January 3, 1956
The three oldest kids were stuffed into the only bedroom of the little cedar shake house set back two-hundred feet from the Red Cedar River. Frost decorated the two walls of the bedroom that were opposite the elements. Jack was in the top bunk against the inside wall. When he felt inclined, he could maneuver and stretch his body and arm across the narrow space separating him from the frost on the opposite wall and carve designs in it with his fingernails.
Jack Hula was six years old. His older sister and brother, Sydney and Gabe were nine and ten. Gabe occupied the lower bunk while Sydney's bunk was set perpendicular at the feet of the others. Kellan lay in a bassinet in the main room of the house next to their parents’ pullout bed.
A kerosene stove in the middle of the tiny living room provided the only source of heat in the winter, keeping a steady flow of warm air passing over the two year old, Kellan, lying in the bassinet. Two lamps were situated strategically in corners of the living room and a bare 60 watt bulb was screwed into a receptacle in the middle of the ceiling. The house had no running water or bathroom. An outhouse was set in back next to a shed. Gabe and Sydney, now that they were ten and nine, were often given the task of hauling two buckets away from the house and up the path leading to the railroad embankment. From there they climbed the ten-foot embankment to the bridge, crossed it, and then followed a two-hundred yard path that lead to a spring bubbling out of the ground. They filled the buckets and hauled them back to the house.
Water had to be hauled daily, across all seasons during the nine years Jack’s family lived this way. Jack’s mother, Anabelle, could hardly wait for the children to age enough so they could help with the hard chores that were necessary for maintaining their lives near the river. This was the first year that Gabe and Sydney had been allowed to fetch water. Annabelle had made sure they were up to it; they had accompanied her many times during the previous years, carefully negotiating the railroad bridge until she was sure they could walk it blindfolded if need be. The children were always thrilled at the prospect of fetching water and looked forward to the opportunity to show Mom that they could do it alone.
None of the Hula’s closest neighbors lived this way, indeed, just about no one else did during the late 40’s and early 50’s. All had running water and indoor bathrooms.
Jack’s father, Brian Hula, had been discharged from the Navy following World War 11, found out he and his little family couldn’t live on the money the GI Bill provided for him to attend Aeronautical Engineering school in California so returned to Minnesota where he worked as a laborer at the packing plant in Austin. It was a unionized plant that provided a decent, if not spectacular wage. Brian and Annabelle Hula’s marriage meant that Brian worked full time while Annabelle took are of the household and children full-time. They saved as much of Brian’s income as they possibly could and began building a three bedroom rambler on the same site as the cedar shake house. When they finished the house well enough to move into during the summer of 1956, they had indoor water, bathroom, and a forced air furnace. And… They had no debts. Except for laying the foundation block, Brian and Annabelle had done all of the work themselves.
