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Look Ma, no hands!
I’m in the process of getting ready to relocate back to the area where this journey, this puzzle, began forty years ago… Southern New Jersey.
Seems a little iconic that after wandering these last forty years, the last seven in the desert that I’m returning to the “Garden” state… How almost biblical is that?
Already had one friend ask me if I was also planning on parting the Red Sea…
I don’t know… I might try the Delaware.
Can one still walk on the oil slick and tar balls out to Mud Island?
Am I retiring?
I don’t know.
I tried retirement back in 1996 at the ripe age of 45. It lasted a whole six-weeks! I didn’t like it then, I doubt seriously if I could sit still for it now and I’m not quite ready to be a greeter at the local Wal-Mart!
Then again, I may not have much of a choice…
I have family members and a few medical professionals suggesting that I throttle back and stop flying around with full after burners and put myself in a more favorable position logistically, for my inevitable crash landing.
The fuel lines keep freezing over, the engine has already stalled once and the foam is already on the runway.
Foam might be fun… I know back when… baby oil was…
I have quite a few drafts started and stored on disk for this blog, but because of all the details involved with the move, there’s not much time for reflection, focus or concentration on them…
So I figured I’d take a time out now, get the relocation out of the way, get re-established and start back up… Hoagie in hand, or at least a couple soft pretzels and a beer. [Yes, my keyboard is disgusting!]
Soon I’ll be seeping in the ambiance of southern New Jersey during April and May. Just before the humidity kicks in, hurricane season starts and mosquitoes come a calling. I really have missed Hoagies, Cheese Steaks and Soft Pretzels! Are those things good for me? You know, at this point in time… I don’t care!
Something I will also miss while I’m disconnected, is the accesses to those blogs I’ve started to read and enjoy. You folks remain a measure of inspiration for me! Thank you!
Please, keep writing! I’ll keep reading…
I really enjoy all the pictures!
I might even figure out how to sign up as a blog “Follower”!
The Good Lord willing…
I may just make it to the 45th class reunion of Gateway’s Class of 1969…
At least I should be in the area, hopefully on this side of the topsoil…
No promises
It’s difficult to try and figure out this puzzle…
Wait… Now I remember.
Early in 1960 we were told that Grandmom Osciak would be going into the hospital. No mention was made as to why she was going in the hospital but she would be. We all wanted to go visit her but were told no, we would go visit her when she got out and was back home.
Our first and only trip over to Clifton after Grandmom got out of the hospital, we were told to really behave ourselves and not to make any loud noise as Grandmom was resting.
Grandmom was in her bed, pillows propping her up as we one by one went into to visit her. I was glad to see her and she was glad to see me. She looked okay to me and didn’t look sick at all, but I did see she had black and blue marks on her arms. I asked why she was black and blue and if they hurt? She said it was where the doctors had given her a transfussion and that they only hurt a little.
She asked me how I was doing in school and if I had made any new friends…
We talked a little longer and mom told me it was time for me to go back downstairs. I hugged Grandmom and told her I loved her and missed not living there anymore and seeing her every day.
I went downstairs and saw Grandmom’s sister, my Aunt Anna had arrived. We hugged and talked awhile then I was shooed out into the backyard, as the phone had just rung and she had to answer it. Everyone was being real quiet and talking in whispers… Grandpop and everyone looked real sad, but I went out in the backyard and did as I was told.
As we got ready to drive back over to New Jersey, I snuck back up to Grandmom’s bedroom on the second floor.The door was closed and I knocked before going in… Grandpop was there and he had just finished putting medicine on Grandmom’s shoulders because they were bothering her. My mom came in and said come on, we were going to go back home. I said bye to Grandmom and that we would be back to see her again real soon. Easter was right around the corner and I was sure we would go back over then to visit.
There were no answers given as to why Grandmom was sick and what might be wrong… Most questions were responded with, “Sit down and be quiet”.
Soon it was Good Friday and preparations had slowly started for Easter Sunday.
Mom and dad had gone back over to Clifton once or twice and dad had stopped by on his way home from work a couple of times. There had been phone calls, but no mention of anything was made to us kids.
Easter Sunday arrived and we awoke to find our Easter baskets, which had grown a little bigger since we first started getting them. We had started getting ready for church when the phone rang.
Mom answered it, but outside of saying hello she didn’t say anything else. She handed the phone to dad and went into their bedroom. Dad spoke to who ever it was on the phone for a few minutes, then hung it up and he went into their bedroom also. Mom came out of the bedroom and we all saw that she had been crying, sat us down and told us that Grandmom had passed away earlier that morning. My brothers and I retreated into our bedroom, my sisters into thiers and we cried and wondered why God had done this to our family and why Grandmom had died. We walked to church by ourselves that morning, as mom and dad stayed at home. According to the church, it was a day of celebration, the Lord had risen. None of us felt much like celebrating anything that day.
My Grandmother was fifty-four years old when she died of Leukemia on that Easter Sunday, April 17, 1960. Far too young for any grandparent to die. Our family was devistated by the news we had received that morning and it cast a shadow over us for some time.
Easter had always been a celebration of traditions, religious and secular, but no longer. It was now the day that Grandmom died.
I can’t speak for my brothers or sisters, but on that day, angry and hurting, certain I’d be calling down the wrath of God on myself, I questioned God, all that we had been taught and everything he stode for and inwardly demanded an explaination, that never came.
For years afterwards, sometimes, if I sat real quiet and concentrated, I was certain I could hear Grandmom’s voice calling me by name.
I missed her so much!
“The Times… They were a changing…”
If ignorance is bliss…
Then we were all a bunch of happy, hapless, innocent ignoramuses!
No one could even begin to grasp back then, as the clock struck twelve midnight on New Years Eve, December 31, 1959… When we were ushering in not only a New Year but also a brand new decade…
Destiny was already in motion for all of us… the shear measure of which, hurdling towards us in our own private, safe little Ozzie and Harriet timelines… we were oblivious to. There would be events around the corner and during the decade we could not begin to comprehend or imagine!
We watched Guy Lombardo on TV and the ball slide down the pole, we shouted Happy New Year, honked the car horns and wondered what lay ahead…
We were at peace… We were prosperous… We had TV Dinners!
Early in 1960 a Senator from Massachusetts, John Kennedy announced he was running for President of the United States. In school, there was a buzz and Social Studies became even a bigger part of our class work. At home, there was even some discussion of politics at the dinner table. Something that rarely, if ever had happened before. I couldn’t understand why people would be against someone, just because they were Catholic and Irish. It was said that people were afraid if he was elected, he would be taking orders from the Pope in Rome. I wasn’t sure how that worked and it didn’t seem to make any sense to me at all. The Pope lead the church, the President lead the whole country!
Woolworth’s was on television because negros in North Carolina weren’t allowed to eat lunch there. I didn’t understand that either. Why? Couldn’t they afford it? It really didn’t cost much… We had lunch there once or twice, but I liked the big soft pretzels, that were sold outside of Woolworth’s better. Woolworth’s was neat, every time we would go, I’d run over to where they kept the canaries and parakeets and I’d watch and listen to all the birds chip and sing in their cages. They also had hamsters. They didn’t sing or chip, they just ran in their wheels.
Oh wow! We’re launching more rockets with more satelites… Just like Russia!
When that was reported on the news, I’d go out in the backyard after it got dark and look up at the stars, just to see if I could see any of them moving…
Is that a satelite? No, just an airplane.
There was something on the television called a debate that we were supposed to watch for school. That was neat! Watching television for homework! I didn’t understand what those two guys were talking about, but I did recongize one of them, he was the Irish-Catholic guy we had been taught about in school running for President. The other guy was sure sweating a lot.
There was a lot I didn’t understand back then and a lot of things I had questions about, but wasn’t certain who to turn to and ask. Of couse, being eight and a half years old [almost nine] maybe I wasn’t certain how to ask the question.
Why were negros spoken of so badly? Why were Irish and Catholic people also looked down on? They weren’t negros. I was Catholic and part Irish, would people look down on me too? Dad was busy being dad, working all day and then fixing something downstairs in the basement after dinner… I couldn’t ask him.
Mom was busy with my younger brothers and sisters and cleaning up after dinner… I couldn’t ask her.
The answer was right in front of me… the television!
You couldn’t ask any questions there either, but you could listen.
So that’s where I began my teething of understanding in 1960.
I didn’t always understand everything they were talking about on television, but I figured if I watched enough, they would explain things better as it went along. Each evening I’d watch the news and try and figure out how that night’s news, fit with yesterday’s news. Sometimes it did, most times, it didn’t, but it allowed me to see what was going on outside our house and our little town.
…And who was that guy banging his shoe on the the table up in New York? He was from Russia… Was he mad because we were launching rockets with satelites too?
Or maybe he was just pounding out the drum cadence letting us know that our time of naieve innocence was coming to an end. The sixties had arrived.
These pieces are pretty faded…
My brother Matt and I started school at Saint Mathews that September, he in fourth grade and I in second grade.
The first two times we were driven to school until we learned the way there, then we began to walk to and from school each day. It was only a mile in each direction and we had to make sure we left home earlier enough to get there in time. Arriving at school, I’d climb the stairs to the second floor, walk down to the second classroom and turn left and take my seat.
As winter approached, mom and dad got a second car. I seem to recall it being a 1953 Ford station wagon, tan, with wood panels towards the back.
Mom called it, “Gurtie”.
It came in handy when it was raining and when it started to snow, although there were still some winter days we ended up walking anyway as “Gurtie” would not start!
Christmas and New Years arrived and we drove over to visit Grandmom and Grandpop. We hadn’t seen them since we moved, but they kept saying how much we had grown in four months. It was good to know that they missed us, as much as we missed them.
Spring arrived and I received my first communion. All sorts of relatives showed up for the event, including Grandmom and Grandpop. I think they came over with Uncle Ed and Aunt Lee. Uncle Franny was there with Aunt Betty and Aunt Emma came too with Uncle George; they were my God parents.
It was hard to play that day as mom insisted that I stay in my little white suit with the little white rose pinned to the label and my white Buster Browns.
Summer arrived and school let out.
Because we had just moved, there wasn’t going to be a vacation that year.
Instead we took drives in the country and dad bought some trees to plant.
Lets see… There was a Dogwood that went out front, an Apple and Cherry tree that went in the backyard, along with a flowering Peach tree.
Mom bought some rose bushes and some Lilies of the Valley. I don’t remember when those bushes with the yellow flowers arrived…
There wasn’t much of a lawn yet to speak of and there were no fences between the yards. So we were told to mind the neighbors and stay close to the house.
Mom and dad had become friends with Jeff and Jenny Jeffries and Babe and Clair Reed up on Second Street, so the summer pretty much came and went without notice. September arrived before you knew it and we returned to school.
About October, dad had become sick and was stubborn about going to the doctors. He finally did and the doctor ran some tests and told dad he had Scarlet Fever. I wasn’t sure what that was, but before you knew it, we had all been pulled out of school and we were all quarantined in the house for a week and not allowed to go to school or outside. Scarlet Fever was bad enough, but how were you going to keep five kids from killing each other, cooped up in a house?
We spent most of our time playing board games or watching television, but that wasn’t nearly enough to contain five little Indians!
Come to think of it… I think that’s when dad started calling us his five little Indians.
Grandmom and Grandpop even took the bus and came over. They weren’t allowed in the house, as the house had posted with a quarantine notice on the front door, but they had brought over some milk and other things.
Dad got better and eventually things returned to normal.
Just before Christmas we were forecast snow. That added to our excitement as a “White Christmas” always made the holiday seem that much more special and we were hoping to get sleds for Christmas.
What we didn’t know was the blizzard we were about to get hit with!
It started snowing about two weeks before Christmas and within twenty-four hours, the drifting snow had reached over three feet and the power had been knocked out. Matt and I did our best to shovel a path out for dad’s car in the driveway, but some of the drifts were bigger then me. Dad came in from work and we all piled into the car and drove over to Prospect Park to his mom’s house.
Grandmom Park’s house was nice and warm and she made us hot chocolate, before putting us to bed on blankets in the dinning room, which was right next to that big heating grate leading up to the second floor.
I don’t remember how long we stayed there with Grandmom Park, but it was almost Christmas by the time we were able to return home to New Jersey.
Dad somehow had managed to get a Christmas tree, so there was a Christmas tree on Christmas morning and a few presents for each of us underneath.
Saint Matthew’s Catholic school was located on Hessian Avenue in West Deptford, just east of Red Bank Avenue, headed towards Vega and the entrance to the highway. It was affiliated with the Dioceses of Camden. [Closed 2009]
For me, second through eighth grades were spent at this school. Although most of it remains a blur to me today, due probably to self-Imposed preservation, I’ve often wondered how things may have differed had I gone to a public school.
Grades one through six were on the second floor, each with their own classroom and grades seven and eight were on the first floor also in separate classrooms. The first floor was also used as the cafeteria and where the whole school was occasionally shown movies on some Friday’s.
Most of the movies we were shown had religious themes... “Samson and Delilah”, “Ben Hur”, “Joan of Arc”, “the Story of Dominic Savio” and such.
Don’t recognize that last title?
Any properly conditioned Catholic schoolboy can explain it to you. That’s how we were trained not to fight, as young boys sometimes do.
In all fairness, the education provided by the good sisters and those few lay teachers, had higher standards then the standards of most public schools.
At eight years old, in second grade, it was required that you start preparing to receive your first communion in the Catholic Church, which required you to learn how to go to confession. “Bless me Father, for I have sinned…”
Sure, take an impressionable eight-year-old kid, who’s already overwhelmed by the mere sight of a nun in full habit… Freezes in place when a priest enters a room and throw him in a dark closet until the good Father on the other side, slams open a window and you’re supposed to tell this complete stranger, who you know even then, is on the phone with God reporting everything, all the nasty little things you had done up until that time in your life!
O ay… that’s going to leave a mark!
Allowing about two years to recover from that initial experience… at ten years old, in fourth grade, you start preparing to be confirmed into the Catholic Church, where you take on a middle name of a canonized Saint and would show your willingness to die for your faith... You get slapped on the cheek and everything!
It was suggested that we select two names.
As I was baptized with the middle name of Allan, that was my first selection.
He’d been a good Saint for me so far…
[It wasn’t till much later that I was informed that my first middle name was selected because my mom liked Alan Ladd.]
So my second choice, William, became my second middle name and I’ve been carrying around multiple syllables since that time.
I only recall two of the nuns that I had as teachers. Sister Mary Magdalene, who I had for second and eighth grades and I thought was too pretty to be a nun and Sister Marie Antoinette who was the principal and who I had for sixth grade.
[I think]
Sister Marie Antoinette was the only nun I ever heard swear. [Well, sort of…]
The sisters’ convent was next to the school and they were given a dog as a pet.
Dogs being dogs occasionally leave “droppings” in inappropriate places.
Sister Antoinette requested a group of us boys to go out and pick up the dog “crap” at the rear of the convent.
I thought to myself… God! Did she just say, “crap”?
The sister said, “crap”! Any time now there’s going to be a lightening bolt…
We were required to wear uniforms… Long dark green dress pants, tan pressed shirts and a green tie. You were expected to arrive at school on time, homework complete, ready to “crack the books” and mouth shut.
No… chewing… gum!
There was also the daily indoctrination and brain washing of the Baltimore Catechism. To the best of my recollection, what I got out of the Baltimore Catechism was, whatever you did, it wasn’t good enough, no matter what your penance or remorse, you were still going to hell and although all was seemingly lost, you were expected to persevere, because that’s just the way it was!
So much for those formative years…
Sports?
We had recess in a large sand lot behind the school, occasionally Dodge Ball.
Recess ended with the ringing of a bell, nine times and you froze before that ninth clasp of the bell!
When the bell rang out with a second measure of nine clasps you walked quickly and quietly as automatons back to the school and into your classroom.
[“Nine times signified the Nine Choirs of Angles.” See, there’s still an impact!]
There were some notable hallmarks achieved during my time at St Matthew’s.
History and English were usually easy for me, although my dad kept pushing me towards math. My mom kept buying volumes of encyclopedias at the Acme… or was it the A&P? Both gave out “Green Stamps”!
I’d look through each new volume and read about those pictures that had caught my eye, sometimes for hours.
Reading was an escape to far away places for me.
Although some of the required reading from school was dull and looking back, smacked of some religious censorship.
I excelled in music and choir; at least until adolescence kicked in. I was always requested to participate in choir at Christmas Mass and other high Holy Days.
I was an alter boy. I’ll never forget the fun loving figure of Father Fritz and sneaking a taste of Sacramental Wine.
I was a member of the Safety Patrol and received the Gold Safety Badge award.
It was also during this time that my parents, the good sisters and I, realized there was a budding artist beginning to emerge. I didn’t think much of it. We were given a lesson assignment to draw a cornucopia for Thanksgiving. Mine just turned out looking pretty good.
There were other things going on too about midway through St Matthew’s...
I seemed to be changing… I was growing out of my pants and my socks were always showing! [Back then, that wasn’t cool!]
The hem of my cassock as an alter boy, seemed to be up by my knees!
My voice started cracking during choir practice and I wasn’t called on to sing much anymore.
I was the only guy in the sixth grade with heavy dark fuzz on his upper lip!
I was skinny and seemed to be growing inches overnight.
I kept bumping into things and knocking them over!
What was happening?
Then there was Mary Connelly… I never noticed her before?
And Roseanne Zwier… I have to stop staring; it’s not polite.
What are these feelings? They can’t be good!
Oh God, I’m going to hell and I’m not even a teenager yet!
My dad never had, “The Talk” with me and I’m unaware if he spoke to my brothers either. I believe he might have felt a little uncomfortable about the subject, or he wasn’t certain where to begin, or he might have been waiting for me to ask the question…
Back then there was also an old adage… “Let him learn about it out behind the barn like I did!” …Well, we didn’t have a barn!
So there I was… In Catholic school… blasted daily by the Baltimore Catechism, surrounded by nuns and a filling bucket of raging adolescent hormones!
What’s a guy to do?
I retreated inside myself, becoming withdrawn and shy, praying that what ever was happening would soon pass…
[“Baggage” I carried with me for some time.]
St Matthew’s was also my first recollection, where I experienced my first…“Do you remember where you were when something major happened?” event.
I was in the seventh grade; third row from the windows, halfway back in the classroom, Donald Verfalli was on my right, Patricia Kelly was on my left and Mrs. Hillenbrand had just started History…
Sister Antoinette and Mr. Divitto, the janitor came to the door and spoke with Mrs. Hillenbrand. She retuned to the front of the class, told us to close our textbooks.
With a voice struggling to maintain itself, she told us that President Kennedy had been assassinated and killed in Texas.
Shortly Sister Antoinette was leading us in praying the rosary via the PA system.
Some of the girls were crying, most of us were in stunned disbelief as we said the prayers from memory… Our naive innocence had taking a direct hit that day and unknown to us, there were more hits soon to come.
My eighth and final year at St Matthew’s is really somewhat murky when it comes to recollection… [Probably those hormones…]
We went to Colonial Williamsburg, in Virginia as our class trip… Sister Magdalene had laryngitis for almost a week afterwards, as she acted as the tour guide on the bus, during our trip.
Most of us sat idle for almost one week as a few select classmates, who could afford it, received word that they had been accepted at Catholic high schools and of course there was the graduation ceremony at St Matthew’s church.
Besides wearing a white cap and gown, the only thing I remember about the ceremony is Sister Magdalene instructing us to sit straight in the pews and not to pull ourselves up, using the pew backs in front of us, as we weren’t old people.
The education I received at St Matthew’s more then prepared me for my high school classes, but it in no way prepared me for the social requirements of high school; for that I was on my own. God help me!
National Park can best be described as a small bedroom community, located in Gloucester County New Jersey, adjacent the Delaware River and bordered by the towns of Thorofare and West Deptford.
Originally called, “National Park on the Delaware”, it was initially developed as a religious resort community for the Methodist Episcopal Church and was split off from West Deptford Township in 1902.
I’ve sometimes caught myself, speculating as to why this town was selected by mom and dad… My dad was raised in Prospect Park and here we were now living in National Park… My dad’s first name was Matthew and here we were attending school and church at St Matthew’s… Then there’s the matter of our last name of Park… I guess I’ll never know for certain…
A photograph from 1958 would show the Fort Mercer Park, a handful of cottages and bungalows on the northern end of the park, various housing developments extending west to east, marshlands surrounding the southern edge of the town, a refinery encompassing the northern edge of the town, one public school, a Catholic and a Methodist Church, a few little grocery stores, a VFW Hall, a post office, fire station and one gas station.
[The first traffic light in town, didn’t appear until the late 1970’s]
Each housing development held true to the few models offered by each developer, in that each house had similarities and were new enough to be void of most landscaping and vegetation. Most were called “Ranch Style” single story homes, although dotted throughout the town were older two and three-story individual homes from different eras.
The is no actual “National Park” affiliated with the town, but the Fort Mercer Monument, Whitall House Museum and park, on its western edge is on the National Historic Landmarks register.
“The Park” was an escape for us kids… There was grass to play on, trees to climb and foxholes; supposedly the trenches left from the Revolutionary War to play in. Hedges and trees provided enough cover for games of “Hide and Seek” or “Kick the Can”. On the northern side of the park there were lots of steps to get down on to the beach, although the beach wasn’t as much sand, as rocks and gravel. On the southern side of the park, there was a small beach of sand and just a few steps down the seawall to gain access.
Three principal roads, Hessian and Red Bank avenues and Grove Street provided access to and from the town.
Driving west down Hessian Avenue from the highway, there’s a small sign, after crossing Red Bank Avenue, welcoming you to National Park.
When you reach Lincoln Avenue, the two-lane road of Hessian Avenue opens up to what could have been a four-lane main street type setting and runs all the way to 2nd Street. I’m not certain if a main street like that was ever considered, but had it been developed, it could have been remarkable!
There’s a softball field on Hessian, right before Grove, which occasionally hosted small carnivals and infrequent softball games. Across the street was Kelly’s bakery, where mom would stop and sometimes buy doughnuts or pastries.
Red Bank Avenue runs northwest into National Park and passes through individual single homes and ends at what used to be the ferry landing for access to the Philadelphia Navy Yard. During its heyday, you could watch naval ships come in and go out on the Delaware.
Grove Street runs north into National Park and passes through swamp and marshlands and ends at Red Bank Avenue. Back then there was a small white turn-style drawbridge that crossed over an inlet as you drove towards National Park. Those inlets and marshes froze during the winter and provided a place to ice skate or play stick hockey. Cutler’s Market once resided at about Grove and Asbury Avenues… I’m not certain if it’s still there or not.
In recent years, Grove Street on the West Deptford side has begun to be developed, with retirement homes and a golf course.
Although it doesn’t provide direct access into and out of town, Columbia Avenue may be the widest street that runs through National Park. The purpose of its design is unknown, but it’s the route I’d go to Sam’s Market on 5th and Columbia, its where you caught the public transportation bus line for a couple of years and was the location of both bars in National Park.
…I seem to recall a third church at 4th and Columbia, but I’m not certain…
Comprised of mostly young white, low to middle-income couples and families, there was no blend of ethnic diversity, no convergence or sampling of different cultures… Just mom, dad and the kids, biding their time, till they were cut loose in one aspect or another.
I know my description of National Park pales in comparison to my earlier description of Clifton Heights, where I had lived for only four years… Clifton was a well-established, close-knit community with access to surrounding areas. Whereas, National Park was basically a brand new, suburban development, with Public Service bus lines that operated for about the first five of the twelve years that I lived there… then was discontinued.
It’s a little difficult to describe the town and provide it its due, although I’m certain that there may be a few folks left that know more then I ever did, or probably ever will about it.
It was the eve of the 1960’s, a time of change, a time of discovery...These are my recollections of growing up in a small town in South Jersey called National Park.
These pieces from 1958 aren’t as clear as the other pieces…
Maybe it’s because we would be moving away from Grandmom and Grandpop and that house and neighborhood that was so familiar and held so many memories?
Maybe it was because we were about to begin a whole brand new adventure, someplace unknown and in a brand new house?
It was only a short drive across the bridges, but we were in a different state and that made it seem real far away… Grandpop didn’t drive a car and we would go visit… but it wouldn’t be the same.
We actually moved from Pennsylvania to New Jersey, in August 1958.
Any summer vacation we ever had was done in August as that’s when Westinghouse shut down for two weeks; that’s where my dad worked and that’s when he took a vacation, those were the rules.
So it was moving day…
All that time I hadn’t be allowed to go in the garage in Clifton Heights, it was because my dad was building a trailer in there for the move.
The first time I saw the trailer, it was already hooked up to my dad’s Chevy.
It had a black shiny metal frame over two wheels and the sides were made of wood that swooped down a little once it got past the wheels. The sides were a lighter brown and the edges were a darker brown.
I know Uncle Franny had come over to help with the move and also Uncle Ed.
There were some other people there too, but I don’t remember much more then that. I sat on the front porch and stayed out of the way. I don’t remember where my brothers or sisters were, or even Grandmom and Grandpop.
I wasn’t sure if I liked this whole moving idea very much.
It took two or three trips even using the trailer, and then it was our turn.
We loaded up in the car, waved our good-byes and headed off to New Jersey.
We pulled up in the driveway, which was new… there were sidewalks now and the piles of dirt were all gone and everything was all leveled out. Two small trees had been planted in front of the house, between the sidewalk and the street and a third tree in a similar position on the other side of the driveway.
There were still a lot boxes, pretty much everywhere and the trailer was parked in the backyard at the end of the driveway.
There were two types of houses in this new neighborhood, one was called an A-frame and the other was called an L-frame. The L-frame I understood, because the house looked like the letter L. I never figured out why the other was called an A-frame, because it didn’t look like the letter A.
Ours was an L-frame. It had a living room, a kitchen, a bathroom and three bedrooms with a full basement. The back bedroom was for the boys, the center bedroom was for the girls and the biggest on the front end was for mom and dad.
They all pretty much looked the same, with shutters on the windows facing the street and pinstriped siding in, blue, green or red on top of gray. Ours was red, but because of the gray, from the street, it looked more like pink.
The development of Military Drive had only begun a year earlier and there we were standing in the sand, clay and dust of it all. You couldn’t get more, small town then this!
Of course with it being August and September right around the corner and school starting, the move, the unpacking, the registrations all got kicked into high gear. It might have been just possible, that my dad was glad to get back to work, just to take things down a notch or two.
For us kids, we helped where we could, but were more under foot then help. That was okay… There would be the park to explore, the river to walk along...
There were new neighbors: The Jefferies, the Reeds, the Dandro’s and the O’Leary’s... [I don’t think any of them are there anymore]
I have to hand it to mom and dad… within a short period of time, the house was set up, discipline had been restored, school was about to start and we were in our new home.
Look Ma, no hands!
