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There was a boy named Berard Mills with whom I played occasionally who lived way out on West Genesee not far from Womens & Childrens Hospital and who, I think, went to May Memorial Church. The strangest thing about him was his home, which reminded me of what I'd always conceived a haunted house to be like. It was a medium-size mid-Victorian, a dark, dirty-red and run down, standing way back on an ill-kept lot next to a swamp-like area that lay between the residential section of that part of West Genesee and the hospital. It seems to me that he lived with some female relatives who wore long black dresses. It was a strange set-up.

Another boy whom I knew at church was John Strong, like me, the son of a widow. His mother was a very pretty woman who, in due course, married Dr. Eusten, a widower in our church. It was my first experience in observing people who'd once been married, marrying again; it struck me as being sort of an unnatural situation, for some reason I can't now explain.

A family named Leonard lived on Lodi Street near James, who were friends of Mother's; there was an old mother and two daughters as I recall it but I can't connect them up with us somehow. They weren't related, didn't go to our church, didn't seem too close, but I can remember going there for meals occasionally.

Near the Leonards on Lodi, lived a family named Nash who had a son named Alexander and a daughter named Antoinette, the latter being a regular at dancing school for years and without doubt, one of the most delicately beautiful girls I've ever known. Her brother was several years older than I but Antoinette was about my age and she was so lovely that literally, you almost hesitated to touch her, like a Dresden china doll. Alexander was just plain big and handsome, probably one of the finest looking boys in the entire town. I wonder what happened to them both. I have a vague recollection that I heard Alexander died under tragic circumstances of some sort.

There were three other boys who were friends of mine but not close friends. Tom Durston and Phil Chase went to our church but lived on the other side of town and there was George Fryer who lived way out on West Onondaga Street, whose mother seemed to be a friend of my mother. But I never had any experiences with any of these three that I can remember sufficiently well to record -- and yet they were friends for many years. About all I can remember is that Phil Chase was a redhead and his mother was about as homely a woman as I can ever recall seeing anywhere, big and horse-faced. I have a vague recollection of trading stamps with George Fryer. Tom Durston was just a big, handsome, good-natured kid whom Joe Horan makes me think of a little today.