IRA

It was around February when we move to a housing project in 1952. It
was a real nice place with three big bedrooms upstairs and a large
front room and a kitchen downstairs, it was a mansion to us.
We were happy to get it after a long wait through the process. It was
real nice with wood polished floors.
I remember looking at my mother and as we walked into the apartment I
was holding her hand. She was very happy and kept saying don't touch
this don't touch that don't walk on that don't scuff the floor up she
kept saying how nice and clean and freshly painted everything
was.
My mom and dad stood side by side staring at the large modern kitchen
with all its modern appliances. Looking back now it was like a modern
day TV commercial it is something you would never forget. We met and
became friends with a lot of the neighbors after living there for a few
months.
My mother became a good friend with the woman next door, she was having
a baby and my mother helped deliver it right in the woman's bedroom,
that's how things were done people helping people.
The Project was beautiful with green grass all round and a huge parking
lot where there was a lot of parking for cars.
People would use it to store their boats and some trailers.
For poor people like us it was like paradise, we had lived in this old
wood frame house that was too small for all of us.
My mother and father said for a long time that they would like to move
to a larger place.
We found out about this housing project from my older brothers
girlfriend that lived a few miles from it. We were all real happy
especially my mother, she had a real nice kitchen now no more wood
stove or icebox. Many times I would see my father and mother go by and
just open the refrigerator for the heck of it and even us kids would
stare at it, it was pretty neat for the early fifties having one, all
we had that I remember was an icebox. For us it was all new.
My mom had a built-in gas range and I remember it took a day or so for
her to learn how to operate it. That's how much of a change it was for
all of us.
By our back door there was a large cement patio where we would sit
during the summer heat and we would gather our chairs all together
after the evening meal.
My mother would have a large container of ice cold koolade and homemade
cookies and we would all sit there and catch a little breeze coming off
the ocean. My brother's and sister's and I would all be pushing and
fighting for the shady spots, but we always made sure our mother had
the shadiest spot. We would always gather together on the back patio
during the summer months.
We were all sitting out there one evening, my mom and dad two brothers
and two sisters just relaxing and talking to each other and my dad
telling us little jokes. My older sister looked up and saw these two
guys walking across the parking lot towards us, she tapped my Dad on
the shoulder and said, isn't that Alvin? An old friend of ours that was
known to bum around the country and ride the railroads.
We had not seen him for a year and half. As he and his friend got
closer to us they looked pretty bad rugged and dirty clothes long
beards and dirty looking hair.
They looked like they had not taken a bath in months. As I sat there on
the porch looking at Alvin's friend, he looked so dark and he looked
sunburned. He was a short stocky guy and he looked like he was
Indian.
My younger sister and I noticed that he had a bottle of whiskey
sticking out of his jacket pocket and his clothes were all dusty and
wrinkled. He was carrying a backpack with a Marine emblem on it.
Both of them were wearing heavy jackets that looked like they had been
sleeping in them.
I remember my Dad saying to them, take those heavy jackets off before
you roast to death.
Alvin said that they had just jumped off of a train, and it was pretty
cold inside the boxcar. My dad said to Alvin, so you're still riding
the rails and we all had a laugh at that.
Alvin said that they were working their way to Arizona where Ira lived.
We met on the rails about two or three months ago and became real good
friends and we've been traveling all around the country together. We
all started talking to Alvin; we had not seen him for a long time. They
both looked in pretty bad shape, we kept glancing over at his friend,
and it looked like he hadn't slept for days.
My father said are you going to introduce us to your friend?
Alvin said this is my friend Ira Hayes, he helped raise the flag on Iwo
Jima. We were not too sure what he was talking about but my Dad said he
remembered reading about it a while back.
About 10 minutes later I asked Ira Hayes what was Alvin talking about
raising the flag. Ira said in a real quiet speaking voice I helped some
guys raise a flag on Iwo Jima and they called me a hero though I never
felt like one.
We sat there and he was telling me about different things that went on
in the war. He seemed like a real nice guy and kept speaking in a real
quiet voice.
My father asked him a question, he turned toward my father and answered
him and then he looked back at me, he stared right in my face, I know
he wanted to tell me more about the war but he didn't.
I looked in his eyes and they looked real sad.
My mother made them some sandwiches and they seemed pretty
hungry.
They only stayed a short while after they ate. Then they both went up
to my mother and thanked her very much for the sandwiches.
As they were getting ready to leave everyone was saying bye and saying
don't stay away so long.
My mother said to Alvin when you come back bring Ira with you, you are
both welcome here anytime.
My dad said to my mother in a very low voice that Ira seems like a very
troubled man.
As they walked away Ira looked towards us and gave a little wave and a
smile.
We never saw Alvin or Ira again.

I was 12 in 1952 at that time I didn't know much about the raising of
the flag on Iwo Jima and didn't know who Ira Hayes was. It was 25 years
later when I really found out who he was and what he did. For just
those few minutes in 1952 that I talk to him I liked him alot and never
forgot that talk we had. That's why I am writing this little short
story about how I met him in 1952. He died on January 24th 1955 in
Phoenix Arizona

A short and true story by. Norman Clifford
6-9-2002