One day while walking along the Passaic River we found a box load of large machine gun bullets. We filled our pockets. My brother Peter called the police, who promptly came and took away the live ammunition.

I fell off a bike and knocked my teeth out. My mother shoved them back into the gums.

We had some sort of a wagon. We used it for going down to the farm and getting horse manure. Then we walked it back home and worked it into the soil for planting crops. My mom always planted tomato plants.

My godfather had a restaurant on Broome and Kinney Streets in Newark. My father worked there and I played there. Later dad had his own restaurant on Mulberry Street and I use to work there, washing dishes, serving customers and short order cooking. It was in a black neighborhood near the post office. Main dishes were pigtails, pig ears, pig knuckles and sweet potato pie. I only ate the sweet potato pie.

My brother built a huge ham (short wave) radio set on the front porch. He used to talk to other people all over the country. They would send each other CQ cards (business and picture postcards).

I built a small crystal radio, which used cat's whiskers for tuning in local radio stations. I built a one-tube radio that I could not get to work. I remember my brother trying to figure out what I did wrong in the wiring. He fixed it.

Every winter I use to get earaches. Mom used to put warm oil with cotton in my ears. Even the years through the Service I would get the earaches. The doctors shoved all kinds of wires up my nose. However, strange as it may sound, when I got married to my wife Mary . . . I never had an earache again.