I need to go back about 80 years for this story, but as I recall, this is what happened. You’ve probably been unfortunate enough to find yourself reading bits of my ancient history, and I hate to burden you with more of the same, but, here it is. At that time, in the mid to late 1940s, the McClellan family was residing in Douglas, Alaska.
There were six of us, including my parents, Dad, Mom, my elder brother Lowell, myself and our two younger sisters, Elizabeth and Doris Ann. We lived in a ramshackle two-bedroom home on the north end of Fifth Street, in Douglas. (Douglas is now an adjunct to Juneau, the capital of Alaska.
) By 1947, Dad’s painting business, (home painting, decorating and sign painting) had grown considerably — as had our family. It was becoming more and more difficult to cram all of us into those four rooms. There was no way to expand the home, so Dad and Mom kept their eyes open for some place with more potential for our family.
There weren’t a lot of options in the Juneau area at the time. The distance from our home to the farthest driving point north was about 13 miles. At the end of that drive was Auk Bay and Mendenhall Glacier, a popular tourist and picnic spot, and a few miles south of that picturesque place was Sunny Point (might be a misnomer, in an area that receives over 90 inches of precipitation per year).
It was a beautiful little point of land that jutted out into the Gastineau Bay. We drove past some of the homes on that gorgeous spot, hoping to find one for sale. Finally, on a Sunday drive, Dad and Mom spotted one that was for sale.
It wasn’t a showplace, by any means, but, it set their imaginations afire as to what it might become after a few months of hard work and a few dollars. It offered one thing that our Douglas home didn’t — extra room — for it had a second story (of sorts). On the way back home, all we could talk about was how great it was, the fact that the bay was directly in front of the house, and Lowell and I had already spent some time scouring the beach for shells and who knows what, and could imagine ourselves fishing, wading and having fun in general.
A few weeks later we took possession of the place, and now we could really explore. There were three rooms downstairs, a living room, kitchen and bedroom. Upstairs, there was a good-sized room that was to be the bedroom for us kids.
We had a window that offered views of the beach and bay — seemed about right to me. Mom and Dad set to fixing the place up immediately, and Lowell and I provided a bit of help, moving things and setting stuff in place. There was a wood fired stove in the kitchen area that also provided the heat for the house.
A narrow stairway gave us access to the upstairs, and was the conduit for any warm air for our boudoir. We couldn’t wait for our first sleep-over. Within a few weeks, a bit of paint here and there, and with the help of Mr.
Black, a carpenter, the place became quite homey. (Or “homely,” as the British say, and to our eyes, was pretty accurate). One weekend, Dad took Lowell and I down to the beach, and using the .
22 rifle he had, gave us some instruction in firearms. (He had been a shooting range instructor in the California National Guard earlier.) I recall him having Lowell or I toss tin cans in the air, and he would shoot them out of the air.
He was a pretty good shot. Things were moving along quite well, we weren’t ready to move in full time, but it was a great sanctuary for our parents to enjoy. Within a couple of weeks, everything being done to make the place livable was pretty much done — except for some electrical wiring that had to be finished.
An electrical contractor was hired and he would phone after he finished work each day to keep Dad up to date on what he had done. That was until the morning a neighbor on Sunny Point called to inform us that the place had burned to the ground the night before. Seems there was an electrical short, or possibly some workman had dropped a cigarette.
Anyway, we now owned a beautiful, vacant lot..
