There was a drive-in movie theatre near Newark called Rose City Drive-In which, after decades of idleness and decay, has recently re-opened (surprise, surprise). It was a really cool place to go when I was a kid – a real treat and an extravagance for us in those days. We would sit in the car and watch the movie through the windshield, with a speaker hooked onto the inside of the driver’s side window and wired to a small pole next to the car. We would invariably have a stash of popcorn and what-not from home with us to complete the experience.
I remember us going there one evening for a double-feature (2 movies for the price of 1) – Support Your Local Sheriff (which was hilarious) and Paint Your Wagon, also funny but way too long a movie and I fell asleep before the halfway mark, as I recall.
Unpalatable
I recall a short story was read in English class about a boy who was involved in a dangerous event, possibly involving some wild animal like a bear or wolf or something. Whatever it was tested his bravery and resolve to overcome his fear and deal with the situation. So, after the harrowing incident, his mother gave him some heated milk in a mug with a dollop of butter added, which (in the story) he very much enjoyed.
I remember thinking “that sounds delicious” and when I got home, I promptly heated some milk, poured it into a mug, and added the magic ingredient. It tasted gross. I dumped it out and never attempted that again.
In retrospect I should have known it would be unpalatable because we didn’t have butter in our house – we used margarine, which doesn’t mix well or taste any good with milk.
I remember thinking “that sounds delicious” and when I got home, I promptly heated some milk, poured it into a mug, and added the magic ingredient. It tasted gross. I dumped it out and never attempted that again.
In retrospect I should have known it would be unpalatable because we didn’t have butter in our house – we used margarine, which doesn’t mix well or taste any good with milk.
Dad’s Hobbies
I dunno what possessed my dad to do some of the things he did. He was a commercial artist, by trade, but he had hobbies, some of which were more regularly enjoyed than others.
I remember he built a kite – quite large, for a kite. He designed it and fabricated the whole thing from scratch, using a very heavy-duty Christmas wrapping paper to form the "skin" of it, and heavy-duty twine for the lead. I remember him flying it once, on a cloudy and windy day. It stayed up in the sky without any wavering or instability. He let me hold on to the lead, but not completely by myself because it would have dragged me forward, so strong was the pull of it. I have no clue what became of that kite. Only flown once, that I know of.
He built model planes, ships, and cars, though ships were the usual fare. He just didn’t buy a kit from the local department store with a tube of glue and some dime store paint – he got kits and plans from who-knows-where with tiny pieces that took weeks (and sometimes months) to put together. Hardly any of it was plastic (unlike the models I did) and often he would not be satisfied with the parts from the kit and would fashion his own from scratch. He was very patient and the results were usually amazing – sailing ships with intricate detail in the assembly and paint job that made it look authentic, except for its greatly reduced size from the real-life version.
I remember he built a kite – quite large, for a kite. He designed it and fabricated the whole thing from scratch, using a very heavy-duty Christmas wrapping paper to form the "skin" of it, and heavy-duty twine for the lead. I remember him flying it once, on a cloudy and windy day. It stayed up in the sky without any wavering or instability. He let me hold on to the lead, but not completely by myself because it would have dragged me forward, so strong was the pull of it. I have no clue what became of that kite. Only flown once, that I know of.
He built model planes, ships, and cars, though ships were the usual fare. He just didn’t buy a kit from the local department store with a tube of glue and some dime store paint – he got kits and plans from who-knows-where with tiny pieces that took weeks (and sometimes months) to put together. Hardly any of it was plastic (unlike the models I did) and often he would not be satisfied with the parts from the kit and would fashion his own from scratch. He was very patient and the results were usually amazing – sailing ships with intricate detail in the assembly and paint job that made it look authentic, except for its greatly reduced size from the real-life version.
School Shopping
“School shopping” was an annual event which occurred around the end of August. Still is today, except now I notice that advertising for “back-to-school” shopping happens in July. Sort of like how stores start putting out Halloween stuff (and in some cases, Christmas stuff) around Labor Day.
Anyhoo, it was a ritual we went through the last days of each August (or the 1st days of September, depending on when school started). Mom would take us out to the department store – usually Big N in Newark (the N stood for Neisner’s or something like that) and we would pick out new clothes and supplies for the upcoming school year. The stuff I really wanted was too expensive for us and I had to haggle and negotiate for the next level down in status. I’m sure Mom spent more than she thought prudent and I’m sure I thought she was being stingy. What one ended up wearing the first few days of school was critical in determining one’s social status for the semester.
Anyhoo, it was a ritual we went through the last days of each August (or the 1st days of September, depending on when school started). Mom would take us out to the department store – usually Big N in Newark (the N stood for Neisner’s or something like that) and we would pick out new clothes and supplies for the upcoming school year. The stuff I really wanted was too expensive for us and I had to haggle and negotiate for the next level down in status. I’m sure Mom spent more than she thought prudent and I’m sure I thought she was being stingy. What one ended up wearing the first few days of school was critical in determining one’s social status for the semester.
Banking
In elementary school there was a thing called “banking” each Tuesday where each student who wanted to brought in some money (usually change) to put into an envelope (provided by the bank, I assume). You would write your name on the envelope (and possibly some other identifying information – I don’t recall) and turn it in and the money would be deposited into your very own savings account in Columbia Bank (which no longer exists). I seem to recall that once in awhile I would see a running total of my account in some sort of “bank book”, though the memory is fuzzy at this point.
My own savings were funded by my mom who would give me loose change for “banking” each week, usually 25 cents or something. Not much, but I remember seeing the savings grow in my bank book and getting excited about it, imagining what treasures could be purchased with the accumulated riches.
Well, as it turns out, no treasures of my imagination were ever purchased – the monies were invariably used toward school clothes and supplies each year. I don’t begrudge my parents now as I did at the time – the money came from them to begin with, and in retrospect we were so doggone low on the socio-economic scale that every penny counted.
My own savings were funded by my mom who would give me loose change for “banking” each week, usually 25 cents or something. Not much, but I remember seeing the savings grow in my bank book and getting excited about it, imagining what treasures could be purchased with the accumulated riches.
Well, as it turns out, no treasures of my imagination were ever purchased – the monies were invariably used toward school clothes and supplies each year. I don’t begrudge my parents now as I did at the time – the money came from them to begin with, and in retrospect we were so doggone low on the socio-economic scale that every penny counted.
Grossed Out
Speaking of being grossed out on purpose, there was an auto repair / body shop across the street from our house - Herb's Collision. There were junk cars around, some of which you can tell were in accidents. We (Dennis and I and various friends) kept our eyes peeled for any new accidents brought in and we would go over during non-business hours to check them over for blood and guts. I don’t recall finding any guts, but there were often blood stains inside the twisted wreckage, sometimes quite a bit if it was a particularly bad accident.
Kids are strange. It’s definitely not something I would be interested in now.
Kids are strange. It’s definitely not something I would be interested in now.
The Fair
We went to the Fair every year, which I only knew as the “Fair” or the “Palmyra Fair”. I was much older when I discovered it’s actually the Wayne County Fair. Regardless of what anyone called it, it was a magical week of games, food, fun, and friends each year. It not only had the usual midway games, rides, and food, but there were a wide variety of agricultural displays (cows, goats, sheep, rabbits, chickens, roosters, guinea pigs, and what-not to represent the domesticated animal kingdom of Wayne County, and a host of plant life as well – vegetables, flowers, and such). There were also a couple commercial buildings with displays varying from farming equipment to the Sheriff’s Department with horrendous photographs of the tragic and bloody results of drinking and driving. We, as kids, always checked those out to see if there were any new horrendous photographs from the previous year so we could be grossed out anew.
I usually had a little bit of money saved up for the Fair, but ended up leaning much on the generosity of my parents (or older sibling) to fund my fun at the Fair. There was (and still is) a grandstand in front of a certain section of the racetrack that encircled the infield parking area. From said grandstand you watch such things as the tractor pull and the demolition derby. But, as it cost extra to enter the grandstand area, we never did. Speaking of cost, I remember the main entrance fee was always an odd amount. It wasn’t like $1 or even $1.50, it was something like 95¢ or $1.15.
I went to the Fair recently. It seemed ridiculously small (entrance fee was $6 and the food was ridiculously overpriced). Downright rinky-dink. I don’t think it was much bigger when I was a kid, though it probably has shrunk a bit since then. Back then the horse barn seemed like a long ways away, which, I suppose, is the reason I rarely visited the horse barn. That and horses were intimidating to me as a little kid. It’s actually nearby. Perspectives are different for kids.
I did try a sugar waffle during my recent visit, which tasted just I remember from when I was a kid – delicious. The taffy was a bit of a disappointment because back in the day there was a machine pulling the taffy. It was mesmerizing to watch. I don’t rightly recall, but I think that before the machine a couple people would do the taffy pulling by hand.
I remember one evening in particular that we as a family attended (including my parents). It was just a bit on the chilly side, weather-wise, and my parents made me wear a cardigan sweater to protect my health and well-being against the ravages of a somewhat chilly evening in late August. I felt SO ridiculous in that sweater and prayed to all the powers that be that I wouldn’t run into any of my friends. Well, as fate would have it, I did come across my friend Sam who was dressed in a fabulously cool cowboy outfit, as he was involved in the horses and horse show. I was miserable that entire evening and to this day I blame the scars I still bear on my parents and that accursed cardigan sweater.
I usually had a little bit of money saved up for the Fair, but ended up leaning much on the generosity of my parents (or older sibling) to fund my fun at the Fair. There was (and still is) a grandstand in front of a certain section of the racetrack that encircled the infield parking area. From said grandstand you watch such things as the tractor pull and the demolition derby. But, as it cost extra to enter the grandstand area, we never did. Speaking of cost, I remember the main entrance fee was always an odd amount. It wasn’t like $1 or even $1.50, it was something like 95¢ or $1.15.
I went to the Fair recently. It seemed ridiculously small (entrance fee was $6 and the food was ridiculously overpriced). Downright rinky-dink. I don’t think it was much bigger when I was a kid, though it probably has shrunk a bit since then. Back then the horse barn seemed like a long ways away, which, I suppose, is the reason I rarely visited the horse barn. That and horses were intimidating to me as a little kid. It’s actually nearby. Perspectives are different for kids.
I did try a sugar waffle during my recent visit, which tasted just I remember from when I was a kid – delicious. The taffy was a bit of a disappointment because back in the day there was a machine pulling the taffy. It was mesmerizing to watch. I don’t rightly recall, but I think that before the machine a couple people would do the taffy pulling by hand.
I remember one evening in particular that we as a family attended (including my parents). It was just a bit on the chilly side, weather-wise, and my parents made me wear a cardigan sweater to protect my health and well-being against the ravages of a somewhat chilly evening in late August. I felt SO ridiculous in that sweater and prayed to all the powers that be that I wouldn’t run into any of my friends. Well, as fate would have it, I did come across my friend Sam who was dressed in a fabulously cool cowboy outfit, as he was involved in the horses and horse show. I was miserable that entire evening and to this day I blame the scars I still bear on my parents and that accursed cardigan sweater.
Encyclopedic
I was an avid reader, as a kid. One of my friends derided me behind my back once, saying “He’s always got his nose in books” which I took as a compliment.
One of my favorite pastimes was to select a volume out of the set of encyclopedias on the bookshelf (many moons before the days of the ubiquitous internet and things like Wikipedia) and read through it, cover to cover, in one sitting. I would sometimes do this on nice sunny days when (theoretically) I should have been running around outdoors.
A game I loved playing was the Dictionary Game, which involved 3 or more people and a dictionary (in English). One person would open the dictionary to a random page, pick out a word that assumedly everybody knows, tell the other players the first letter of the word, and read the definition. The others would attempt to guess the word, and if someone was successful that person would take control of the dictionary. Otherwise the original person retained the dictionary and would find another word. The trick was to find words that are commonly known but are not easy to guess by the definition.
One of my favorite pastimes was to select a volume out of the set of encyclopedias on the bookshelf (many moons before the days of the ubiquitous internet and things like Wikipedia) and read through it, cover to cover, in one sitting. I would sometimes do this on nice sunny days when (theoretically) I should have been running around outdoors.
A game I loved playing was the Dictionary Game, which involved 3 or more people and a dictionary (in English). One person would open the dictionary to a random page, pick out a word that assumedly everybody knows, tell the other players the first letter of the word, and read the definition. The others would attempt to guess the word, and if someone was successful that person would take control of the dictionary. Otherwise the original person retained the dictionary and would find another word. The trick was to find words that are commonly known but are not easy to guess by the definition.
Vacations
My Aunt Doris (Mom’s sister) had a cottage on a lake in Maine we visited a couple times as a family. We didn’t have much contact with the cousins from Mom’s side of the family, at least that I recall when I was small, so it was a treat. The cottage was fairly rustic and the lake water was freezing, but I remember it being lots of fun there in the back woods of Maine. Dad caught a bass from the lake that he was extremely proud of. Just looked like a fish, to me. There was this game, of sorts, where my cousin Arthur and my brother Dennis would stand (balanced) on inner tubes out in the lake and Dad would throw a Frisbee out, hopefully close enough to one of them to catch it. I was too little for such, plus not being able to swim had something to do with it.
Dad borrowed somebody’s pop-up camper one year and we camped in a campground near Niantic, Connecticut:
I had never been camping, so picnicking and sleeping that close to the great outdoors was something special for me. Dennis and I kept hearing wild animal noises at night, though our parents didn’t believe us. It was proven to be true when one night we all were woken up by a disturbance in the screen tent (set up for eating). Dad shined a flashlight to reveal a mob of skunks after our food stash. Dennis & I felt vindicated. There was a beach nearby which we frequented, and a field next to us where we played football, frisbee, and such.
We would sometimes go into town and eat at a place call the Harbor Drive-In. They had the best milkshakes. Here’s me and Dennis waiting for our food:
Dad borrowed somebody’s pop-up camper one year and we camped in a campground near Niantic, Connecticut:
I had never been camping, so picnicking and sleeping that close to the great outdoors was something special for me. Dennis and I kept hearing wild animal noises at night, though our parents didn’t believe us. It was proven to be true when one night we all were woken up by a disturbance in the screen tent (set up for eating). Dad shined a flashlight to reveal a mob of skunks after our food stash. Dennis & I felt vindicated. There was a beach nearby which we frequented, and a field next to us where we played football, frisbee, and such.
We would sometimes go into town and eat at a place call the Harbor Drive-In. They had the best milkshakes. Here’s me and Dennis waiting for our food:
Buffalo
There used to be a small herd of Buffalo somewhere outside of Palmyra when I was a kid. They didn’t run wild – somebody had them fenced in. I remember being taken to see them, but they were so far away they appeared a little brown lumps off in the distance that moved occasionally. I honestly didn’t see what the hubbub was about when my parents got all excited that we were “going to see the buffalos, oboy!”
I guess that’s part of being a kid – mystified as to why the adults got excited about certain things and they scratching their heads about what we kids found interesting.
I guess that’s part of being a kid – mystified as to why the adults got excited about certain things and they scratching their heads about what we kids found interesting.
Cicada Killers
Sphecius speciosus, often referred to as the Cicada Killer, is a large digger wasp species. Downright huge, by wasp standards.
We saw them occasionally and would scream and run from them, as we thought they were extremely dangerous. Turns out (I learned recently) they are nigh unto harmless. They just appear menacing. It’s possible we were seeing the Giant Horntail – Urocerus Gigas – which looks like a giant wasp but isn’t a wasp at all and is harmless to humans.
Kids, being kids, are often afraid of things that are harmless and not afraid of things they ought to be afraid of.
We saw them occasionally and would scream and run from them, as we thought they were extremely dangerous. Turns out (I learned recently) they are nigh unto harmless. They just appear menacing. It’s possible we were seeing the Giant Horntail – Urocerus Gigas – which looks like a giant wasp but isn’t a wasp at all and is harmless to humans.
Kids, being kids, are often afraid of things that are harmless and not afraid of things they ought to be afraid of.
Into the Night
We often had sleepovers at each other’s houses – with parent’s permission and not a school night (when school was in session the following day). We rarely did a group sleepover, just one at a time, usually. I stayed over at Larry’s / Scott’s house the most, mainly because they were the closest. Bob was a quarter mile or so up the road and required a bike ride or parent transport via car. I always enjoyed staying over somebody else’s house, simply because it wasn’t my own house. Scott/Larry’s house had a particular smell to it. I can’t describe it in words. Bob’s house, as well, but not as much. Both Larry and Scott carried that odor with them, bodily. It was not unpleasant, it just was. Perhaps it was the laundry soap their mom used, or cleaning products, or some aspect of their house, I dunno. I wonder (now) if my house (and me, by extension) had a particular “smell” to it that was only apparent to outsiders.
Anyway, there was one negative aspect to sleeping over at the Scott/Larry house – there was no light at night. At all – zero, zippo, nada. I was always used to sleeping with some ambient light, however dim, so I could get my bearings when I opened my eyes. In their bedroom it was the same darkness whether my eyes were opened or closed. I found it disconcerting.
Anyway, there was one negative aspect to sleeping over at the Scott/Larry house – there was no light at night. At all – zero, zippo, nada. I was always used to sleeping with some ambient light, however dim, so I could get my bearings when I opened my eyes. In their bedroom it was the same darkness whether my eyes were opened or closed. I found it disconcerting.
Love and Fisticuffs
Dennis and I often fought, physically, as well as verbally. The older we got the worse it got. I don’t think we hated each other. Perhaps it was a natural thing between brothers growing up. In any case, we did, though we didn’t actually attempt to physically harm one another – more like testing each other’s defenses.
My group of close friends fought each other occasionally – Bob, Larry, and Scott. Reggie (Bob’s younger brother) was a few years younger and smaller, so he was exempt. Larry and Scott fought the most because they were brothers. No one (except myself) dared to fight with Dennis because he was older and bigger than all of us. I dared to because Dennis would get into serious trouble for beating up on his younger and smaller brother.
None of us intended to seriously harm anyone – it was more for show than anything. Occasionally someone would get injured, though nobody died or ended up in the hospital as a result.
We would have never described our relationship as friends using the word “love”, but in retrospect I would say that we loved each other a lot. We shared a significant portion of our growing-up years with each other, and trusted each other deeply.
None of us intended to seriously harm anyone – it was more for show than anything. Occasionally someone would get injured, though nobody died or ended up in the hospital as a result.
We would have never described our relationship as friends using the word “love”, but in retrospect I would say that we loved each other a lot. We shared a significant portion of our growing-up years with each other, and trusted each other deeply.
Mom’s Car
Mom didn’t learn how to drive until she was in her 40’s (I think). Dad taught her which, as I’ve heard, was not a pleasant experience for either of them. Neither had patience as a virtue. Somehow they got through it and Mom got her driver’s license. Since we had 1 car for the family (which was the relative norm in those days), Dad began the search for something Mom could drive. He landed on an old 1961 Ford Falcon. I found a picture of one of those, too:
It definitely wasn’t new. In fact, Dad found an engine for a 1963 Falcon that he and Dennis rebuilt in the garage. Dad wasn’t a mechanic (he did commercial art for a living), but he had street smarts, a keen mind, and was attentive to detail. So, between himself and automotive repair manuals available to him (along with Dennis’s assistance), he successfully rebuilt the ’63 engine, put it into the 61’s engine compartment, and the silly thing worked! Of course with all that power from a rebuilt engine, the rear transaxle blew apart while he and Dennis were taking it for a test run. Never to be conquered, they found an old transaxle on an abandon vehicle up by the gravel pit, extracted it, rebuilt it, and then Mom’s car was ready for Mom. She ended up driving it for a number of years until she eventually assumed control of the family car, which was a Chevy Biscayne, as I recall, and larger than the Falcon by quite a bit.
Mom was a good driver. I never felt unsafe as a passenger.
It definitely wasn’t new. In fact, Dad found an engine for a 1963 Falcon that he and Dennis rebuilt in the garage. Dad wasn’t a mechanic (he did commercial art for a living), but he had street smarts, a keen mind, and was attentive to detail. So, between himself and automotive repair manuals available to him (along with Dennis’s assistance), he successfully rebuilt the ’63 engine, put it into the 61’s engine compartment, and the silly thing worked! Of course with all that power from a rebuilt engine, the rear transaxle blew apart while he and Dennis were taking it for a test run. Never to be conquered, they found an old transaxle on an abandon vehicle up by the gravel pit, extracted it, rebuilt it, and then Mom’s car was ready for Mom. She ended up driving it for a number of years until she eventually assumed control of the family car, which was a Chevy Biscayne, as I recall, and larger than the Falcon by quite a bit.
Mom was a good driver. I never felt unsafe as a passenger.
Bel Air
The only brand new car we had, at least that I know of, was a 1970 Chevrolet Bel Air; some version of green. It’s MSRP at the time was $2,988, which is about $21,000 is today’s money. I found a picture of one on the internet:
Due to a combination of the salt used on Western NY roads in the winter, plus some inferior quality of the sheet metal used to make the body of the car, it was a veritable rust-bucket within a few years. I felt bad for Dad – his 1st brand new car rusts out in just a few years.
Due to a combination of the salt used on Western NY roads in the winter, plus some inferior quality of the sheet metal used to make the body of the car, it was a veritable rust-bucket within a few years. I felt bad for Dad – his 1st brand new car rusts out in just a few years.
Pumpkin Hook
Pumpkin Hook is a hamlet in Farmington NY. Here is a brief history:
https://farmingtonfd.org/history/history-of-pumpkin-hook/
Until recently, Pumpkin Hook was only a childhood concept to me – a place mentioned by my older brothers and sisters. Regardless of what it is today, or was way back then, the impression I had as a child is that it was a very cool place to be. On occasion my elder siblings would talk about heading to Pumpkin Hook for some form of merriment. I’ve never been there. I suppose I should venture there at some point to see what all the hubbub was about. I have a feeling I won’t find what I’m looking for.
In the same vein, on the way from Palmyra to Newark on State Route 31 there is an offramp of sorts that, as a child, I always wondered what was there (if one took that road instead of staying on Route 31). Well, recently I was on my way to my Dad’s place in Lyons and decided to find out to solve the 50-ish year old mystery. Turns out there’s the hamlet of Port Gibson and nothing else of importance. Well, now I know.
https://farmingtonfd.org/history/history-of-pumpkin-hook/
Until recently, Pumpkin Hook was only a childhood concept to me – a place mentioned by my older brothers and sisters. Regardless of what it is today, or was way back then, the impression I had as a child is that it was a very cool place to be. On occasion my elder siblings would talk about heading to Pumpkin Hook for some form of merriment. I’ve never been there. I suppose I should venture there at some point to see what all the hubbub was about. I have a feeling I won’t find what I’m looking for.
In the same vein, on the way from Palmyra to Newark on State Route 31 there is an offramp of sorts that, as a child, I always wondered what was there (if one took that road instead of staying on Route 31). Well, recently I was on my way to my Dad’s place in Lyons and decided to find out to solve the 50-ish year old mystery. Turns out there’s the hamlet of Port Gibson and nothing else of importance. Well, now I know.
Swimmingly
I was deathly afraid of being underwater, though I intensely enjoyed being in the water. I could hang out in a bathtub full of water for hours, much to the consternation of other household members who wanted to use the bathroom. When we had a swimming pool I loved being in it (in summer weather, of course). I remember being dunked (sometimes on accident, sometimes because someone decided to be mean to me) and really hating the experience of water closing up around my head. Eventually I grew tired of hanging around the edges of the pool while everybody else enjoyed use of the entire thing, so I decided to teach myself to swim underwater. It took some time, patience, and courage on my part, but over the course of a summer I had done it. Not only that, I discovered (by accident) that I could open my eyes underwater and thus enjoy it so much more. I was quite proud of myself, and rightly so. A whole new underwater world had opened up to me, and I was no longer an “outsider” in the pool.
JB
I was called “JB” (short for Jon Bryan) for a bunch of years until I decided that I’d had enough and people must then call me “Jon”. I don’t rightly recall, but it was probably because it was my moniker as a child and I didn’t care to be thought of as a child anymore. Plus Dennis occasionally calling me “JB Baby” helped me reach that conclusion. It took time to get my family to make the switch, but eventually they all came around, except for my sister Rita who still calls me JB to this day. Dennis’s friends took to calling me “The Jib” (“jib” being an alternate pronunciation of JB) which I did not mind. It wasn’t “J B” and I got attention from the big kids. My friends had always referred to me as Jon, so there was no problem there.
Big Money
Dad came home one evening with $750 cash which he counted out on the dining room table. Dunno how he came about possession of the money (Dad was not a bank robber in those days) but we watched and listened to him count it with great interest, for that was an astounding amount of money to us. I had never seen $100 in my life before, let alone $750.
Bugs
Mr. Wilson (our neighbor and my best friend John’s father) had a riding lawn mower which we thought was pretty cool. It had a very special feature which was the release of large clouds of bug spray upon demand of the operator of the mower, for the purpose of killing all the insects around the yard. Mr. Wilson would do just that when he was done mowing, which we (John, Dennis, and I) really liked because we would run through the big clouds. And being the late 60’s I’m sure whatever it was has been banned and taken off the market. Golly, I wonder what lasting effect that had on us.
B&W to Color
I forget how old I was – 10 or 11 or 12 or thereabouts when our family first acquired a color TV. After umpteen years of black, white, and grayscale, the NBC (National Broadcasting Co) peacock logo was there in vivid color:
It was amazing stuff, particularly to us kids, to see the colored parts of the Wizard of Oz in actual color. That, and a plethora of cartoons, regular TV shows, and movies that were now in full color. It was like a whole new world.
Speaking of TV, we (at the time) had access to 4 channels: 8, 10, 13, and UHF which we had a special antenna for. Eventually there were 2 stations accessible via UHF. For a time the color TV was in my parents room and the B&W TV went upstairs to mine & Dennis’s room, which was nice in a way to have a TV for ourselves, though it wasn’t color. It wasn’t easy to get out of bed for school during the week, but come Saturday morning Dennis & I were up at 6am to catch Woody Woodpecker followed by a parade of TV shows such as Pink Panther, Looney Toons (Bugs Bunny, et al), Johnny Quest, the Monkees, and a bunch of others I have long forgotten. We wrapped up Saturday morning TV with American Bandstand around noontime.
The Sunday paper was a treat for 2 reasons: the comics (a.k.a. “the funnies”) and the TV Guide which gave us the coming week’s schedule of TV shows. Though VCRs had been invented they weren’t yet available for home use, and even if they were they would have been far too expensive for us to buy. So, what was in the TV Guide was what we watched, or not if the lineup was lousy. Sunday evening had a great set of shows back then: Wonderful World of Disney, Mr. Terrific followed by Captain Nice (2 half hour long shows that never made it big but I really liked), Laugh-In which we watched as a family. Looking back on it, Laugh-In had some questionable material for us kids but my parents didn’t seem to care. There were particular shows that came on only once a year and you made sure to circle it in the TV Guide so you wouldn’t forget to be in front of the TV at the appointed time. For example The Wizard of Oz, Help! (the Beatles), Ben Hur (around Easter) and of course the Christmas trio of Charlie Brown Christmas, Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer, and Frosty the Snowman.
Jeepers, the times have changed since then, much of it driven by technology.
It was amazing stuff, particularly to us kids, to see the colored parts of the Wizard of Oz in actual color. That, and a plethora of cartoons, regular TV shows, and movies that were now in full color. It was like a whole new world.
Speaking of TV, we (at the time) had access to 4 channels: 8, 10, 13, and UHF which we had a special antenna for. Eventually there were 2 stations accessible via UHF. For a time the color TV was in my parents room and the B&W TV went upstairs to mine & Dennis’s room, which was nice in a way to have a TV for ourselves, though it wasn’t color. It wasn’t easy to get out of bed for school during the week, but come Saturday morning Dennis & I were up at 6am to catch Woody Woodpecker followed by a parade of TV shows such as Pink Panther, Looney Toons (Bugs Bunny, et al), Johnny Quest, the Monkees, and a bunch of others I have long forgotten. We wrapped up Saturday morning TV with American Bandstand around noontime.
The Sunday paper was a treat for 2 reasons: the comics (a.k.a. “the funnies”) and the TV Guide which gave us the coming week’s schedule of TV shows. Though VCRs had been invented they weren’t yet available for home use, and even if they were they would have been far too expensive for us to buy. So, what was in the TV Guide was what we watched, or not if the lineup was lousy. Sunday evening had a great set of shows back then: Wonderful World of Disney, Mr. Terrific followed by Captain Nice (2 half hour long shows that never made it big but I really liked), Laugh-In which we watched as a family. Looking back on it, Laugh-In had some questionable material for us kids but my parents didn’t seem to care. There were particular shows that came on only once a year and you made sure to circle it in the TV Guide so you wouldn’t forget to be in front of the TV at the appointed time. For example The Wizard of Oz, Help! (the Beatles), Ben Hur (around Easter) and of course the Christmas trio of Charlie Brown Christmas, Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer, and Frosty the Snowman.
Jeepers, the times have changed since then, much of it driven by technology.
Holidays
I loved holidays – Thanksgiving and Christmas in particular because there were always hordes of people, at least it seemed so to a little kid with parents, 6 siblings plus girlfriends, boyfriends, and, in a couple cases, spouses, plus a couple nieces. I don’t recall anything in particular that made it enjoyable to me – it was the laughing, the talking, the funning, the eating, the being together that defined us as a family, at least for me. And we always had a box of Ribbon Candy sitting around during the holidays, but it never was completely consumed. Or even half eaten, as I recall. The stuff was very sweet in a strange way. A small piece sufficed, even for us kids.
Some years later I remember several holidays where it was just Dad, Mom, Dennis, and me. Everybody else had moved out and moved on. Seemed strange and somewhat hollow. I missed us all being together.
BTW, the last time all 7 of us “kids” were together was in 2010. Roger’s cancer had returned and we were certain his days were numbered, so we all met in the Outer Banks, NC, and it turned out we were correct as he died a couple years later, and subsequently my brother Mike a couple years after that.
Some years later I remember several holidays where it was just Dad, Mom, Dennis, and me. Everybody else had moved out and moved on. Seemed strange and somewhat hollow. I missed us all being together.
BTW, the last time all 7 of us “kids” were together was in 2010. Roger’s cancer had returned and we were certain his days were numbered, so we all met in the Outer Banks, NC, and it turned out we were correct as he died a couple years later, and subsequently my brother Mike a couple years after that.
More Pets
We had Major the dog (whom we acquired as a puppy in Palmyra). He was a medium-sized mutt and greatly enjoyed the wilds of Macedon. He would hunt woodchucks, in particular, and having caught and killed one would bring it home and we would find such rotting woodchuck carcasses around the place (not indoors!). Major died when I was 13 years old, on my 13th birthday as a matter of fact, which happened to fall on Friday the 13th that year (not that it really mattered, just coincidence). He was only around 9 years old but had been hit by passing automobiles on multiple occasions in his lifetime (the result of his car-chasing habit) and finally succumbed to his internal injuries, whatever they were. We didn’t have money for veterinarian services back in those days and we just let nature take its course. Recently I found an old faded picture of Major:
Mr. Muffs was our cat that was acquired in Palmyra as a tiny kitten (I talk about him back in entry #15). He was 14 when he kicked the bucket, the direct result of being run over by a car. It was sad to lose him – he was a member of the family and we all took it hard, particularly Mom.
We ended up with a replacement cat, though I have no idea from whence it came. I think it was a stray cat that adopted us. We named it Scrapper for a scrapper he was. He was a tiger cat with an orange belly (quite beautiful, as cats go) and the very last inch of his tail was bent 90°, the result of some mishap unknown to us. Affectionate as all get-out when he wanted to be, but a ruthless hunter of small game including rabbits that he would drag through the back door and into the utility room, still alive, only to corner and torment them. We would find blood stains on the floor and walls from the poor things. He would amuse himself at times by hiding under the couch in the living room and lurking until someone walked by with their bare feet, at which time he would launch out and grab ahold with teeth and claws. One learned to walk carefully past the living room couch. He also had an affinity for Dennis, specifically when it was summertime and Dennis slept with only a sheet because of the heat. Scrapper would hang around the foot of Dennis’s bed in the morning waiting for Dennis to begin to stir only to attack his moving foot with (again) teeth and claws. This would naturally send Dennis into an immediate wide-awake state with very loud vocalizations directed at the cat. Scrapper never bothered me in that manner – only Dennis.
My sister Rita wanted a baby goose for some reason. She was always coming up with crazy ideas. So, she went to a farm, got one, brought it home, and named it Spanky. It was a big hit with the family – so cute and quite entertaining. It waddled about the house looking for crumbs of food and bugs, peeping all the way. In the late evening it would cuddle with you and sing itself to sleep with a little peeping song. Eventually it got too big to have around – it shit all over the place plus it’s attitude was growing less sweet as time progressed. It eventually was taken back to the farm.
I came home from school one day to classical music being loudly played and the most amazing noise which turned out to be a canary my parents had purchased. Why did we need a canary? Who knows. It was in a large cage hung from the ceiling of the living room (out of reach of the cat, of course) and there was a sign attached to the cage – something like “Hello! My name is Jocko”. Dunno how my parents came up with the name “Jocko”, but us kids thought it ridiculous and a name more fit for a monkey than a bird. Silly name aside, the thing was singing its little brains out in conjunction with the orchestra on the record player and I was mesmerized. Never heard any like it. Didn’t imagine such a sound from nature existed. He eventually got ill and died, but I can hear his song vividly in my head to this day.
Mr. Muffs was our cat that was acquired in Palmyra as a tiny kitten (I talk about him back in entry #15). He was 14 when he kicked the bucket, the direct result of being run over by a car. It was sad to lose him – he was a member of the family and we all took it hard, particularly Mom.
We ended up with a replacement cat, though I have no idea from whence it came. I think it was a stray cat that adopted us. We named it Scrapper for a scrapper he was. He was a tiger cat with an orange belly (quite beautiful, as cats go) and the very last inch of his tail was bent 90°, the result of some mishap unknown to us. Affectionate as all get-out when he wanted to be, but a ruthless hunter of small game including rabbits that he would drag through the back door and into the utility room, still alive, only to corner and torment them. We would find blood stains on the floor and walls from the poor things. He would amuse himself at times by hiding under the couch in the living room and lurking until someone walked by with their bare feet, at which time he would launch out and grab ahold with teeth and claws. One learned to walk carefully past the living room couch. He also had an affinity for Dennis, specifically when it was summertime and Dennis slept with only a sheet because of the heat. Scrapper would hang around the foot of Dennis’s bed in the morning waiting for Dennis to begin to stir only to attack his moving foot with (again) teeth and claws. This would naturally send Dennis into an immediate wide-awake state with very loud vocalizations directed at the cat. Scrapper never bothered me in that manner – only Dennis.
My sister Rita wanted a baby goose for some reason. She was always coming up with crazy ideas. So, she went to a farm, got one, brought it home, and named it Spanky. It was a big hit with the family – so cute and quite entertaining. It waddled about the house looking for crumbs of food and bugs, peeping all the way. In the late evening it would cuddle with you and sing itself to sleep with a little peeping song. Eventually it got too big to have around – it shit all over the place plus it’s attitude was growing less sweet as time progressed. It eventually was taken back to the farm.
I came home from school one day to classical music being loudly played and the most amazing noise which turned out to be a canary my parents had purchased. Why did we need a canary? Who knows. It was in a large cage hung from the ceiling of the living room (out of reach of the cat, of course) and there was a sign attached to the cage – something like “Hello! My name is Jocko”. Dunno how my parents came up with the name “Jocko”, but us kids thought it ridiculous and a name more fit for a monkey than a bird. Silly name aside, the thing was singing its little brains out in conjunction with the orchestra on the record player and I was mesmerized. Never heard any like it. Didn’t imagine such a sound from nature existed. He eventually got ill and died, but I can hear his song vividly in my head to this day.
Guns
Dad did work for Crosman Arms (BB guns, pellet guns, and the like), a division of Coleman (the camping company). Dad was a commercial artist and had a studio in which he did his work. Sometimes the studio was at home, though I dunno why. I enjoyed playing around (carefully) with his art stuff and occasionally he would show me some process or activity related to his work.
Anyways, he designed the Crosman logo which is in use today, or at least something pretty much like it. If it has changed, it has changed very little over the years. He re-designed their packaging so it stood out on store shelves. Apparently it had an amazing effect on the company’s revenue stream at the time. He even designed at least one of their air rifles which is still being sold today.
The upshot of this to Dennis and I was that we had a virtual endless variety of BB and pellet guns to play with, along with ammo plus CO2 cartridges which supplied the air power. BTW, nobody shot their eye out. Matter of fact there were no injuries involving the use of the guns that I can recall. Dad taught us how to use them safely, and we did. We did mostly target shooting, though certain wildlife ended up dead because of us: frogs, starlings (black birds who were quite numerous and bullies at the birdfeeder), for example. We even had a Crosman air-powered shot gun (the shells were quite small in comparison to standard shotgun shells and either contained tiny shot or a ball bearing) with a skeet launcher – instead of clay pigeons there were little plastic frisbees that came apart if you hit them and could be easily reassembled.
It was a lot of fun, and I’m glad for the experience as my parents could have never afforded such a luxury out of their pockets. Plus, it incremented my popularity in the neighborhood.
Anyways, he designed the Crosman logo which is in use today, or at least something pretty much like it. If it has changed, it has changed very little over the years. He re-designed their packaging so it stood out on store shelves. Apparently it had an amazing effect on the company’s revenue stream at the time. He even designed at least one of their air rifles which is still being sold today.
The upshot of this to Dennis and I was that we had a virtual endless variety of BB and pellet guns to play with, along with ammo plus CO2 cartridges which supplied the air power. BTW, nobody shot their eye out. Matter of fact there were no injuries involving the use of the guns that I can recall. Dad taught us how to use them safely, and we did. We did mostly target shooting, though certain wildlife ended up dead because of us: frogs, starlings (black birds who were quite numerous and bullies at the birdfeeder), for example. We even had a Crosman air-powered shot gun (the shells were quite small in comparison to standard shotgun shells and either contained tiny shot or a ball bearing) with a skeet launcher – instead of clay pigeons there were little plastic frisbees that came apart if you hit them and could be easily reassembled.
It was a lot of fun, and I’m glad for the experience as my parents could have never afforded such a luxury out of their pockets. Plus, it incremented my popularity in the neighborhood.
Love Interests
4th grade was a busy time for me in the romance department. I fell in love with a cute-as-all-getout girl named Rhonda (cue the Beach Boys singing “Help Me, Rhonda”). This happened within the space of an hour (I think it was during math lesson). She, apparently, fell in love with me, too, for reasons that befuddle me to this day – there were boys in our class much better looking and much more popular than I. Perhaps my wallflower-like persona was attractive to her. Who knows, except perhaps Rhonda, and I’ll bet she doesn’t remember if I asked her now. I remember Rhonda brought her older sister to the classroom and pointed to me (i.e. “this is the boyfriend”). Her sister didn’t seem to have any particular reaction, so I have no idea if I passed muster or not. The whirlwind affair lasted a week, I think, before she discovered she really didn’t love me. Or particularly like me, for that matter. Broke my heart. I probably got over it in a week or so. Except for a brief stint at a dance in 7th grade, we had nothing to do with each other since that time, though she remained my crush and fantasy all the way through high school.
Actually, now that I think about it, I did ask her why she was attracted to me, and she said it was because I wasn’t mushy. I, thinking mushy was something like vegetables cooked way too long, sought clarification, and she explained that I wasn’t annoyingly romantic, which turns out I was, which is probably why she tired of me so quickly.
Linda was another crush – she had a darker complexion and was (and presumably still is) of some exotic descent (Mediterranean, Middle Eastern, or something). Exotic in my mind, anyway. She was a bit more tomboyish than Rhonda, which I found very attractive for some reason, but she never fell in love with me, or fell in anything with me.
Actually, now that I think about it, I did ask her why she was attracted to me, and she said it was because I wasn’t mushy. I, thinking mushy was something like vegetables cooked way too long, sought clarification, and she explained that I wasn’t annoyingly romantic, which turns out I was, which is probably why she tired of me so quickly.
Linda was another crush – she had a darker complexion and was (and presumably still is) of some exotic descent (Mediterranean, Middle Eastern, or something). Exotic in my mind, anyway. She was a bit more tomboyish than Rhonda, which I found very attractive for some reason, but she never fell in love with me, or fell in anything with me.
Ben Hur
I’ve never seen the movie Ben Hur all the way through – beginning to end. My parents watched it every year when it came on television. TV shows, BTW, were listed out in what was called the TV Guide which was included in the Sunday newspaper. You looked up what shows would show on which channels at what day/time during the coming week and you planned your TV viewing schedule accordingly. Plus we only received 4 channels back then: 8, 10, 13, plus UHF which required its own antenna. I remember when we acquired a motorized antenna which was mounted to the roof – by a dial on a console next to the TV you could change the direction the antenna was pointed and get a clear signal of whatever station you were watching. It was magical, at the time. VCRs weren’t yet available for the average (or, in our case, below average) family.
Ben Hur in its entirety is nearly 4 hours long but I would last only about a half hour or so before I fell asleep. My parents would wake me for the chariot races, which I found very exciting, after which I would crawl up to bed.
Suppose I should spend the time, someday soon, and watch the whole thing.
Ben Hur in its entirety is nearly 4 hours long but I would last only about a half hour or so before I fell asleep. My parents would wake me for the chariot races, which I found very exciting, after which I would crawl up to bed.
Suppose I should spend the time, someday soon, and watch the whole thing.
$104
One day a classmate, Chris, came into our 4th grade class bearing a brand new Snoopy (Peanuts) lunchbox. Lunchboxes, back then, were a thing - I had a Batman lunchbox, as I recall. Anyhoo, we inquired about how he obtained it, and as his story goes his mom had gone grocery shopping the day before and spent $104 dollars in one fell swoop which included the lunchbox. Chris was quite happy with his windfall, though he told us that his parents got into a huge fight about the amount of money spent, which didn’t seem to bother him at all.
$104 was quite a large amount of money in those days, even for adults. Sort of like going grocery shopping now and spending $1000.
$104 was quite a large amount of money in those days, even for adults. Sort of like going grocery shopping now and spending $1000.
Guinea Pigs
I had 2 Guinea Pigs for a few years. I don’t recall where the first one “Popcorn” came from, but the second one “Coon” was courtesy of my sister Rita. My parents bought a used rabbit hutch to house them, which was quite large and had an enclosed area for colder weather. Speaking of which, I kept plenty of hay in the “outdoor” section and filled the “indoor” section with wood shavings so that they remained happily outside pretty much all year around, even through the winter. However, I brought them inside during really cold periods.
I remember taking them out of their hutch on warm summer days and letting them graze for clover in the lawn. They weren’t particularly interesting or affectionate or anything, but they were my responsibility and I was diligent in taking care of them.
Eventually my interest in taking care of them waned and we ended up giving them (and the rabbit hutch) to a physically handicapped kid who aspired to be a veterinarian.
I remember taking them out of their hutch on warm summer days and letting them graze for clover in the lawn. They weren’t particularly interesting or affectionate or anything, but they were my responsibility and I was diligent in taking care of them.
Eventually my interest in taking care of them waned and we ended up giving them (and the rabbit hutch) to a physically handicapped kid who aspired to be a veterinarian.
the Bible
We had an old black leather-bound Bible in the house. Dunno where it came from, but I assume it was in someone’s family for a long time for it was quite worn. I wonder where it ended up. Probably tossed when the family broke up, which is a story for another time. I remember picking it up from time to time and reading it. Well, attempting to read it as it was a King James Bible and the diction/syntax befuddled me. It did serve a useful purpose amongst us kids, however, when one was made to swear (as in solemn oath vs cuss words). For example, someone would challenge another on the verity of something spoken, one would place one’s right hand on the Bible and swear it was true. Or perhaps to confirm a commitment – i.e. you would swear on the Bible that you would fulfill a particular promise.
No one ever told me that the black book was God’s Word, God’s Truth, or any such thing. I only knew that if you lied while swearing on the Bible that it was really, really, bad, and you were violating something sacred. Plus, if you did so, something pretty bad would happen to you.
No one ever told me that the black book was God’s Word, God’s Truth, or any such thing. I only knew that if you lied while swearing on the Bible that it was really, really, bad, and you were violating something sacred. Plus, if you did so, something pretty bad would happen to you.
Christmas Bounty
Christmas was a magical time for a kid – getting out the Christmas decorations and sorting through them, hunting down a Christmas tree (a real one – we never had a fake one), playing Christmas music, etc.
One year my parents found little Christmas tree lights and used them on the top section of the tree. We liked them so much that within a few years little twinkly lights had replaced the big fat ones that had been used for decades. There were very old ornaments we hung on the tree – it was like visiting old friends when we unboxed them each year for Christmas.
Among the decorations was a musical bell. I believe my parents bought it shortly after I was born. It’s maybe 6 inches in height (plus a chain to hang it) and there is a little music box inside – you pull on the string and it plays Jingle Bells. There’s a label on in indicating it was made in Japan (in the days before cheap stuff was made in China). As a kid I thought it was solid and heavy. I discovered in my early teens by happenstance that is quite light. I’m spending words on this bell because it, more than any other physical object, signifies Christmas for me. It’s the only thing that has been present at every Christmas since I was born (apart from certain years I was not home for Christmas). Anyways, I have it now and intend on keeping it until some day one of my kids or grandchildren hang it in their house.
Until my mid teens, Christmas was also bountiful occasion – lots of great presents under the tree. Dennis & I would wake up very very early Christmas morning, sneak downstairs, and quietly survey the presents with flashlights for who got what which, of course, was all wrapped up in paper, though we had fun guessing what may be inside each. After that we would wait for what seemed like days until everyone was up, dressed, and ready to gather for present-opening time.
I was a grown-up when I found out that my parents would take out a loan each year so we kids could have an awesome Christmas. Sometimes the previous year’s loan would not be paid off on time and was added to the new loan. Eventually they caught up and stopped taking loans out as Christmas, over time, became less expensive – kids got older and some of them moved out. I was 14, I think, when one particular Christmas I looked at my quite small pile of presents and realized I wasn’t a kid anymore.
A couple of presents I especially recall that were given to Dennis and me by Jean & Dick: Atari Pong, which had just come out, and the following year a small but thoroughly enjoyable air hockey table (air hockey was also relatively new thing at the time). Those were expensive gifts. Dennis and I were really overwhelmed to receive them, though we had to wait until the adults were finished “trying them out” which was pretty much all Christmas Day.
Among the decorations was a musical bell. I believe my parents bought it shortly after I was born. It’s maybe 6 inches in height (plus a chain to hang it) and there is a little music box inside – you pull on the string and it plays Jingle Bells. There’s a label on in indicating it was made in Japan (in the days before cheap stuff was made in China). As a kid I thought it was solid and heavy. I discovered in my early teens by happenstance that is quite light. I’m spending words on this bell because it, more than any other physical object, signifies Christmas for me. It’s the only thing that has been present at every Christmas since I was born (apart from certain years I was not home for Christmas). Anyways, I have it now and intend on keeping it until some day one of my kids or grandchildren hang it in their house.
Until my mid teens, Christmas was also bountiful occasion – lots of great presents under the tree. Dennis & I would wake up very very early Christmas morning, sneak downstairs, and quietly survey the presents with flashlights for who got what which, of course, was all wrapped up in paper, though we had fun guessing what may be inside each. After that we would wait for what seemed like days until everyone was up, dressed, and ready to gather for present-opening time.
I was a grown-up when I found out that my parents would take out a loan each year so we kids could have an awesome Christmas. Sometimes the previous year’s loan would not be paid off on time and was added to the new loan. Eventually they caught up and stopped taking loans out as Christmas, over time, became less expensive – kids got older and some of them moved out. I was 14, I think, when one particular Christmas I looked at my quite small pile of presents and realized I wasn’t a kid anymore.
A couple of presents I especially recall that were given to Dennis and me by Jean & Dick: Atari Pong, which had just come out, and the following year a small but thoroughly enjoyable air hockey table (air hockey was also relatively new thing at the time). Those were expensive gifts. Dennis and I were really overwhelmed to receive them, though we had to wait until the adults were finished “trying them out” which was pretty much all Christmas Day.
Guitar
I took guitar lessons in the 4th grade. The Macedon Elementary music teacher (I have long forgotten her name) offered them for something like $3 per student per half hour. There were a bunch of kids who attended these group lessons after school in the basement of a church across the street. I don’t precisely recall how I ended up with a guitar – I assume my parents purchased one for me. I remember my dad had one, though he didn’t play, and I fiddled with it often enough so it seems he invested in one for me plus lessons.
Apart from occasional seasons of not having a guitar, I kept playing and singing and still do to this day. Plus, I can still remember some of the songs I learned in those lessons decades ago. I never learned how to read music, which is something I regret. Nevertheless, it gives me great pleasure to play and I’m glad I learned.
Some of the songs we were taught were doggone religious. I do not know what prompted the guitar teacher to pick those songs, but I remember Rita & I (Rita learned how to play, as well, though I do not recall who taught her; could have been me, I dunno) singing songs that described Christ's coming to earth, living, dying, and resurrecting. Stuff I just sang back then but gave no specific thought to. I like to think that a seed was planted that would not bear fruit, metaphorically speaking, until many years later when I came to understand the significance of the lyrics and believed the message.
Apart from occasional seasons of not having a guitar, I kept playing and singing and still do to this day. Plus, I can still remember some of the songs I learned in those lessons decades ago. I never learned how to read music, which is something I regret. Nevertheless, it gives me great pleasure to play and I’m glad I learned.
Some of the songs we were taught were doggone religious. I do not know what prompted the guitar teacher to pick those songs, but I remember Rita & I (Rita learned how to play, as well, though I do not recall who taught her; could have been me, I dunno) singing songs that described Christ's coming to earth, living, dying, and resurrecting. Stuff I just sang back then but gave no specific thought to. I like to think that a seed was planted that would not bear fruit, metaphorically speaking, until many years later when I came to understand the significance of the lyrics and believed the message.
Macedon Digs
Moving from relative isolation of the rural countryside to Macedon was an improvement in social potential as friends were now down the street instead of light years away. Closest to me was Scott & Larry (brothers). Up the road and a hill from them was Bob and his little brother Reggie. Recently at a class reunion Bob confessed that he worshipped my sister Rita back then. Rita was (and still is) a few years older, so it wouldn’t have worked out. A fair distance past Bob (maybe a half mile) was Bill. In the other direction was Dave, who was closer to Dennis’s age than the rest of us. He had 2 sisters with whom I interacted very little. Way past him was Tom and Dave Heckman that we occasionally saw – they were more Dennis’s age, anyway. Up the road from us in another direction was John who was older as well and we interacted with rarely. He had a dog named “Polack”, though I do not know if the dog was actually Polish. In summary, friends were within walking distance, or at least easy bicycle distance.
I liked the house we moved into. The front door was pretty much useless, as there was a short front yard and some concrete steps down to a fast road (55 MPH speed limit). The only good use of those steps was for waiting for the bus on school mornings. The gravel driveway in the back was quite wide and came up to the garage. There was a branch of the driveway that continued to the house next door where an old lady lived by herself – Mrs. Allard, if my memory serves me. On the other side of the driveway was the woods, which was good for hiking and adventures. There was a decent sized lawn and a couple of apple trees. Some evenings we would throw apples up in the air and bats would dive bomb after them. On one side of the house was what we called the “back yard” which was really a side yard. On the other side of the house was a fence and on the other side of that the landlord kept a working swimming pool, as he owned a pool business. He told us we can use it as long as we took care of it, and we certainly did on both counts. We would never have been able to afford a swimming pool so it was an unexpected luxury, particular for us kids in the summer. It certainly made me popular amongst the neighborhood kids. Through the back door and up a few steps was a utility room where the washer and dryer were kept. Through another door you walked into the kitchen, or turned right to go into a full bath. Which now seems to be a strange place to have a bathroom with tub, but it all seemed natural to a kid. The light switch to said bathroom was outside the bathroom door. If someone were using the bathroom at night you could flip the light switch off and get screamed at.
The kitchen was L shaped and had an area for eating. The room off the kitchen was officially a dining room. After a few years it became the TV room. After that was the living room. Off that was my parent’s bedroom which, for a number of years, doubled as the TV room. I liked lying on the bed and watching TV – it was quite comfortable. Or, you could climb the stairs to the bedrooms – Dennis & I shared one and Rita had the other. There was a crawl space off to the side which served as an attic for storing shit. The basement was off the kitchen, but I rarely ventured down there because it was old, musty, cobwebby, and scary.
I have great memories of the place as well as doggone lousy ones. I grew up a lot while living there for 5-ish years.
I liked the house we moved into. The front door was pretty much useless, as there was a short front yard and some concrete steps down to a fast road (55 MPH speed limit). The only good use of those steps was for waiting for the bus on school mornings. The gravel driveway in the back was quite wide and came up to the garage. There was a branch of the driveway that continued to the house next door where an old lady lived by herself – Mrs. Allard, if my memory serves me. On the other side of the driveway was the woods, which was good for hiking and adventures. There was a decent sized lawn and a couple of apple trees. Some evenings we would throw apples up in the air and bats would dive bomb after them. On one side of the house was what we called the “back yard” which was really a side yard. On the other side of the house was a fence and on the other side of that the landlord kept a working swimming pool, as he owned a pool business. He told us we can use it as long as we took care of it, and we certainly did on both counts. We would never have been able to afford a swimming pool so it was an unexpected luxury, particular for us kids in the summer. It certainly made me popular amongst the neighborhood kids. Through the back door and up a few steps was a utility room where the washer and dryer were kept. Through another door you walked into the kitchen, or turned right to go into a full bath. Which now seems to be a strange place to have a bathroom with tub, but it all seemed natural to a kid. The light switch to said bathroom was outside the bathroom door. If someone were using the bathroom at night you could flip the light switch off and get screamed at.
The kitchen was L shaped and had an area for eating. The room off the kitchen was officially a dining room. After a few years it became the TV room. After that was the living room. Off that was my parent’s bedroom which, for a number of years, doubled as the TV room. I liked lying on the bed and watching TV – it was quite comfortable. Or, you could climb the stairs to the bedrooms – Dennis & I shared one and Rita had the other. There was a crawl space off to the side which served as an attic for storing shit. The basement was off the kitchen, but I rarely ventured down there because it was old, musty, cobwebby, and scary.
I have great memories of the place as well as doggone lousy ones. I grew up a lot while living there for 5-ish years.
To Macedon
We moved to Macedon sometime in the latter part my 3rd grade. I didn’t like it, as it meant switching schools to Macedon Elementary and being “the new kid” which is always a challenge for an introvert.
My last day in Palmyra Elementary was a bust – I stayed home from school due to the “itches” - severe itching all over my body. Rita got it, too. We suspected the laundry soap, but never nailed down the cause. The kids in the class each made a good-bye card, which was really nice and very encouraging. I specifically recall the one from Linda Higbee who had recently moved from Macedon to Palmyra and ended up in my class. She told me that when I attend Macedon Elem that I might get Mrs. Wilkinson as a teacher. She meant to tell me that Mrs. Wilkinson was strict, but wrote it “she’s stict”. I did indeed end up in Mrs. Wilkinson’s class and found out she was really quite nice after all and not stuck to anything.
My first day in Mrs. Wilkinson’s class was dreadful (it wasn’t the class, teacher, or kids, it was me). A couple of highlights: I meet a kid named Greg (can’t remember his last name) who had recently come back from a trip to Florida and was quite tan. Never having been anywhere south of the Mason-Dixon line, I thought it was quite impressive and exotic - Florida seemed like another world far away. Another was Martha Rothfus: I had my head buried in my desk trying to be invisible when she presented herself to me and asked if she could take me around and introduce me to the other classmates. I declined, but I’ve never forgotten the kindness and mentioned it to her recently at our class reunion.
Eventually I got to know my classmates, made friends, and fit in quite well despite my introversion. In particular I remember Roland "Roly" Jones - he was extremely good looking with a kind and winning personality as well as the coolest name ever; I wonder whatever became of him as I do not recollect seeing him after 3rd grade.
My first day in Mrs. Wilkinson’s class was dreadful (it wasn’t the class, teacher, or kids, it was me). A couple of highlights: I meet a kid named Greg (can’t remember his last name) who had recently come back from a trip to Florida and was quite tan. Never having been anywhere south of the Mason-Dixon line, I thought it was quite impressive and exotic - Florida seemed like another world far away. Another was Martha Rothfus: I had my head buried in my desk trying to be invisible when she presented herself to me and asked if she could take me around and introduce me to the other classmates. I declined, but I’ve never forgotten the kindness and mentioned it to her recently at our class reunion.
Eventually I got to know my classmates, made friends, and fit in quite well despite my introversion. In particular I remember Roland "Roly" Jones - he was extremely good looking with a kind and winning personality as well as the coolest name ever; I wonder whatever became of him as I do not recollect seeing him after 3rd grade.
Smoke Gets In Your Eyes
We were gathered at Arnold’s house in Palmyra one evening. I think I was the only kid present and everyone was sitting around the living room listening to an album on the record player. I recall it was something comedic, perhaps Cheech & Chong (my parents didn’t go out of their way to shield us from questionable material). So, as it was the adults all smoked back then and smoked they did in the living room with the windows closed (it was kinda cold out at the time). Eventually cigarette smoke fills the air in the room and I complain that it’s burning my eyes. I was told “If you don’t like it, go outside.” Apparently they didn’t go out of their way to shield us from the health hazard of second-hand smoke, either.
I used to play around with whatever smoldering butts I found in whatever ash trays were around the house, though I knew without somebody telling me that the whole smoking deal was nasty business. Eventually everybody quit smoking for good, except Mom who, in time, took it up again.
I used to play around with whatever smoldering butts I found in whatever ash trays were around the house, though I knew without somebody telling me that the whole smoking deal was nasty business. Eventually everybody quit smoking for good, except Mom who, in time, took it up again.
Taj Mahal
In 3rd grade we did a study of the country of India. The class teacher was Mrs. Hino (teachers didn’t have first names back then, at least that’s what my 3rd grade brain assumed). Also, we sometimes referred to her as Mrs. Hiny behind her back (and her butt, too, come to think of it). Anyways, we split into groups and Mike, Sam, and I choose to do an artistic depiction of the monsoon in India. Our approach was unique in that we did a quite large painting of the Taj Mahal for starters, then intended to paint sheets of rain in front of it. Problem was that our Taj Mahal was so good that it seemed a shame to mask it with rain. So, we put a few big drops here and there to depict the beginning of the monsoon season. I remember Mrs. Hino showing it to the art teacher and he was impressed, despite the fact that it was very 2 dimensional (we had no idea how to draw anything with 3D perspective).
Also interesting was that Mr. Hino payed a visit to the class (wonder of wonders that teachers had spouses let alone existence outside the school grounds!). He admired our painting and even helped us enhance it a bit because he had actually seen the Taj Mahal in person. That was a cool experience, and it remains an enjoyable memory.
Also interesting was that Mr. Hino payed a visit to the class (wonder of wonders that teachers had spouses let alone existence outside the school grounds!). He admired our painting and even helped us enhance it a bit because he had actually seen the Taj Mahal in person. That was a cool experience, and it remains an enjoyable memory.
Not Nice
As a kid I enjoyed being around and spending time with my brothers and sisters, Mike and Roger in particular, and also Dennis because he was closest to me in age (still is). And then there was Arnold (my oldest brother) who was little else but mean to me. He had an abrasive personality in general, but for some reason he had no tolerance for me.
One incident, as I recall, I was being transported by Arnold out to our house in the sticks from the village in his pickup truck. He drove very fast and took the corners hard, which was probably his usual way of driving but scared the shit out of me and I asked him to slow down. “Shut up, kid!” was all I got in response.
By the time I was in my late teens, Arnie and I got along fine.
One incident, as I recall, I was being transported by Arnold out to our house in the sticks from the village in his pickup truck. He drove very fast and took the corners hard, which was probably his usual way of driving but scared the shit out of me and I asked him to slow down. “Shut up, kid!” was all I got in response.
By the time I was in my late teens, Arnie and I got along fine.
Fall Down, Go Boom
On one of those rare occasions when a friend stayed overnight at our house out in the boonies, we had an interesting experience. Well, it was interesting for Dennis, anyway, and I suppose “interesting” wouldn’t be the right word to describe it.
Anyways, it was John Wilson and he and I shared the bottom bunk of the bunk beds Dennis & I used. In the morning (I think it was a Saturday) John and I were awake in the bottom bunk chatting, and we decided to tug on the sheet which hung down over the side of Dennis’s bed above. We did so tug a little, then went back to chatting. Not hearing anything stirring above us, we tugged a bit more, then a bit more, then a bit more, essentially dragging Dennis to the edge of his bed. We were sure he was awake and playing along with us. Turns out he was dead asleep, and the last and final tug brought him down on the hardwood floor WHAM-O!
Upon hitting said floor, Dennis jumped up and ran out of the room and down the stairs to who knows where. John and I wondered out loud what that was all about and went back to chatting, not grasping the gravity of the situation (pun definitely intended). We eventually got up and went downstairs to find Dennis seated at the breakfast table consuming a bowl of some cereal with a far-off glazed-over look. I don’t think we saw Dennis for the rest of the day, not that it particularly mattered to us at the time.
Not too many years ago I brought this up to Dennis who confirmed he was asleep until he hit the floor, and that he was hurt - bad. He should have seen a doctor, but in those days if you could stand upright and manage somewhat coherent English, you’re fine.
Anyways, it was John Wilson and he and I shared the bottom bunk of the bunk beds Dennis & I used. In the morning (I think it was a Saturday) John and I were awake in the bottom bunk chatting, and we decided to tug on the sheet which hung down over the side of Dennis’s bed above. We did so tug a little, then went back to chatting. Not hearing anything stirring above us, we tugged a bit more, then a bit more, then a bit more, essentially dragging Dennis to the edge of his bed. We were sure he was awake and playing along with us. Turns out he was dead asleep, and the last and final tug brought him down on the hardwood floor WHAM-O!
Upon hitting said floor, Dennis jumped up and ran out of the room and down the stairs to who knows where. John and I wondered out loud what that was all about and went back to chatting, not grasping the gravity of the situation (pun definitely intended). We eventually got up and went downstairs to find Dennis seated at the breakfast table consuming a bowl of some cereal with a far-off glazed-over look. I don’t think we saw Dennis for the rest of the day, not that it particularly mattered to us at the time.
Not too many years ago I brought this up to Dennis who confirmed he was asleep until he hit the floor, and that he was hurt - bad. He should have seen a doctor, but in those days if you could stand upright and manage somewhat coherent English, you’re fine.
Shady Deals
We had one car in the family in those days. Actually, Arnie had his own vehicle, as did Roger. Mom didn’t drive and didn’t appear to be in a hurry to learn. Anyways, it was an exciting event when we got a new used car from “Shady Deals” which was the local car dealer. I thought that was the actual name of the business because that’s what everyone called it. It wasn’t until I was an adult that I happen to discover it was actually “Palmyra Motors”.
Dad, on the wall of his little art studio at home, had a pencil drawing of “the Spook” - a tall, lanky, spooky-looking guy in black who, as I was told, was one of the more notable salesmen at Shady Deals.
Dad, on the wall of his little art studio at home, had a pencil drawing of “the Spook” - a tall, lanky, spooky-looking guy in black who, as I was told, was one of the more notable salesmen at Shady Deals.
Valerie
One auspicious evening, Rita’s friend Valerie had me in her lap and wouldn’t go. She hugged me and kissed me and told me how cute and adorable I was. This went on for some time. I feigned a struggle to escape, but the truth is I loved every second of it and was disappointed when she finally let me go.
More Roger
Roger would show up occasionally, I assume home on leave from the Navy. His friends would show up, too, in the form of a music band - The New Order. They played at our house a couple times - once outdoors and once in the living room (which was exceedingly loud. I didn't like it, as loud noises bothered me as a kid). They were quite good, as I recall, and I somewhat remember a couple of their songs and can play them on the guitar..maybe.
Mom, Dad, Rita, Dennis, and I would, occasionally, record our voices on a cassette tape and send it to Roger while he was deployed. Sometimes we would sing a song to him. I remember one where we used an existing tune and made up our own lyrics, something about Roger being a sailor. He told us he enjoyed them immensely. I recall that he recorded one of himself aboard ship and sent it to us. Such was communication before the days of the Internet, though it was relatively high tech for the time – being able to hear a voice vs only having a letter to read.
Mom, Dad, Rita, Dennis, and I would, occasionally, record our voices on a cassette tape and send it to Roger while he was deployed. Sometimes we would sing a song to him. I remember one where we used an existing tune and made up our own lyrics, something about Roger being a sailor. He told us he enjoyed them immensely. I recall that he recorded one of himself aboard ship and sent it to us. Such was communication before the days of the Internet, though it was relatively high tech for the time – being able to hear a voice vs only having a letter to read.
My Art
I’ve done 1 painting in my lifetime (so far). I was just a wee lad and my dad stretched a canvas for me and let me go to town on it with a pile of magic markers of varying colors. Somebody had the presence of mind to take a picture of it, albeit not very clear and part of it cropped, which is all that is left as the original is long gone:
Uncle Jon
My eldest brother Arnie and his wife Pat had a baby – Mary, my niece – so I became “Uncle Jon” at age 7. I bragged about this at school as it was a novelty amongst the kids in my class, plus it made me feel/sound more mature than I actually was.
Here's a picture of me and Mary plus somebody's hand reaching into the scene:
One thing of note: when Pat was pregnant she wore blue eye shadow. I assume she didn’t all the time, but the only time I recall seeing her whilst pregnant she did. It was a bright, striking blue and I wondered if she put it on her eyes or if all pregnant women had this as a medical condition resulting from pregnancy. Kids have strange thoughts.
A year after Mary, came Hollie (named either because she was born close to Christmas or in honor of the maker of fine carburetors) and I was Uncle Jon to 2 nieces, which upped my status even more.
Here's a picture of me and Mary plus somebody's hand reaching into the scene:
One thing of note: when Pat was pregnant she wore blue eye shadow. I assume she didn’t all the time, but the only time I recall seeing her whilst pregnant she did. It was a bright, striking blue and I wondered if she put it on her eyes or if all pregnant women had this as a medical condition resulting from pregnancy. Kids have strange thoughts.
A year after Mary, came Hollie (named either because she was born close to Christmas or in honor of the maker of fine carburetors) and I was Uncle Jon to 2 nieces, which upped my status even more.
The Boxer
Dad had a large painting of his hung up on the living room wall. It was of a boxer (human, not dog) seated against the ropes of a boxing ring and down for the count. Apparently, Dad saw this scene at a boxing match in Iowa and some time later captured it in oil paint on canvas. My brother Dennis has the painting rolled up in a tube and said he would send it to me. Once I have it, I’ll take a picture of it and post it here.
Anyways, as the result of indoor horseplay, I whipped a small plastic football at Dennis who ducked, so the football smacked into the painting on the wall and left an indent with concentric circles of broken paint surface. It wasn't (and presumably still isn't) terribly noticeable except if you look at it at certain angles. I don't recall how much trouble I got into for that. Dad remembers the incident, still to this day.
I consider it my contribution to dad's artwork.
And here it is:
Anyways, as the result of indoor horseplay, I whipped a small plastic football at Dennis who ducked, so the football smacked into the painting on the wall and left an indent with concentric circles of broken paint surface. It wasn't (and presumably still isn't) terribly noticeable except if you look at it at certain angles. I don't recall how much trouble I got into for that. Dad remembers the incident, still to this day.
I consider it my contribution to dad's artwork.
And here it is:
Wheaties
During a Christmas season of some year I was very sick - like on the couch not eating or nothing sick for at least a week. Probably the Plague or something. I'm sure there were times we should have been in the hospital but were kept home for financial reasons. Anyways, I do recall the Christmas tree in the living room, decorated, but I was so miserably sick I had no interest. Takes a lot to keep a kid from being excited about Christmas. Despite this, I (for some reason I cannot explain) had the intense hunger for a bowl of Wheaties with cold milk poured thereon. I asked for it, was rebuffed (logically, from a parent's perspective), but lobbied hard for that which I very much desired. Finally I got it - a bowl of crispy Wheaties with cold milk. I ate it all, relishing every bite. I very soon after (probably a manner of minutes) puked the whole thing back up. Didn't regret it. Still don't. That was the best bowl of Wheaties ever enjoyed by anyone.
Man On the Moon
July 20, 1969 - our family was gathered around the TV (monochrome, of course, grayscale to be precise) to witness the live broadcast of the first human to set foot on the moon. I was 7 years old at the time and fascinated by the whole thing. I remember going outside and looking up at the moon and wondering if I could see the astronauts and their stuff from earth. Turns out you can't.
Years
Across the street were Mr. and Mrs. Years. They were the most laid back and kindest people I had ever met. I have no idea what either of them did for a living, though they did have a barn and some horses - Trudy, a thoroughbred I believe, and Fella, a draft horse of some sort. Rita (my sister) learned to ride. I rode Fella, once, though for a slow walk. Horses were quite intimidating to me back then. They still are, come to think of it. I'm much more confident on a motorcycle, thank you. At some point I acquired 2 guinea pigs as pets, and I would occasionally buy hay for their hutch from Mr. Years for 50 cents a bail. Dennis & I did spend one overnight at the Years' house for reasons I still have no idea. Golly, it was boring. Mr. & Mrs. Years, were WAY too mellow for our taste, though Dennis & I were polite, respectful, and appreciative. We did each get a chocolate chip cookie with our breakfast, which was different.
Who Let the Dogs Out
Major, the dog, made friends with the neighbor dog Mickey, a German shepherd from across the street. The two would hunt together and chase cars together. I wonder what it was about cars that drove the dogs to chase them (pun intended). Many a dog met their demise chasing cars and another local dog, Lucky, was no exception. We found him one day, dead and with his luck run out on the side of the road. So, Major and Mickey would chase cars whenever they went by, which wasn't too often on that country road, one on each side of the car. Occasionally they would challenge the odds and crisscross in front of the moving car.
My sister-in-law Pat (Arnie's wife) had a female Dalmatian that Major ended up 'spending the night with'. She got pregnant and had 5 puppies, one of which was born dead. Puppies (live ones) was fun stuff for a kid, though eventually they all shipped out to other homes.
My sister-in-law Pat (Arnie's wife) had a female Dalmatian that Major ended up 'spending the night with'. She got pregnant and had 5 puppies, one of which was born dead. Puppies (live ones) was fun stuff for a kid, though eventually they all shipped out to other homes.
New Digs
After a month or so of life at the Wilson's house, we moved out to Southtown Line Rd of the outer limits of Palmyra which seemed, to me, like we had been exiled to the wilderness. The nearest neighbor was at least a half mile away, and having a friend to come over to visit took a freakin act of Congress (most families, including ours, had only one car, and mom didn't drive in those days). Though our social lives suffered as kids, it was interesting living out in the country with the woods, pond, wildlife, and such. A possum ventured into our yard. Dad went out to investigate and it "played dead". He picked it up by the tail and hung it (by the tail) on a ladder leaning up against the house. Geese would populate the pond every spring and fall, something I greatly looked forward to. Occasionally a swan or a heron would stop by, which was a special wonder to me.
Water to the house was fed by a well and was exceedingly gross - smelled like sulfur and tasted disgusting, though dad said it made for a wonderful cup of coffee and you could boil beans in it for hours and they would never get soft. Us kids never drank it - we would fill up gallon jugs at Arnie's house in the village and keep them around for drinking.
Here's a picture I found (actually, it's a scanned-in copy of a printout of a photo) of myself, Mom, and Dennis at the dining room table. Judging from my expression I believe I was attempting some form of suave, though the filthy shirt doesn't help my cause any.
Water to the house was fed by a well and was exceedingly gross - smelled like sulfur and tasted disgusting, though dad said it made for a wonderful cup of coffee and you could boil beans in it for hours and they would never get soft. Us kids never drank it - we would fill up gallon jugs at Arnie's house in the village and keep them around for drinking.
Here's a picture I found (actually, it's a scanned-in copy of a printout of a photo) of myself, Mom, and Dennis at the dining room table. Judging from my expression I believe I was attempting some form of suave, though the filthy shirt doesn't help my cause any.
Between Houses
We moved out of our house on Canandaigua Street across from the school and moved in with our friends the Wilson's (who previously lived next door but had moved to another street but within a short walk's distance). At least I remember Rita, Dennis, and I living there for a month. Jean and Arnold were out on their own, Roger had joined the Navy and had left home. I wonder where Mike had gone - off to college? Staying with someone else?
A few things I clearly recall from that time: one is Mrs. Wilson playing the piano. She played Wipeout which I really enjoyed (and she knew I enjoyed it). Another is having 5 minutes and an inch of water to take a bath, as there were many people in the house needing hot water and bathroom time. I remember one day the Wilsons were dressed up and all headed out to get a family picture taken. I felt left out, though I wasn't part of their family, obviously. Perhaps it was because my family had never got a complete family picture of all of us, including parents (and never would). The closest thing was a painting my dad had done of a winter scene with him, mom, and all the kids except me because I hadn't been born yet.
Another incident involved Roger who (for reasons unknown to me) was home for a bit from the Navy. It was Halloween and he along his friends Bill and Jim took me around town trick-or-treating in Bill's station wagon. We had very little money in those days so I was dressed as a hobo - raggedly clothes and cigarette ashes smeared on my face like I hadn't been shaving or was dirty or both. There were patches on my makeshift coat that mom used straight pins to attach (which is important for later in the story). Well, someone driving by pegged Bill's car with an egg, so they decided to find out who and 'teach them a lesson' or some such thing. Bill accelerated and rounded a corner. The back seat door I was sitting next to swung open and I proceeded (in slow motion, at least in my memory) to fall out of the car. Seat belt use wasn't as prevalent as it is today, even for kids. I remember hearing Bill say (as I was falling out of the car) "OMIGOSH - JB!" JB (for Jon Bryan) was my moniker for many years as a kid. They managed to pull me back into the car and continue their pursuit of the offending party which they eventually found. They parked out in front of the house and approached it on foot. There were no lights on so I could not see anything, though I heard them talking with someone or someones. Eventually a fist-fight broke out. I really did not want to listen to anything of this, so I called out to Roger a few times to hurry up whatever he was doing and let's go home. He cheerfully responded "OK!" "Just a minute!" "Be right there!". Eventually the cops came which led to more time for me sitting by myself in the car wondering when on earth we would be leaving this very unpleasant scene. As it turned out, Bill's really nice jacket was torn and Roger had a bloody black eye from the fight. Roger must have felt sorry for me because he climbed into the back seat to sit with me and sat directly on my hobo coat with the dozen or so straight pins. I don't know which had been more painful to him - the fist in his eye or the pins in his ass. Needless to say I had an exciting story to tell when we got back to the house.
A few things I clearly recall from that time: one is Mrs. Wilson playing the piano. She played Wipeout which I really enjoyed (and she knew I enjoyed it). Another is having 5 minutes and an inch of water to take a bath, as there were many people in the house needing hot water and bathroom time. I remember one day the Wilsons were dressed up and all headed out to get a family picture taken. I felt left out, though I wasn't part of their family, obviously. Perhaps it was because my family had never got a complete family picture of all of us, including parents (and never would). The closest thing was a painting my dad had done of a winter scene with him, mom, and all the kids except me because I hadn't been born yet.
Another incident involved Roger who (for reasons unknown to me) was home for a bit from the Navy. It was Halloween and he along his friends Bill and Jim took me around town trick-or-treating in Bill's station wagon. We had very little money in those days so I was dressed as a hobo - raggedly clothes and cigarette ashes smeared on my face like I hadn't been shaving or was dirty or both. There were patches on my makeshift coat that mom used straight pins to attach (which is important for later in the story). Well, someone driving by pegged Bill's car with an egg, so they decided to find out who and 'teach them a lesson' or some such thing. Bill accelerated and rounded a corner. The back seat door I was sitting next to swung open and I proceeded (in slow motion, at least in my memory) to fall out of the car. Seat belt use wasn't as prevalent as it is today, even for kids. I remember hearing Bill say (as I was falling out of the car) "OMIGOSH - JB!" JB (for Jon Bryan) was my moniker for many years as a kid. They managed to pull me back into the car and continue their pursuit of the offending party which they eventually found. They parked out in front of the house and approached it on foot. There were no lights on so I could not see anything, though I heard them talking with someone or someones. Eventually a fist-fight broke out. I really did not want to listen to anything of this, so I called out to Roger a few times to hurry up whatever he was doing and let's go home. He cheerfully responded "OK!" "Just a minute!" "Be right there!". Eventually the cops came which led to more time for me sitting by myself in the car wondering when on earth we would be leaving this very unpleasant scene. As it turned out, Bill's really nice jacket was torn and Roger had a bloody black eye from the fight. Roger must have felt sorry for me because he climbed into the back seat to sit with me and sat directly on my hobo coat with the dozen or so straight pins. I don't know which had been more painful to him - the fist in his eye or the pins in his ass. Needless to say I had an exciting story to tell when we got back to the house.
Mr. GQ Man
Other than occasional and unintentional moments of popularity, I was generally a wallflower at school - an introvert and afraid of everything (why, I wonder). One of those moments to "shine" was when I wore a new shirt and shoes to school. The shirt was grayscale and had a lizard/snake/alligator skin pattern. The shoes were black with squared-off toes, and black pants. It wasn't often my parents chose the right clothes for me. This time they hit the ball out of the park because I was a well-dressed man in my 2nd grade class and quite admired for a day.
Bitten Tongue
I came close to biting my tongue off one day. I remember it quite vividly. The family was at Seneca Park (on Seneca Lake) one fine day, and us kids (Rita, Dennis, & me, as I recall) were at a small playground in the park. Rita - who was 6 years older than I (and still is) and significantly heavier - and I got on the see saw (or “teeter totter” as we called it) and teetered and tottered on it for awhile until I decided to get off, which I did without informing Rita of my intentions. I, of course, got off when it was tottered in my direction and I was close to the ground, however the weight of Rita on the other side caused the wooden seat to rise up at a great speed and smack me under the chin, causing me to bite my tongue with great force. It hurt, naturally, and I put my hands up to my mouth and made some sort of muffled exclamation. I them looked at my hands to see if there was blood, and lo and behold there was lots of it, which caused me to scream and panic and run as fast as I could to my parents. They assessed the situation, stuffed a towel in my mouth and whisked me off to the hospital emergency room. Turns out there was nothing the doctors could do for my badly bitten tongue. Perhaps nowadays they could. There is still somewhat of a scar on my tongue after all these years.
Off the Pier
We had little to no money growing up, though I recall a relatively happy childhood. One of the things we did for inexpensive recreation is visit one of the nearby finger lakes – Seneca or Canandaigua. I remember us fishing off a pier on a nice summer day and seeing crowds of people on the beach behind us having a grand ‘ol time. I very much wanted to join them (fishing was dull business, to me; still is). So, I whined and complained like a little shit for some time until Dad says to Mom “Let’s put him in his bathing suit and throw him off the pier.” At the time I could not swim and was deathly afraid of deep water, so I clammed up. I guess I was afraid they would actually toss me off the pier. Strange what goes through a kid’s mind.
My Story
Mom watched a soap opera on TV each weekday afternoon, sometimes 2, probably as a coping mechanism for having 7 kids. "Don't bother me it's time for My Story" is what she said to announce to anyone within earshot that she was unavailable for the next hour or 2. I remember watching them with her after morning kindergarten (back in those days it was a half day). I was pretty much clueless about the plot, but there were certain characters that I found interesting most of them for reasons I have long since forgotten. However, I always enjoyed seeing Dr. Hardy on General Hospital – he was such an approachable and kind character and was seemingly content and even-keeled all the time. I was, of course, blissfully unaware of the drama surrounding his character which I just now read about in Wikipedia. Back then I assumed the character you saw on TV was a real person and not a character being played by an actor. Sort of how I assumed that teachers only existed in school.
Easy Bake Oven
Cindy & Terri were twin girls in the neighborhood that I played with occasionally, being that they were only slightly younger than I. One day they showed me their new Easy Bake Oven (toy oven introduced by Kenner in 1963; heat was provided by a 100 watt incandescent light bulb). We 3 decided to bake a pie in it. And not just any pie, but a peanut butter & jelly pie. And we did. And it was gross.
Jersey
We spent a week in New Jersey visiting cousins of some sort. I asked my father recently about it and he told me they were from his side of the family. The house was out in the country. There was a train tracks in the back of the property - we would stand and watch the trains go by, which was a novelty for us. There were also barn owls and bats that invaded the night, also items of interest for us village-dwellers. We went to a public pool of sorts one day. I was relegated to the kiddy pool while everybody else had fun in the adjoining "adult" pool. The water over there, as I observed, was a wonderful color blue. It spilled over into the kiddy pool and I imagined the blue tint making the kiddy pool water blue-er. A kid's imagination.
The most meaningful memory I had of that trip was an evening when the older kids played records and danced in the enclosed patio. At one point someone played a slow song and everybody slow-danced except me because, as a little kid, I was way too short. I was sad until my brother Roger picked me up and slow-danced with me. I recall the kindness and affection to this day. I talked about this incident at his funeral.
The most meaningful memory I had of that trip was an evening when the older kids played records and danced in the enclosed patio. At one point someone played a slow song and everybody slow-danced except me because, as a little kid, I was way too short. I was sad until my brother Roger picked me up and slow-danced with me. I recall the kindness and affection to this day. I talked about this incident at his funeral.
Letters from Jean
My sister Jean had moved out on her own by the time I was 3 or 4, so I only recall her not being at home except to visit. She had an apartment in Rochester which, to a kid, was a big city very far away, though it was really only an hour away at most. I did not get to see Jean on a regular basis and missed her, so I wrote her letters and had Mom mail them for me. I would also take a piece of plain white paper, place it over a portion of the dining room tablecloth (which had a textured pattern), rub the long edge of a crayon over the paper, and the pattern would transfer to the paper in the color of the crayon. I did this, and other artsy things, and send them to her along with some narrative. I would, of course, sign the letter "J.B." since that's what everyone in the family called me. Jean replied occasionally with a letter addressed to "Master Jon Perez" which made me feel grown up. She also raved about the art work I had sent her. I had the opportunity to visit her once and, sure enough, my drawings were put up on her fridge. Even though I'm sure she was only being nice to her baby brother, it meant alot to me that she took the time to write back and praise my artistic efforts. You never know what your words/actions mean to a kid.
Big M
The only grocery store in the village was Big M (till eventually another store opened up on the other end of town). I found out decades later the “M” stands for Midstate – a grocery company. It was a tiny store, compared to the multi-acre stores around today.
Grocery shopping for the family was done once a week on Saturday morning. I remember there was a nest of sorts built into a space in the wall above the dairy section with either an owl or chicken (fake, of course); I don’t recall which it was. Actually, the more I think about it, the more I'm convinced it was an owl. Once and for a time there was this life-size clown that inflated & deflated continuously. It must have been there to advertise something. I was deathly afraid of that thing. It must have been the noise of it or something, because I was not afraid of clowns in general, but boy-o-boy that thing gave me the frights.
What I enjoyed most about Saturday morning grocery shopping was this special loaf of bread my parents would buy as a post-shopping treat. It was relatively small, as bread loaves go, but it was so soft and sweet and delicious, and we would go apey with anticipation of arriving home, slicing it up, and wolfing it down! I have never found anything like it, since.
Grocery shopping for the family was done once a week on Saturday morning. I remember there was a nest of sorts built into a space in the wall above the dairy section with either an owl or chicken (fake, of course); I don’t recall which it was. Actually, the more I think about it, the more I'm convinced it was an owl. Once and for a time there was this life-size clown that inflated & deflated continuously. It must have been there to advertise something. I was deathly afraid of that thing. It must have been the noise of it or something, because I was not afraid of clowns in general, but boy-o-boy that thing gave me the frights.
What I enjoyed most about Saturday morning grocery shopping was this special loaf of bread my parents would buy as a post-shopping treat. It was relatively small, as bread loaves go, but it was so soft and sweet and delicious, and we would go apey with anticipation of arriving home, slicing it up, and wolfing it down! I have never found anything like it, since.
Broken Nose
Back when I was around 4 years old my nose got broken. My dad coached a baseball team for the American Legion which my brother Mike played on. I often went along to the games, mainly to run around and play with other kids. At one particular game somewhere out in the boonies of Wayne County, I was playing chase with another kid on a playground slide. I remember being at the top of the slide and waking up at the bottom on the ground, face up. Apparently, I had taken a tumble down the slide and plowed face-first into the gravely dirt. I was carried – stretcher-like – and loaded into the back of a van (Mr. Hunt’s green cargo van) and taken to the closest hospital. At the hospital I was checked out and taken for X-Rays. It was at that point that I began to panic because I was being taken somewhere without my parents. Before that I remember being calm, cool, and collected, and just sort of “went along for the ride”.
I spent the next few days in the hospital, recovering from a broken nose and (apparently) serious concussion, because I recall not feeling well at all for a couple days. Didn’t want much to do with anything or anybody. Some young guy with a broken leg would wheel in and say hi to me occasionally, but I was not interested in the least until I started feeling better, then I socialized a little bit. I have no idea who he was or why he took an interest in me. Perhaps I shared the room with him, I dunno. Also, someone from my family – father, mother, big sister – was always with me, 24x7.
I remember that on the day before I checked out, the doctor very carefully took little stones out that had been buried into the end of my nose like I had been hit with shotgun shot. The obvious result of hitting the gravel with my face at the bottom of the slide. Here’s a picture of me in my hospital bed. What doesn’t show up well are the bruises on my face, like I had just lost an ultimate fighting match or something.
I spent the next few days in the hospital, recovering from a broken nose and (apparently) serious concussion, because I recall not feeling well at all for a couple days. Didn’t want much to do with anything or anybody. Some young guy with a broken leg would wheel in and say hi to me occasionally, but I was not interested in the least until I started feeling better, then I socialized a little bit. I have no idea who he was or why he took an interest in me. Perhaps I shared the room with him, I dunno. Also, someone from my family – father, mother, big sister – was always with me, 24x7.
I remember that on the day before I checked out, the doctor very carefully took little stones out that had been buried into the end of my nose like I had been hit with shotgun shot. The obvious result of hitting the gravel with my face at the bottom of the slide. Here’s a picture of me in my hospital bed. What doesn’t show up well are the bruises on my face, like I had just lost an ultimate fighting match or something.
Roger's Money
I liked hanging around my older siblings, specifically Jean, Roger, or Mike ("Mickey" as he was called until he went off to college; then he was known as "Mike" though I am not certain of the timing or reason for the transition). Anyways, one never knew what adventures might crop up whilst hanging around one of them, or possibly a treat of candy or something. I was following Roger around the house one day like a puppy dog. He, for some reason, remarked that he didn't have any money. Perhaps I asked him for something, I don't recall. Knowing that he was gainfully employed back then, I inquired as to what he did with the money he made. He said he threw it away. Not comprehending the euphemism, I fished through all the wastebaskets in house looking for some financial windfall courtesy of Roger.
Pet Sounds
Brownie (the dog) was dead & buried at the previous house and somebody decided we needed a new dog, so dad went off to the dog pound to find one suitable for us ("dog pound" is what we called it back then; nowadays an "animal shelter" or similar). He did find one - a smallish hound dog of questionable heritage which bounced up and down on all fours as if to say "pick me! pick me!" Dad said that any dog that could do that deserved to be taken home. His name ended up "Magoo". He was enjoyable to have around until one day John and I found him behind the house lying down, his eyes open and teeth bared and as still as stone. We puzzled over him for some time trying to figure out if he was frozen and could be thawed out, as it was late in the year. Eventually we decided that telling a grownup was the best strategy, so I went and told Mom. She subsequently informed me he was dead, and I was very sad. I believe that was the first time I experienced the death of something/someone important to me.
We had a cat that had died before then - named Supercalifragialisticexpialadocious (title of a song from Mary Poppins). We called it Expial, for short. Anyways, I had not seen the cat around for some time and inquired as to its whereabouts. It was told to me that it was run over by a car. Neither the nature of its demise nor the fact that it was dead had any measurable effect on me, emotional or otherwise. I was a bit older when Magoo met his Maker, so the impact was much more profound.
Post Magoo, Arnold (I think it was Arnold) brought a cute little fuzzy puppy home from somewheres. It must have been on a Friday, because I spent the entire weekend cuddling it. It was scared of everybody except me. By Monday morning we could tell it was sick, the poor little guy, so Arnold took it back and I never saw it again. Eventually we obtained another dog - a cute roly-poly fuzzball we named Major.
We had another cat around that time named Mr. Muffs. He was a good cat, as cats go, mostly white with some occasional gray. He had a large gray marking on his side that was the nearly the precise shape of Mickey Mouse's head. Dad worked in graphic arts / advertising and one of his accounts produced household humidifiers. These humidifiers were supposed to be unusually quiet, so Dad produced a cardboard cutout of Mr. Muffs sleeping on one which was replicated, distributed, and perched on every store display model of said humidifier in the country. Some years ago I found out that Dad had drugged the cat to get the picture because it had no interest in promoting humidifiers or sleeping on one, quiet or otherwise.
We had a cat that had died before then - named Supercalifragialisticexpialadocious (title of a song from Mary Poppins). We called it Expial, for short. Anyways, I had not seen the cat around for some time and inquired as to its whereabouts. It was told to me that it was run over by a car. Neither the nature of its demise nor the fact that it was dead had any measurable effect on me, emotional or otherwise. I was a bit older when Magoo met his Maker, so the impact was much more profound.
Post Magoo, Arnold (I think it was Arnold) brought a cute little fuzzy puppy home from somewheres. It must have been on a Friday, because I spent the entire weekend cuddling it. It was scared of everybody except me. By Monday morning we could tell it was sick, the poor little guy, so Arnold took it back and I never saw it again. Eventually we obtained another dog - a cute roly-poly fuzzball we named Major.
We had another cat around that time named Mr. Muffs. He was a good cat, as cats go, mostly white with some occasional gray. He had a large gray marking on his side that was the nearly the precise shape of Mickey Mouse's head. Dad worked in graphic arts / advertising and one of his accounts produced household humidifiers. These humidifiers were supposed to be unusually quiet, so Dad produced a cardboard cutout of Mr. Muffs sleeping on one which was replicated, distributed, and perched on every store display model of said humidifier in the country. Some years ago I found out that Dad had drugged the cat to get the picture because it had no interest in promoting humidifiers or sleeping on one, quiet or otherwise.
Cereal
It was customary for us kids to have a bowl of cereal w/ milk before bed. Not sure how that habit came about, for it was the standard breakfast fare as well. Cereals such as Super Sugar Crisp, Honeycomb, Trix, Kix, Cocoa Puffs, Lucky Charms, Quisp, Quake, Captain Crunch, Wheaties, Puffed Rice and Puffed Wheat (which we referred to as Puffa-Puffa Rice and Puffa-Puffa Wheat), and a host of others I would only recall if I Googled "breakfast cereals of the mid 1960s". Most of the same cereals are in stores today and, undoubtedly, have the same amount of sugar in them, though back then they didn't hide it behind marketing words and slogans. We ate Grape Nuts occasionally, not so much for the flavor but for the loud noise when you chewed it. Someone recently referred to it as "Box-O-Gravel". Sometimes I would have my bedtime bowl of cereal with John next door, sometimes he with us at my house. The Wilsons also ate both dinner and supper, the former in late afternoon and the latter later. We thought that was weird - we had one evening meal and called it both dinner and supper. I guess there's a difference between dining and supping, after all.
John
Also attending school across the street was the next-door kid, John Wilson, who was in the same grade and turned out to be a good friend for many years - up until high school when our paths of life diverged. He shows up in my story regularly, as he was a major player in my growing-up years. I never told him how much it meant to have him as a friend. Maybe it was just understood between us. The last time I saw him or his sisters was at his mom's funeral decades ago.
School Days
I started kindergarten while living at that house. The elementary school was (and still is) directly across the street. I wasn't allowed to take the shortest route there unless Mom walked me across. Otherwise I traipsed up to the corner where Mrs. Mahoney the crossing lady was in charge and would guide me safely across the street. For some reason I really liked her - she was welcoming and friendly. Anyhoo, my kindergarten teacher was Mrs. Pretty, and she commanded a class of around 30 kids - all by herself. Perhaps kids were better behaved back then, I dunno. One kid - I believe his name was Stanley - was forever getting up out of his chair and wandering around. Mrs. Pretty was forever telling him to sit down and threatening to find some rope and tie him to his chair. Some of those kids I ended up graduating high school with, though I don't recall ever seeing Stanley again after kindergarten.
My 1st grade teacher was Mrs. Nearing who, in my estimation, was elderly at the time, at least compared to other teachers. Imagine my surprise some years ago to see her obituary in the paper. She must have been 180 years old when she died.
2nd grade was Miss George (I think; could have been Mrs). What I recall most vividly about her was the time she came in to work sick. While she was waiting for the substitute teacher to arrive, she had to puke and ran for the bathroom. I had never seen a teacher run. I didn't know teachers could run. A kid named Tommy laughed out loud at the sight. He was verbally chastised by a number of self-righteous hypocritical classmates. I say hypocritical because I'm sure we all thought it was funny to see Miss George dashing out of the classroom and down the hall. Also in 2nd grade we did a short play. I don't remember what it was all about, but I played some sort of military commander. I was quite good, as I recall. My first foray into stage drama.
My 1st grade teacher was Mrs. Nearing who, in my estimation, was elderly at the time, at least compared to other teachers. Imagine my surprise some years ago to see her obituary in the paper. She must have been 180 years old when she died.
2nd grade was Miss George (I think; could have been Mrs). What I recall most vividly about her was the time she came in to work sick. While she was waiting for the substitute teacher to arrive, she had to puke and ran for the bathroom. I had never seen a teacher run. I didn't know teachers could run. A kid named Tommy laughed out loud at the sight. He was verbally chastised by a number of self-righteous hypocritical classmates. I say hypocritical because I'm sure we all thought it was funny to see Miss George dashing out of the classroom and down the hall. Also in 2nd grade we did a short play. I don't remember what it was all about, but I played some sort of military commander. I was quite good, as I recall. My first foray into stage drama.
Naked Time
Two friends came over one day - Jackie and some other girl. Maybe it was Cathy. Anyways, Jackie was (and most likely still is) my age. We did dances for each other in our underwear in the garage, alternating between the girls, then me, for several iterations. My underwear was a bit small for me and boys' underwear having the trap door in the front - suffice it to say that the girls found out that day what boys carry around in their underwear.
Along that vein, my parents would occasionally set a kiddy pool out in the backyard for me and I would splash around in it butt naked, though I do not recall anyone else joining me.
Along that vein, my parents would occasionally set a kiddy pool out in the backyard for me and I would splash around in it butt naked, though I do not recall anyone else joining me.
Comedy Time
Dennis (my brother) and Keith (Cathy's brother) were up to something. They invited us to sit at the edge of the lawn facing the garage. They, for maybe a half hour, did a comedy show for us they had made up (how long did they plan this? I still wonder). It was a laugh riot from start to finish. There were a bunch of empty cans and stuff in the garage and Dennis would pretend to trip and fall in the dark back there. What we in the "audience" heard was Dennis yelling and things crashing. This was repeated at various times in the show. Cathy and I laughed and giggled our butts off. I asked Dennis about this recently and he had no recollection of it.
Cathy
I had a friend who lived next door - Cathy Eastman - who was a couple years younger than I. Despite our difference in age, I got along with her quite well and apparently she adored me - a fact I was oblivious to. The rest of her family were very friendly and welcoming. Her brother Keith showed me cherry bombs stashed in his dad's desk drawer. One time I was outside with Cathy in their yard with her mom nearby on a lawn chair. Cathy and I were searching for 4-leaf clovers which were as rare as gold to a kid. Her mom looked down from her chair for 2 seconds and said "Here's one", plucked it, and showed us. I was astounded at her luck, as well as her nonchalance at finding such a treasure.
Here's an old photo of me and Cathy. Appears I'm explaining something to her.
UPDATE: I was able to locate Cathy on Facebook through her sister. I sent her a message along with the above photo, and she responded! It was very nice to hear from her, after all these years.
Here's an old photo of me and Cathy. Appears I'm explaining something to her.
UPDATE: I was able to locate Cathy on Facebook through her sister. I sent her a message along with the above photo, and she responded! It was very nice to hear from her, after all these years.
Loud
I was terribly frightened of loud noises as a kid. We went to an airshow somewhere in Wayne County, which was wonderfully interesting until the military jets did some fly-by's. The high formation wasn't the issue, it was the rogue jet that would buzz the crowd at low level and high speed after the others had passed. There were several cycles of this. The rest of my family ooo'd and ahhh'd while I cowered in the back seat of the car, my ears as plugged as I could get them. Thunderstorms would also send me hiding. I remember my parents enjoying a lightning/thunder show with the front door open and me having kaniptions thinking the world was ending. To this day I don't care for fireworks - the pretty colors are OK, but the ones that sound like mortar rounds really bother me. Interesting, my granddaughter (age 10 at the time of this writing) has always disliked loud noises.
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