At the corner of Erie and Mulberry, Jamie Farr's old house still stands. The house is looking dilapidated but what happened on these steps when Jamie was still in a stroller is as fresh as if it happened yesterday. He tells us he "came right down the stairs in that pram is that what they call them, out the front door and down these stairs. What happened is it cut my lip off. They sewed my lip on. They did a nice job."
We walked the blocks that Jamie Farr walked growing up. He remembers watching Danny Thomas drive up in a Lincoln Continental. "All of us kids would be sitting right there, mouths hanging open and saying 'some day I'm going to have a car like that'."
During the 1940s, the neighborhood was a melting pot of families, corner grocers, ice cream shops, and pubs. Farr recalled how they all mourned the son of one grocer missing in action during the war. He was thought to be killed and then "one day we get up go to school and across this window in meat wrapper-- 'Joe's alive and coming home. Free ice cream bars for all the kids'."
He used to play ball in the alleys and remembers almost every family that lived in nearly every house he passed. Farr's mind's eye paints a picture of a vibrant history of friends and neighborhood characters. "There was one gal we all fell in love with. Her name was Yvonne."
We passed her house and, decades later, some things haven't changed. The same family is still living there. The woman there said, "My mom told me one time that you were in love with my Aunt Yvonne." Jamie replied, "That's correct."
He also remembers fondly his parents and how he didn't necessarily want to become a star but he was motivated to do it for them. "I saw how hard my mother and father worked and I always said I'd love to do something that I could get them out of this."
