In the year 1952CE, photographs were known, but not regularly taken. Unlike today – where there are so many photos taken of so many things, that they almost become meaningless – even very special events were rarely recorded for posterity. It means that the few photos that survived are cherished just a bit more.
I don’t seem to have any pictures of myself before the age of about three. This one was taken around April, 1957 in front of our house on 19th Avenue in San Francisco.
But that’s not the point of this particular post – it’s the origin of the name “TimmyDick”.
My parents met in San Francisco – they were both working for the Southern Pacific Railroad at 1 Market Street – but neither were actually from San Francisco. Mom was born in Bakersfield and Pop was born in Omaha.
Mom’s Aunt Mayme lived in San Francisco and ran a rooming house on Sutter and Fillmore. Her Uncle Tommy – Aunt Dolores’ husband and Mayme’s youngest sister – was a Train Master for the SP and her Uncle Jim – Auntie Sis’ brother was an Engineer for the SP. I don’t know how involved either of them were in my mom getting a job there, but at the very least, she knew the company couldn’t be all bad if her uncles worked for them.
My father’s father was working for the Treasurer’s Department in Omaha and was recruited by Bank of America during WWII to work in SF – women didn’t work in banks back in those dark ages. He and my grandmother and my Aunt Kathleen moved to SF in 1943 and remained after the war. Their three sons – who were all in the military when they moved – joined them is SF after their discharges.
Tom and Jack – my father’s older brothers – were married to their Omaha sweethearts and settled down raising families. My father was a good looking guy and a bit of a ladies man – until he met my mom. A bit of a whirlwind courtship and they were wed. My brother, Mike, was born 9 months and 3 weeks after their wedding. Back in those days, the old biddies would be counting the dates on their fingers…
It was a bit rough on my mom, because all of her in-laws had known each other for years back in the midwest. They had history my mom would never have. Whether they actually froze her out or her own insecurities made her feel left out is a moot point, today. What is known is that my folks moved to LA circa 1951 – ostensibly to put distance between her and her mother-in-law.
I was born in Los Angeles.
When I was born, my father sent a telegram to his parents announcing the birth of “Timmy Dick”. My father’s name was Richard, but always went as Dick. Back in those dark ages, Western Union was King and telegrams were the norm for things like announcements.
A month or so after my birth, my grandparents took the train to LA to see me, My grandfather asking “How is little James doing?” Evidently, Western Union confused Timmy with Jimmy in the telegram. Or, it could have been my father’s atrocious handwriting – he was a lefty who went to a Catholic school and was forced to use his right hand because left-handed people were the Spawn of Satan.
ANYWAY…..
My mother quite indignantly said “His name is Timothy” and my Irish grandfather – his father was born in Ireland – beamed from ear to ear.
Sadly, Grandpa Dineen died when I was a mere 18 months old. I have a very vague, foggy memory of sitting on his lap on a bench with lots of noise and people around. I remember a hat and the smell of cigarettes. I mentioned it to my dad years later and he didn’t have an actual recollection of it, but said it was probably a baseball game at Seals Stadium. His dad was sick – he had colon cancer – and liked to go out and sit in the sun and have a few beers.
My kinda guy!