NEIGHBORHOODS

 

Today I live in a suburb north of Boston in a community where houses are zoned on half acre lots. As a result I know only my neighbors a few houses away on my side of the street and those on the opposite side. I enjoy my backyard deck where I can drink my morning coffee in the most casual of clothes. Living in spaced out areas gives a great deal of privacy.

In comparison, when I was a youngster and living on West Fifth St. in Southie, our houses were jammed close together. Narrow alleyways provided separation and in many cases there were no spaces at all. It was a congested urban setting which still exists today. Growing up in that environment I knew not of the type of neighborhood I live in now.

The advantages as a young boy is that whenever I set foot from my house there was always a gang playing and you could just join in without an invitation. We played until our mothers called us in for dinner. I gained a lot from my interaction with the kids on the street. I recall that period as the happiest in my life. It also prepared me later in my professional career when I had to meet and deal with others.

So which lifestyle do I prefer, actually both. When you are young it’s important to have social interaction with others. It is a learning period that is essential to growing up. Without it, it becomes difficult to function in society. But now I am beyond needing that. My privacy means more to me. So yes, I can say I am pleased with both ways of living.

The L Street Baths

 Summer has always been a special season for me, particularly when I was a preteen. School let out and I was free to enjoy several months of carefree living. No work and other than a few chores my parents assigned, I was allowed to do as I wished. I cycled all over the place. A particular destination was Castle Island and once I even got as far as the entrance to Franklin Park and back. But the most enjoyable activity was spending time at the facilities at the L street baths. Most of the time I was at the Boy’s side but occasionally I slipped into the Men’s part which was much larger in area. I marveled at the hand ball games the men played. I can still hear the rap of the ball against the wood slats. I also enjoyed the checker games played on the concrete pad where a checkerboard pattern was permanently painted. My father reigned champion of the checkers games for many years.

Then there was a huge older fellow who had a long stick with a feather attached to the end. What you may ask what that about. Well the men were suppose to have some sort of covering for their private parts. His job I assumed was to remind those who didn’t to do so. I followed him around but never saw him actually use it. What a disappointment.

Then when you were finished for the day you had the opportunity to wash off the sand and salt you accumulated on your skin. You entered into a chamber where you had to pull a rope to release the water. Now inside the building they had a refrigerated unit that kept the water one degree above freezing. Once you pulled the rope you tortured yourself with a blast that would even make an innocent man confess to murder. When I left I always gave thanks to Mayor James Michael Curly for providing us with the L street baths

STREET GAMES

 

On the street that I lived, West Fifth St., there was never a shortage of kids to play sports. We would flatten a can and play street hockey, cut a pimple ball in half and play half ball, line up on both sides of the street and play red rover red rover send “Jonny” right over. When we wanted to play touch football we headed to Dorchester Heights. The older boys would choose sides. Being the youngest and the shortest I never was actually ever chosen but through a process of elimination ended on one side or the other. One particular game after a long time the score was even. Time was running out and we would soon have to return home. In the huddle our captain and quarterback had a plan.

Everyone was to head left and draw the defense there. To me he said I was to go right and stand one foot over the goal line and wait. He knew that no one ever covered me. Everything went according to plan. As I turned I saw the football spiraling at me at a 100 miles an hour. Please God don’t let me drop this. They will never let me play again. I’ll be the laughing stock of the neighborhood.

The football hit me directly in the chest and it hurt like hell. But I held on and weathered the pain. My team mates cheered and triumphantly walked me home. Andy Warhol was right. Everyone is entitled to 15 minutes of fame.