Born at Ohio State Hospital and grew up across the street from Scioto Country Club, two stone walls and Lane Avenue have forever separated me from a golf club I was meant to join but never did. My Grandfather and Father were OSU Alums. My father in his love for the University donated 37 years teaching students all that he knew about Radiology while earning his living at Children's Hospital. He was a great and giving man. He built our home in 1954 and I was born 4 years later. I knew nothing. I assumed everyone had a maids quarters in the basement with full shower and toilets which we could never enter. Those facilities were only to be used by Elizabeth and then Irene.
Our friends and neighbors had last names that sounded just like those on TV shows in the 60s like Stevens, Cartwright, Reed,or Martin.Oh and a golfer named Nicklaus. I remember seeing his new home built and later helped my brother deliver newspapers to his door. I was the last of 5 kids. I walked home from Kindergarten at 5 yrs old and was almost never home until the dinner bell rang. My parents had bought a second lot adjacent to our house and that was the center of our play world when were not sneaking on to the golf course at night. I always wondered why we never joined Scioto it seemed all my friends were going there. My Dad would always say Golf is a rich man's game so we don't belong. I wondered a bit about that as I spent my summers at our cottage in Northern Michigan.
As the years flipped a new TV Family arrived with the last name of Bunker. A new restaurant came to Columbus called the Place Upstairs in German Village that my father loved and became a Saturday night ritual after the famous 30 mass at St. Patricks. Through Archie blatant hate, I asked my father and mother about our heritage, It seems I was half breed of German and English on both sides. I remember my father greeting Earl Bradley the owner of the Place Upstairs warmly each Saturday evening. The thought that he happened to be black seemed cool to me. I wondered why our school was all white for the first time.
It was not until my parents decided to sell our home in 1974 that I saw the inconvenient truth. My father showed me the deed restriction he signed twice and forever regretted. Before placing the home on the market he had the restriction removed which said clearly no sale to those of color until 1999. I also remember 1974 as our last big Memorial Day Party my parents held every year. It was the last time Woody Hayes ever visited our home. Like all things to unknowing me it was just the way it was.