From recent correspondence
Edited by Morris Dean
Voters are about to be given the deciding say on the question whether Donald Trump’s ways make him a winner. Ironically, it is possible that a majority of voters will have been persuaded to say “yes” by the fact that Trump is not in prison for any of his many frauds, and he has, after all, apparently won the Republican Party’s nomination.
Jazz
By Rolf Dumke
[Links to previously published installments appear at the bottom.]
In contrast to my usually detailed memories of childhood experiences, I have few memories of my life in St. Paul’s Lutheran School in the 5th and 6th grades, which were taught by a strict, small and mousy man who drilled his pupils in arithmetic.
St. Paul’s and girls
By Rolf Dumke
[Links to previously published installments appear at the bottom.]
Notwithstanding environmental, social, and moral problems of life in and around our house in Linwood Avenue and E. 55th Street, I grew up attending a well-structured Lutheran school for the four years from 5th through 8th grades. St. Paul’s Lutheran Elementary School was located up on E. 55th, above Superior Avenue. I graduated with top grades and was awarded at our graduation ceremony the cherished blue letter P for top sportsman of the graduating class, making my parents proud.
Cultural assimilation in Cleveland
By Rolf Dumke
[Links to previously published installments appear at the bottom.]
Linwood Avenue was unusual for many reasons. It was a lengthy street, running east from busy East 55th Street to East 65th, where the street stopped and skipped horizontally up to continue on another traverse parallel to the old segment of Linwood, and then stopped and skipped again. Linwood seemed undecided about its destination, a perturbing idea, presaging an uncertain future for many of its residents.
Trouble in Cleveland
By Rolf Dumke
[Sequel to “Chippewa on the Lake,” July 28]
The wind whipped over the frozen lake, creating innumerable ripples and swirls with the newly fallen snow. Long, white, fragile strings danced and curved over the dark blue ice, unwinding slowly on their path up to our shore, or, with a sudden jerk, disappeared and piled into the snow banks at the edge.
Two years at Shaw High
By Rolf Dumke
I often reflect on my first years in the United States after my family immigrated from bombed-out Germany in the early 50s. There were those wonderful first years in a middle-class neighborhood and school, after living in the rough Hugh District of Cleveland until the late 50s. Instead of returning to Germany, my parents used their hard-earned savings to buy a suburban house in East Cleveland, which allowed me two good years at Shaw High School.
