The Ginkgo Tree

Bountiful and beautiful trees are a defining feature of St. Louis. As an avid gardener and landscaper, my mother loved the tree canopies presiding over the streets of her Central West End neighborhood.

Thus, it was not a surprise that my first memory of trees took place in our backyard, in the form of a towering Ginkgo, which had turned brilliant yellow in the autumn air. Ginkgo trees are virtually indestructible; our Ginkgo thrived in its urban environment. While Ginkgos have been around for 200 million years, my guess is that ours was planted in the early 1900s.

I soon learned that among its many virtues, the Ginkgo provided a spectacular climbing experience. Its sprawling branches, sturdy base, and towering height, all combined to make it the center of attention for the boys and girls in our neighborhood.

Intrepid readers may remember my younger brother, last seen being hustled, screaming, out of the Tonga Room in San Francisco at the height of an indoor hurricane floor show. As it happened, several years later at the age of 7 or so, he took a keen interest in the Ginkgo. He was constantly venturing ever higher into the tree and further out onto its limbs. He was fearless.

At the same time, my mother was presiding over a passel of six children, five boys and a girl, ranging in age from 13 to one month. While there were many zones of juvenile activity on our block in those halcyon days of the early 1960s, our household on Pershing was the undisputed headquarters.

Keeping track of the kids was nearly impossible. With two large soup pots going at all hours, Mom fed not only us but all of our friends as well. To say she was pulled in many different directions is to engage in a massive understatement.

Nonetheless, what happened in early June of that long-ago summer must have driven my mother to some form of self-medication or perhaps hysterical laughter of disbelief. One midmorning, my brother and friends were playing in and around the Ginkgo. Ever the bold one, he climbed high into the tree and proceeded to fall, Icarus-like, to the golden leaf-strewn ground. He did not move as many witnesses rushed to find my mother. With extraordinary maternal grace, she tended to my stricken brother and ushered him into the Country Squire wagon for the trip to the nearby Children’s Hospital.

A slight pause in the action took place at our house, followed rapidly by a return to the normal furious pace of playground play. Several hours later, Mom and my brother reappeared. He was smiling as he sported a brand-new plaster cast on his left arm. Everything was back to normal, and Mom returned to her perpetual juggling act of household activities, certainly multiplied by the morning medical interruption.

As the sun moved westward over our heads in the backyard that day, the Ginkgo tree glistened in the sunlight and towered resplendent over us. Perhaps drawn by a reflexive urge or perhaps a compulsive one, my brother elected to begin scaling the great Ginkgo, conceding no quarter to the presence of a new arm’s length cast on his left arm. Unfazed, he managed, with great athleticism, to scale an amazingly large section of the Ginkgo. This time, a large crowd of kids had gathered under the tree, anxiously hoping that the Wallenda-like feat would end successfully.

An early summer breeze blew through the backyard, and while it is unclear whether it caused the Ginkgo branches to sway, the next thing we saw was the flailing body of my brother drawn inexorably by gravity to the Missouri earth. Absolute silence reigned. No one moved. After a momentary eternity, my brother showed signs of life. He had landed on his right side while his cast-clad left arm remained intact.

As members of the assembled crowd of kids bolted for the back door in search of my mother, Dr Neville Grant of the well-known Grant Clinic, who had witnessed this scene, hurtled the fence separating his house from ours. He ran to tend to my brother as my mother appeared at the back door.

What she saw was nothing short of chaos: kids everywhere, Dr. Grant hovering over my stricken brother, and no explanations forthcoming. Phrases such as injury redux, deja vue, and merde may have come to mind! In any event, she joined Dr. Grant, and after some consultation, she and my brother were headed once again to Children’s Hospital.

The diagnosis was easily ascertainable. My brother reappeared later with a full cast on his right arm, which perfectly complemented the one on his left arm. Through it all, my brother maintained his wonderful smile even as he faced the prospect of spending most of the summer with casts on both arms.

After my father arrived home that evening, an edict took immediate effect forbidding any interaction with the Ginkgo tree. It was just as well: the Ginkgo had earned a rest…I don’t believe my mother had time for one.