorless doorway. Originally intended to serve as a dining room it would be several years before it would serve that purpose for the Reyes family.

     A doorway at the rear of the "dining room" led to the kitchen where the best chefs in the world practiced their culinary arts. Dad, when he was home from the sea treated us with delicious, ethnic Filipino dishes, the foremost being "adobo", still the family favorite. Big Mama, living with us during this time as she had for many years, provided the country cooking that became our mainstay for years with everything from fried chicken to pecan layered cakes baked from scratch, whether it be killing and cleaning the chickens our sifting the flour for the cakes. Mom, when she wasn't at work at Brookley Field substituted for Big Mama on rare occasions and spoiled us with "unhealthy" hot dogs, hamburgers, french fries, and the likes.

     Centered under the kitchen ceiling light was a big, four leg kitchen table that could accommodate eight people quite comfortably for dinner. Guests were infrequent at our home for meals except for those occasions when Big Mama would fix a meal for an evangelist preaching at our church, the Prichard Assembly of God. Therefore, most of the meals eaten at our table were family meals and always preceded by a blessing of thanks to God. Kitchen cabinets, a sink, and preparation countertops filled the outside wall, while a short double window over the kitchen sink afforded a view of Watt Street. It was constantly in use as breakfast and supper were served every day from this table except on those very special Sundays when we would treated to dinner after church at Morrison’s Cafeteria in downtown Mobile.

     The kitchen table was our Sunday School and family alter where Big Mama taught us blessings and prayers and read to us from her Bible; the foundation of all of our Christian lives. It served as our study hall, when in the evenings after supper, four sets of homework would be prepared. We learned from one another as we shared our knowledge, which, except for Fee (as he marched to the beat of a different drum where books were concerned), was responsible for the Reyes' kids outstanding academic achievements in school. It was a laundry where Monday's wash, after drying on the clotheslines, would be brought in and folded or prepared for ironing. A queen’s gown and train (for Ruby) and a king’s costume and cloak (for me) were lovingly and tediously patterned and sewn for school Coronations. Futures were planned and secrets were revealed around this table. Decisions, both great and small were forged out on its surface and its wood grain held memories of crises overcame. Love, pride, and accomplishments were learned from this table as well as hate and envy, and jealousy. It was not just a kitchen; it was a University, a Church, and a courthouse. Life was learned in this room.

     The back kitchen door led to a small screened-in back porch while another door on an interior wall opened into a large bedroom, which Big Mama, Ruby, and Stella occupied. A double window that framed a big window fan faced the Jenkins' house. This window fan sucked in outside air through partially cracked windows making hot summer days and nights much more tolerable. This room provided a mystery still unsolved to this day. For a short while, when the War was at its height and the shipyards were producing twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week at maximum peak, many of the workers were boarding wherever they could locate a room or shelter. Dad chose this time to rent out to boarders and furnished this bedroom with eight or ten army cots. The family sort of moved in with each other to make room for our new "guests" and somehow we all managed without getting in one another's way. The ongoing "mystery" is ... How did a family of seven, plus ten boarders manage in a house with only one bathroom? We've never been able to figure it out. Unreal!!

     That single bathroom was behind the big bedroom and was accessible from that room or my and Fee Boe's room. A single sink, toilet, and bathtub with no outside window. Whatever, it served the purpose. Certainly, the males of the house would use it jointly as did the females, so I suppose this provided the means for us to all ready ourselves for each day's activities.

     No larger than ten feet by ten feet, my and Fee Boe's room was on a back corner of the house and had windows on the back and side. He and I shared a double bed, a five drawer chest, and a cedar-robe, that mostly contained Dad's suits which I would later borrow and wear when he was gone. How elated I was when once I found $80 in one of his coat pockets. Later, Mom and I went through every pocket in the cedar-robe.

     The majority of the room was taken up with the usual boyhood accumulations of baseball gloves, bats and balls, footballs, Red Ryder B.B. guns, model airplanes and boats, metal skates, a crystal radio, comic books, just to mention a few. Our prize possessions were two authentic Japanese rifles with bayonets and two Japanese knee-mortars that Dad brought to us from the Pacific Islands of Wake and Guam on his tour of duty there with the Merchant Marines.

     We had a dial radio that Fee and I would spend late evenings listening to while laying in bed as the window sucked cool air in over the bed and us. We never missed our favorite radio shows; such as the great adventure series of "The Fat Man", "Sky King", "Sergeant Preston of the Yukon”, "Inner Sanctum", or the fabulous comedies of "Fibber Magee and Molly" and " The Jack Benny Show", or the unforgettable news by "Walter Winched". Saturday night was our favorite because that was the time for the "Grand Old Opry" when Minnie Pearl and Grand Paw and all the old great Country/Western singers would be broadcasting from Nashville, Tennessee. After Mom insisted we turn off the radio and go to sleep, Fee Boe and I would re-live the grand experiences of the day just past, and plan for even greater ones tomorrow.

     We shared this room until Fee Boe was sixteen when, with Mom and Dad's approval, he quit school and began his career as a seaman. I treasure the memories of our boyhood lives that Fee Boe and I shared in this room together as later life did not allow he and I much time together. It was my time of having a Big Brother. I regret that he and I couldn't have been together longer.

     We had an agitator washing machine on the small, screened in, back porch which somehow managed to survive the savage attack of two Filipino "warriors" on broomstick horses heaving elderberry spears through the wire screens; an event I readily confessed to on the immediate upcoming Christmas Eve to assure Santa Claus visiting only the good boys that night. Sometimes Big Mama would hang cotton bags filled with soured milk to cure into cottage cheese on the back porch. After the drippings were collected into enamel dish pans and disposed of, we would spoon the fresh cottage cheese from the bags into bowls for refrigerating. Of course, a taste test was necessary to assure the quality of the cottage cheese, so we were always treated to a bowlful sprinkled with sugar; a special treat indeed.

     The back porch steps served as stadium seats to the backyard arena and on other less splendored occasions as a chopping block for trimming puppy dog tails or separating chickens from their heads. It was from these steps that I developed the skill to play the "hot corner" of third base in baseball as I would repeatedly, for hours at a time, field rebounded grounders from the steps. The constant "thack/ker-bump, thack/ker-bump" against the steps would eventually exceed Big Mama's patience and she would call a halt to my baseball practice. The steps were our podium for Kodak moments or a theatre for ghost story telling. It was the grand stand for games of "May I" and "Simon Says", two games of concentration and reaction skills. It was the lunch table for sandwiches and sweet milk served at noontime to a bunch of grubby kids, hot and sweaty from playing. Disaster struck here once when Fee Boe, dashing from the back porch, blasted the screen door open, knocked over a milk glass into the yard where it broke into pieces just before, his descending bare feet landed solidly on a broken shard, severely gashing his foot. A quick trip with Mom up the street some five blocks to Dr. Armstead's office, a tetanus shot, and a new white bandage, and Fee Boe was back home and doing well much to the relief of some very worried and anxious siblings.

     Across the backyard and adjacent to the Mitchell property line stood our garage; wooden frame, tin roof, about 12'x20', with double wood doors and a dirt floor. During our first few years on Main Street we were not fortunate enough to own a car, and except for the occasional times when Big Mama would borrow a car from her brother, Uncle Evis, we had no real need for one as church, school, shopping, and playgrounds were just a few walking minutes away. Therefore, we were able to utilize the garage for whatever suited our childhood "fantasies". At various times it served as the clubhouse for the "Main Street Gang" (our version of our movie heroes, The East Side Kids), or the local newspaper delivery paper drop for the Mobile Press Register (Fee Boe had a neighborhood route) for the carriers to fold and pack their newspapers for delivery, or a fort for Cowboy and Indian games, or Headquarters for war games where we defeated the Japs and Germans daily, or a repair and maintenance shop for bicycles. It once had the honor of being the "Revival Tent" for "Brother Fee Boe" when he would dress up and preach in the style of a Southern, Pentecostal evangelist. Once "Brother Fee Boe" was so convincing that one of the congregation of two, an older, slightly mentally retarded pal, "Man" Harris, "got saved". It was from the slippery tin roof of the garage that Fee Boe fell while trying to reposition his pigeon coop. Fortunately he landed on the soft grassy turf, knocking him unconscious. It was my first experience of seeing someone's eyes roll back in the head and it frightened me so that I really thought Fee Boe was dead. A blood-curdling yell from me brought Mom on the run whereby she gently held him and bathed his face with a cold rag until he regained consciousness. No broken bones, no cuts, no headache, no pain; Fee Boe was immediately back up and at it again with a stern warning from Mom to stay off the roof. Needless to say, this incident only added to his reputation as a "tough guy".

     273 West Main Street would be our family home throughout my grammar and high school years; from Little Prichard to Glendale to Vigor High School. It was from the early '40s to the late '50s, the absolute very best of times. It was a time of good family values, close family ties, peace and safety, trust in God, and real joy and happiness. From this home I had my first Sweetheart and would briefly encounter my future wife, a friend and playmate of my sisters'. It was here that my character was molded and my faith in God instilled. From here I experienced the highs of my life as a student and athlete and, also, the lows of disappointed love and broken dreams. Life just seemed to come together in this house.

     Dad would later remodel and expand the house by bricking up the front porch, adding asbestos shingle siding, an additional bedroom and bath, a breezeway joining the house and garage, and fencing in the side and back yards.

     Even to this day, on a late summer eve when I purposefully venture into our old neighborhood and stop in front of the still existing home that I spent so many happy years in, waves of nostalgia flood over me and bring back memories of those wonderful childhood days at 273 West Main Street. Tears well up in my eyes and heart when my mind replays a boyhood pal's voice calling out... "Hey, Vince. Can you come out and play?"