So Francis F. Trefzger, the second smartest student in the 8th grade at St. Catharine School had to attend summer school in order to be admitted to Hughes High Schoo1. There were several reasons for this, I suppose, but the principal one was that at St. C. we did not have an opportunity to study Algebra because the sisters were not qualified to teach it. Moreover I was weak in grammar; so as I recall I took math and English that summer at old Woodward High School, 14th and Sycamore Street. While a student there I learned some non-academic things from filthy-minded kids representing various types of society from all different sections of town. What "gems" of literature and art were passed around at recess time?
In September 1914 I started as a freshman at Hughes High School. Small for my age (l3 years) I weighed perhaps a little over 100 pounds, and still wore short (knickerbocker) pants. I was shy. Having always been in a small parochial school, the tremendous size of Hughes, with its several floors, big staircases, hundreds of pupils, large classes, and some male teachers, awed me. I soon realized that I was not too accemically inclined, and was behind many of my classmates in learning. It was during a period when all the Jewish kids from Avondale attended H. H. and, as a group they were very intellectual and responsive. For some unknown reason the Jewish kids liked me; several of them became my good friends. Perhaps they felt closer to me because I was a Catholic, and Catholics, like Jews, were not omitted into the fraternities. The snobbishness of our peers in those days was almost brutal. As for the Negroes, there were very few in the schoo1 - only two of them were in class with me, and both were boys. The reports of racism and segregation in the Cincinnati Public Schools that have come to me are unbelievable. I know that black students were well treated in the classes, and never once did I see a white boy get out of the swimming pool in the gym because black boys were in the water. As a matter of fact before I graduated several blacks had done very well on the different athletic teams.
I am sure now (after sixty-odd years) that I was in the wrong course at Hughes High School - the Commercial Course. My father believed it was right for me because I had to get a job immediately after graduation from high school, and therefore I should be trained in office work. They had no money for a college education for me. But from my point of view he was wrong about what course I should take. I had little interest in bookkeeping, stenography, commercial law, accounting, and mathematics. I particularly liked English, literature, and history. The foreign language I had to study was Spanish, which did not appeal to me. My high school record is somewhat of a disaster. I did exceptionally well in English, and I loved literature and plays. Science (chemistry) was difficult, and not-to my liking. Perhaps the year I skipped at St. Bonaventura put me at a disadvantage. Most of my classmates were at least a year older than I.
I liked music. I tried out for the Boys' Glee Club, but was not accepted. I joined the Mandolin Club, but for some reason it did not hold my in interest for long. In singing class Mr. Aken, the professor, told me that I had a very pleasant voice but that I insisted upon singing the melody which was unusual, in the soprano part. I looked at the notes but could not read them. All my singing I had done with my mother was on the tune or the melody.
Other reasons for my not doing too well in high school were: (1) My love for sports; (2) my dislike for study; (3) and, as time passed, my fascination for girls, one girl in particular. Almost immediately after starting to high school I went to the gym after classes each day. I was too small to try out for any teams the first year but they allowed me to work out with the track team. Part of this was cross-country running through Burnet woods. It was a grueling task for a little kid to try to keep up with the older, long-legged boys. But now (looking back) it was probably very good for me. My biggest thrill was attending the football games - and in those years Hughes was a powerhouse. I got as close as I could to the field; I enjoyed hearing the players hit the ground, grunt, groan and curse. I made up my mind then that one day I would play on the Hughes football team. Since writing the preceding words I have reviewed the Hughes Annuals of 1917 and 1918. My picture appears several times on the sports teams (including football) which astonishes me now, considering how small and young I was comparatively. Some of my yearly report cards are pasted in the 1918 annual, to bear out what I said before about scholarship. In fact, there is a small card also pasted there which shows why Trefzger was kicked off the basketball team - a 50 in Chemistry! Because the boys in the Commercial Course were not as acceptable socially (except those kids in manual training) as the students in the general of College Prep course, and because some of us were Catholics, we were not invited to join any fraternity. We therefore got together and started our own fraternity which we called Sigma Kappa Beta. A dance program (also in the 1918 Annual) lists the names of all the members. Although to me now it seems belittling to copy those who wanted no part of you socially, Sigma Kappa Beta was a great idea and a help to almost all the young men who joined. We had an opportunity to learn how to conduct meetings, how to get along together, and how to follow democratic process. Through the years our meetings were held at the homes of the various members, in different parts of town. We met their parents and families, and in addition were served good food and drinks. During the prohibition period we drank the forbidden stuff - usually homebrew or, as the Germans called it, "heimgemacht." One fellow whose family was more affluent (George Fee) had his liquor brought to the door by his bootlegger. Some class, This! While I was still at Hughes our fraternity gave several winter dances, one at a hall in Walnut Hills, another at the Westwood Town Hall, and still another at the Gibson Hotel (which will be demolished this year, 1974). We could afford these dances only because of our numbers; when the cost was shared it was not too bad. After graduation most of the S.K.B. fellows stuck together and we transferred our activities to summer camps. These so-called "camps' had to be near a river for the purposes of fishing, swimming, canoeing and boating. We got the idea from the St. Catharine of Sienna Camp at Miamitown, Ohio. So, we got ourselves an old broken-down farmhouse near the Big Miami River, and fixed it up. At best, it was a dump, but we loved it - and spent nearly every weekend there during the summer. We took turns doing the marketing and cooking, as well as house cleaning. We had old World War I folding cots, and each fellow had to have his own blankets. No girls were allowed to stay over night. As far as I recall the boys went with decent girls, and we had no disturbing moral situations. Truthfully, the place was too dirty, musty, arid crummy to please girls.
At just about this time a peculiar thing happened to me. I noticed that my penis was very red and swollen. I was convinced I had V.D. Unwilling to tell my folks or go to our family doctor, I somehow got to the office of Dr.Fishback, in town. I was ushered into one of the very small fancy offices, where I waited. Finally he came in and asked me what was troubling me. I told him of my wretched condition. He said, "Young man, have you been lying with the wrong kinds of girls?" I told him "No!" "Well," he said, "Let me take a look at that thing." After a quick glance he burst out laughing, and commented, "It is poison ivy." Evidently after canoeing I crawled up a riverbank and stopped to urinate. Let the reader, if male, be warned against such foolishness. Indeed, poison ivy has caused me much trouble in my life. Actually, at one time I was bedridden for two weeks because of it.
During my second year of high school the Trefzger family decided to convert the garden and most of the chicken runs at 2929 Lischer Avenue into a tennis court. How we did the job proves we were not engineers. Our lot, while very long (621 feet) was not wide enough for a "doubles" tennis court. After we had graded the place, smoothed it over with clay mixed with sand, and had in fact put up the high fences we measured it for regulation tennis requirements. It was just wide enough for a doubles court, but there was no space a1ong the sides to retrieve balls hit on the angle. This technica1 difficulty, however, did not stop us from playing tennis. All of the neighbors joined us in games. They also helped roll the courts and put down the white lines. Nothing that our parents could have done would have brought more fun to so many. 'There was no electric refrigeration in those days. So after rigorous games in the hot sun some brave soul would take orders for soft drinks. Back in 1915 or 1916 the price was right, but it was a 4 block hike to Habig's Pharmacy to get the goodies. As did all other drugstores at that time, Habig had his ice cream in big round metal containers. It was known as bulk ice cream, and the clerk ladled it out into paper cartons. The brave soul who went for the ice cream had to "hurry back" or all was lost!
Probably because Elsa was getting too old to sleep in with our parents (there were only two bedrooms on Lischer Avenue) in 1916 or '17 the Trefzgers bought another home, situated at 3450 Cheviot Avenue (Cheviot and Urweiler) and now (in the 1970's) occupied by the Jim Trefzgers. It was a very good buy at $7,500 on a lot 50 X 150 feet, a Swiss-Chalet type with shingle roof and shingled second floor. The first floor was covered with white clapboard. It had a full basement, coal hot-air furnace, living room, dining room, reception hall, serving hall, and kitchen with a large pantry. There was a big front porch and a small back porch. Also an outside garage. On the second floor there were three bedrooms and a large bathroom. On the third floor, another bedroom and a very spacious storage room. Even the storage room in that house had hardwood floors, and the woodwork was beautiful throughout. On either side of the wood-burning fireplace in the living room were closed-in bookcases. On the wall opposite the fireplace we put our old upright piano. My mother and I were still making music together. I do not know how much Dad paid down for the Cheviot Avenue property, but I do know that he had a mortgage with the Westwood Bldg. & Loan Co., on which he made regular payments for years before he had the new house paid off.
Fortunately for Herb and me our new home was only about a block from the Westwood Tennis Club, and we could continue our playing against much stronger players. There were four beautiful courts made of brick dust. When they were wetted down they had a beautiful dark red color which was enhanced by the white of the lines and nets. In addition they had an old clubhouse which had showers. The courts were on property belonging to Mr. James N. Gamble, Cincinnati philanthropist. The young people who were not playing (or on rainy afternoons) gathered on the wooden porches of the club to "shoot the bull" as we used to call it. At night the group played a game called "go-sheepy-go." Sides were chosen, and a captain would head each of the two sides. One group remained on the spot for a given time, while the other group ran in all direction (within a given area) to find hiding places. When the allotted time was up the captain of set the remaining group free to track down the hidden gang with all speed. When the searching party was well scattered and far enough away the captain of the hiding members would shout loudly "go-sheepy-go" and then it was a race to see how many of them could get back to the starting point without being caught. The two teams would roam over almost a square mile. The game would often carry on until 10:30 at night. Naturally, the young people tried to get on the same side with their special boy or girl friend. In that way one could do a little sparking, spooning, necking, lolly-gagging (you name it) while hiding and waiting for the "go" call. Maybe this game was the reason, or one of the reasons, why Fran Trefzger had poison ivy so often. The tennis group, or perhaps a church group, would occasionally have a "Trolley ride". (Country kids had similar events which they called "Hay Rides".)
The Cincinnati Traction Company would send a special fancy street car, a trolley, to a specified point where all were going on the ride would gather at a specified time to board the trolley. It was a Pullman type car, with plush seats, well lighted inside, with a large airy observation platform in the back. (Special railroad cars designed for comfort, sleeping and eating were named after Mr. George M. Pullman, l83l-1897.) The trolley group had to have adults on the ride as chaperons. As we rode about the streets of Cincinnati for two or three hours we ate ice cream and cake, and drank soft drinks. It was a noisy type party, this trolley party, with singing galore and yelling at passersby. As I recall, the price was fifty cents a person, which money of course went to the traction company.
Across the street from the tennis courts was the Westwood Presbyterian Church. The church young folks club presented a musical play each year for many years. The director of these musicals came from out of town, as did finally the costumes and scenery. The casts were chosen in open audition, and rehearsals went on for about two months. The performances which were given at the Westwood Town Hall were always a big success. I had an opportunity to pick up some experience in these shows, and will never forget how hard my dear mother worked with me to teach me my songs. One of them particularly remains in my mind - it was the Sandman, and the song was "Baby's boat is a silver noon, sailing in the sky."
During this period one of the most used parts of everyone's house was the front porch. Ours was my mother's delight. She enjoyed the porch swing most of all. But the daily conversations with the neighbors, both adults and children, as they passed up and down Cheviot Avenue, were a pleasant pastime. Many, many, times, both day and night, the neighborhood kids would gather on our porch to chat or to join in a game of cards. Our favorite game was "Hearts"
During my high school days one of the social advantages offered to teenagers by their parents was dancing school, if they could afford it. My mother, although not among the effluent, felt that for Francis (then about 13 years old) dancing school would be a worthwhile investment - perhaps knock off some of the rough edges. She remarked at the time that the way I slouched up the center aisle at St. Catharine Church was a disgrace to the family. The idea of dancing school did not appeal to me for several reasons: (1) I thought it was for sissies; (2) I was afraid that I might react sexually to having a beautiful young girl in my arms for a whole dance. I changed my mind about reason one because one of my best friends, Wesley Pape (a good athlete and anything but a sissy) was going. And about reason two when I met Mrs. Bott who owned and taught the school. At the very onset she said, "Boys, stay at least a foot away from your partner." Moreover, I was so busy trying to do the steps correctly that I had no time or inclination to become aroused. Botts Dancing School was located on Gilbert Avenue in Walnut Hills. The best young people in Cincinnati and Norwood attended. In addition to the classes we had dance parties which were fun. Every boy and girl had to have a pair of dancing pumps. These were carried back and forth in a cloth bag for every party or class. Some of the more sophisticated fellows brought bottled goods which was shared in the dressing room. After the classes many of the young people walked over to Peebles Corner to buy hot tomales or other goodies. I had no money for that kind of carrying on, so I simply waited for the Crosstown car, to start my long ride home. The trip took about twenty minutes in the Crosstown, plus thirty-five or forty minutes on the Westwood car, but we were used to streetcars and slow transportation in those days.
Until this time in my life I had paid little attention to girls other than neighbors. But when I was a junior at Hughes, riding the streetcar to and from school every day, I began to notice a particularly lively freshman girl who got on the car at Orland Avenue, about a mile and a half down Harrison Avenue from where we lived. The story of my love (?) affair with this young girl goes on for three years or more, filled with heartaches, jealousy, foolishness, and emotion that marks every instance of what is now called "going steady." In addition to the customary troubles of puppy-love we had religious differences of the worst kind. Her father was a Mason; her mother belonged to the Eastern Star; and worst of all, the entire family, including the girl, were New Thoughtists, a religious sect similar to Christian Scientists with one big difference. The N.T. people called both their healer and a medical doctor at a time of illness or accident. In one way the N.T. people were way ahead of the other religions in those days. They did not believe in male chauvinism and had, in fact, female healers, as well as ministers. In one of our many arguments about marriage, I can remember my girl saying, "Miss T is going to marry me; I would not be married by any priest." Well, after many separations and reconciliation's, the girl's parents forced her (at least that is my opinion) to get rid of me - which she did! It was rough for both of us. I, however, must admit that I was very, very immature, and a complete romantic. Voici the final scene of our tragedy. Young, dismissed lover, Fran, is leaving home of former sweetheart, his hands full of hot love letters, photos, ribbons, fraternity pin, and other souvenirs. As he treads home in the dead on night he sits down on the curb, eyes filled with tears, and builds a funeral pyre to burn away the last vestige of his tender passion. Pope put it this way:
For this, ere Phoebus rose, he had implored
Propitious heaven, and every power adored,
But chiefly Love - to Love an Altar built,
Of twelve vast French Romances, neatly guilt.
There lay three garters, half a pair of gloves;
And all the trophies of his former love(s);
With tender Billet-doux he lights the pyre,
And breathes three amorous sighs to raise the fire.
Then prostrate falls, and begs with ardent eyes
Soon to obtain, and long possess the prize;
The powers gave ear, and granted half his prayer,
The rest, the winds dispersed in empty air.
Canto II ll. 34-46
Young fellows are unpredictable! In our group we had a rich boy (Wesley Pope) who, although a big strong athletic type, was timid and shy with the girls. At this particular period he was enamored with a beautiful blond girl who lived on Cheviot Avenue (Ages Bolt). She was a tomboy, and very fast on roller skates. Every evening after school we pretty well covered Westwood on roller skates. One evening Wes made a bet with the rest of us boys that if any one of us could catch and kiss Agnes, he would buy sundays for the crowd. Now I was not the kind who ignored a dare - and after her I went! It was a long chase but finally about 100 yards from her home I caught and kissed her. We all enjoyed the bounty, but of course Agnes hated me for years because of that dirty trick. What she never knew, however, was that I acted also as "ghost writer" for Wes who sent her tender messages. You might have called me his official love-letter writer, for which he paid me 25 cents per epistle, as I recall. Such letters were sent to others besides Agnes, but I never heard whether or not the young ladies were impressed with them.
Most of the girls I dated lived in Westwood. I like most other kids, had a date with D___. We all knew that she kissed her dates "Good Night." So I wanted to try my luck. After the date she invited me into her house and, sure enough, when I asked her to kiss me good night, she did so in a very friendly experienced manner. She was a sweet girl, but for some reason I never took her out again. I did remember the technique which I learned from her. Later on I was better prepared to try my luck with younger girls. The good-night kiss satisfied me for a while, but later on I became more bold and began what was then called "necking." This was done in autos or on porch swings, and usually went on for some time. I had the dubious honor of being chased away by more than one irate parent who wanted me to "get lost." Webster's Dictionary defines the word "necking" as an American slang word for (1) to kiss and caress in making love; pet (2) to engage in such love-making. The etymology of this word is very interesting - i.e. A.S. Nealsgebedda, beloved bed fellow, healsmae geth, beloved maid (heals or G hals means the neck). Now, as far as Francis was concerned this "necking" was not a sexual contact sport, but what one might call the preliminaries. However, before I was out of high school I had changed my tactics because I felt that it was not honorable to paw around on the girls promiscuously. Undoubtedly this change in my approach was brought on by my reading of novels having to do with the days of chivalry and knights of old. In my profession through the years naturally I have been exposed to the history of the middle ages. It was not a period of chivalry, ner of romance. In those early years I was living in a dream world. My young men friends told me that my attitude toward the girls I took out was "nuts" and that the girls wanted to be kissed and petted. I suppose it was all part of growing up!
During the last two years of high school and after graduation I dated girls of all kinds and classes, from various ports of Cincinnati. These dates, at times, meant long streetcar ride - from Westwood to Hyde Park, for instance. Three car changes to get there-Westwood, Crosstown, and Hyde Park. Then to get to my date, and go somewhere - a show or whatever. At the end of the evening the same journey home faced me, throughout which I frequently wondered whether it was worth the trouble. With one exception, all the girls I dated were high-class girls who seemed to like me but I was without a car or "wheels" as the young people nowadays call their automobile, and in a nice way they let me know they were not too interested. I mention the girl who was an exception because it will help me explain my feelings toward young women in general at that time. I was afraid of fast girls mainly because I had seen what happened to some of my friends who contacted V.D. from pickups at dances. This was the era before the days of wonder drugs. Both the fellows and girls were victimized. As for the good girls I dated, I had several sound reasons for keeping my distance: (1) my religion forbade sex outside of marriage; (2) my sense of honor would not let me go too far.
On another subject: I have mentioned that while a student at Hughes I wore Uncle Joe's suits, cut down to size, and one day I begged him for his derby hat. He gave it to me with the remark that "Kids your age don't wear derbies." I said, "Well, I want to wear it to school, just for the fun of it." One fine morning, with hat on head, I boarded the Westwood car as usual. Immediately the chatter began: "Look at the hat," "Where did you get that derby?" "Knock it off his head," etc. 'The guys really did try to corner me to grab the hat which I defended courageously on the Westwood car. As usual, at Brighton I boarded the Crosstown which was full to overflowing with students. Many of them were from Price Hill, and resented my derby hat even more than the Westwood kids. However, I managed to get on the back platform with the hat intact, but when we arrived at the incline these rowdies saw their chance. Crowding around me they pinned my arms to my sides while one of their group jumped up on the outside of the back platform, reached over a few heads, and gave me a tremendous thump on the top of the derby. It was durable and did not break but the force of the blow drove the hat down over my eyes, onto my ears and nose. I could not see, nor could I raise my arms. I was in a pickle! Finally, those "apes", having had their fun, released me. But the story does not end there. Evidently during the day the news went through the building that Trefzger had come to school in a derby hat. Then I came out after classes all the guys from the football team were waiting for me, intent upon destroying my precious possession. One of the tackles picked up a large hunk of mud which evidently contained a rock, and tossed it onto my hat. This time it split and fell off. They jumped on the pieces until nothing was left but the rim. These guys were my friends - no fight ensued.
Speaking of fights, I did engage in several very nasty ones while still a teenager - with scars to show that I was not always the victor. One in particular comes to my mind. After some trouble with a fellow in the gym at the Westwood School, I was asked to leave the gym. I told him I would wait for him outside. I did just that, at the top of about fourteen stone steps. While standing there with my back to the steps, he rushed through the door, and landed a haymaker on my jaw. I went down the flight backwards and he went right with me because of the force of the blow. At the bottom of the steps I somehow got on top of him. With blood dripping out of my cut mouth onto his face, I held his head between my hands and beat it many times against the cement. If some friends had not separated us and stopped the fight I might have killed him.
Early in this autobiography I mentioned that our family would travel now and again in the summertime to Peoria to visit our grandparents in their old family home on Monroe Street. The house was behind the Trefzger Bakery which fared on Main Street. The lot was 75 feet long. It was a frame duplex usually painted white with green trimming.
Living in the house during my adolescent years were my grandfather, grandmother, Aunt Mary T. Bauer, and my maiden aunt, Aunt Anna (whose baptismal name was Sophie). My grandparents were well preserved old folks and both lived to be 90 years of age. He (Simon T.) was bald, and when around the house used to wear a little black Jewish-type skullcap. He was interested in having his grandchildren speak German. In fact, he would pay five cents a word to hear any of us speak his native language. My grandmother had long black hair - she had very few strands of gray at the time of her death. Aunt Mary Bauer was a businesswoman, by necessity. I think she sold insurance. She began to work early in life because her husband ran away with another woman only a short time after they were married - leaving her with debts. Aunt Anna was an artist. Much of her work is still around in the family and, in my opinion, very worth while. I thought her best efforts were in watercolors and painting on porcelain. We loved both of these aunts - they were good to all of us. Aunt Anna was very fond of animals, among them a pet dove which she took from the cage and allowed to fly around the house. Its dove call (cooing cry) sounded so beautiful in the old house - before the days of blasting radio, T. V., and stereo. She had, however, another pet, a dachshund called "Princely" that was a pain-in-the-neck. Princely was so spoiled and badly trained that he caused my good aunt no end of trouble and expense. Too stupid to go outside, he behaved abominably inside, particularly when there were guests. At the card parties he had the bad habit of tearing the ladies' silk hose. To make amends, my aunt kept a supply of ladies stockings on hand, all sizes and the best quality, with which she immediately replaced the torn ones. When in Peoria I tried several times to train the dog, but even a few kicks and beatings did no good. One of the most memorable trips to Peoria was for my grandparents golden Wedding Anniversary. (or, it may have been their 60th anniversary.) I believe 1913 was the year. This was the year of one of the big Ohio River floods, and I recall that our train was rerouted several times which, of course, prolonged the journey many hours. It was a tremendous reunion - perhaps the last time that all the Simon Trefzgers were together because some of the living children had already moved to California.
The l913 flood caused much consternation in Cincinnati. The Millcreek backed up and filled the volley between the downtown section and the Western Hills. Streetcar service to Westwood was stopped. All the Westwoed people who wished to go to work took the Cinit-Westwood R.R. down to near Lunkenheimer's factory where they were taken across the flood waters in small boats, to board streetcars to town. The Cinti-Westwood R.R. at that time was no longer a passenger R.R., as it had been in the early years when the Berger family use it. My mother, for one, went to Hughes High School (then in the West End -see Annual) aboard this train. It is my recollection that they used freight cars to haul passengers during the flood periods: 1913, 1937.
Aunt Anna in Peoria was very romantic (like my mother) and whenever she knew that I was coming for a visit she wou1d arrange some dates for me. One time she, knowing that I liked to swim, fixed up a date with the Illinois girl swimming champ; another time, with a tennis champion. (No girl was too goad for her beloved Francis!) I can still remember my tennis match with the girl. She ran me raged and beat me unmercifully -but that was not all. It was the period of World War I, and the tennis courts were near a temporary camp of the Illinois National Guard. These fellows had been called up for service, and they did not look very favorably upon a young man playing tennis with a girl. They called me some pretty fancy names. What a relief when that date was over! On that visit to Peoria I saw my first company of black troops. They were bivouacked in a downtown hotel. They probably came from all over the state of Illinois because there were not that many blacks in Peoria at the time. The way they played their war game amused me. The street in front of the hotel was blocked off. Each soldier got himself a good stout stick (about the size of a piece of lath). They then chose sides, and met in the center of the street. Such a battle as then took place is difficult to describe. They yelled and screamed, and continued to whack one other with their sticks. Usually they tried to hit their opponents on the head, but any place on the anatomy would do. One side finally gave in and despite some bloodshed, there appeared to be no hard feelings.
Before changing the subject of dates, I must admit that Aunt Anna did get me some which were really quite enjoyable - two of the young women were really wonderful people.
The Illinois River in those days was a beautiful stream, and the scene of much boating activity. The favorite short trip out of Peoria by large riverboat was up the river to Starved Rock National Park. This was Indian country, and legend has it that a tribe of Indians was starved out high on the rock because they refused to surrender to their enemies. Another legend is about the Indian maiden who refused to allow herself to be raped, and jumped to her death in the river. The high spot from which she is said to have jumped is called "Maiden's Leap." The scenery in that area was phenomenal in that the river had eaten its way through the rocks and left tremendous cliffs. On the boat to and from Starved hock there was dancing, food, and games. Young men without dates soon found themselves a partner - and a good time was had by all!
One of our most memorable trips to Peoria was made by auto. My folks bought a Ford - Model T - Coupe (our first automobile). It was black with white wire wheels, a two-door which could accommodate five people comfortably. The seat on the right hand in front folded down for easy access. It had a hand -as well as a foot-throttle. To start the car, one had to crank it (on the outside in the front). It had the old Model-T pedal gearshift which had to be pushed into the floor for Low and, after a sufficient speed was gained, allowed to flyback into High Neutral was half way in between. There was an extra pedal for Reverse. Well, anyway, that was our vehicle for a memorable trip to Peoria. The passengers were Don Dearness, Herb, and myself. We had some camping equipment along, being short of cash for hotel rooms. The mileage was 321 miles, a two-day trip at that time in my life. Our route was as follows: Harrison, Ohio; Brookville, Rushville, Indianapolis, CrawfordsviIle, Indiana; then to Danville, Champaign, Bloomington, and Peoria, Illinois. Once out of Cincinnati, the roads were bad, very bad. They were natural gravel roads, covered with dust and usually consisted of two deep ruts, one going each direction. Passing another auto was almost impossible because of the flying grovel, the great clouds of dust, and the deep ruts. In Indiana and Illinois the roads did net go directly to the next town, but followed the county lines which were generally squared off. There were many sharp angles and right angle corners. Considering all of this, as well as the high wheels and high set of our car, it is understandable why, at a corner somewhere out in the cornfields of Indiana, our auto dipped over onto its side. Fortunately it fell on an embankment rather than into a gully. We crawled out, and decided we could right the car ourselves. A garage, or even a telephone, would have been miles away. Herb, who was the smallest, get into the driver's seat, started the meter, and Don and I pushed with all our might. "Eureka"! Up she went, and we were on our way once again. That night we stopped in Crawfordsville, Indiana, to get something to eat, then drove out to the edge of town. How the three of us slept in that small car I will never know. But we were all in a sound sleep, in the middle of the night, when we heard a loud voice, "Put your hands up and come out peacefully" It was the police -with a revolver pointing at us from both doors. I had a revolver of my own beside me on the floor, but I had presence of mind enough to slide it under the back seat. After a few minutes of interrogation they were satisfied that we were not Bonny and Clyde, and they invited us to drive our car down to a court yard next to the City Hall. Evidently a woman who lived near where we had parked our Ford was alarmed at our presence in the neighborhood, and called the police. This was before the days of camping sites, at least in Indiana.
While in Peoria we had the customary entertainment, great food, good swimming at Becker's Sulphur Pool, tennis, and dates. As for the food at Trefzgers, there was always an abundance - and the bakery was only 100 feet away. Aunt Anna was a great lover of fruit end berries - there was at all times thick cream to go with them. From the Trefzger Bakery she got good bread, excellent sweet rolls, and all the pie and cake we could eat. Through the years Peoria had a famous candy shop on Main Street called Katzings. Their specialty was chocolate covered nuts. Of the different varieties my favorite was chocolate covered Brazil nuts. Cincinnati visitor ever went home without some of Katzings' goodies. From the time we were teenagers it was our custom after dates to stop in by-way-of the side door at the bakery to see our cousin, Joe. We would call down to him through an air vent to let us in. Whereupon he would come up from the basement to unlock the door, always with the same greeting: "Help yourselves to some bakery goods," which of course we did. Munching on food, we visited with him for half an hour or so. His performance was unbelievable - he continued with his baking, moving like lightning, never over or under weighing an ounce, while he told one dirty story after another. He had a col1ection of filthy limericks numbering in the hundreds, and an assortment of pornographic pictures and objets d'art that would be the envy of any owner of an "adult bookstore" today. Most of this stuff came from flour salesmen who called regularly. But Joe also picked up some of the jokes and filth at the firehouse near his home which he frequented. Joe's mother died when he was quite young. He evidently spent to much time playing cards and swapping yarns with the firemen. As far as I was concerned Joe's entertaining chatter in the bakery basement went in one ear and out the other. Only one limerick still sticks with me, probably because the subject was homosexuality. I had realized that such sins were committed. The actions of bad kids in Lick Run and at Woodward High School made me aware of what was going on. The limerick was:
I am the great King of Siam,
For women I care not a damn.
But tall men and small boys -
Ah! They are the joys.
It's an ___hole ______ I am.
Anyone who cannot fill in the missing words is an angel, end far be it from me to spoil him. Only once in my life did I send Joe any material for his collection - and at a much later date. In fact, I was studying Rabelais' Gargantua and Pa.ntagruel in French. One of Rabelais' purposes in writing these strange and humorous tomes was to show French writers that their native language was every bit as worthwhile as Latin for writing important literature. For example, to illustrate his idea he wrote page after page of synonyms and antonyms - sort of un-alphabetized Thesaurus. Well, to get back to Joe. I came across a page on which Rabelais had printed about fifty synonyms for the male sexual organ. I copied these names and sent them to him.
It was many years later that Joe let me know how much he appreciated my gift - in fact it was the day before my 25th wedding anniversary (November 24, 1950) when a beautifully wrapped gift arrived from Peoria. In it was an assortment of "peters" made out of rye bread. For each size, end they came in all sizes, there was included an explanatory chart telling in a very humorous way of the joys and woes off fellows possessing like-sized appurtenances. As long as I am on the subject of sex I may as well mention a visit we made to a camp on the Illinois River during W. W.I period (and probably during the Prohibition era). There was a government order in effect at the time that no house of prostitution nor red light district could function within 20 miles of a military base. In Cincinnati the whores from George Street were chased out into the suburbs; in Peoria I am sure the same thing happened. Well we, Dan, Herb, and I went up to this Camp with our bathing suits, changed, and enjoyed a nice swim. In those days the Illinois River was not only beautiful, but clean - no pollution. After our swim we went back to the Camp and were quite surprised to see that things had livened up. A victrola was playing dance music, and there were at least three young women and several men dancing, telling stories, and drinking, because I was under 21 I was not invited to join in the fun. As an onlooker I tried to figure things out. When I went upstairs to change my clothes I found out in a hurry. In the next bedroom on the bed with the door wide open a girl and a man were in the nude. They did not notice me immediately, and tried several classic positions. Finally they closed the door, and later raised "cane" with the old woman who was evidently the "Madame" of the joint. She in turn asked us to leave in as much as we were all under 21 years of age. This experience bothered me for some time Through the years we had had chickens, ducks, geese, rabbits, and I had seen dogs, hogs, and cattle muting - the animal sexual copulation was not unknown to me. But a man and woman? Wow!! Like every other experience, however, I lived through it.
To get back to W.W.1, and why I did not enlist, go to France, and get killed. Many of the young men who were at Hughes when the war broke out did enlist. I was very anxious to. There was one drawback, however, A young man had to be 18 years old or have his father's consent. My father refused. When I was 18, the war was over. I recall most vividly famous Armistice Day of November 11, 1918. The moment the news hit Cincinnati that World War 1 was over pandemonium broke lose. People from all sections rushed into the heart of Cincinnati. What a noise, what honking of horns and yelling! It seemed almost instantaneous that there were bands of music, parades of cheering people heading nowhere in particular, with no regard for traffic which was halted in downtown Cincinnati for the rest of the day and night. Whether prohibition was still in effect I am not sure, but everyone seemed to be drunk - either with alcohol or relief. I was in town with my cousin Adolph Eckerle who had driven his father's car. We had girls with us. Adolph was forced to leave the car on the outskirts, and all of us struggled through the mobbed streets. The girls were unhappy with the "pawing" they received, so I took our group to 111 E. Sixth Street, the location of my dad's Cuban Cigar Co., with office on the second floor. On the street level was a saloon. From the windows of dad's office we had a marvelous view of the city-wide celebration.
Upon graduation from Hughes High School I was faced with the necessity of finding a job. I had thought about becoming a dentist, but the family did not have the money, and I did not have the grades, particularly in science. My first job was at the Western German Bank located at 12th and Vine Streets. At the bottom of the ladder I was called a "messenger" and my pay was $25.00 a month. Not much, but I saved $5.00 each month because my parents allowed me to live at home without charge. The only excitement connected with the job came about noontime each day. That was the hour the messengers from all the downtown banks went to a centrally located "clearing house" on Fourth Street. I literally ran from 12th to 4th every banking day. Each messenger had a satchel which contained packets of checks drawn on other banks. The packets we had were handed out to the messengers representing the different banks. When we arrived at the clearing house we gathered around a table with an official present, and tossed the packets back and forth to one another, until each messenger had all the checks drawn on his respective bank in his possession and listed on a sheet of paper. Then we had to add our column of figures as fast as we could until the total balanced with the official's total. I frequently had the honor of being the first one to "clear out". One banking day while I was running down Walnut Street to Fourth, I was startled to see the air around me filled with U.S. currency. I couldn't believe it - but sure enough there were green dollar bills flying all over in the wind. Several fellows and I gathered them in. A taxicab driver stepped his car, to gather a few. In all, I had about ten one-dollar bills, and I stood there with my mouth open like a dummy. The taxi driver, seeing me in the middle of the street, evidently thought it was my money, and be "beat it" with his quota! Nobody paid any attention to me, so I finally went about my business too. The bills had probably blown out of a window in some high building. They advanced me rapidly at the bank -to the credit department, then to the bookkeeping department where I operated a banking bookkeeping machine. It was electrically operated and handled checks, deposits, and statements. I was a fast operator, but I must adult that running the machine six or eight hours a day made me very nervous.
While I was working at the Western Bank we went through the terrible "Flu Epidemic of 1918." This deadly disease killed many people all over America. Men died like flies in many U.S. Army installations. Only one person well known to us was a victim of the plague - he was Clifford Oker, a neighbor who was serving in the army. At the bank we wore surgical masks to keep from getting the bug. Most of the older men in the bank took another precaution as well - they kept themselves well irrigated with "snops" At any rate, we had no casualties. The fall following my graduation from high school I enrolled at Xavier College night school, downtown campus at Seventh and Sycamor Streets. I cannot remember what subjects I took or how long I attended. I do know, however, that because of my "love affair" I was so mixed up that I did not even take my exams. Many years later when I again registered in the same school I was asked by the registrar Father Nieperte why I had not taken my exams. He remarked that my record was good, but that for some reason I had not taken the exams. I told him I was sick at the time, and so I must have been? My years between high school and twenty some years of age are rather misty. I was consistent in my interests, however, which were (1) girls, (2) sports, and (3) becoming ever stronger, music. As far as girls were concerned, I had really had it with a disastrous love affair. So I played the field. As for sports, we continued to play tennis is the summertime; in the fall I organized a football team. We played on the Westwood commons and had many interesting games on Sunday afternoons. The players were fellows from the neighborhood, among them Dutch Deitel, Billy Balmoyer, Herb, Gharlie Helwig, Harry Fath, Howard Detzel. It was a rough and tumble, bunch with meager equipment. During one game I was kicked in the groin (nuts, as we called it then) and lay writhing on the ground. The players gathered around, as did the girls, one of whom (my girl at that time) called out: "Put Sloane's Liniment on it, that will help him?" Sloan's Liniment was for horses, so you can imagine what a good heavy application of that stuff would have done to me at that moment.
After the football season, basketball was our sport. Our team was called the "Lauery Club" because my father paid for our shirts, dark maroon, numbered and lettered. The players were Ray Foerst, Fritz Lamping, forwards; Stan Franey, Bay Oker, centers; Herb, Jim Flinchpaugh and I, guards. We in most all of the gyms and neighborhoods in town, among them the Cincinnati YMCA, Fenwick Club, Friars Club, DeSales, Newport, Covington, St. Martins, St. Boniface St. John's (Green Street), and perhaps the most exciting of all, the two church gyms on Mt. Adams. There were two Catholic parishes up there, one Irish, Holy Cross; and one German, The Immaculata. We got along well enough with the German kids, but when we beat the Irish, we had to fight our way off the hill - then called Goat Hill. When we had our complete team we did not lose too many games but because we played so often the regular guys could not make it regularly, and we lest our share.
About this time Father Tieken, our pastor at St. Catherine Church, wishing to improve the choir for his young organist, Joe Seiwert (recently returned from study in France) hired a singing teacher, Bert Rogers Lyon. He instructed us once a week, and certainly improved the quality of our choir. After awhile I took private lessons from Mr. Lyon, which resulted in my singing solos. I can remember the first one, an "Ave Maria" as I recall. My knees knocked together so hard they actually hurt - but I managed to keep my voice firm. Unfortunately, then, as well as through the years, I was always nervous when I had to sing. While still singing at St. Catharine's, Mr. Lyon asked me to sing in his choir at The Ninth Street Baptist Church. I enjoyed choir work very much because it was fourpart, with excellent sopranos and altos. There was, however, one serious drawback - the minister hated Catholics, particularly the Pope and the Church in Rome. It seemed to me that he attacked my church and beliefs every Sunday in his sermons to the point that I became enraged sufficiently to tell Mr. Lyon that I was quitting the job. He was upset, as he said he needed my voice in the choir. The outcome was that he arranged for me to leave the church during the sermon and wait in the choir room. When the Rev. Mr. Riker was finished with his tirade Mr. Lyon pressed a button to call me back. Just for the record, Mr. Riser got so bad that the Baptist Church defrocked him soon thereafter. Some time later Mr. Lyon left Cincinnati for Ithaca, New York, to teach at the Ithaca School of Music. I had to find a new teacher. In l923 I tried the Cincinnati Conservatory of Music. The school was located in the old Shillito home on Auburn Avenue in Mt. Auburn. My first teacher there was a Mr. Blackman, a bass. I was enrolled just long enough to sing in one recital, but I never warmed up to this man as a teacher. I transferred to the College of Music, then located at 1222 Elm Street, next to Music Hall. My teacher was Line Mattioli. (incidentally, one day while taking a lesson with Mr. Blackman I looked out the window in time to see his wife lying in the street. She had been run down by a team of horses. Mr. B. and I ran to her immediately and carried her into a nearby building. Fortunately she was not seriously hurt.)
For my twenty-first birthday my father decided that I should have a solid gold watch. He liked the open faced railroad watches and preferred the Hamilton make. At the time, the fall of 1921, he was very short of cash. I knew, because I was working for him then (having left the bank) and business was lousy. Someone told my dad to get a second-hand watch in a pawnshop, which he did. It moved me deeply to know how much he cared. (I am writing this circa 1975 and I still use the watch which runs perfectly. Many years ago I had to replace the outer case which I retained in my possession. however, with a picture of my be1oved wife and our first daughter, Patricia, still enclosed.)
In the month of November just before my twenty-first birthday, something really special happened to Francis F., now called Franz Trefzger. Because of my singing engagements and notices in the newspapers referring to me as Miss Frances Trefzger I felt constrained to change my name. I chose "Franz": which is simply the German for Francis. Also, my earliest recorded ancestor in Wehr, Germany, was called Franz. During this particular year (1921-1922) Herb was attending the University of Cincinnati as a co-op student in engineering. He was not bid to a fraternity because they did not take Catholics. Nevertheless, he was a big success around the campus because of his friendly spirit and his dancing ability. Almost every Friday afternoon there was a tea-dance in the old gym at U.C. It was located next to Carson Field (the original football field) where the Hughes football team as well as the U.C. team played their games. Today the field is called Nippert Stadium, named after a boyhood friend and neighbor in Westwood, James Nippert. Jimmy who was on the U.C. team was cut with a cleat during a Thanksgiving Day game with Miami University. Blood poisoning set in. It was fatal! His grandfather, James Gamble (of P & G) denoted a huge sum of money toward the new stadium which they named after Jimmy. While Herb was still at U.C. I happened to see a Theta Phi Alpha group picture in the U.C. Annual. I was struck with the picture of one of the girls. She had very black shiny hair, beautiful eyes, and a very pretty face. Her name was Marie Rose Niland. I asked Herb if he knew the girl. He said, "Sure, I dance with her every chance I get -she is a marvelous dancer." "Well" I said "I sure would like to take her out sometime": "cou1dn't you fix up a double date?" He said, "Oh, she would not go out with you - she is one of the most popular girls at U.C." I, however, was not so easily turned off, and urged him to try. He did so. My record or date books go back to 1922, so I could not pinpoint the exact date of my meeting with Miss Niland. I always remembered that it was a Friday evening in the fall of 1921. (As matter of fact however. I found the exact date of our first meeting just recently in Marie's Memory Book - it was November 24, 1921, exactly four years to the day before our wedding in 1925.) I always remember "a Friday evening in the fall of 1921" because that afternoon I played my last game of football on Carson Field, as a member of the Hughes' Alumni team, against the Hughes' 1921 team, then season high school champions of Cincinnati. We the alumni won 6-0. Posted in the rear part of my 1918 Hughes Annua1 are some newspaper clippings and a picture having to do with my last football game. Although I had played half-back in 1918, in this game I played left guard for the second half of the game. The star of our alum team was the assistant coach of Hughes High School, Shiner Knab; the star of the Hughes team, a black boy called Tick Smith. After the game my friend Wes Pape said, "Fran, wil1 you take my gear out to Westwood with you - I have a date." I assured him that I would because Herb was going to pick me up in front of Hughes, with my own gear. Well, I waited, and waited for Herb, becoming more furious all the time because of our upcoming double date that night. Finally I called home to learn that Herb had forgotten all about me! He said he would come immediately -in those days "immediately" from Westwood to Hughes in a Model T Ford took at least one-ha1f hour. I was so angry that I threatened to renege on the date. Herb calmed me down by exp1aining that he had gone to much trouble to get me the date but that he was sure I would like the girl when I met her. So we went out to Norwood to get Marie Herb's date was Clarissa Pardieck, and Stan Franey's date, Virginia McBrien - both of the girls were also members of Theta Phi Alpha.
Marie lived it 3949 Regent Avenue in South Norwood. The house was frame, with a large frame porch across the front. One entered into a hall which land led into the kitchen. To the left of the hall was a rather large living room, opening into a dining room with a nice bay window. Both the living room and dining room had a mantle. The one in the dining room burned gas, along with an asbestos front.
There was a definite air of hospitality in the Niland household. I cannot remember whether I met Marie's mother on that first date or not, but anyway I had the feeling that it would not be a bad place to came back to. As for the girl, my blind date, she was more beautiful than her picture, which had enticed me - she was very different from the kinds of girls I had dated in the past. She was stylish in her dress, had perfect manners, and was rather sophisticated -or at least that is what I thought that night. Maybe she was just giving the Westwood country boy something to think about. If so, she succeeded, because she never could get rid of me after that night. The six of us went to the Alms Hotel to dance. It was a first-class place then. The hotel had a circular ballroom with a very large ball candelabra hanging in the center. On this ball were thousands of small mirrors which reflected colored lights from spot lights in the corners. Every once in a while they would have a moonlight dance with just the spots in various colors reflecting the small mirrors. As Herb had said, my date was a marvelous dancer. Unfortunately, I was mediocre. I had difficulty making conversation because I was not one of the university group. I can remember showing Marie my new watch which evidently dad had given me before my birthday (December 7th). I evidently talked too much about my ability to sing -but what was a poor guy to do. Well, that was the fatal night -Marie had cast her spell upon me.
'Autobiography' by Franz Trefzger