Same but different

It's interesting to read about a life that parallels yours in some ways. Rosearl Julian West and I are the same age, went to school in the same time, and our paths crossed in the radio business and when we both worked for Baltimore County Government. She has written a book about her life and times through her school and college days, and I give it two hearty thumbs up.

Rosearl Julian West

"Reflections: My Journey On Arunah" takes place on the west side of Baltimore City, where Rosearl grew up with her brothers and sisters as the proud progeny of a family physician, Dr. Emerson Julian, who, in the old fashioned way, had his office in his house and saw patients there regularly. Dr Julian served three terms on the Baltimore City Council, and Rosearl's mom was his campaign treasurer. They formed a magnificent family and this book is full of stories we can all relate to.

Memories, good and bad. The disappearance of a little girl from the city when we were 13, the riots following the assassination of the Rev. Dr. King when we were 17, and the "Decency Rally" that turned into a mob riot at the old Memorial Stadium during our senior year in high school....the good memories of homemade waffles and riding bikes, the bad times of the riots and the burning of homes and businesses owned by friends and acquaintances of the Julian family.

Not only does Rosearl take me on a walk down Memory La, which runs from her old home on Arunah Ave. in the Northwest part of the city to my old stomping (literally) grounds in the Northern suburbs. Simultaneous childhoods make for interesting comparisons. It's funny how many times, reading the book, I said "I did something like that." But my bike riding was on woodsy trails, not city streets. My volunteer fire company helped out in the city during the riots by filling in for Engine 42 in Hamilton but we saw nothing of the destruction except on the news. Where Rosearl's childhood bête noire was a mean neighbor all the kids called "Yogurt Man," ours was the local habitually-intoxicated lawyer up the street who had kids on bikes and adults in cars scattering like bowling pins as he lurched along in his green '61 Chevy, a safety hazard which continued until he drove that car into my mom's car as she was bringing me and my sister home one sunny afternoon.

Different times, different memories, but still so much the same. Rosearl says that at 16 she possessed a "myopic but optimist view of the world." What 16-year-old doesn't? 

I'm glad Ms West brought up her upbringing in such a readable, enjoyable book!

I await Volume 2!