AIRPLANE SHADOW

 

When I was about 11 years old my family moved to the City Point section of Southie or as our West Fifth St. neighbors put it—You are moving to the “Lace Curtain” section of town. For me it was the best of all possible moves. As a sun worshipper I had easy access to the beaches. The M St. beach was my second home. Bicycling was another passion. I could bicycle all the way to Castle Island and back. I even made it out to Franklin Park once.

When I reached my Teens I got various jobs and couldn’t spend as much time doing those things. But my back yard provided me the opportunity to sun bathe in relative privacy so I still got my sunning in. The only thing that bugged me was the drone of the planes when their flight patterns took them directly overhead. It interrupted any conversations you might be having, Once when I was out back a plane cast a shadow directly on me. I saw the distinctive outlne of its wings and engines. It happened so fast I almost missed it. I thought wow that was a once in a lifetime event.

Last week I was enjoying the sun on the deck of my home located some 40 miles north of Boston. You see I still love the sun. The funny part is the planes fly overhead in the same flight pattern as when I lived in Southie. The drone is still annoying. The only difference is the planes are at a much higher altitude. But would you believe the shadow of one of them passed directly on me and again in a flash I made out the outline of the wings and motors. I thought wow that was a twice in a lifetime event.

WARNING

 

As a child I grew up in the neighborhood surrounding West Fifth Street in Southie. There were children of all ages to play with and games ended only because of darkness or being called in for dinner. We played all of the familiar games and when we got bored we made up our own. So it was strange when my Mother warned me not to play with the children of the family recently moved in almost directly across the street. It was obvious that the other mothers informed their children likewise. One day when the street was relatively quiet the boy about my age wandered over and asked if I wanted to play catch. Sure, but heeding my mother’s warning I suggested his back yard. He seemed normal to me so when he invited me in for a drink I accepted.

The first thing I noticed that it was quite dark. It was if there was a deliberate attempt to close off everything to the outside light. Otherwise all seemed normal. So what was it that caused this angst among the women on the street. As we wandered from room to room I searched for any clues. It wasn’t until the living room that all was revealed. In the middle of the room was a round table and chairs and in the middle of the table was a crystal ball. “My mother reads fortunes” is what I heard next.

That explained the constant flow of traffic in and out of the house at all times of the day. Fortune telling was considered some sort of witchcraft and of course was forbidden by the Church. The family didn’t stay long since they sensed they were being shunned by their neighbors. I met his mother and thought she was very nice. Maybe if I was a little older she would have read my fortune.

 

EARLY TV

 Every night I sit down to watch TV there are endless number of cable channels and I have my choice of several hundred movies and tv shows. Between Netflix, Prime, You Tube, and You Tube TV I am sure to find entertainment to my likening. That was not always the case. When television came first on the scene there were only 3 networks NBC, CBS and ABC. My neighbor downstairs was the first to purchase a tv on our block. It was a Dumont, a large piece of furniture with a 14 inch black and white cathode tube in its center. That was around 1948.

The popular show at that time was The Texaco Star Theater starring Milton Berle. It was basically a vaudeville show with slapstick comedy, dancers, singers etc. Our neighbor would invite us to watch the show. The adults sat on the sofa and chairs and we kids on the floor. We were thrilled with the novelty of having entertainment in our own homes. It was this show which caused thousands of tv’s to be purchased and earned Berle the title of “Mr. Television”.

I remember television was only shown during prime time. For the remainder a pattern was televised to allow adjustments to the tv. Foolishly we even watched that because we were so thrilled to have television in our homes.

PHONE PARTY LINES

 

Our household didn’t have a phone in my early childhood. My father didn’t apply for a phone line until 1945. Although WWII had ended materials were still in short supply and as a result, we had to share our line with 3 other parties. AT&T was the company that supplied the line (the only company since they had the monopoly). It wasn’t until 1984 that the US Government broke them up into 7 smaller regional “Bell” systems.

We were assigned certain rings so we would know that it was our call. It was an honor system where conversations were meant to be short in duration and no one was supposed to listen in on the other parties’ calls. In my young persons’ mind (I was 10 at the time) those were the rules for adults not necessarily for children.

I would wait until one of the other parties picked up the phone then gently pick up the cradle covering the mouthpiece with my hand. I felt like a detective listening in to other peoples’ conversations. I wasn’t good at it since before long I would hear (“Get off the line this is a private call. The nerve of some people”) I hung on anyway until their anger got so that they stopped talking.

Within the year we got a separate line which pleased my parents no end. For me I

lost a form of entertainment.

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.