Immediately following Thanksgiving in 1970, I moved to Amherst; Karen and the kids remained behind until we were able to sell our house in Rockville. They joined me a few days after Christmas. The month of December was very interesting for all of us.
We had purchased a new house on Sheerman Lane overlooking the fields and pastures of UMA, the agricultural land-grant institution for the Bay State. There were only three houses on the street. The Kilmers lived next door, the Sardis, on the opposite side of the lane. Although we lived in town, the three houses were isolated enough so that we had no mail delivery. We did have a box at the post office downtown and went there daily over the next few years, until the addition of a fourth house allowed for home delivery to all of us.
From our front yard we had picturesque views of the Pelham Hills, alive with color, particularly during the autumn foliage season. New England scenery must be seen in person in order to consume it and be consumed by it. Two-dimensional photographs are limited in scope; the viewer must be able to see the reds, golds, yellows and browns in all directions for complete encompassment.
We lived on Sheerman Lane at the right time; the view changed dramatically after we moved. When we returned to Amherst for a summer vacation, several years after having left it, an entire neighborhood now existed on the valley we once beheld as open country. No matter what color trimming their shutters and doors may have, they do not replace the vibrant tones of fall foliage.
Back then, Karen and I had seen our new home in early Fall. During our first winter there, we had an ongoing debate whether we had pine-shrubs growing in front of our house. When the snows finally melted in March, we learned we did. The low-growing junipers slowly reappeared.
Another challenge, albeit a very personal one, occurred during that first December of employment by the Commonwealth of Massachusetts. It concerned my paycheck. State employees received a check each Friday. I did not. In order to begin receiving a salary, the employee had to have passed a routine TB test. Having lived for five years in Washington, D.C., I had been sufficiently exposed, as most city residents were, to the bacillus so that my results came back positive. I had to take an in-depth test, which precluded a paycheck for several weeks.
Meanwhile, I lived in a single room in a home owned by one of the University’s wrestling coaches. A Korean couple lived in a basement apartment. The three of us shared the kitchen. On the way home each evening, I bought a frozen dinner at the local grocery store for dinner. Occasionally, I tasted what the other couple had prepared. It was my first exposure to fried seaweed. During that December, I learned to live on P&J sandwiches. I realized what it was like to live in poverty, but unlike those who really existed this way, I did know it would end within the month and my life would return to normal.
Evenings and weekends were spent in my bedroom, reading and learning about the University, while listening to the radio. Sammy Davis, Jr. sang Mr. Bojangels every 15 minutes.
The weather also resulted in another challenge, in addition to the shrubbery discussion. Karen and the kids arrived a week before the moving van did. Between Christmas and New Year’s Day, we spent the nights with air mattresses and sleeping bags kindly provided by a faculty member from the Biochemistry Department in which I held an academic appointment in addition to my administrative one in the dean’s office. Dick and Carol Louttit offered food and their dishes. We survived well in New England, a far different locale than the one we had found in our nation’s Capital, and one to which we had joyfully returned.