By Ray Lenarcic
While I was sitting on the front porch the other night, enjoying a cold one, warm wind, full moon and a serenade by a chorus of crickets, I was reminded of some wonderful days of my youth. Us old timers often comment how things were so much better then. And they were. Particularly vivid were memories of the summer of 1955. I was 12. I’d like to share some of those with you.
Weekdays were pretty much the same. Following a breakfast of corn flakes and whole mile, I was off and running down Skinner Street to the park, glove over bat, to join the rest of the gang. Gabby, Bobby S., Bruddy, Ronnie, the Urich brothers, young Mihevc and the other denizens of that sliver of grass separating Furnace Street and its extension. Still can’t believe that we actually played hard ball there. How we didn’t break a car’s window coming down Furnace remains a wonderment to me. When we tired of playing our national pastime, we retired to the playground where park supervisor Tucker Shep(hardson) was waiting. The Falls had several parks like ours, and once a week we’d play softball against one. It almost seemed to be sacreligious to play that “girl’s” game. Our archrival were the boys from Monroe Street. One highlight of my summer was going 5 for 5 in a butt-kicking of those hellions. Boredom was an archaic word back then. Tucker organized horseshoe contests, games of hide and seek and tag between lunch (peanut butter sandwiches and milk) and 4 P.M. when his job for the day was over. And, almost forgot, the talent show. Winners from each park got to perform at a Wednesday night band concert at Eastern Park. That summer I won-playing How Much Is That Doggie in the Window on my trumpet. The high I got from the applause and honking cars that night created a passion for the horn which ultimately resulted in my entering Freddy State as a trumpet major.
Throughout the week we engaged in non-stop conversations-face to face-no cell phones to while away untold hours in profound wastes of time. Topics ranged from Mantle to Mays to girls (yes, even then); we chased after them with red, wax lips, begging for a kiss. I can still hear their screams. Never did get a smooch. Then there were the movies at the Rialto for a quarter ((Gene Autry, Roy Rogers, and WWII’s most decorated soldier-Audie Murphy). Afternoons were often interrupted by a trip to Francesca Zysk’s “convenient” store where root beer barrels and popsicles, creamsicles, vanilla taffy (dentist’s delight), Tootsie Rolls, Snickers, Baby Ruths and black licorice were waiting-the nickels burning holes in our pockets-a dime for a cold bottle of Orange Crush.
That summer there was one unforgettable- for- life signature event. The Little League championship. There must have been 500 fans in attendance at the field in the Southside next to Filipski’s lumber yard. It featured Mario Checci’s Orioles against my team, Pete Adamko’s VFW. To say that we were “hated enemies” would be an understatement. While I can’t remember yesterday’s date, I can recall the game in vivid detail. We defended our championship 9-8 in seven innings: one of the most unbelievable games ever-winning because Pete outfoxed Mario. If Dave can somehow reprint the article in the Evening Times, over a half page, you’ll enjoy the incredibly well-written coverage. Some of my fellow teammates were the great Bobby (nee Brin) Glazier, the best hitter and pitcher in the league, Johnny Hooks, John Prestopnik, Gordie MacCammon, Ronnie Braccini, Keith Donnelly and winning pitcher, 10-year old Craig Loucks who relieved me and pitched the 7th. Like I said earlier, those were the days!
Saturdays were reserved for hitting the road. While the trips weren’t long, money being scarce back then, they were memorable. I loved Pine Lake and its beach. Caroga wasn’t far behind with its renowned merry-go-round and bumper cars and, of course, cotton candy. Other times we’d head up to Uncle Clarence’s camp on Keyser Lake where my sis DeeAnn and cousins Mary Ann, Kathy, Carol Ann and Donnie would splash around for hours. The family picnic was always a blast. An inveterate fussy eater, I eschewed Aunt DoDo’s fixins (tater salad-ugh!) for my mom’s macaroni and fruit salads, the latter smothered with homemade whipped cream. My favorite excursions were to Old Forge with its beaches, soft ice cream and a store featuring the best fudge this side of heaven. And Cooperstown. Visited the Baseball Hall of Fame where I dreamed of looking at my picture on the sacred wall. I’ll never get tired of walking that village’s streets, riding along Otsego Lake and, for the last few years, chowing down at the Blue Mingo. Back then, everywhere we went families were pure and simply having fun and exchanging pleasantries with strangers. Politics was a subject kept behind closed doors.
Finally, Sundays were reserved for the First Baptist. Two people will always be fixed in the scrapbook of my mind. First, the incomparable Rev. Fred Thorne. An imposing figure whose booming voice kept our attention and sermons reminded us kids that if we strayed from the straight and narrow, the burning fires of hell awaited. The Rev lived the words he preached and dedicated his life to spreading the Gospel to any who would listen. He was a true evangelical unlike many of today’s who have forsaken the spiritual for the political and in the process lost sight of the Savior’s admonition to “Love Thine Enemies.”
The second person was St. Mary. Our church’s version. Rev. Thorne’s wife, Mary. Her Sunday School classes should have been videotaped and shown nationwide. Her beatific presence, kind voice and soothing words, (as I look back, I swear I could see a faint halo around her head), had a profound effect on us kids. I took her teachings to heart-even until today. Most memorable was her encouragement that we use a part of lives to serve others-“To clothe, feed and shelter those God’s children less fortunate than ourselves.” She told us that not only will the benefactors of our good will feel better, but so too will we, in a blessed way. She passed far before her time, but would never be forgotten by anyone who had the privilege of knowing her. After service, we enjoyed the best meal of the week, a ham or roast beef dinner with all the trimmins, and home baked apple pie for dessert. We Idled around or visited Gram Lenarcic during the afternoon, ate leftovers for supper and hit the living room for Lawrence Welk and Ed Sullivan.
Well, time to snap out of it. The skeeters are biting and Kay calls. It’s movie time. Splendor in the Grass tonight. Have a great summer all. And one more time-THOSE WERE THE DAYS!
