Let me start by saying that this post will be different from the usual memories that you'll find here weekly. I've often shared with you the things that bring joy, that may make you laugh, and are sometimes a bit unusual. I've posted about holiday family dinners, family traditions at Christmas and other things that either interest or bore readers. But as time goes on, the memories for some are just that: memories.
We've all seen as we've aged that things often aren't what they used to be. The events of life change us, especially when there has been more loss than there is gain, or when that special someone is no longer there to share in those special holidays and events with us. We want to hit the brakes and slow down the calendar. But unless we find some sort of miracle way of doing that, things will surely keep changing.
I'm writing this because almost every year we're told that many people deal with depression during the holidays and there are many who consider, attempt, or sadly succeed at suicide or harming themselves. It often happens when someone looks back at Christmas and can't deal with some sort of loss. The loss of family, a career, abilities, health, or many things we can't even fathom would cause someone to lose the will to live. We may know someone who fits the description and we can often make a difference between whether someone has the will to live or to surrender it; or who will make the decision to make the most of things or simply exist. If there is someone that you know who displays that they're having a difficult time, reach out to them. Be a friend and help them through a season that brings joy to most. It may be an elderly neighbor who will have yet another Christmas alone, a co-worker who has difficulty making friends, or a church member who comes and goes and doesn't have much interaction with people. It could be someone with no family at all, whether young or old. We all have the potential to make a difference if we're willing to.
And for those who are able to cope with such things, thank God for getting you through it all. Take advantage of it when He puts someone in your path or gives you the strength to overcome it. When you see what He can do, you'll find it easier to lean on Him. The holiday seasons come and go, but we don't have to suffer through them or watch someone else struggle with them.
To all who take the time to read these posts: Have a Merry Christmas, Happy Hanukkah, or whatever holiday you celebrate. May you all find happiness in the season and beyond.
Monday, December 23, 2019
Sunday, December 15, 2019
A Season of Lights
Here we are, just ten days before Christmas 2019. This year went by quickly. The month sped by like a meteor entering earth's atmosphere. It's amazing how time goes by, especially as you get older. When we were kids the days dragged on. Especially true during the school year but someone seemed to kick the calendar into overdrive during the summer months as though they couldn't wait for us to get back to class. Then adulthood came and things slowed until we found our way.
Clip-art courtesy of clkr.com
One of those things that have always made the Christmas season special is the lights that illuminate the neighborhoods slowly starting a day after Thanksgiving picking up from there, going through "Little Christmas" in January. Being we have to deal with the shortest of days in December, it's great that the Christmas lights make those days a little brighter. Some folks make neighborhoods brighter than others. Their electric bills must make them curse the season but they'll do it again next year, maybe adding even more lumens to the block.
While the lights we have today are nice, but it's my opinion that things were brighter back in the day. At least we've returned to color. A decade or so ago it was a sea of white light from small bulbs, making the blocks look almost like Las Vegas pre-1980s. What happened to color? It's like someone stole it and everyone was competing with the same pale strings around the perimeters of their rowhomes. It was really "production" looking and detracted from the Christmas feel.
Thankfully, color made a comeback and everyone was back to their own individual style. There are still many who make their decorating jobs look special. But the grand-daddy of them all around here was a man named Frank DeAntonio. It was said that Frank was one of the main decorators at the old John Wanamaker store in Center City, and if so, his work was a testimony to that. Every year, we waited for him to put up his lights and decorations and the block really shined because of it. There were others who did it up brightly and well too, but nothing like he did. I remember Mr. DeAntonio had a small n-gauge train layout in his basement window, totally crafted it himself. A nice winter snow scene with Disney characters and two sets of tracks with the trains going in opposite directions. All the kids loved it, and we would go to his window often to watch.
Mr DeAntonio also had a large snowman between his bedroom windows, just like you'd see at the Christmas Light Show at what was Wanamakers (now Macy's). It's arms would wave up and down in lights, a really nice piece of work. To finish the job, he used large colored bulbs for his lights, nicer than what we were used to around here. This guy knew how to decorate, and his work is missed. Frank DeAntonio is gone now and so are his talents. He was a great guy and always seemed to get a charge in seeing the kids watch his creations. It was said that when he retired the train layout when he got older, he donated it to Children's Hospital of Philadelphia. If this is so, I hope they still have it, those kids there would love it as much as we did.
Anthony Stella and his family also brightened up the block with their long streams of large bulbs. He and his brother George who lived next door also brightened the block up. Later on, the neighbors pooled together to string lights over the street for a few years like on many blocks in South Philly. That is until one day a neighbor was cutting the strands when we were coming out the door. He said that no one was pitching in to maintain the lights each year or pay for the power. Nor did anyone help maintain them. If the men of the block worked together, maybe the lights would remain today. But lo, they're now gone and a short-lived tradition died.
SOME THINGS ARE STILL NICE...
...The folks on Smedley and Colorado Streets (2700) still do a fantastic job with their lighting. Do they compete? I don't know. Only about a block apart, I guess it's easy to believe that one of the blocks could do a better job than the other. Competition or not, who cares? Both do Christmas lighthing right, and it's really great for the neighborhood. I still see car and van loads of folks slowly driving around Smedley to have a look. The traffic pattern of Colorado makes it a quick trip up and out.
AND YOU MAY REMEMBER...
...When kids used to steal the outdoor Christmas bulbs from outside of homes. This was back in the seventies and prior to when twinkle bulbs became the norm. No one ever had a good reason for taking the bulbs. Some would take them for their own homes while others just did it to be mischievous. A few friends and I did it once in our pre-teens and had battles with them, much like we did with the acorns that fell in the autumn from the ancient trees on Oregon Avenue. We wisened-up but it still wan't right. But when you're young and stupid, it was anything goes. Thankfully for most people, stupid doesn't last.
Clip-art courtesy of clkr.com
One of those things that have always made the Christmas season special is the lights that illuminate the neighborhoods slowly starting a day after Thanksgiving picking up from there, going through "Little Christmas" in January. Being we have to deal with the shortest of days in December, it's great that the Christmas lights make those days a little brighter. Some folks make neighborhoods brighter than others. Their electric bills must make them curse the season but they'll do it again next year, maybe adding even more lumens to the block.
While the lights we have today are nice, but it's my opinion that things were brighter back in the day. At least we've returned to color. A decade or so ago it was a sea of white light from small bulbs, making the blocks look almost like Las Vegas pre-1980s. What happened to color? It's like someone stole it and everyone was competing with the same pale strings around the perimeters of their rowhomes. It was really "production" looking and detracted from the Christmas feel.
Thankfully, color made a comeback and everyone was back to their own individual style. There are still many who make their decorating jobs look special. But the grand-daddy of them all around here was a man named Frank DeAntonio. It was said that Frank was one of the main decorators at the old John Wanamaker store in Center City, and if so, his work was a testimony to that. Every year, we waited for him to put up his lights and decorations and the block really shined because of it. There were others who did it up brightly and well too, but nothing like he did. I remember Mr. DeAntonio had a small n-gauge train layout in his basement window, totally crafted it himself. A nice winter snow scene with Disney characters and two sets of tracks with the trains going in opposite directions. All the kids loved it, and we would go to his window often to watch.
Mr DeAntonio also had a large snowman between his bedroom windows, just like you'd see at the Christmas Light Show at what was Wanamakers (now Macy's). It's arms would wave up and down in lights, a really nice piece of work. To finish the job, he used large colored bulbs for his lights, nicer than what we were used to around here. This guy knew how to decorate, and his work is missed. Frank DeAntonio is gone now and so are his talents. He was a great guy and always seemed to get a charge in seeing the kids watch his creations. It was said that when he retired the train layout when he got older, he donated it to Children's Hospital of Philadelphia. If this is so, I hope they still have it, those kids there would love it as much as we did.
Anthony Stella and his family also brightened up the block with their long streams of large bulbs. He and his brother George who lived next door also brightened the block up. Later on, the neighbors pooled together to string lights over the street for a few years like on many blocks in South Philly. That is until one day a neighbor was cutting the strands when we were coming out the door. He said that no one was pitching in to maintain the lights each year or pay for the power. Nor did anyone help maintain them. If the men of the block worked together, maybe the lights would remain today. But lo, they're now gone and a short-lived tradition died.
SOME THINGS ARE STILL NICE...
...The folks on Smedley and Colorado Streets (2700) still do a fantastic job with their lighting. Do they compete? I don't know. Only about a block apart, I guess it's easy to believe that one of the blocks could do a better job than the other. Competition or not, who cares? Both do Christmas lighthing right, and it's really great for the neighborhood. I still see car and van loads of folks slowly driving around Smedley to have a look. The traffic pattern of Colorado makes it a quick trip up and out.
AND YOU MAY REMEMBER...
...When kids used to steal the outdoor Christmas bulbs from outside of homes. This was back in the seventies and prior to when twinkle bulbs became the norm. No one ever had a good reason for taking the bulbs. Some would take them for their own homes while others just did it to be mischievous. A few friends and I did it once in our pre-teens and had battles with them, much like we did with the acorns that fell in the autumn from the ancient trees on Oregon Avenue. We wisened-up but it still wan't right. But when you're young and stupid, it was anything goes. Thankfully for most people, stupid doesn't last.
Saturday, December 07, 2019
A Kid's Day on the Town
The date December 8th was one of those days: a date that my brother, sister, and I looked forward to for almost an entire year. No, it wasn't as important a day as say, Christmas or maybe your birthday if it's a big deal to you. But December 8th was important to us for two reasons: It was a day off from school for us being a Catholic holiday known as the Immaculate Conception, and it was also a day that was fully-spent in Center City (we called it "going uptown" back then) visiting the department stores and their Christmas attractions.
The day always started with us sleeping in a little later than usual. After all, it was a day off, so you had to put it to good use and get yourself a little extra sleep. It was just a little, maybe an hour or two more, but then our feet hit the floor and we started to get ready.
We always took the Route 2 bus north on 16th street into town. My mom and her friends didn't trust the subway, they believed too many bad things happened down there. When we were old enough to ride it ourselves, we would on boring days take a ride northbound into either Walnut-Locust or City Hall stations with friends; go up the stairs, and cross over to go southbound again, riding in front so we could watch as we rode down the tracks.
Anyhow, when we went with the adults, we stayed on the surface. The first stop once hitting Market Street was a short walk to John Wanamaker's department store to see the Christmas light show, which was a must-see and still should be for families today, even if it's now Macy's and the booming voice of John Facenda has been long-gone. Afterward, we'd head up to the 8th floor via elevator (which still had operators) to the toy department where there were two things a kid had to do: ride the monorail around the department and go shopping for your parents at the Little Santa shop that the store set up for kids to shop for family members. The doorway into the shop was really low, giving kids the impression that only they could enter; no adults allowed. We were so into it that we didn't even think about how the adult cashiers and sales helpers got into the room. I think it's safe to say they weren't shrunken momentarily to allow them entrance, but we didn't care. There was also the mandatory stop to get your picture taken with Santa until reality set in and he became just another tall tale. We finished our trip to Wanamaker's with a stop for lunch in the fancy dining room they had there, The Crystal Tea Room. It was a lot fancier than places kids go most times of the year like Gino's or the lunch counter at your favorite five-and-dime.
After lunch, we'd trek east on Market to Lit Brothers department store at 8th Street. This was before the pit of an urban mall they called The Gallery was built down the street. Lit's had an attraction called The Enchanted Village, an animated Christmas town that was enjoyed by kids and adults alike. We'd sometimes line up through the length of the store to wait to get to see it and at other times, breeze through. The trip through the village took only maybe fifteen minutes, but we got to clown around with each other while waiting and the time wasn't wasted, the adults loved that more than the kids. The Enchanted Village survived until Lit's closed in 1975, it was revived until recently at the Please Touch Museum at Memorial Hall in Fairmount Park. It may still be there. City tourism sites hint at it, but the museum's website makes no mention of it.
There were two other department stores on Market St. East in those days - Strawbridge & Clothier and Gimbels - but to our knowledge, neither had anything like the other stores did. Either that, or the moms had their preferences. The only thing we can remember is that on Thanksgiving Day, they were the sponsors of the parade, and Santa Claus would ascend the ladder of a Philadelphia Fire Department ladder truck and enter the window of one of the store's upper floors to usher in the Christmas season. After that, I don't know of anything other than a department store Santa. It's a shame really because they missed out on drawing in the kids with their parents and what could have been some tradition for some families.
The common thread in all this were the big department stores. Now, only Macy's survives Wanamaker's once had nine floors in Center City, whittled down to three or four with office space on the higher ones. Retail is a different animal than it was back in the day, and that's sad because generations of kids and entire families will miss out on what attractions we remember from just forty years ago. It wasn't just competition either. Years ago, men like John Wanamaker were known as outstanding citizens as well as businessmen; with Wanamaker being known to be extremely generous to others and to his church.
See https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Wanamaker%27s for detailed info.
Sure, we did the same thing every year, but it was quality time together, Moms and Dads, when you have the opportunity to build on a Christmas tradition, go ahead and do it. Four decades from now, your kids will remember that you cared about them and have great memories of those days.
The day always started with us sleeping in a little later than usual. After all, it was a day off, so you had to put it to good use and get yourself a little extra sleep. It was just a little, maybe an hour or two more, but then our feet hit the floor and we started to get ready.
We always took the Route 2 bus north on 16th street into town. My mom and her friends didn't trust the subway, they believed too many bad things happened down there. When we were old enough to ride it ourselves, we would on boring days take a ride northbound into either Walnut-Locust or City Hall stations with friends; go up the stairs, and cross over to go southbound again, riding in front so we could watch as we rode down the tracks.
Anyhow, when we went with the adults, we stayed on the surface. The first stop once hitting Market Street was a short walk to John Wanamaker's department store to see the Christmas light show, which was a must-see and still should be for families today, even if it's now Macy's and the booming voice of John Facenda has been long-gone. Afterward, we'd head up to the 8th floor via elevator (which still had operators) to the toy department where there were two things a kid had to do: ride the monorail around the department and go shopping for your parents at the Little Santa shop that the store set up for kids to shop for family members. The doorway into the shop was really low, giving kids the impression that only they could enter; no adults allowed. We were so into it that we didn't even think about how the adult cashiers and sales helpers got into the room. I think it's safe to say they weren't shrunken momentarily to allow them entrance, but we didn't care. There was also the mandatory stop to get your picture taken with Santa until reality set in and he became just another tall tale. We finished our trip to Wanamaker's with a stop for lunch in the fancy dining room they had there, The Crystal Tea Room. It was a lot fancier than places kids go most times of the year like Gino's or the lunch counter at your favorite five-and-dime.
After lunch, we'd trek east on Market to Lit Brothers department store at 8th Street. This was before the pit of an urban mall they called The Gallery was built down the street. Lit's had an attraction called The Enchanted Village, an animated Christmas town that was enjoyed by kids and adults alike. We'd sometimes line up through the length of the store to wait to get to see it and at other times, breeze through. The trip through the village took only maybe fifteen minutes, but we got to clown around with each other while waiting and the time wasn't wasted, the adults loved that more than the kids. The Enchanted Village survived until Lit's closed in 1975, it was revived until recently at the Please Touch Museum at Memorial Hall in Fairmount Park. It may still be there. City tourism sites hint at it, but the museum's website makes no mention of it.
There were two other department stores on Market St. East in those days - Strawbridge & Clothier and Gimbels - but to our knowledge, neither had anything like the other stores did. Either that, or the moms had their preferences. The only thing we can remember is that on Thanksgiving Day, they were the sponsors of the parade, and Santa Claus would ascend the ladder of a Philadelphia Fire Department ladder truck and enter the window of one of the store's upper floors to usher in the Christmas season. After that, I don't know of anything other than a department store Santa. It's a shame really because they missed out on drawing in the kids with their parents and what could have been some tradition for some families.
The common thread in all this were the big department stores. Now, only Macy's survives Wanamaker's once had nine floors in Center City, whittled down to three or four with office space on the higher ones. Retail is a different animal than it was back in the day, and that's sad because generations of kids and entire families will miss out on what attractions we remember from just forty years ago. It wasn't just competition either. Years ago, men like John Wanamaker were known as outstanding citizens as well as businessmen; with Wanamaker being known to be extremely generous to others and to his church.
See https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Wanamaker%27s for detailed info.
Sure, we did the same thing every year, but it was quality time together, Moms and Dads, when you have the opportunity to build on a Christmas tradition, go ahead and do it. Four decades from now, your kids will remember that you cared about them and have great memories of those days.
Monday, December 02, 2019
Fire Alarm Call Boxes
Remember the old fire call boxes that you found on just about every other corner of the larger streets to call the Fire Department back in the day? They were hard to miss, painted red to catch your eye with the word FIRE on each side and shaped to look like a house. You could find stand-alone boxes on pedestals or on telephone poles. In today's high-tech world, they just don't make sense. But even before the cell phone became popular those boxes started to disappear from the streets of Philadelphia. Even the payphone made them less-needed, being it didn't cost anything for an emergency call, especially once the 911 system became active.
.
The call boxes made perfect sense back in the days when many or most homes didn't have telephones. But in the early 1980s, the Philadelphia Fire Department figured they had become obsolete. And they were right, those call boxes got way more activity with false alarms than for actual working fires. Wanted to shake things up on the street a bit? All you had to do was go over to the corner, break the glass on the box face, and pull down on the handle and run. Firefighters would be there in just a few minutes, hoping to find a citizen to direct them to the site of the actual fire. I remember reading in one book that an FDNY firefighter was killed when reponding to a false alarm, losing his grip just as the truck swiftly turned a corner. Those were the days when they rode on the trucks standing. That's another thing that's dissapperared for reasons just like this. In the later years, the citizens beat feet and didn't stick around after pulling the box, sometimes even for legitimate calls. So the PFD pulled them from the corners before we could zip halfway through the 1980s. A bit of nostalgia, but they're not useful at all today.
Fire Call-Box In Front Of Fairfax Drugstore.
(Click for a larger photo)
AND YOU MAY REMEMBER...
...that some boxes were painted black. I never could find out why. The legend was that the box was painted black when a firefighter died when responding to a fire there. But there were many boxes painted black that had no fatalities attached to them. Being they started to go black near the end of their effective lives, I would think it was done to show that they were no longer active.
...the days when you had to call 231-3131 for the police, or dial "0" to reach the Operator to connect to be connected with the fire department. I wonder today if there are even operators on duty today, or if it's an automated system. Nor do I want to check. What do you do if you find a warm-body (live person) on the other end? "Oh-uh, hey...just checking..."
...the old police call boxes. I never saw an active one, but I remember numerous abandoned boxes around South Philly through the end of the 70s. Useful for cops on patrol before two-way radios became widespread.
Now the average citizen can't even listen to the police on their analog obsolete scanners since they went digital a few years back. So a few of us have somewhat expensive paperweights with speakers and digital displays. You have to buy a digital scanner to listen to public service radio. Or, save a good bit of cash and go to https://www.broadcastify.com/listen/ctid/2291/?rl=rr
You'll find live feeds to police and fire frequencies for all police districts and citywide frequencies as well as the North and South dispatch frequencies for the Philadelphia Fire Department.
.
The call boxes made perfect sense back in the days when many or most homes didn't have telephones. But in the early 1980s, the Philadelphia Fire Department figured they had become obsolete. And they were right, those call boxes got way more activity with false alarms than for actual working fires. Wanted to shake things up on the street a bit? All you had to do was go over to the corner, break the glass on the box face, and pull down on the handle and run. Firefighters would be there in just a few minutes, hoping to find a citizen to direct them to the site of the actual fire. I remember reading in one book that an FDNY firefighter was killed when reponding to a false alarm, losing his grip just as the truck swiftly turned a corner. Those were the days when they rode on the trucks standing. That's another thing that's dissapperared for reasons just like this. In the later years, the citizens beat feet and didn't stick around after pulling the box, sometimes even for legitimate calls. So the PFD pulled them from the corners before we could zip halfway through the 1980s. A bit of nostalgia, but they're not useful at all today.
(Click for a larger photo)
AND YOU MAY REMEMBER...
...that some boxes were painted black. I never could find out why. The legend was that the box was painted black when a firefighter died when responding to a fire there. But there were many boxes painted black that had no fatalities attached to them. Being they started to go black near the end of their effective lives, I would think it was done to show that they were no longer active.
...the days when you had to call 231-3131 for the police, or dial "0" to reach the Operator to connect to be connected with the fire department. I wonder today if there are even operators on duty today, or if it's an automated system. Nor do I want to check. What do you do if you find a warm-body (live person) on the other end? "Oh-uh, hey...just checking..."
...the old police call boxes. I never saw an active one, but I remember numerous abandoned boxes around South Philly through the end of the 70s. Useful for cops on patrol before two-way radios became widespread.
Now the average citizen can't even listen to the police on their analog obsolete scanners since they went digital a few years back. So a few of us have somewhat expensive paperweights with speakers and digital displays. You have to buy a digital scanner to listen to public service radio. Or, save a good bit of cash and go to https://www.broadcastify.com/listen/ctid/2291/?rl=rr
You'll find live feeds to police and fire frequencies for all police districts and citywide frequencies as well as the North and South dispatch frequencies for the Philadelphia Fire Department.
Sunday, November 24, 2019
Making The Most of The Holidays
Here it is, just a few days before Thanksgiving.
We're on the heels of another holiday season when the year seemed to start not
all that long ago. While it's great to look ahead and know that memories will
be made and joy will be shared, there are a lot of great memories stored up in
our heads from the past. When you get older and family and friends go away, you
really do have something to be thankful for. You should be thankful for those
memories of times past, the experiences that came with them, and those that are
yet to be created.
It doesn't seem like it was long ago that we had three generations of family members gathered around the Thanksgiving table for an annual feast - make that bi-annual with Christmas - for a feast that lasted from around noon until late afternoon. Italians know how to do food, with my grandmother going the extra mile in cooking everything from pasta (ravioli and rigatoni), meatballs, sausage and braggiole to the mandatory turkey and stuffing and whatever was thrown in between. For some odd reason, the salad was always served last, just before dessert. We didn't mind. It was all good. My lovely Irish wife was familiar with Italian dinners from her two brothers-in-law's cooking, but even she was surprised at how well Grandmom stuffed us to the gills at her first dinner with us.
It doesn't seem like it was long ago that we had three generations of family members gathered around the Thanksgiving table for an annual feast - make that bi-annual with Christmas - for a feast that lasted from around noon until late afternoon. Italians know how to do food, with my grandmother going the extra mile in cooking everything from pasta (ravioli and rigatoni), meatballs, sausage and braggiole to the mandatory turkey and stuffing and whatever was thrown in between. For some odd reason, the salad was always served last, just before dessert. We didn't mind. It was all good. My lovely Irish wife was familiar with Italian dinners from her two brothers-in-law's cooking, but even she was surprised at how well Grandmom stuffed us to the gills at her first dinner with us.
Then the inevitable happened. Time started to take
its toll. Family members started dropping like... There's a better way to put
that; they started to pass-away one by one. Time slips away, and soon, almost
everyone's gone. My brother, sister, and I are the survivors of our immediate
family. Between distance with my sister living in the South and my brother
being with his wife and family, we don't see each other on the holidays.
This Thanksgiving Day, we'll be spending the day at my in-law's house with my wife's sister and her husband. My wife and I are always happy to spend good times with them and other family members and enjoy their hospitality. It's good for her in as much as we tried to split holidays each year between families, we found ourselves more with mine than hers. Now she gets some make-up time, although her family has seen many depart like mine and there's no making up for that.
Why do those things matter? Because I can sit here and think back to a time that was and remember a dinner table lined with family members who aren't here to share those holiday dinners anymore. Everyone reading this has or will experience that sense of loss. But don't think about that. Do yourselves a favor and enjoy every second of the time that you have with each other. Savor those moments. Let bygones be bygones and don't let foolish words spoken years ago rob you of any joy. And put the phones away! Declare a moratorium on devices for maybe eight hours so you don't let them rob you of the precious moments; controlling them instead of them stealing your joy. Violators' devices face the maul hammer. Make the most of it. Time is short, then its gone.
HOLIDAY MEMORIES...
...My grandfather roasting nuts in an old 1920s era gas oven in the basement of their home on 17th street. No pilot light, you turned on the gas and lit it quickly or you'd get a nice "whoosh!" from the built-up gas igniting.
...Conversation. Everyone stayed in the living room, dining room, or kitchen. No one ran to the sanctuary of their own room once the dinner plates were cleared, and if someone watched TV, we all did and still talked all day.
...Everyone showing up before noon and not leaving until evening. No rushing to dinner and out the door.
...Two things were always available to drink at my grandparents: a bottle of wine for the adults and a few quarts of Frank's Ginger Ale for the kids or adults who didn't drink much wine. We didn't guzzle the soda like kids do today. You drank it from maybe 6 or 8-ounce glasses or jelly jar glasses (remember the Flintstones glasses that Welch's sold their grape jelly in?) and made it last. My grandmother learned to save from experience during the Great Depression - right down to those jelly glasses.
...Wresting in the living room of my grandparents' house with my brother and cousin while my grandmother would yell that we were going to hurt each other. We almost never did (I remember one of us hit our heads on the marble coffee table once), but we did get to imitate our favorite wrestlers from Saturday morning TV. Never broke any furniture either.
...A full-course dinner as found in most Italian homes. Macaroni (none dare call it pasta), meatballs, sausage, and bragiole, turkey and stuffing, and then the salad (salad always came last, and always with vinegar and oil, no bottled dressing). Bread fresh from the former Lanci's Bakery on Jackson St. was always on the table.
...Along with the walnuts, chestnuts, and brazils, cheese from Cilione's (also on Jackson St) was on the table before and after dinner, along with bottles of Jacquin's Anisette and Blackberry Brandy. My grandmother would never let a holiday go by without stopping by the State Store to get bottles of both.
...My grandparent's neighbor Pete always knocking on holidays to say hello and to give my brother, sister, and I a half dollar; and we looked forward to getting those Kennedy heads, always checking to see if we got a silver one.
This Thanksgiving Day, we'll be spending the day at my in-law's house with my wife's sister and her husband. My wife and I are always happy to spend good times with them and other family members and enjoy their hospitality. It's good for her in as much as we tried to split holidays each year between families, we found ourselves more with mine than hers. Now she gets some make-up time, although her family has seen many depart like mine and there's no making up for that.
Why do those things matter? Because I can sit here and think back to a time that was and remember a dinner table lined with family members who aren't here to share those holiday dinners anymore. Everyone reading this has or will experience that sense of loss. But don't think about that. Do yourselves a favor and enjoy every second of the time that you have with each other. Savor those moments. Let bygones be bygones and don't let foolish words spoken years ago rob you of any joy. And put the phones away! Declare a moratorium on devices for maybe eight hours so you don't let them rob you of the precious moments; controlling them instead of them stealing your joy. Violators' devices face the maul hammer. Make the most of it. Time is short, then its gone.
HOLIDAY MEMORIES...
...My grandfather roasting nuts in an old 1920s era gas oven in the basement of their home on 17th street. No pilot light, you turned on the gas and lit it quickly or you'd get a nice "whoosh!" from the built-up gas igniting.
...Conversation. Everyone stayed in the living room, dining room, or kitchen. No one ran to the sanctuary of their own room once the dinner plates were cleared, and if someone watched TV, we all did and still talked all day.
...Everyone showing up before noon and not leaving until evening. No rushing to dinner and out the door.
...Two things were always available to drink at my grandparents: a bottle of wine for the adults and a few quarts of Frank's Ginger Ale for the kids or adults who didn't drink much wine. We didn't guzzle the soda like kids do today. You drank it from maybe 6 or 8-ounce glasses or jelly jar glasses (remember the Flintstones glasses that Welch's sold their grape jelly in?) and made it last. My grandmother learned to save from experience during the Great Depression - right down to those jelly glasses.
...Wresting in the living room of my grandparents' house with my brother and cousin while my grandmother would yell that we were going to hurt each other. We almost never did (I remember one of us hit our heads on the marble coffee table once), but we did get to imitate our favorite wrestlers from Saturday morning TV. Never broke any furniture either.
...A full-course dinner as found in most Italian homes. Macaroni (none dare call it pasta), meatballs, sausage, and bragiole, turkey and stuffing, and then the salad (salad always came last, and always with vinegar and oil, no bottled dressing). Bread fresh from the former Lanci's Bakery on Jackson St. was always on the table.
...Along with the walnuts, chestnuts, and brazils, cheese from Cilione's (also on Jackson St) was on the table before and after dinner, along with bottles of Jacquin's Anisette and Blackberry Brandy. My grandmother would never let a holiday go by without stopping by the State Store to get bottles of both.
...My grandparent's neighbor Pete always knocking on holidays to say hello and to give my brother, sister, and I a half dollar; and we looked forward to getting those Kennedy heads, always checking to see if we got a silver one.
Saturday, November 16, 2019
Street Entepreneurs
I've noted in a number of posts here in this blog the hard-working men and women of South Philly who made their living doing everything from running the local candy store to collecting rags from a horse-drawn cart. All of us know folks who made their money honestly and worked their entire lives without complaint. At least I never heard them whine. They earned their living and did it without fail, day after day.
But on the street, there are always "entepreneurs" who strive to make a buck however they can. As you read this, you may be thinking that I'm referring to the local street pharmacists who stand on corners or make deliveries to the neighborhood junkies to keep them from going into withdrawal. They're out there along with a host of people who need to learn what working for a living truly is like.
A number of years ago, I met a certain salesman on Oregon Avenue, trying to sell me something I got a day later for free. This guy failed to sell me his product the minute he opened his mouth. A good salesman should know his customers. For some odd reason, this guy thinks my name is "Mazucca" and calls out to me, asking, "Hey Mazucca, you use Fusion razors? I got a load if you need them." I've had a number of guys on the street try to sell me everything from unbreakable drinking glasses (well, he said so, but wouldn't bang the mouth of the glass against his tailgate when I asked), pot, paper-thin shirts, whatever. But the first-ever time I found a neighborhood razor salesman.
Anyhow, the very next day, by way of the US Postal Service, what did I get in the mail? Yeah, you got it. A free Gillette Fusion razor. Pretty nice razor too, it has five blades to make sure I get all the stubble. A plug for Gillette, I didn't nick myself at all when shaving with the Fusion, so you got my vote for the razor of the year. That was then. Gilette lost my endorsement when they started the toxic masculinity commercials. I now shave with an electric razor made by a Scandanavian company that probably has them manufactured in China, paying workers pennies a day.
Getting back to these "salesmen": I met them on a Wednesday, got my freebie on Thursday, and on Friday, my brother too got one in the mail. Maybe every male in the tri-state area males did. Or at least should have. So where did this guy get his load of Fusions? Maybe stole a load from the local post office or knew someone there who swiped them. Maybe they fell off the truck and landed at his feet, similar to the late Joey Coyle and his bags of cash. Who knows? But somewhere in South Philly, some knucklehead bought a Fusion or two at a deep discount, only to get one free the following day. Whatever happened to honest salesmen?
AND YOU MAY REMEMBER...
...The guys who used to try to sell you a VCR (or computer, or TV), but wouldn't allow you to open the box. "Bad for business, selling products in open cartons" they'd tell you. If you were foolish enough to buy them, I hope you enjoyed your carton of bricks. I've heard of a few guys who paid a hundred or so for them. My mom told me a few of her co-workers at the now-gone Holiday Inn at 10th & Packer were taken by this scam. They thought that she was a fool for not buying at a steep discount. That was until they opened the boxes and the blood drained from their faces.
My "favorite" scam was the guy who approached me while I was working in Center City in the early 90s during the clean-up after the Penn Mutual fire. He said he had a camcorder to sell. I asked to see it, expecting to find anything but electronics. "Can't open the box man" he told me. Said it was an 8mm VHS camera. "Which one?" I asked, "8mm or VHS?" "Yeah", that's the one" was his answer. He said he had to unload them quickly, the School District needed to clear their inventory and needed the cash. I could believe the school board was strapped for bucks, but since when does the Board of Education need to move inventory using street vendors? He got no sale from me that day.
But on the street, there are always "entepreneurs" who strive to make a buck however they can. As you read this, you may be thinking that I'm referring to the local street pharmacists who stand on corners or make deliveries to the neighborhood junkies to keep them from going into withdrawal. They're out there along with a host of people who need to learn what working for a living truly is like.
A number of years ago, I met a certain salesman on Oregon Avenue, trying to sell me something I got a day later for free. This guy failed to sell me his product the minute he opened his mouth. A good salesman should know his customers. For some odd reason, this guy thinks my name is "Mazucca" and calls out to me, asking, "Hey Mazucca, you use Fusion razors? I got a load if you need them." I've had a number of guys on the street try to sell me everything from unbreakable drinking glasses (well, he said so, but wouldn't bang the mouth of the glass against his tailgate when I asked), pot, paper-thin shirts, whatever. But the first-ever time I found a neighborhood razor salesman.
Anyhow, the very next day, by way of the US Postal Service, what did I get in the mail? Yeah, you got it. A free Gillette Fusion razor. Pretty nice razor too, it has five blades to make sure I get all the stubble. A plug for Gillette, I didn't nick myself at all when shaving with the Fusion, so you got my vote for the razor of the year. That was then. Gilette lost my endorsement when they started the toxic masculinity commercials. I now shave with an electric razor made by a Scandanavian company that probably has them manufactured in China, paying workers pennies a day.
Getting back to these "salesmen": I met them on a Wednesday, got my freebie on Thursday, and on Friday, my brother too got one in the mail. Maybe every male in the tri-state area males did. Or at least should have. So where did this guy get his load of Fusions? Maybe stole a load from the local post office or knew someone there who swiped them. Maybe they fell off the truck and landed at his feet, similar to the late Joey Coyle and his bags of cash. Who knows? But somewhere in South Philly, some knucklehead bought a Fusion or two at a deep discount, only to get one free the following day. Whatever happened to honest salesmen?
AND YOU MAY REMEMBER...
...The guys who used to try to sell you a VCR (or computer, or TV), but wouldn't allow you to open the box. "Bad for business, selling products in open cartons" they'd tell you. If you were foolish enough to buy them, I hope you enjoyed your carton of bricks. I've heard of a few guys who paid a hundred or so for them. My mom told me a few of her co-workers at the now-gone Holiday Inn at 10th & Packer were taken by this scam. They thought that she was a fool for not buying at a steep discount. That was until they opened the boxes and the blood drained from their faces.
My "favorite" scam was the guy who approached me while I was working in Center City in the early 90s during the clean-up after the Penn Mutual fire. He said he had a camcorder to sell. I asked to see it, expecting to find anything but electronics. "Can't open the box man" he told me. Said it was an 8mm VHS camera. "Which one?" I asked, "8mm or VHS?" "Yeah", that's the one" was his answer. He said he had to unload them quickly, the School District needed to clear their inventory and needed the cash. I could believe the school board was strapped for bucks, but since when does the Board of Education need to move inventory using street vendors? He got no sale from me that day.
Saturday, November 09, 2019
Cartoons in the Afternoon (and in the Morning too!)
Long ago and faraway, there was a time when kids had a vast selection of cartoons to choose from when they came home from school. When you turn on the TV today, where are the toons? With the exception of the Cartoon Network, and The Simpsons, The Family Guy, and King of the Hill (the last three more adult-oriented), there isn't much in the way of cartoons today.
Up through at least the late 70's - and probably later than that - the Philadelphia stations that fill the afternoons with their judge programs like Judge Judy and Divorce Court (Channel 29), and "talk" shows (Channel 17 with their Maury and Steve Wilkos shows) once had the hours from 2:00 through 5:00 dedicated to entertaining kids. Parents knew when their kids came home from school, they were able to sit down to watch harmless programming. At least in those days it was harmless. With so many people beating the politically-correct drum today, many of the toons that we knew and loved will never be seen on-screen again short of maybe YouTube. I understand that some are racially-insensitive, but some of the World War II-era cartoons were produced partly with a propaganda element and have some historical value, at least to those who understand the era. They would go over the heads of younger people. Add to that lineup the now-defunct WKBS, Channel 48, and they had their choice of many cartoon shows. They may not have gotten their homework done after school, but at least they weren't getting an eyeful of trash.
For the kids yet too young to go to school, there were programs in the AM too. Channel 6 - then WFIL TV - had both Sally Starr's Popeye Theater and the Happy the Clown programs. (It was alleged that Happy was a nasty fellow who would berate the kids during commercial breaks - obscenities included - then come back on the air full of smiles for the viewing audience. I've heard that from a few folks, but one source, a late friend of my mother's, was very reliable. She said she took her kids to be part of the peanut gallery one fine day, and would never bring them back). I don't believe the other two VHF stations had kids programming, but for at least an hour, the young ones had something to watch besides Good Morning America in the a.m. or two-and-a-half hours of Action News starting at 4:00 p.m. It seems we're being overloaded with the news lately, especially when they sometimes include things that aren't really news.
AND YOU MAY REMEMBER...
... Dr. Don Rose, the DJ from then-popular AM top-40s station WFIL, keeping kiddies occupied during commercial breaks with his cornball quips on Channel 48. Along with various cartoons, this station also broadcasted the Our Gang/Little Rascals comedies of the 30s and 40s.
... Looney Toons filling a good part of the afternoon on WTAF-TV, Channel 29, and Tom and Jerry on another.
... Wee Willie Webber, the uncle-like moderator of programs on WPHL-17. That channel had shows like Astro Boy, Ultra Man, and George of the Jungle.
... Saturday morning cartoons. Every one of the big-three networks had them, going through noon. Now they're long-gone. For kids, it was a big thing when they announced the new cartoon line-ups every September.
What old afternoon cartoon programs did I miss? Which were your favorites? Let me know in the comments.
Up through at least the late 70's - and probably later than that - the Philadelphia stations that fill the afternoons with their judge programs like Judge Judy and Divorce Court (Channel 29), and "talk" shows (Channel 17 with their Maury and Steve Wilkos shows) once had the hours from 2:00 through 5:00 dedicated to entertaining kids. Parents knew when their kids came home from school, they were able to sit down to watch harmless programming. At least in those days it was harmless. With so many people beating the politically-correct drum today, many of the toons that we knew and loved will never be seen on-screen again short of maybe YouTube. I understand that some are racially-insensitive, but some of the World War II-era cartoons were produced partly with a propaganda element and have some historical value, at least to those who understand the era. They would go over the heads of younger people. Add to that lineup the now-defunct WKBS, Channel 48, and they had their choice of many cartoon shows. They may not have gotten their homework done after school, but at least they weren't getting an eyeful of trash.
For the kids yet too young to go to school, there were programs in the AM too. Channel 6 - then WFIL TV - had both Sally Starr's Popeye Theater and the Happy the Clown programs. (It was alleged that Happy was a nasty fellow who would berate the kids during commercial breaks - obscenities included - then come back on the air full of smiles for the viewing audience. I've heard that from a few folks, but one source, a late friend of my mother's, was very reliable. She said she took her kids to be part of the peanut gallery one fine day, and would never bring them back). I don't believe the other two VHF stations had kids programming, but for at least an hour, the young ones had something to watch besides Good Morning America in the a.m. or two-and-a-half hours of Action News starting at 4:00 p.m. It seems we're being overloaded with the news lately, especially when they sometimes include things that aren't really news.
AND YOU MAY REMEMBER...
... Dr. Don Rose, the DJ from then-popular AM top-40s station WFIL, keeping kiddies occupied during commercial breaks with his cornball quips on Channel 48. Along with various cartoons, this station also broadcasted the Our Gang/Little Rascals comedies of the 30s and 40s.
... Looney Toons filling a good part of the afternoon on WTAF-TV, Channel 29, and Tom and Jerry on another.
... Wee Willie Webber, the uncle-like moderator of programs on WPHL-17. That channel had shows like Astro Boy, Ultra Man, and George of the Jungle.
... Saturday morning cartoons. Every one of the big-three networks had them, going through noon. Now they're long-gone. For kids, it was a big thing when they announced the new cartoon line-ups every September.
What old afternoon cartoon programs did I miss? Which were your favorites? Let me know in the comments.
Wednesday, October 30, 2019
Mischief Night "Fun"
One of the rites-of-passage of growing up in South Philly was participating in the "fun" of Mischief Night. Just about every kid who hung out on the streets at some time or another took the time to make the lives of neighbors and strangers alike miserable on the night of October 30th. We all looked forward to it, some talked more about this night that they did about Halloween.
Come sundown, so many of us were out on the street and ready to roll, armed with an arsenal of soap, shaving cream, and eggs. If anyone used anything else, they didn't hang around with us. I wouldn't doubt that some more-sinister characters took to using rocks or nails, or as they did in Camden or Detroit, use fire to create much more than mischief. In those cities, the appropriate name was called Devil's Night. During the worst of those years, these cities suffered terribly, losing many homes and other structures to the flames of arsonists and leaving much property destroyed; some of it to this day. But that's Camden and Detroit. We grew up in South Philly, and no such things took place here.
Some were so eager, they made shopping trips ahead of time so that they had everything they needed. You could go into any supermarket and buy dozens of eggs at any age, no questions asked. In later years, you could only purchase a dozen or two or they would flag you at the checkout line. No excuses that you were preparing well ahead of time to dye eggs for the annual Easter Egg hunt. You'd think shaving cream would raise the red flag, especially for the youngest of miscreants. Not too many 12-year olds take a razor to their faces, but even as stores got more vigilant, that was never an issue.
The police stepped up patrol from late afternoon on Mischief Night, making sure that they had a handle on things. Or so they thought. Anyone who had got caught one year found ways to prevent getting nailed the next time around. One of the tactics cops used to foil egg throwers was pat them down. Actually, it was more like slapping, ensuring a mess in their pockets. I remember a cop questioning my friends and me on where our eggs were. He wouldn't accept our telling him that we had none. With a big grin, he said, "No eggs? You guys don't have any on you right now?", and proceeded to smack our jacket and pants pockets. His grin faded as he heard no crackling or felt anything as he slapped away. Little did he know that they were sitting in the alley just a few feet from where we stood, waiting to be lobbed at windows or cars. Just to be sure, he circled the block and came back around. When he was convinced we were just hanging around, he left us alone, and we set off on doing the things stupid kids do when they think it's cool to aggravate or cause "mischief" for those around them.
Not all of the neighbors just sat and took it. Once in a while, you'd find someone who made you pay for your actions. One of our neighbors, a man named Joe - we called him Chick, a shortened version of his last name - heard them coming. A group of teens maybe 12 or 15 in all came running up Chadwick Street lobbing eggs at every window through the middle of the block. That's where Chick lived. He sprung out the door just as the last few guys ran by and grabbed one of the last of them. He told another neighbor to grab a ladder and had his wife grab a bucket and mop and other supplies and had the one unfortunate egg-thrower clean up every window that they egged. That boy was literally crying his eyes out, but Chick told him he wasn't leaving until he was done. A number of other neighbors stood with him, arms crossed, making sure he didn't bolt. The rest of us stood around for a while and gawked as some of the men mocked "Where's your friends now?" I don't know what was worse for that boy, having to clean up alone, or having to hear the guys in school the next day rib him about being the slow one who couldn't get away. We never got snagged, and no one ever saw us and told our parents of our mischief, at least not on these nights. I admit that I had caused some problems during my teen years. I suppose there is a number who are reading this who will say the same thing, even going on Mischief Night bombing runs. Then we grew up and became responsible adults. Well, most have. For a few, the mischief is gone, but grasping responsibility was a hard thing to handle.
It seems Mischief Night is just a memory now, and that's a good thing. What seems fun as a kid is seen as foolish as you get older, especially if your property is marred by the nastiness. I'd be angry if some kid ran by and chucked an orb at my house, or scrawled with soap on my car window. I think the supermarket crackdowns were the beginning of the end of mischief night. The first few years, kids would buy ahead of time. But you can't stack dozens of eggs in the fridge without arousing your parents' suspicions. And you can't hide lots of cartons in your room without it being too cold in there. What to do? Well, not much. So the tradition dies out. Up through the '90s, a number of men would sit outside our church on this night to prevent damage, and we would see kids pass by with a look that said they were up to something. Today, no one even thinks about it. It's a non-issue. I suppose it wouldn't be wise for parents to tell their kids about their exploits, tempting them to take up the tradition, at least with just a dozen or two eggs. To do so would risk taking a beating or worse these days. But for those of us who took part in the mischief, we had a lot of laughs. Well, it was funny at the time. Thankfully, we grew up - and times have changed.
Come sundown, so many of us were out on the street and ready to roll, armed with an arsenal of soap, shaving cream, and eggs. If anyone used anything else, they didn't hang around with us. I wouldn't doubt that some more-sinister characters took to using rocks or nails, or as they did in Camden or Detroit, use fire to create much more than mischief. In those cities, the appropriate name was called Devil's Night. During the worst of those years, these cities suffered terribly, losing many homes and other structures to the flames of arsonists and leaving much property destroyed; some of it to this day. But that's Camden and Detroit. We grew up in South Philly, and no such things took place here.
Some were so eager, they made shopping trips ahead of time so that they had everything they needed. You could go into any supermarket and buy dozens of eggs at any age, no questions asked. In later years, you could only purchase a dozen or two or they would flag you at the checkout line. No excuses that you were preparing well ahead of time to dye eggs for the annual Easter Egg hunt. You'd think shaving cream would raise the red flag, especially for the youngest of miscreants. Not too many 12-year olds take a razor to their faces, but even as stores got more vigilant, that was never an issue.
The police stepped up patrol from late afternoon on Mischief Night, making sure that they had a handle on things. Or so they thought. Anyone who had got caught one year found ways to prevent getting nailed the next time around. One of the tactics cops used to foil egg throwers was pat them down. Actually, it was more like slapping, ensuring a mess in their pockets. I remember a cop questioning my friends and me on where our eggs were. He wouldn't accept our telling him that we had none. With a big grin, he said, "No eggs? You guys don't have any on you right now?", and proceeded to smack our jacket and pants pockets. His grin faded as he heard no crackling or felt anything as he slapped away. Little did he know that they were sitting in the alley just a few feet from where we stood, waiting to be lobbed at windows or cars. Just to be sure, he circled the block and came back around. When he was convinced we were just hanging around, he left us alone, and we set off on doing the things stupid kids do when they think it's cool to aggravate or cause "mischief" for those around them.
Not all of the neighbors just sat and took it. Once in a while, you'd find someone who made you pay for your actions. One of our neighbors, a man named Joe - we called him Chick, a shortened version of his last name - heard them coming. A group of teens maybe 12 or 15 in all came running up Chadwick Street lobbing eggs at every window through the middle of the block. That's where Chick lived. He sprung out the door just as the last few guys ran by and grabbed one of the last of them. He told another neighbor to grab a ladder and had his wife grab a bucket and mop and other supplies and had the one unfortunate egg-thrower clean up every window that they egged. That boy was literally crying his eyes out, but Chick told him he wasn't leaving until he was done. A number of other neighbors stood with him, arms crossed, making sure he didn't bolt. The rest of us stood around for a while and gawked as some of the men mocked "Where's your friends now?" I don't know what was worse for that boy, having to clean up alone, or having to hear the guys in school the next day rib him about being the slow one who couldn't get away. We never got snagged, and no one ever saw us and told our parents of our mischief, at least not on these nights. I admit that I had caused some problems during my teen years. I suppose there is a number who are reading this who will say the same thing, even going on Mischief Night bombing runs. Then we grew up and became responsible adults. Well, most have. For a few, the mischief is gone, but grasping responsibility was a hard thing to handle.
It seems Mischief Night is just a memory now, and that's a good thing. What seems fun as a kid is seen as foolish as you get older, especially if your property is marred by the nastiness. I'd be angry if some kid ran by and chucked an orb at my house, or scrawled with soap on my car window. I think the supermarket crackdowns were the beginning of the end of mischief night. The first few years, kids would buy ahead of time. But you can't stack dozens of eggs in the fridge without arousing your parents' suspicions. And you can't hide lots of cartons in your room without it being too cold in there. What to do? Well, not much. So the tradition dies out. Up through the '90s, a number of men would sit outside our church on this night to prevent damage, and we would see kids pass by with a look that said they were up to something. Today, no one even thinks about it. It's a non-issue. I suppose it wouldn't be wise for parents to tell their kids about their exploits, tempting them to take up the tradition, at least with just a dozen or two eggs. To do so would risk taking a beating or worse these days. But for those of us who took part in the mischief, we had a lot of laughs. Well, it was funny at the time. Thankfully, we grew up - and times have changed.
Saturday, October 19, 2019
Where Have the Five-and-Ten Stores Gone?
This post is brand new, inspired by a photo I saw of a Woolworth's lunch counter. That got the memories going. We had the honor of having at least three (at least that I can think of) "five-and-ten", or five and dime stores in South Philly, and many in other parts of the city. There was G.C. Murphy down at 20th & Oregon, and F.W. Woolworth and S.S. Kresge's at Broad & Snyder. Those last two stores were in an area known for shopping back in the day until thefastfood restaurants amd the vagrants came panhandling to make our hard-earned money their easy-gotten change. That's if you're willing to give it to them. But back when these stores were there, none of that was going on.
Back then, the term "five'and-ten" was part of the American lexicon. You'd either have to be visiting from overseas or else lost in space if you didn't know what those stores were. If you ask a young person today about them, you're sure to get a reply of "five-and-what?". They'd have no clue.
While they were still among us, you could find just about any type of low-xostitem here. My grandmother would often visit to pick up skeins of wool to crochet blankets. I can't ever her not making one, starting another almost immediately finishing one. Many people in the neighborhood would be recipients of her kindness. As I wrote earlier about TV repairmen, you could often save a service call by bringing your TV tubes there to test and buy new ones to replace the bad. You could buy records, goldfish, Halloween candy, Christmas decorations, or just about anything you wanted or needed at these stores.
And then there were the lunch counters. Anyone who was around during that era ate at the dime store lunch counter, even if for only a hot dog and a soda or a lemonade from that ever-flowing dispenser. Kids would consider it a treat when mom brought them out shopping and stopped there to get a bite. At times, you would get a surprise there. While we were working the One Meridian Plaza job after the fire, we were eating lunch in the trailer when one guy Doug who was sent here from Ohio was eating chicken wings from Woolworth's lunch counter. I mentioned the incendiary smell of them when Doug said "They're not so hot, go ahead and try a couple." My description of the aroma matched where I'd imagine they'd be on the Scoville heat scale, only beaten in my experience in a hospital cafeteria while working a number of years later. Yep, those lunch counters were iconic, whether it's in your memories or in history as in the protest at a Woolworth's in Greensboro, SC. If you try hard enough, your nose just might just remember that smell.
Where did those five-and-tens go? Like with anything, time and economics have their way and institutions become memories. The value of money being what it is, I imagine that they gave way to what are known as dollar stores today. But where the earlier stores were kept nice and tidy, I've rarely been in a dollar store that was well-kept. Between the customers who pick up items in one place and just toss them anywhere to some employees who have no pride in their jobs, they are often a mess. But it also depends on the store, with some managers and employees having more care than others. The messy ones would have misters Woolworth, Kresge, McCrory, Murphy, and others turning in their mausoleums.
There are still some of these stores in the U.S., but you're going to be driving awhile if you want to visit one. I found this site from 2015, and I would think they're still alive.
https://www.wideopencountry.com/five-and-dime-stores/
AND YOU MAY REMEMBER...
...In the days before everyone had cars, your mom taking you with her for walks to the stores. She'd make it worth the trip by buying you something until you became old enough to say "I don't want to go." You were old enough to say it, nut mom had her say until yo hit your teens and she'd let you go off with your friends.
...Some store managers who were barely out of their teens and were made assistant managers at some stores. Murphy's had a young man who liked to strut around and show his "authority", often hassling my friends and I, following us around the store and telling us to get what we need and get out.
...S.S Kresge stores having a baby. It's name was... anybody, anybody... KMart. It still survives somewhat today, merged with Sears. Both are abot to become memories themselves.
Famous fin trivia for when Pete Rose signed with the Phillies, the then-Mrs. Rose asked, "Do they have a KMart there?"
...Alternative stores like Blair's and Jerry's corner. Were they actually stores, or places with different merchants operating different businesses from within? I've only been to each a few times, so I don't remember them well.
...Renel's near 23rd & Oregon Avenue. Not a five-and-ten, but memorable for hearing the balls rolling over your head at the upstairs Oregon Lanes as you shopped.
Back then, the term "five'and-ten" was part of the American lexicon. You'd either have to be visiting from overseas or else lost in space if you didn't know what those stores were. If you ask a young person today about them, you're sure to get a reply of "five-and-what?". They'd have no clue.
While they were still among us, you could find just about any type of low-xostitem here. My grandmother would often visit to pick up skeins of wool to crochet blankets. I can't ever her not making one, starting another almost immediately finishing one. Many people in the neighborhood would be recipients of her kindness. As I wrote earlier about TV repairmen, you could often save a service call by bringing your TV tubes there to test and buy new ones to replace the bad. You could buy records, goldfish, Halloween candy, Christmas decorations, or just about anything you wanted or needed at these stores.
And then there were the lunch counters. Anyone who was around during that era ate at the dime store lunch counter, even if for only a hot dog and a soda or a lemonade from that ever-flowing dispenser. Kids would consider it a treat when mom brought them out shopping and stopped there to get a bite. At times, you would get a surprise there. While we were working the One Meridian Plaza job after the fire, we were eating lunch in the trailer when one guy Doug who was sent here from Ohio was eating chicken wings from Woolworth's lunch counter. I mentioned the incendiary smell of them when Doug said "They're not so hot, go ahead and try a couple." My description of the aroma matched where I'd imagine they'd be on the Scoville heat scale, only beaten in my experience in a hospital cafeteria while working a number of years later. Yep, those lunch counters were iconic, whether it's in your memories or in history as in the protest at a Woolworth's in Greensboro, SC. If you try hard enough, your nose just might just remember that smell.
Where did those five-and-tens go? Like with anything, time and economics have their way and institutions become memories. The value of money being what it is, I imagine that they gave way to what are known as dollar stores today. But where the earlier stores were kept nice and tidy, I've rarely been in a dollar store that was well-kept. Between the customers who pick up items in one place and just toss them anywhere to some employees who have no pride in their jobs, they are often a mess. But it also depends on the store, with some managers and employees having more care than others. The messy ones would have misters Woolworth, Kresge, McCrory, Murphy, and others turning in their mausoleums.
There are still some of these stores in the U.S., but you're going to be driving awhile if you want to visit one. I found this site from 2015, and I would think they're still alive.
https://www.wideopencountry.com/five-and-dime-stores/
AND YOU MAY REMEMBER...
...In the days before everyone had cars, your mom taking you with her for walks to the stores. She'd make it worth the trip by buying you something until you became old enough to say "I don't want to go." You were old enough to say it, nut mom had her say until yo hit your teens and she'd let you go off with your friends.
...Some store managers who were barely out of their teens and were made assistant managers at some stores. Murphy's had a young man who liked to strut around and show his "authority", often hassling my friends and I, following us around the store and telling us to get what we need and get out.
...S.S Kresge stores having a baby. It's name was... anybody, anybody... KMart. It still survives somewhat today, merged with Sears. Both are abot to become memories themselves.
Famous fin trivia for when Pete Rose signed with the Phillies, the then-Mrs. Rose asked, "Do they have a KMart there?"
...Alternative stores like Blair's and Jerry's corner. Were they actually stores, or places with different merchants operating different businesses from within? I've only been to each a few times, so I don't remember them well.
...Renel's near 23rd & Oregon Avenue. Not a five-and-ten, but memorable for hearing the balls rolling over your head at the upstairs Oregon Lanes as you shopped.
Sunday, October 13, 2019
The Philadelphia Naval Hospital
Photos © 2001 by Brian Bennett. All rights reserved, use without permission and credit is prohibited. Permission is granted to those using photos in personal blogs where no financial gain is made from sale or use of these photos. Click on photos to enlarge.
That slick site you now see west of Broad Street on Pattison Avenue wasn't always a practice facility for the Philadelphia Eagles. What's now known as the "Novacare Complex" (corporations get to buy their way into naming just about everything sports-related these days) was once the Philadelphia Naval Hospital. Younger area residents will remember it as an old building that seemed to stand vacant, gathering cobwebs and dust. But for us who have a few years behind us, we know that it was a premier facility for treating troops of every military service, especially during the Vietnam War. This hospital had one of the top programs for prosthetic limbs nationwide, and some of the top surgeons in that field. Today, it's just a memory. Which brings us to this post.
I remember back during it's heyday my uncle Pat was a patient at the Naval Hospital. He suffered from late-stage lung cancer, succumbing to it in the late 1960s. Uncle Pat was a master sergeant in the US Air Force stationed in Dover, DE at the base there. Out of tragedies come good things, and the one good thing that came out of his illness was that we got to meet my aunt Ruby and my cousins Barbara, Schelle, and Tracy, and later Patty, Butch, and Dale who were older. My brother, sister, and I had not yet met them until his illness brought him go Philly.
Being able to get on the grounds of the hospital as a kid with their family, you could see it was a big, busy place. And while it was a place where people went because of suffering wounds and illnesses, you could see it was a grand art-deco structure. Buildings like that just aren't made today. At best you get faux art-deco with a lot of glass and steel, but not the real McCoy.
I went to watch the end of the Philadelphia Naval Hospital, to witness the implosion that would bring it down. I've always seen implosions on TV, but this one was in walking distance from my home, so I just had to go and photograph it. Well, the best laid plans of mice and men sometimes go awry. For me, it happened at the hands of an ignorant, misinformed Philadelphia Police officer. That woman made my set plans go awry.
I had it all scoped out. I had checked out vantage points earlier in the week, finding a great spot at 16th & Packer Avenue. There you could see straight down to the hospital with an unobstructed view, dead-on. Firing quickly, I could have captured the fall of that building and had a great sequence of shots. As I set up my tripod and started mounting the camera, Officer Know-It-All came up to me and told me I had to move. As she told it, the area I chose was the viewing area for former hospital employees and neighbors. Yet there were no viewing stands, no police lines, no nothing to indicate it was an official area of any type. An older man came to join me and wanted to witness the implosion from that site too. Again, our erstwhile officer tells us we'd have to go, repeating that only neighbors and former employees could stand there. "Plus", she said, "someone standing here could be hurt". Whether she was talking about from flying debris, the concussion of the blast, or her own foolishness remained to be seen. Just as I was about to protest, the older gentleman said, "What about you? Are you going to stand here and risk getting hurt?" She wasn't pleased. I set her over the top when I asked her why neighbors and ex-employees would be put in harms way. "If you don't get out of here right now, I'm waving that (police) wagon over and you're both going to the police station!" she yelled. What to do? If we stay, we're going into the wagon, and we miss the implosion. Best just to move on down the road.
I made my way over to Broad & Geary, finding a spot to watch, but not a great one. It would have to do, as we were only a few minutes away from implosion time. I didn't even have time for the tripod, I would have to shoot hand-held and risk movement, or else lose the shot. And so, we watched the fall of a great institution on that early spring Saturday morning, June 9, 2001. The few memories I have of that place are etched in my mind, and the few photos of the implosion are found here.
AND YOU MAY REMEMBER...
...The Philadelphia Naval Shipyard in it's heyday. The yard still stands, although not fully as a military facility. As time marches on, more businesses are occupying the Naval Business Center and the Kavaerner shipyard (or whoever runs it now) continues to slowly crank out ships. Thousands of men and women worked there during WWII building and maintaining warships. Now the only naval ships are those mothballed waiting to become razor blades or whatever else they'll someday use the scrap for.
...The Defense Support & Supply Center - aka "The Quartermaster" complex. Another once-extremely busy military facility. You could stand on the corner of 20th & Oregon and watch bus after bus full of employees empty out and huge masses of bodies stream towards the gates on any given morning. There they made and distributed things like uniforms, medical supplies, and battlefield rations for our troops. The center made it to the presidential list of facilities for base excellence, as it was recognized for it's efficiency and quality. Recognition sometimes means nothing. A year after Bill Clinton recognized it, the government announced it would close, and since has. Now the center has become a retail shopping center at 23rd St. and a light industrial/manufacturing area. Some of the base still remains vacant to this day.
Saturday, October 05, 2019
Scooters and Go-Carts, South Philly Style
Ah, the wonderful world of plastic! Just about everything is made of it now, to where it's ended up polluting just about every ocean to the city street. With it comes the arguments: Ban the use of certain items like bags and straws or hold people responsible for using it and disposing of it. Those are arguments for other places. You'll find plenty of websites to argue your point.
Kids today have been ruined by plastics. What kid today builds his or her own scooter or go-cart? For that matter, who builds anything fun for themselves anymore? Of course, at that time, it was mainly a boys thing. Sometime during the 1970s, the Big Wheel hit the toy markets, and it was the beginning of the end of kids making their own ride from junk. Soon, there would be all kinds of peddling and battery-powered kids vehicles. During summertime days, we'd look forward to trash day, and no, we weren't crazy. Even in late spring or early- autumn, we'd make time after school. We had the opportunity to find things to use to build our rides. They weren't handsome-looking, but it gave us a chance to have some fun and at the same time, we learned how to make things, and which tools did what.
If you're a child from the mid-seventies or older, you probably built one or more yourself. We used to scour the trash outside of people's homes on Wednesday, looking for material to build our go-carts and scooters. Or, we would go down the basement to see what we could find to put one together. One guy would provide the wheels, another the 2x4s and other choice trash. But we all worked together and got one built, then ran it into the ground until it fell apart. There were times when we built a few, and had or mothers asking "Where are you going to put that thing?" Our thoughts were the basement or back yard, while they were thinking "not in my house". They sometimes gave in, or else you'd take the risk of leaving it outside and someone taking it. And that was another great thing. We learned to work together and pool our resources. It wasn't ever boy for himself. The wheels were usually an old pair of our own roller skates. You remember the kind that went on top of your sneakers? Yep, those types of skates. The ones you needed a skate key to tighten. We were fortunate to find bigger wheels sometimes from discarded shopping carts or baby buggies and strollers for go-carts, but usually, it was the skates that got us rolling with scooters.
The bodies were again sometimes found in the trash, but sometimes they were pilfered from outside a nearby grocery store, but most times the store owner was willing to part with something. The bodies of our go-carts were sometimes produce crates or metal milk crates stacked. Much better than the produce crates that would fall apart after one or two collisions with something.
Some parents should get together and teach their kids the lost art of building scooters. Maybe have Boy Scout (sorry, I'm showing my age here, just Scout now) or Cub Scout dens or some other community groups have projects in building them and showing them off. There are so many modern materials to use, a kid could build something really funky. Then again, what to use for wheels? With the evolution of roller skates going from keyed models to the booted-types to roller blades, something else needs to replace the old skates. We're creative and industrious. Well, we can be, if we're willing. Dad's or grandfathers, get busy. It's times like this that I would like to have a couple of kids to show them what life was like, including building scooters. It's a bummer when some things just aren't possible. But oh, it would be nice! Now get busy!
Kids today have been ruined by plastics. What kid today builds his or her own scooter or go-cart? For that matter, who builds anything fun for themselves anymore? Of course, at that time, it was mainly a boys thing. Sometime during the 1970s, the Big Wheel hit the toy markets, and it was the beginning of the end of kids making their own ride from junk. Soon, there would be all kinds of peddling and battery-powered kids vehicles. During summertime days, we'd look forward to trash day, and no, we weren't crazy. Even in late spring or early- autumn, we'd make time after school. We had the opportunity to find things to use to build our rides. They weren't handsome-looking, but it gave us a chance to have some fun and at the same time, we learned how to make things, and which tools did what.
If you're a child from the mid-seventies or older, you probably built one or more yourself. We used to scour the trash outside of people's homes on Wednesday, looking for material to build our go-carts and scooters. Or, we would go down the basement to see what we could find to put one together. One guy would provide the wheels, another the 2x4s and other choice trash. But we all worked together and got one built, then ran it into the ground until it fell apart. There were times when we built a few, and had or mothers asking "Where are you going to put that thing?" Our thoughts were the basement or back yard, while they were thinking "not in my house". They sometimes gave in, or else you'd take the risk of leaving it outside and someone taking it. And that was another great thing. We learned to work together and pool our resources. It wasn't ever boy for himself. The wheels were usually an old pair of our own roller skates. You remember the kind that went on top of your sneakers? Yep, those types of skates. The ones you needed a skate key to tighten. We were fortunate to find bigger wheels sometimes from discarded shopping carts or baby buggies and strollers for go-carts, but usually, it was the skates that got us rolling with scooters.
The bodies were again sometimes found in the trash, but sometimes they were pilfered from outside a nearby grocery store, but most times the store owner was willing to part with something. The bodies of our go-carts were sometimes produce crates or metal milk crates stacked. Much better than the produce crates that would fall apart after one or two collisions with something.
Some parents should get together and teach their kids the lost art of building scooters. Maybe have Boy Scout (sorry, I'm showing my age here, just Scout now) or Cub Scout dens or some other community groups have projects in building them and showing them off. There are so many modern materials to use, a kid could build something really funky. Then again, what to use for wheels? With the evolution of roller skates going from keyed models to the booted-types to roller blades, something else needs to replace the old skates. We're creative and industrious. Well, we can be, if we're willing. Dad's or grandfathers, get busy. It's times like this that I would like to have a couple of kids to show them what life was like, including building scooters. It's a bummer when some things just aren't possible. But oh, it would be nice! Now get busy!
Photo found at Old Images of Philadelphia
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Saturday, September 21, 2019
Neighborhood Record Stores
"I see you sent my letters back, and my LP records and they're all scratched..."
From 'I Can't Stand Losing You' by the Police
One of the things that have constantly evolved is the way we buy our music. If you're as old as I am, you remember buying 45 RPM records as a young kid and then LPs as you became a teen and grew older. You may even remember the first album that you bought. For me it was Stevie Wonder's "Innervisions" album, the one with "Superstition" and "Living for the City" on it. Maybe you were one of those who bought your sounds on 8-track tapes or later on cassette. If you're in your 20s or younger, all you'll probably remember are the CDs. downloading, and streaming. You've never had the pleasure of hearing a pop or click or the misfortune of buying an album and having to return it because of a long scratch that made the needle skip as the vinyl record turned repeatedly to that same spot.
If you're one of those from the CD/download era, that means you probably have no knowledge of neighborhood record stores either. Places where the guys who sold the records knew about the music they sold. And that's what you got there - records. No movies and other stuff, just music. Today you will be hard-pressed to find such a store. Even the mall stores like Sam Goody are long gone. The last places that I saw selling CDs were Best Buy, and that was some time ago. Being that I rarely get out anymore because of my disabilities, I don't know what's happening now. The last sign of actual physical media came when I was in Barnes & Noble a number of years ago. and I saw that they were selling - could it be? - 33 1/3 LPs! Like anything, what goes away someday comes back. Now audiophiles are buying records again, though the only bona fide record stores are the independents who sell mostly used LPs.I would think the places where the store clerks cold make good recommendations are long gone. Who knows? Maybe there are some surprises out there. There's always a surprise sitting out there waiting to be discovered.
AND YOU MAY REMEMBER...
...The local record stores here in South Philly. East Passyunk Avenue had two of them.All older neighborhood people remember Record Bar. There was another shop too, somewhere above Mifflin or Moore streets, but I can't remember the name if it would save my life.
...Remember Nick Petrella's on Snyder Avenue near Broad? My late Aunt Carmella used to tell me he was a talent scout, but I don't know if that was true. The Mario Lanza Museum was housed in the back of the store, and Mr. Petrella could often be seen sitting outside the store during the warmer months. Talent scout or no, from what I'm told he did know music.
...You may remember the chains and independents that are long-gone too. Remember Platters Ltd. on Chestnut St. near 10th? There were always punk rockers sitting outside that place. Maybe some were employees, but probably just music fans. Wall to Wall Sound and Listening Booth were to of the major chains back in the 70s, names now committed to record store history. I mentioned Sam Goody earlier. Then again, they're one of the mall stores where you usually wound up paying a few bucks more for an album than at the neighborhood joints.
...There was a big record store called Jerry's Records on Market St that went bust in the late '70s. I remember they had this blowout sale which was more of a teaser to get you in the door. They had a weekend where they sold albums for a buck, but when you got there it looked like they broke out the stock of albums from artists that no one heard of or wouldn't care to listen to. Shortly afterward, they were gone.
...But the granddaddy of them not a neighborhood store, but close enough to hop a bus or train to get to. Third Street Jazz & Rock stood on - you guessed it - 3rd Street just north of Market Street. You had to go to the basement if you were into rock music, and it was by no means like your mall or big box store with promotional displays and whatever. You found your artist's records by thumbing through racks with signs written in magic marker (do they still call them that, or are they simply known as Sharpies today?). If you wanted to know something about music, you asked and got an informed opinion. When I was 18, I worked loading trucks and packing cartons at the slipper factory above the old Stanley Hardware store on Market at Bank Street. Every Friday, almost without fail, my friend Professor and I would head to the bank at lunchtime to cash our measly pay checks. That meant that when quitting time came, we headed right over to Third Street Jazz and bought a few albums. Imports, bootlegs, hard to find artists, they had it all. But they're gone too.
What was the first album that you purchased? The last CD? And can anyone explain why anyone besides a kid would buy singles when there were so many great tunes on albums? You may buy the LP or CD on the strength of one song and find that you liked most if not all the songs. For most, those days are gone. Now people are buying individual songs online, but who knows for how long? I read recently that Apple may put iTunes to rest. Will the only remaining means of obtaining music through streaming services. I know the LPs are coming back, but are they re-releases of older albums or new music too? The mind wanders.
Originally published 01/08/2008 and updated.
From 'I Can't Stand Losing You' by the Police
One of the things that have constantly evolved is the way we buy our music. If you're as old as I am, you remember buying 45 RPM records as a young kid and then LPs as you became a teen and grew older. You may even remember the first album that you bought. For me it was Stevie Wonder's "Innervisions" album, the one with "Superstition" and "Living for the City" on it. Maybe you were one of those who bought your sounds on 8-track tapes or later on cassette. If you're in your 20s or younger, all you'll probably remember are the CDs. downloading, and streaming. You've never had the pleasure of hearing a pop or click or the misfortune of buying an album and having to return it because of a long scratch that made the needle skip as the vinyl record turned repeatedly to that same spot.
If you're one of those from the CD/download era, that means you probably have no knowledge of neighborhood record stores either. Places where the guys who sold the records knew about the music they sold. And that's what you got there - records. No movies and other stuff, just music. Today you will be hard-pressed to find such a store. Even the mall stores like Sam Goody are long gone. The last places that I saw selling CDs were Best Buy, and that was some time ago. Being that I rarely get out anymore because of my disabilities, I don't know what's happening now. The last sign of actual physical media came when I was in Barnes & Noble a number of years ago. and I saw that they were selling - could it be? - 33 1/3 LPs! Like anything, what goes away someday comes back. Now audiophiles are buying records again, though the only bona fide record stores are the independents who sell mostly used LPs.I would think the places where the store clerks cold make good recommendations are long gone. Who knows? Maybe there are some surprises out there. There's always a surprise sitting out there waiting to be discovered.
AND YOU MAY REMEMBER...
...The local record stores here in South Philly. East Passyunk Avenue had two of them.All older neighborhood people remember Record Bar. There was another shop too, somewhere above Mifflin or Moore streets, but I can't remember the name if it would save my life.
...Remember Nick Petrella's on Snyder Avenue near Broad? My late Aunt Carmella used to tell me he was a talent scout, but I don't know if that was true. The Mario Lanza Museum was housed in the back of the store, and Mr. Petrella could often be seen sitting outside the store during the warmer months. Talent scout or no, from what I'm told he did know music.
...You may remember the chains and independents that are long-gone too. Remember Platters Ltd. on Chestnut St. near 10th? There were always punk rockers sitting outside that place. Maybe some were employees, but probably just music fans. Wall to Wall Sound and Listening Booth were to of the major chains back in the 70s, names now committed to record store history. I mentioned Sam Goody earlier. Then again, they're one of the mall stores where you usually wound up paying a few bucks more for an album than at the neighborhood joints.
...There was a big record store called Jerry's Records on Market St that went bust in the late '70s. I remember they had this blowout sale which was more of a teaser to get you in the door. They had a weekend where they sold albums for a buck, but when you got there it looked like they broke out the stock of albums from artists that no one heard of or wouldn't care to listen to. Shortly afterward, they were gone.
...But the granddaddy of them not a neighborhood store, but close enough to hop a bus or train to get to. Third Street Jazz & Rock stood on - you guessed it - 3rd Street just north of Market Street. You had to go to the basement if you were into rock music, and it was by no means like your mall or big box store with promotional displays and whatever. You found your artist's records by thumbing through racks with signs written in magic marker (do they still call them that, or are they simply known as Sharpies today?). If you wanted to know something about music, you asked and got an informed opinion. When I was 18, I worked loading trucks and packing cartons at the slipper factory above the old Stanley Hardware store on Market at Bank Street. Every Friday, almost without fail, my friend Professor and I would head to the bank at lunchtime to cash our measly pay checks. That meant that when quitting time came, we headed right over to Third Street Jazz and bought a few albums. Imports, bootlegs, hard to find artists, they had it all. But they're gone too.
What was the first album that you purchased? The last CD? And can anyone explain why anyone besides a kid would buy singles when there were so many great tunes on albums? You may buy the LP or CD on the strength of one song and find that you liked most if not all the songs. For most, those days are gone. Now people are buying individual songs online, but who knows for how long? I read recently that Apple may put iTunes to rest. Will the only remaining means of obtaining music through streaming services. I know the LPs are coming back, but are they re-releases of older albums or new music too? The mind wanders.
Originally published 01/08/2008 and updated.
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