Eighth grade brought me back again to Cleveland, to stay with my father, Charles (they always called him Cholly) Cook. By the time for me to enter the tenth grade, we moved to Toledo, where I began a precarious career as “chief cook and bottle washer” for my father. How the dear man ever lived through those meals, I don’t know. But God was merciful to us both, and I spent the three remaining years of high school there on Toledo’s East Side, living in what was then called a “light housekeeping room”–a room with a kitchen stove, a cold water sink, a bed and some cupboards.