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.
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.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)