14 Feb 2001 For my friend George House, I consecrate this page in remembrance for one who gave his life for his friends and his country.This does little or nothing to stop the sorrow that accompanies your forfeited life.Your friends all remember and ... in some ongoing way, remember you as perpetually twenty-one ... laughing ... going off to war. But you never came back. A memorial from a friend and classmate. E-mail address is not available.

 

18 Mar 2006 I remember George. In the 1950s we both lived on Blue Ridge Road in Indianapolis, a few blocks from the Butler University campus. We probably met in kindergarden held at the old Blue Ridge Farm House that was located at SW corner of 46th and Illinois streets. In the early to mid-50s I would walk to his stucco home, ring the doorbell and ask if George could come out to play. In the late 1950s George and his family moved to the suburbs on Springmill Road. As distant childhood friends, we still got together to play thanks to our parents. Later, my family also moved, so both George and I attended North Central H.S. in the class of 1965 with 850 students. At NCHS we were more distant friends. We sometimes ran across each other at poker games, after George had transferred to another H.S. George went to a public grade school and I went to a Catholic grade school, so many of the times we were together seemed to stand out. I remember George at the Riviera Swim Club. He seemed so bold and confident diving and swimming. My first journey into the depths of the vast pool was with the handholding of his mother. George's parents took us to the Boy Scout Jamboree at the Coliseum at the State Fair Grounds, so we must have been in Scouts together. But, my scouting time was brief. George had the first Holloween party that I ever attended. He seemed very comfortable surrounded by a lot of friends. Spending the night at George's new home on Springmill Road was always a fun time. Many of the homes in his new neighborhood were under construction and there were always materials for make-shift toy guns and bombs. Our fathers had won the war, but we were still fighting it for them. When we grew tired of playing war, George's mother would give us a snack; I remember white bread with a pat of butter hidden in it. George and I would take turns taking bites. The first one to find the pat of butter was the winner. We would rest reading comic books. George had a huge box loaded with comic books. We would spend hours on the floor reading our own personally selected stack of comic books. George had a wonder-filled childhood. George's parents and his sister liked to take us on picnics at local parks. I remember one we had at Northern Beach on 116th Street near White River. The ryebread sandwiches were so thick that George and I just looked at the sandwiches and each other. We had no eating race that day. Sometimes in the evenings, George's father would take us to the drugstore in Broad Ripple across the street from the fire station. We could choose any one treat from the display to take on any evening walk. I remember George and I being taken to the childrens' theatre for performances. We must have gone to the Vogue, Uptown and Rivoli theatres together because they were part of all of our childhood memories. I frequently travel North Meridian Street and pass the church where I attended George's funeral services in 1968. I am reminded that George House has always been a part of my life. When I raised my three sons, I made sure that before they ventured into the world as adults, they would take with them the remembered warmth of family and friendships, and the aura of goodness that they create. From a childhood friend of George, James J. Schneider schneider@cpattorney.com

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