Though my family didn’t move into the house at 841 N. Maplewood until 1964, when I was three and my brother Jim was two, our first connection to the place occurred more than a decade earlier, thanks to my dad attending Bradley University.
My dad had spent part of his growing up years in Mt. Vernon, Illinois, where he had no specific plans for college, but a pretty good jump shot. His junior and senior years, the Mt. Vernon Rams won the Illinois State Basketball title, going undefeated his senior year in 1950. Known then as Eddie King, my dad and one of his classmates, John Riley, came to Bradley on basketball scholarships. Their teams did well; the Braves placed second in the nation in the NCAA Tournament in 1954.
In preparing this post, I interviewed my dad about his years at Bradley. Because of space considerations, I can’t include all the fascinating tales he told me, but I do encourage you to talk with your parents and older relatives while you still can. They are carrying around a wealth of stories.
Anyway, while my dad was a student, he faithfully attended weekly Mass at St. Mark’s Catholic Church. One Sunday, he met Bill Motsett, a devout Catholic and Bradley booster, who invited the always-hungry college student over to his house at 841 N. Maplewood for breakfast.
A friendship ensued between my dad and the Motsett’s. When my dad needed a place to stay for a couple of weeks in 1953 during the summer between his junior and senior years, the Motsett’s offered their attic, and dad became an unofficial member of the family. Bill and his wife Teed had seven children, who enjoyed hanging out with my dad and vice versa.
The following summer, dad stayed with the Motsett’s for a couple of months. In between the two summers, the Motsett’s had refinished their attic in knotty pine paneling and installed a couple of extra long beds with my dad in mind.
Ten years later, when my parents were renting a house from Bradley, located on the corner of Maplewood and Main (it’s been a grassy lot for some time), and were looking to buy a house, my father was thrilled when the place he called the Motsett home was for sale. Mom and dad paid $24,000 for the house.
After my parents got settled in the house, they continued the tradition of renting the attic to male Bradley students. This provided an endless source of amusement to my siblings and me. Some of the guys spent a lot of time with us, telling us stories, taking apart radios for us, showing us movies, and giving us teddy bears. We were happy to hear them thump up and down the stairs.
On the other end of the spectrum were a few grouches, one of whom in his white leather coat warned, “None of you bratty kids better touch my car.” After a few semesters of boarding Bradley boys, my mother instituted a rule, which puzzled me until much later: no freshmen. As time went on and our family expanded to five children, my parents needed the attic to house their own brood.
My dad continued to remain friends with the Motsett’s, attending Bill and Teed’s funerals in Florida in the 1990s and more recently the funeral of Msgr. Charles Bourke Motsett, Bill’s older brother, who until he passed last year at age 98, was the senior priest in the Diocese of Peoria.
My dad had spent part of his growing up years in Mt. Vernon, Illinois, where he had no specific plans for college, but a pretty good jump shot. His junior and senior years, the Mt. Vernon Rams won the Illinois State Basketball title, going undefeated his senior year in 1950. Known then as Eddie King, my dad and one of his classmates, John Riley, came to Bradley on basketball scholarships. Their teams did well; the Braves placed second in the nation in the NCAA Tournament in 1954.
In preparing this post, I interviewed my dad about his years at Bradley. Because of space considerations, I can’t include all the fascinating tales he told me, but I do encourage you to talk with your parents and older relatives while you still can. They are carrying around a wealth of stories.
Anyway, while my dad was a student, he faithfully attended weekly Mass at St. Mark’s Catholic Church. One Sunday, he met Bill Motsett, a devout Catholic and Bradley booster, who invited the always-hungry college student over to his house at 841 N. Maplewood for breakfast.
A friendship ensued between my dad and the Motsett’s. When my dad needed a place to stay for a couple of weeks in 1953 during the summer between his junior and senior years, the Motsett’s offered their attic, and dad became an unofficial member of the family. Bill and his wife Teed had seven children, who enjoyed hanging out with my dad and vice versa.
The following summer, dad stayed with the Motsett’s for a couple of months. In between the two summers, the Motsett’s had refinished their attic in knotty pine paneling and installed a couple of extra long beds with my dad in mind.
Ten years later, when my parents were renting a house from Bradley, located on the corner of Maplewood and Main (it’s been a grassy lot for some time), and were looking to buy a house, my father was thrilled when the place he called the Motsett home was for sale. Mom and dad paid $24,000 for the house.
After my parents got settled in the house, they continued the tradition of renting the attic to male Bradley students. This provided an endless source of amusement to my siblings and me. Some of the guys spent a lot of time with us, telling us stories, taking apart radios for us, showing us movies, and giving us teddy bears. We were happy to hear them thump up and down the stairs.
On the other end of the spectrum were a few grouches, one of whom in his white leather coat warned, “None of you bratty kids better touch my car.” After a few semesters of boarding Bradley boys, my mother instituted a rule, which puzzled me until much later: no freshmen. As time went on and our family expanded to five children, my parents needed the attic to house their own brood.
My dad continued to remain friends with the Motsett’s, attending Bill and Teed’s funerals in Florida in the 1990s and more recently the funeral of Msgr. Charles Bourke Motsett, Bill’s older brother, who until he passed last year at age 98, was the senior priest in the Diocese of Peoria.
My dad stands in the attic, where he roomed as a college student, in the house that he later owned for 32 years.
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