The Wanderer by Grandpa Jim

It's the day after our 61st wedding anniversary, and of all the things that might cause me to reminisce, I'm struck by how often I've moved my family. You will find this hard to believe.

Let's start with statistics and what can be done with them. On the surface, we moved 37 times in our 61 years. That comes out to a move every 18 months! But that can't be. We lived in one place for 10 years, two places for 7 years each, one for 4, and one for 3. That takes away five moves and 31 years. Now we've moved 32 times in 30 years for once every 11 months!

Now let's subtract all stays of approximately 2 years. I think there were 6 and that leaves 26 moves in 18 years, or about every 8 to 9 months. The truth is, that in all these numbers, there is no way to comprehend that we lived in some places for a very few months.

Now for cities. How about 19 in 61 years? (is that 3 year's average per city?) How about 4 states? That's about 15 years per state. Subtract 30 years from Illinois, and it's 10 years per state. Subtract 20 years from Florida, and it's about 6 years per state. Ah, but numbers never lie, right?

If a person is on the outside looking in, the whole picture is incredible. But I was on the inside, and there was ALWAYS A REASON! Were all 37 perfect reasons, that is, a cause for anyone to move? Of course not. Example number one. Our first move was from Portsmouth, VA, to Elgin, IL. Our address had been a one-room, efficiency apartment (with bath.) We moved in a 15-year-old car that held all our worldly possessions in the back seat. I was getting out of the navy and there was no reason on earth to stay. My dad and brothers and some of Jean’s family lived in IL, so that was one of the rare “perfect” reasons to move.

Another example comes to mind. We had been living in a basement apartment in Evanston, IL when the place was flooded by a tremendous rainfall and the city had neglected to open some street drains. (I woke up for some unknown reason, swung my feet out of the covers, stepped down and was greeted by 9 or 10 inches of cold water!)

When all was said and done, in too long a follow-up story, Jean was seriously bothered by the darkness of the place after that. So, discovering that there was an empty apartment just upstairs, we were allowed to move up there. (From my view, it was another perfect reason.)

Interestingly, I think, is an incident that had occurred about ten years earlier. We were looking into the purchase of a townhouse in Wheeling, IL, in 1975. It was a very nice place, with full basement and two floors. We were empty-nesters, and didn’t need three bedrooms, but wanted space for family visits. (There were two grandchildren, already.) Jean was sitting on the stairs that led up to the second floor, and the realtor was talking about something or other.

Finally, the man turned to Jean and asked her what she thought about the place. Jean was reluctant to say much, but finally admitted that she was bothered by the “darkness of the living room.” (It had dark brown carpeting and windows in only one wall.) When the salesman finally got her to admit it was the carpeting, he said the owner would take $500 off the price, to allow for replacement. Jean still wasn’t jumping for joy, and sensing this, the realtor added, “Oh, yes. We’ll allow $400 for a refrigerator, too. I forgot that it’s supposed to be furnished. This means you’ll only need $100 down, instead of $1,000.”

Thus, Jean’s feelings about dark rooms goes back before our flooded apartment. It merely resurfaced as a result of that trauma, I guess. Anyway, we bought the town house and lived there ten years, and enjoyed the place a lot. For one thing, we held some grand parties there. That’s now two good reasons to move and only 35 to be accounted for.