by Tobias Van Buren

Created on: September 23, 2008   Last Updated: September 24, 2008

MY WWII '40s FOSTER-CHILDHOOD

We've all read much about World War II - Pearl Harbor, the atomic bombs, the battles in-between. We've heard about life on the home-front, American women taking up the slack, the rationing of gasoline, food, etc., all from the minds and mouths of the mature. My story is about a child (me), born during the period before America entered World War II and barely after its official start, September 1, 1939 (Funny! Just add another '1' and you have September 11th!). This story comes from an adult's memory but out of the babe of my rationed foster-child years and appropriately dedicated to none other than - MARILYN MONROE (site below)!

http://www.originallifemagazines.com/LIFE-Mag azine-August-17-1962-P1717C569.aspx

What I am about to write about here are my three and a quarter years (July 1943 - October 1946) with my foster parents, William G and Helen Bruce, 16 (now 66) Ronalds Avenue, New Rochelle, New York (no zip code then - now area code) - 636-7037.

I came to New Rochelle after three and a half years, the first of my life, living with my mom, dad and older brother (Fritz), in Radburn/Fair Lawn, New Jersey; that part of my story was already written about. I came to New Rochelle with my father - July 3, 1943 - and that was really the first time I'd recollected anything substantial in my life - a long journey - for a 3-year old - from New Jersey to New Rochelle during World War Two when my father had his car (1935 black Studebaker "Dictator" 4-door sedan) put up on cement blocks in his folk's garage due to the strict rationing of gasoline then in effect; and rather than deal with 'A' coupons, my father chose to put his car up on cement blocks for the duration of the War. So, all available mass transit is what he used to come over to New Jersey to take custody of me from my mother, her having written him a letter to please do so or I'd be "left on the neighbor's door step," as my father quoted my mother writing in that letter. As I understand it, my father used - taxis, the New Haven Railroad, more taxis (the long yellow ones of DeSoto make, I believe), the Erie Lackawanna Railroad out to Radburn/Fairlawn, New Jersey, - a short taxi ride to the Radburn house (though he probably walked it) and then the same route back to New Rochelle except with his three year old child in tow - me!

This being my first really memorable event of my life except what I remembered while living in Radburn (always left in a play-pen outdoors, most of the time seeing

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