Young people today will never remember a time when they didn’t have a multitude of channels with nothing to watch. Bruce Springsteen sang in the early 90s about having fifty-seven channels with nothing on. Today it’s well over a hundred and still, it seems that there's not much to watch. Murder has become entertainment via shows like Dateline NBC, 48 Hours and 20/20. Half-hour informercials abound for things like air fryers and other kitchen gadgets that promise to be the last you'll ever need. Yet still, the manufacturers keep developing new machines. I can remember years ago all the health infomercials, including colon cleanses and books with remedies that they don't want you to know about. And you wonder why your wallet's lighter after the shows are over?
Back in the mid-’70s, the area west of Broad Street and I believe above Oregon was the test area for cable TV. No one else had it in the city, not Southwest, Northeast, not even parts of South Philly, including all of east of Broad Street. We were the lucky ones. Woo-hoo! So we felt we had bragging rights, though today, I'd say we're getting robbed.
What we had back then would probably be laughed off by today’s standards. There was no Smithsonian Network, StartTV, History, or CNN (gasp!) at the time. We basically had a few New York channels (WOR channel 9 and WPIX channel 11) and a few odd things in between. There was 24-hour cable news, but it was just text on-screen, provided by Reuters. It's how I found out that Elvis died. If you were one of the homes having it at the time, you’ll remember your “remote” was as big as a cigar box, with 15 buttons for channels and a rocker switch to go from the top tier to the bottom. Plus it had a tuning wheel to fine-tune your picture. And a 100-foot cord so you could change channels in the kitchen while getting it tangled on your trip to the fridge and back. It was really primitive: no voice remote, you still had to actually turn on the TV, but it worked for us. Telesystems was the company running the show at the time. It gave way to Greater Media, which was swallowed up later by Comcast, but I think there was another company that was somewhere between the last two. So much for the four franchises that the city was supposed to have. Comcast has just about everything wrapped up, or did until Verizon launched FiOS. Competition is a wonderful thing.
We got cable TV installed on the same day we got our first color TV back in the mid-70’s. We were always outside doing something, but not that day. We stayed inside and stayed glued to the tube. It was a big event for us. The cartoons were in color! That crazy weather guy in NY kept us laughing. Then, like everything else, we got bored of it and life returned to normal shortly afterward. At least the snow was gonesince we didn't need an antenna.
Not long after we got cable, HBO became available. It was there where we first heard obscenities coming off the tube, much to my mom’s chagrin. It was a movie called Law & Disorder with Carrol O’Connor and Ernest Borgnine on a Sunday evening. Mom was livid, threatening to get rid of HBO if that was what they were going to show. Dad didn’t care much about it, so he wanted to keep it. Dad won, or so some would say. I'm glad she wasn't home when we first saw Taxi Driver. My kind, friendly mother would have taken a torch to the whole thing and said goodbye to Travis Bickle! My thoughts today is that there’s not a need for profanity on TV or in movies. That’s a moral argument and my choice, but this is a blog about memories so we’ll not go there.
Kids, if you ever find yourself bored with TV, think of this…my earliest memories of TV was an old black & white Admiral TV with a tuning knob (?) – no remote controls (well my dad had one. He told us to change the channel, and we did). And we had only three channels (KYW 3; WFIL 6 – now WPVI, and public television, WHYY Channel 12). Our set didn’t even get CBS, which was Channel 10 at the time. It wasn’t until 1969 or 1970 that we got a Sears Silvertone console set that had – wonder of wonders – UHF channels! We finally had a selection of shows that we only heard of before.
That wouldn’t cut it for folks today, but it worked for us. Ah, simpler times!
AND YOU MAY REMEMBER…
... Back when a network's name reflected it's programming. History showed only historical programming, TLC was The Learning Channel without Dr. Pimple Popper, and AMC was American Movie Classics with old classic movies that my grandmother loved. Now it's anything goes.
... Doctor Shock’s horror movies on Saturday nights on channel 17. Who can forget his kid, Bubbles? Or Booth's Soda, his main sponsor?
... Mr. Gagliardi, my and many other young men's English teacher from Neumann hosting Cable Bingo.
... The Flyers channel after they won their first Stanley Cup. Neighborhood guys found you could get it free instead of paying for it by simply pressing two buttons on the remote at the same time. It morphed later into PRISM (Philadelphia Regional In-Home Sports and Movies), and was the first 24-hor station that I can remember.
... When stations signed off for the night with the national anthem.
... Test patterns that occupied the screen from signoff until around 6 AM when the channels signed on again. And then-obscure shows like Farm Report that you found on at 6:00 A.M. if you had to get up early for detention.
...And everyone's favorite UHF station at the time, Channel 48, WKBS, Wilmington/Philadelphia. Home of tons of toons and the Little Rascals by day, and Mary Hartmann and Fernwood/America Tonight and Night Gallery in the late evening. Channels 17 and 29 were alright, but 48 blew them out of the water. I'd say "off the airwaves", but the first two are still around while 48 is long-gone.
Saturday, September 14, 2019
Saturday, September 07, 2019
Remembering Uncle Virgie's and Other Old Neighborhood Luncheonettes
One of the staples of local South Philadelphia culture is the neighborhood luncheonette. There are still many places to grab a hoagie or cheesesteak or even a burger, but they don't have the character that many of us once knew. If all they have is a walk-up counter to place your order, it's just a sandwich shop. That's not to say the food's bad, but it's not a place where you're going to find yourself hanging around.
Back in the '60s and '70s though, a different type of luncheonette ruled the landscape. All of them had the metal signs above their storefronts from either Coca-Cola or Pepsi. The storefront windows were painted by sign painters with their names, just like grocery stores. They all had at least three booths to complement the stools at the counter, and all of them had jukeboxes with the latest in rock music, some with lots of kids or young adults hanging around.
Uncle Virgie's at 17th & Oregon was one of those luncheonettes. For the entire decade or so that I remember them being there, Uncle Virgie and Aunt Millie (no, they weren't family) ran the shop from opening to closing time. Both were great people who didn't mind kids making noise or hanging around longer than it took to eat their fries and have a Coke. This is the place where many neighborhood kids had our first cheesesteak or our first burger outside of our homes. We didn't know McDonald's or Burger King back then, and this was even before Geno's (20th & Moyamensing, long gone) became popular and then faded away. My brother, sister, and I along with a few friends were the younger of the grade school kids hanging around there, most of the others were in their late high school years or young adults.
Maybe Uncle Vergie was a little too tolerant, this was back in the '60s when drugs were becoming a recreational thing and the older guys were experimenting. Still, he didn't make a fuss and toss them even though it was general knowledge that there were some there who were high or dealing or both. It was never an issue until one night near the end of his run on the corner. After closing, the older guys would hang out on the corner, or in the apartment upstairs that was rented by one of the regulars. And then one of them ran afoul with a local biker gang, marring the peaceful atmosphere that we knew. Arrests were made, some were injured, and parents told the younger kids they couldn't go there. It wasn't the same place anymore.
Maybe we didn't do a whole heck of a lot there other than eating junk food and listen to music such as Steppenwolf, The Guess Who, the Stones, and other now-classic rock bands played on 45 rpm records in the old jukebox (kids, ask your parents to explain how they worked). But it was our place to go. The place and the people either had some character or were characters. It wasn't the mass-produced plastic interiors of today's fast-food joints, it was homey. And the food was better than what we know as fast food today. You don't find that combination too often anymore.
If you lived here, you probably had a place where you enjoyed spending the carefree day of your youth. It may have been a luncheonette or a rec center or somewhere else. Those places will always be a part of our lives and they often come up in conversations with friends. Wherever it was, if you enjoyed being there, it was your place. Most of us had more than one. When it came to the corner luncheonette, you could spend only so much time and cash eating the things we did.
AND YOU MAY REMEMBER...
...Ralph & Josie's - Bancroft & Shunk Streets. Closed in the mid-70s and became Mr. Ed's, the neighborhood nuisance because of the kids and the pinball machines.
...Frank & Tessie's - 18th & Shunk Streets. Tessie wore a house dress and was alleged to have placed more than a few hoagie rolls under her armpit while cooking up a steak, sending the customers elsewhere.
...Does anyone remember the name of the luncheonette at 16th & Oregon where the real estate office now sits? They had a waitress there who my mom nicknamed Pincushion. When I asked why that name, I got the usual parental "never mind" answer. I found out why later. The only things I can remember about that place is the location, the waitress, and a guy who hung around who seemed that he didn't want to say goodbye to the 1950s. He looked like the actor Bo Hopkins and wore a leather biker jacket and had a greasy ducktail haircut. How do I remember these things? I don't know! I wish I had this kind of memory for the important things in life. I;d be much better off. Maybe.
Originally published in 2006 and edited as the memories were brushed off.
Back in the '60s and '70s though, a different type of luncheonette ruled the landscape. All of them had the metal signs above their storefronts from either Coca-Cola or Pepsi. The storefront windows were painted by sign painters with their names, just like grocery stores. They all had at least three booths to complement the stools at the counter, and all of them had jukeboxes with the latest in rock music, some with lots of kids or young adults hanging around.
Uncle Virgie's at 17th & Oregon was one of those luncheonettes. For the entire decade or so that I remember them being there, Uncle Virgie and Aunt Millie (no, they weren't family) ran the shop from opening to closing time. Both were great people who didn't mind kids making noise or hanging around longer than it took to eat their fries and have a Coke. This is the place where many neighborhood kids had our first cheesesteak or our first burger outside of our homes. We didn't know McDonald's or Burger King back then, and this was even before Geno's (20th & Moyamensing, long gone) became popular and then faded away. My brother, sister, and I along with a few friends were the younger of the grade school kids hanging around there, most of the others were in their late high school years or young adults.
Maybe Uncle Vergie was a little too tolerant, this was back in the '60s when drugs were becoming a recreational thing and the older guys were experimenting. Still, he didn't make a fuss and toss them even though it was general knowledge that there were some there who were high or dealing or both. It was never an issue until one night near the end of his run on the corner. After closing, the older guys would hang out on the corner, or in the apartment upstairs that was rented by one of the regulars. And then one of them ran afoul with a local biker gang, marring the peaceful atmosphere that we knew. Arrests were made, some were injured, and parents told the younger kids they couldn't go there. It wasn't the same place anymore.
Maybe we didn't do a whole heck of a lot there other than eating junk food and listen to music such as Steppenwolf, The Guess Who, the Stones, and other now-classic rock bands played on 45 rpm records in the old jukebox (kids, ask your parents to explain how they worked). But it was our place to go. The place and the people either had some character or were characters. It wasn't the mass-produced plastic interiors of today's fast-food joints, it was homey. And the food was better than what we know as fast food today. You don't find that combination too often anymore.
If you lived here, you probably had a place where you enjoyed spending the carefree day of your youth. It may have been a luncheonette or a rec center or somewhere else. Those places will always be a part of our lives and they often come up in conversations with friends. Wherever it was, if you enjoyed being there, it was your place. Most of us had more than one. When it came to the corner luncheonette, you could spend only so much time and cash eating the things we did.
AND YOU MAY REMEMBER...
...Ralph & Josie's - Bancroft & Shunk Streets. Closed in the mid-70s and became Mr. Ed's, the neighborhood nuisance because of the kids and the pinball machines.
...Frank & Tessie's - 18th & Shunk Streets. Tessie wore a house dress and was alleged to have placed more than a few hoagie rolls under her armpit while cooking up a steak, sending the customers elsewhere.
...Does anyone remember the name of the luncheonette at 16th & Oregon where the real estate office now sits? They had a waitress there who my mom nicknamed Pincushion. When I asked why that name, I got the usual parental "never mind" answer. I found out why later. The only things I can remember about that place is the location, the waitress, and a guy who hung around who seemed that he didn't want to say goodbye to the 1950s. He looked like the actor Bo Hopkins and wore a leather biker jacket and had a greasy ducktail haircut. How do I remember these things? I don't know! I wish I had this kind of memory for the important things in life. I;d be much better off. Maybe.
Originally published in 2006 and edited as the memories were brushed off.
Saturday, August 31, 2019
Street Characters: Bob Burns:
Mr. Bob Burns (not to be confused with the late Lynyrd Skynyrd drummer) was one of the more visible characters here in South Philly, and he seemed to be everywhere. No, not at one time, but he got around. Bob was a local fixture who was a homeless man. He had an affection for quart bottles of beer before 40s became the size of choice for those who may find beer to be their sole reason to exist. You could find Bob and his quart sitting in the doorway of just about any business around, whether it be on Oregon Ave, Shunk St., West Passyunk Ave., Broad Street, Snyder Ave., wherever. His constant traveling companion was a guy the kids called "Drunken Joe" who lived on Bancroft before his passing. Bob and Joe would just sit for hours drinking their beer and discussing the critical issues of the day. Make that the issues were critical to them. Those issues may have been serious, but they probably centered around - what else? - beer. We'll never really know.
A few years ago, my cousin and I were talking about the characters we knew from living in South Philly. The first name he came up with was Bob Burns, and he told me a humorous story I had not heard before.
It turns out there was one former West Passyunk Avenue auto parts store owner who liked to "help" Bob whenever possible. That meant Bob was going to be on the wrong end of a practical joke whenever he offered hos assistance. On cold nights, the business owner offered Mr. Burns the use of his store to get a good, safe, night's sleep and get cleaned up. That meant locking him in overnight. When he returned one morning, the businessman gave Bob a shave to tidy him up. Much to Bob's dismay, he "dropped" the razor down the heating duct after shaving half of his face. Of course, he didn't have another one. So Bob walked around South Philly for a few days with one side of his face having thicker stubble than the other, one side totally smooth for the day. No photo is known to exist of Bob after that semi-shave. This wasn't the first or last joke played at Bob's expense, but whether because he was desperate or because he lacked common sense, he kept coming back; for a while anyhow. During one of Bob's sleep-overs, he decided to defecate on the store floor rather than use the toilet. Some may say that he ruined a good thing, losing shelter. I'd say he got his revenge. I wouldn't want to be working the counter that day, or be the employee who had to clean up the mess. Whatever, someone had a bad day after that. It makes you wonder if they used copious amounts of Lysol or the store supply of the pine tree air fresheners to make working bearable that morning.
Bob Burns and Drunken Joe are long gone. They both exited somewhere mid-way through the 70s. Joe was found dead at home but Bob wasn't seen around anymore and presumed to have passed. As funny as the joke was, it's sad to see lives wasted that way.
AND YOU MAY REMEMBER...
... The guy who would panhandle cars at Broad & Wolf while they waited for the light in the late 1990s through the start of the new millenium, asking for money to buy a hot dog. If he bought dogs with what he took in, his cholesterol level would probably be alarming. His nourishment usually came in the form of beer. I saw that guy in the Philadelphia Daily News, they caught a photo of him scouraging beer from half-empty bottles in the old Veterans Stadium parking lot after an Eagles game.
... The guy who couldn't keep his story straight. This young guy would hang in the area of Broad and Snyder looking for a handout. His problem was that he couldn't remember which name he used or who he talked to. He once introduced himself as Jimmy and asked for help with some cash so he could visit his ailing mother in Scranton. A few weeks later, he used the name Dominic and he had to get to Reading to visit his mom and was too broke for a bus ticket. Someone told me that he was a regular in the area and bought drugs with whatever he could get. As long as he's drug-addled, he's never going to get anything.
... Trying to help someone in need and regretting it. A friend once had a panhandler ask for money for food. He told him he didn't have spare cash, but would give up his brown-bag lunch if he wanted it. He said he would like that, took it, and went on his way. My friend looked back after walking a short distance to see his lunch being thrown into the sewer. So much for trying to do good for someone.
A few years ago, my cousin and I were talking about the characters we knew from living in South Philly. The first name he came up with was Bob Burns, and he told me a humorous story I had not heard before.
It turns out there was one former West Passyunk Avenue auto parts store owner who liked to "help" Bob whenever possible. That meant Bob was going to be on the wrong end of a practical joke whenever he offered hos assistance. On cold nights, the business owner offered Mr. Burns the use of his store to get a good, safe, night's sleep and get cleaned up. That meant locking him in overnight. When he returned one morning, the businessman gave Bob a shave to tidy him up. Much to Bob's dismay, he "dropped" the razor down the heating duct after shaving half of his face. Of course, he didn't have another one. So Bob walked around South Philly for a few days with one side of his face having thicker stubble than the other, one side totally smooth for the day. No photo is known to exist of Bob after that semi-shave. This wasn't the first or last joke played at Bob's expense, but whether because he was desperate or because he lacked common sense, he kept coming back; for a while anyhow. During one of Bob's sleep-overs, he decided to defecate on the store floor rather than use the toilet. Some may say that he ruined a good thing, losing shelter. I'd say he got his revenge. I wouldn't want to be working the counter that day, or be the employee who had to clean up the mess. Whatever, someone had a bad day after that. It makes you wonder if they used copious amounts of Lysol or the store supply of the pine tree air fresheners to make working bearable that morning.
Bob Burns and Drunken Joe are long gone. They both exited somewhere mid-way through the 70s. Joe was found dead at home but Bob wasn't seen around anymore and presumed to have passed. As funny as the joke was, it's sad to see lives wasted that way.
AND YOU MAY REMEMBER...
... The guy who would panhandle cars at Broad & Wolf while they waited for the light in the late 1990s through the start of the new millenium, asking for money to buy a hot dog. If he bought dogs with what he took in, his cholesterol level would probably be alarming. His nourishment usually came in the form of beer. I saw that guy in the Philadelphia Daily News, they caught a photo of him scouraging beer from half-empty bottles in the old Veterans Stadium parking lot after an Eagles game.
... The guy who couldn't keep his story straight. This young guy would hang in the area of Broad and Snyder looking for a handout. His problem was that he couldn't remember which name he used or who he talked to. He once introduced himself as Jimmy and asked for help with some cash so he could visit his ailing mother in Scranton. A few weeks later, he used the name Dominic and he had to get to Reading to visit his mom and was too broke for a bus ticket. Someone told me that he was a regular in the area and bought drugs with whatever he could get. As long as he's drug-addled, he's never going to get anything.
... Trying to help someone in need and regretting it. A friend once had a panhandler ask for money for food. He told him he didn't have spare cash, but would give up his brown-bag lunch if he wanted it. He said he would like that, took it, and went on his way. My friend looked back after walking a short distance to see his lunch being thrown into the sewer. So much for trying to do good for someone.
Saturday, August 24, 2019
Going To The Movies
Remember when people used to go to the movies almost weekly? Whether it was going on a date with that special person (or special for that week), or a night out with friends, so many of us had spent memorable times in the theaters. Many of us can remember specific events like first dates with someone who would become your spouse and having a favorite restaurant that you went to after rhe show was over (or before if you couldn't wait to eat). My wife and I often went to the old H.A. Winston's at 15th & Locust.
Back in the day, most of us here in Philly went to Center City to the vast selection of movie houses that dotted Chestnut Street and the are around it. Most of the were operated by two chains, Budco and Eric. There were a few independent theaters like Cinema 19 at 19th & Chestnut, but far and wide they were chain operated. And some of them were really grand palaces like the Sameric. With it's huge screen, art deco design, giant chandelier, and huge lobby, it was the granddaddy of movie houses. Many know it as the Boyd, the name that it opened as before the chains came. The area near 16th & Chestnut seemed to be the epicenter of Center City cinema entertainmant. You could find the Fox, Milgram, Stage Door, Trans Lux, and Eric's Place all in that tight area. The good thing was that no matter when you went, you could always find something that you wanted to see, even if you did go weekly. That's hard to say today.
Then the multiplexes came, and slowly the theaters were pushed out of Center City. One by one they disappeared to where rhere are just a few art movie houses left. New theaters opened in places like the riverfront on Columbus Boulevard. Or many South Philly residents would go across the bridge and into New Jersey where they didn't have to pay for parking. An era had ended and what we remember now was no more.
Now most people go to the movies sporadically. Netflix, Amazon, On-Demand viewing and the almost-dead DVD have made a trip to the movies an occasional diversion. Long gone VHS started that slide. When younger people see pictures of theaters as a crowded entertainment house, they may stare in awe at how many people were once patrons of the cinema.
This brings us to group participation time. What was your favorite memory or what was the last movie that you remember seeing "uptown", and in which theater did you see it in? Leave your comments below for all to share instead of on my Facebook timeline. Please keep the comments respectable for all to read.
AND YOU MAY REMEMBER...
...Sitting in the balcony. I remember seeing Vice Squad at the Goldman on 15th Street, just above Chestnut and across from City Hall. The place was filled to capacity and the balcony was open to handle the overflow. What seemed like a hostile crowd before the movie started soon became filled with laughs, especially when the guy sat up in the coffin and spooked some in the audience. Even those who were startled got a good chuckle when they recovered.
...Waiting in long lines for movie tickets. Back before you could order tickets online, if you wanted to see a blockbuster film on the weekend that it came out, you only had ine option: to stand in a line that went down and often around the block. Never a great thing in bad weather, but many would do it; easpecially for movies like Star Wars and films that had that type of selling power.
...Neighborhood theaters, those places where we paid a dollar or $1.50 to see a flick after they left the first-run theaters. Great for when funds were low or you and your friends were looking for something to do on a moment's notice. Unlike the uptown theaters, some of them haven't had a cleaning since the last generation and your feet often stuck to the floor, rodents sometimes ran across your feet, and the candy at the concession stand so hard you could break a tooth. The Colonial immediately comes to mind.
Back in the day, most of us here in Philly went to Center City to the vast selection of movie houses that dotted Chestnut Street and the are around it. Most of the were operated by two chains, Budco and Eric. There were a few independent theaters like Cinema 19 at 19th & Chestnut, but far and wide they were chain operated. And some of them were really grand palaces like the Sameric. With it's huge screen, art deco design, giant chandelier, and huge lobby, it was the granddaddy of movie houses. Many know it as the Boyd, the name that it opened as before the chains came. The area near 16th & Chestnut seemed to be the epicenter of Center City cinema entertainmant. You could find the Fox, Milgram, Stage Door, Trans Lux, and Eric's Place all in that tight area. The good thing was that no matter when you went, you could always find something that you wanted to see, even if you did go weekly. That's hard to say today.
Then the multiplexes came, and slowly the theaters were pushed out of Center City. One by one they disappeared to where rhere are just a few art movie houses left. New theaters opened in places like the riverfront on Columbus Boulevard. Or many South Philly residents would go across the bridge and into New Jersey where they didn't have to pay for parking. An era had ended and what we remember now was no more.
Now most people go to the movies sporadically. Netflix, Amazon, On-Demand viewing and the almost-dead DVD have made a trip to the movies an occasional diversion. Long gone VHS started that slide. When younger people see pictures of theaters as a crowded entertainment house, they may stare in awe at how many people were once patrons of the cinema.
This brings us to group participation time. What was your favorite memory or what was the last movie that you remember seeing "uptown", and in which theater did you see it in? Leave your comments below for all to share instead of on my Facebook timeline. Please keep the comments respectable for all to read.
AND YOU MAY REMEMBER...
...Sitting in the balcony. I remember seeing Vice Squad at the Goldman on 15th Street, just above Chestnut and across from City Hall. The place was filled to capacity and the balcony was open to handle the overflow. What seemed like a hostile crowd before the movie started soon became filled with laughs, especially when the guy sat up in the coffin and spooked some in the audience. Even those who were startled got a good chuckle when they recovered.
...Waiting in long lines for movie tickets. Back before you could order tickets online, if you wanted to see a blockbuster film on the weekend that it came out, you only had ine option: to stand in a line that went down and often around the block. Never a great thing in bad weather, but many would do it; easpecially for movies like Star Wars and films that had that type of selling power.
...Neighborhood theaters, those places where we paid a dollar or $1.50 to see a flick after they left the first-run theaters. Great for when funds were low or you and your friends were looking for something to do on a moment's notice. Unlike the uptown theaters, some of them haven't had a cleaning since the last generation and your feet often stuck to the floor, rodents sometimes ran across your feet, and the candy at the concession stand so hard you could break a tooth. The Colonial immediately comes to mind.
Saturday, August 17, 2019
The Rag Man
When you think of people who do their business on wheels, you probably picture a Ford Econoline or Chevy Van, maybe a Ford, Chevy, or Dodge pickup truck. You see them all over the streets of South Philly owned by plumbers, electricians, painters, maybe an occasional FBI surveillance team. The vans have evolved into higher walk-in types where you can fully stand instead of crouch. Great for someone who has a lot of work to do.
If you were born after the late 1960s, you probably don't remember when some guys did their business using a horse-drawn wagon or a push cart. But through at least the earliest of the 70s, they were out there.
This week's post remembers the Rag Man, also known as "Gitter-rags". Many of you who grew up in the era that I did spent your summers in the city rather than down the shore and you remember him. Looking at many Philadelphia-themed Facebook groups and individual posts, it seems that there were rag men all around the city. I can only write about my experiences with one, the man who worked our neighborhood.
Just about every week, there was a middle-aged black man who used to collect used rags and other junk from South Philadelphia residents a day before trash day. He'd ride up and down the blocks sitting at the front of his cart, pulled by a horse that looked to be well-cared for. You knew he was coming when yo heard his loud voice bellowing "gitta-raaaaaagggsss...gitta-raaaaaagggsss" to get the attention of the housewives on the block. There were more stay-at-home moms and less women in the working world at this time. And get their attention he did. Sure enough, when the Rag Man made his familiar call, some of the ladies would come out of their rowhomes, handing him things that were no longer wanted, but were probably a treasure to him. I don't know if he was self-employed or for some shop owner. Remembering from visiting my grandparents who lived around the corner, he would take what he collected to an old garage next to the Royal Villa Cafe (since replaced by a convenience store) at 17th & Jackson Street and unload there. Why would anyone collect rags you wonder? Rags can be recycled, just like many other things. They even can be used in the manufacture of paper. The dollar bill in your wallet is mostly rag content, although I don't think that in this case it came from the Rag Man's weekly pick-up.
The Rag Man was not to be messed with. Riding a horse-drawn cart, what tool of the trade did he employ besides a strong back and legs? You guessed it, a whip. Common sense says you don't give a guy with a whip a hard time. Yet most kids don't have much common sense. They haven't lived enough to accumulate it. Knuckleheads that we were growing up, we would often parrot the same "Gitter-raaaaaagggsss" refrain that he did. He never said a word to us when we did. But one day, the Rag Man blew a fuse. Either he couldn't take it anymore, someone said something stupid to him, or he just had a bad day. He bolted off the cart and came after my brother, or friend Chris, and I with that lash. The Mad Barber may not have been too quick running after us with the razor, but the Rag Man at had some speed. He cornered his tormenters at the front step across from our home and stood over us. And what did he do? He scared the daylights out of us. But besides admonishing us for taunting him every week, he walked away. Not a hair harmed, and not a word was ever again spoken in foolishness to that guy.
There are no ragmen today. The closest thing that we have is the city's recycling program. But they don't have horses and wagons or carry whips with them. Nothing to remember. The only thing that changes is the make and model of the trucks they drive, and over time, the paint scheme. Oh yeah, and they wake me up when the weather's nice and we sleep with the window open. Do you all have to start at 6:30 a.m. each week?
AND YOU MAY REMEMBER...
...That you didn't get away with anything as a kid when it came to being disrespectful an older person. Either that person dealt with you, or your dad did. The wise decision was left to the father. I remember my dad said to a person who said he would kick my brother's rear if he messed with him again..."That's my son. He does you wrong, you bring him to me, and I'll kick his butt. You don't touch him, but I promise you; I will. If you do touch him, I'll kick your's and his." Point noted, for that man and us. Maybe more dads need to line up their shoe bottoms with their sons' bottoms today, or at least apply the paddle or belt (my dad's favorite). Not in an abusing way, but a correcting one. Some dads need to understand the difference. The more you see the disrespect of kids towards adults today, you wonder if their dads are administering any discipline to those punks.
My dad may have looked like he was too light to fight and too thin to win , but he wouldn't take any anything from anyone. Growing up in a family of ten kids and poor, he knew how to stand his ground.
...The folks who regulary cheated you. From the butcher to the produce guys with their fingers on the scale, to the kid in your class who tricked you out of a dollar or some change. Some people don't know how to be honest. .Someone once told me that you could bring bundles of newspaper to the same garage that the rag man worked out of to earn some pocket change. They paid so much a pound. Some kids would shove a lead window sash weight from the old wood-framed windows to take home extra cash. It worked, but not for long. After a short time, they started to check for them. How the first guys were able to do that is a mystery. The weights had to be heavier than any stack of papers. It should have been an easy catch.
...Finding a hand bell in your basement window if you lived on Chadwick St., 2600 block. Another of our vendors who propelled his cart with flesh & bone - his own - got angry with a guy we sometimes hung around with, Tommy B., over the quality of his pretzels. That pretzel man realized that hand bells made good missiles. What he didn't figure into it was the guidance system - him! He missed. Tommy ran away laughing, and a neighbor would return home from work finding his window smashed, the bell on the basement floor. I guess he had to shout for customers ubtil he bought a new bell, Either that, or went back later in the evening and paid for the window in exchange for the bell. Maybe he should have taken lessons on how to call the neighbors out from the Rag Man.
If you were born after the late 1960s, you probably don't remember when some guys did their business using a horse-drawn wagon or a push cart. But through at least the earliest of the 70s, they were out there.
This week's post remembers the Rag Man, also known as "Gitter-rags". Many of you who grew up in the era that I did spent your summers in the city rather than down the shore and you remember him. Looking at many Philadelphia-themed Facebook groups and individual posts, it seems that there were rag men all around the city. I can only write about my experiences with one, the man who worked our neighborhood.
Just about every week, there was a middle-aged black man who used to collect used rags and other junk from South Philadelphia residents a day before trash day. He'd ride up and down the blocks sitting at the front of his cart, pulled by a horse that looked to be well-cared for. You knew he was coming when yo heard his loud voice bellowing "gitta-raaaaaagggsss...gitta-raaaaaagggsss" to get the attention of the housewives on the block. There were more stay-at-home moms and less women in the working world at this time. And get their attention he did. Sure enough, when the Rag Man made his familiar call, some of the ladies would come out of their rowhomes, handing him things that were no longer wanted, but were probably a treasure to him. I don't know if he was self-employed or for some shop owner. Remembering from visiting my grandparents who lived around the corner, he would take what he collected to an old garage next to the Royal Villa Cafe (since replaced by a convenience store) at 17th & Jackson Street and unload there. Why would anyone collect rags you wonder? Rags can be recycled, just like many other things. They even can be used in the manufacture of paper. The dollar bill in your wallet is mostly rag content, although I don't think that in this case it came from the Rag Man's weekly pick-up.
The Rag Man was not to be messed with. Riding a horse-drawn cart, what tool of the trade did he employ besides a strong back and legs? You guessed it, a whip. Common sense says you don't give a guy with a whip a hard time. Yet most kids don't have much common sense. They haven't lived enough to accumulate it. Knuckleheads that we were growing up, we would often parrot the same "Gitter-raaaaaagggsss" refrain that he did. He never said a word to us when we did. But one day, the Rag Man blew a fuse. Either he couldn't take it anymore, someone said something stupid to him, or he just had a bad day. He bolted off the cart and came after my brother, or friend Chris, and I with that lash. The Mad Barber may not have been too quick running after us with the razor, but the Rag Man at had some speed. He cornered his tormenters at the front step across from our home and stood over us. And what did he do? He scared the daylights out of us. But besides admonishing us for taunting him every week, he walked away. Not a hair harmed, and not a word was ever again spoken in foolishness to that guy.
There are no ragmen today. The closest thing that we have is the city's recycling program. But they don't have horses and wagons or carry whips with them. Nothing to remember. The only thing that changes is the make and model of the trucks they drive, and over time, the paint scheme. Oh yeah, and they wake me up when the weather's nice and we sleep with the window open. Do you all have to start at 6:30 a.m. each week?
AND YOU MAY REMEMBER...
...That you didn't get away with anything as a kid when it came to being disrespectful an older person. Either that person dealt with you, or your dad did. The wise decision was left to the father. I remember my dad said to a person who said he would kick my brother's rear if he messed with him again..."That's my son. He does you wrong, you bring him to me, and I'll kick his butt. You don't touch him, but I promise you; I will. If you do touch him, I'll kick your's and his." Point noted, for that man and us. Maybe more dads need to line up their shoe bottoms with their sons' bottoms today, or at least apply the paddle or belt (my dad's favorite). Not in an abusing way, but a correcting one. Some dads need to understand the difference. The more you see the disrespect of kids towards adults today, you wonder if their dads are administering any discipline to those punks.
My dad may have looked like he was too light to fight and too thin to win , but he wouldn't take any anything from anyone. Growing up in a family of ten kids and poor, he knew how to stand his ground.
...The folks who regulary cheated you. From the butcher to the produce guys with their fingers on the scale, to the kid in your class who tricked you out of a dollar or some change. Some people don't know how to be honest. .Someone once told me that you could bring bundles of newspaper to the same garage that the rag man worked out of to earn some pocket change. They paid so much a pound. Some kids would shove a lead window sash weight from the old wood-framed windows to take home extra cash. It worked, but not for long. After a short time, they started to check for them. How the first guys were able to do that is a mystery. The weights had to be heavier than any stack of papers. It should have been an easy catch.
...Finding a hand bell in your basement window if you lived on Chadwick St., 2600 block. Another of our vendors who propelled his cart with flesh & bone - his own - got angry with a guy we sometimes hung around with, Tommy B., over the quality of his pretzels. That pretzel man realized that hand bells made good missiles. What he didn't figure into it was the guidance system - him! He missed. Tommy ran away laughing, and a neighbor would return home from work finding his window smashed, the bell on the basement floor. I guess he had to shout for customers ubtil he bought a new bell, Either that, or went back later in the evening and paid for the window in exchange for the bell. Maybe he should have taken lessons on how to call the neighbors out from the Rag Man.
Saturday, August 10, 2019
Neighborhood Characters: The Duck Lady
There may be a million and one ways to mingle with people and not feel lonely in life. Everything from church groups for Christian folk to clubs for the dancing types and bingo for older folks who need something to do. And now in the electronic age, there are social media. News Flash: Most of the people that you interact with on Facebook, Instagram, and whatever aren't the true friends who will be there for you when you need them, Having 2,000 Facebook friends doesn't make for a full social life.
There was an elderly lady in the neighborhood who would use the funeral homes along south Broad Street either to socialize, just have something to do, or both. We called her Duck Lady. All you had to do is hear her speak once and you understood where the name came from. She had a voice like Donald Duck in the old Disney cartoons, and she spoke loudly so you heard her at the other end of the block. You knew it whenever the Duck Lady was around.
We would see her many times a week, yet there were only two memories I have of her. One is that she would often pull a shopping cart down the street on the way to the store. The other memory was that she would also visit the funeral homes every evening to pay respects to each person. From Stolfo to Monte to Grasso to Gangemi to Leonetti, she had them all covered. If Carto was there at the time, she would have been visiting there too. Whether she was shopping or mourning, she would always wear a black dress and veil. She first caught our notice at a family viewing. She said a prayer at the coffin and quietly gave her condolences, toning down that Duck Lady voice for a short time. But as she made her way to the rear of the funeral home, her volume increased to the voice that we came to know and,,, okay, just know. Maybe amused by. When we saw her again, the question of who she was came to everyone's mind. Someone mentioned, oh that's the Duck Lady and explained her visiting habits, and a neighborhood character was created.
I could see if she was a very sociable lady and had lots of friends who recently passed away. But here, the Duck Lady made the rounds every night. She would simply walk in, stay a few moments after paying respects, and off she'd go to the next one. I don't believe she attended the morning viewings just before departing for the churches and cemeteries, only the evening viewings. Still, there are wakes every night but I think on Saturday at those places, so she always had somewhere to go.
I think I can somewhat understand where she was coming from. Remembering when both of my maternal grandparents were coming to near the end of their lives, they were devastated that all of their friend had gone on before them. This put them in the unenviable position of surviving every one of them. They still had family to cling to, but their social fabric was irreparably torn, leaving them very lonely and friendless. When my grandfather's longtime friend died, he was actually angry about his passing. Angry that he never took him for the visit to his daghter's home as promised, upset that they would never again gather at the bocce courts at Guerin playground; but mostly just upset that his last remaining Italian-speaking friend was gone forever, leaving him feeling very lonely and aimless. It was the same with Grandmom. She was always having friends over for coffee and conversation and over time, there was less and less of them. For a lady in her nineties who remained active into her waning years, it was devastating for her. Some of us are going to be in the same position someday and it's not something to look forward to. We sometimes don't realize how important our friends are until they're no longer around to pick your day up.
The Duck Lady is long gone. I think she disappeared sometime in the early 1980s, most likely going the same route we all do in life. One has to wonder if her own viewing was well-attended. With all the wakes she walked into, you would think she had she gotten to know many people and it would have been standing room only at her own viewing. She may have actually had only a few family members or neighbors there. With her being such a figure on Broad Street, one of the funeral directors should have held her funeral at little or no cost. Well, that may be a stretch being funerals are so expensive. Okay, maybe they could have at least laid a plaque in the concrete sort of like they did around Broad & Spruce to honor Philly-area recording artists. There they have the names in stars embedded into the sidewalk. What could they use for this lady to remember her?
Where have all the characters gone? Walk down somewhere like South Broad today and you'll see the same old faces over and over, but they're characters aren't as defined as those we knew in our youth. We need more Duck Ladies to keep things interesting.
Appparently this isn't a local phenomenon. I saw a rerun of an old Good Times show some time ago. It was the episode where the character James Evans passed away. Near the end of the program, I can't remember if it were the preacher or funeral director, but someone had said good bye to an older woman and said they'd see her tomorrow - at yet another funeral. Was she a regular just like Duck Lady? Could it be the writer of that episode spent some time on Broad Street? The mind wonders. And wanders.
AND YOU MAY REMEMBER (well, maybe a small few of us this time)...
*Going to confession at St. Monica's on a Saturday afternoon and raising the priest's ire. Rather than the usual standard "Bless me father for I have sinned, it's been 1,472 days since my last confession...", many of us who hung together took a shot at approaching and saying "Bless me father for I have sinned, I peeled a potato and ate the skin" and then ran out of the confessional. Some of the priests ran out after us, some never did, I guess they just sat there and shook their heads. What does this have to do with Duck Lady or funerals? Absolutely nothing. It's too short for it's own article and I wanted to post it before I forgot about it.
*We can remember horsing around at Leonetti's Funeral Home in the lounge during my mother's aun'ts viewing. We were kids who were antsy and couldn't sit still. My cousin Phillip set off a few firecrackers in an ashtray. Thankfully no one came running. Death can be a difficult thing for really kids to process. unless they are really disciplined, it may be better to have them say their goodbyes and then send them home with a sitter. We were in our early teens, so w had no excuse.
* One older man at my grandfather's funeral who paid his respects to our family, silently just nodding his head. As he headed back toward the rear, he turned around and came back again. And again. I was standing between my brother and my cousin Dell, when on the third pass, he wouldn't let go and kept shaking Dells's hand. We all laughed when he said, "Weren't you here before?", and then "Hey, let go! That's enough!" It was a humorous moment to a grievous evening.
There was an elderly lady in the neighborhood who would use the funeral homes along south Broad Street either to socialize, just have something to do, or both. We called her Duck Lady. All you had to do is hear her speak once and you understood where the name came from. She had a voice like Donald Duck in the old Disney cartoons, and she spoke loudly so you heard her at the other end of the block. You knew it whenever the Duck Lady was around.
We would see her many times a week, yet there were only two memories I have of her. One is that she would often pull a shopping cart down the street on the way to the store. The other memory was that she would also visit the funeral homes every evening to pay respects to each person. From Stolfo to Monte to Grasso to Gangemi to Leonetti, she had them all covered. If Carto was there at the time, she would have been visiting there too. Whether she was shopping or mourning, she would always wear a black dress and veil. She first caught our notice at a family viewing. She said a prayer at the coffin and quietly gave her condolences, toning down that Duck Lady voice for a short time. But as she made her way to the rear of the funeral home, her volume increased to the voice that we came to know and,,, okay, just know. Maybe amused by. When we saw her again, the question of who she was came to everyone's mind. Someone mentioned, oh that's the Duck Lady and explained her visiting habits, and a neighborhood character was created.
I could see if she was a very sociable lady and had lots of friends who recently passed away. But here, the Duck Lady made the rounds every night. She would simply walk in, stay a few moments after paying respects, and off she'd go to the next one. I don't believe she attended the morning viewings just before departing for the churches and cemeteries, only the evening viewings. Still, there are wakes every night but I think on Saturday at those places, so she always had somewhere to go.
I think I can somewhat understand where she was coming from. Remembering when both of my maternal grandparents were coming to near the end of their lives, they were devastated that all of their friend had gone on before them. This put them in the unenviable position of surviving every one of them. They still had family to cling to, but their social fabric was irreparably torn, leaving them very lonely and friendless. When my grandfather's longtime friend died, he was actually angry about his passing. Angry that he never took him for the visit to his daghter's home as promised, upset that they would never again gather at the bocce courts at Guerin playground; but mostly just upset that his last remaining Italian-speaking friend was gone forever, leaving him feeling very lonely and aimless. It was the same with Grandmom. She was always having friends over for coffee and conversation and over time, there was less and less of them. For a lady in her nineties who remained active into her waning years, it was devastating for her. Some of us are going to be in the same position someday and it's not something to look forward to. We sometimes don't realize how important our friends are until they're no longer around to pick your day up.
The Duck Lady is long gone. I think she disappeared sometime in the early 1980s, most likely going the same route we all do in life. One has to wonder if her own viewing was well-attended. With all the wakes she walked into, you would think she had she gotten to know many people and it would have been standing room only at her own viewing. She may have actually had only a few family members or neighbors there. With her being such a figure on Broad Street, one of the funeral directors should have held her funeral at little or no cost. Well, that may be a stretch being funerals are so expensive. Okay, maybe they could have at least laid a plaque in the concrete sort of like they did around Broad & Spruce to honor Philly-area recording artists. There they have the names in stars embedded into the sidewalk. What could they use for this lady to remember her?
Where have all the characters gone? Walk down somewhere like South Broad today and you'll see the same old faces over and over, but they're characters aren't as defined as those we knew in our youth. We need more Duck Ladies to keep things interesting.
Appparently this isn't a local phenomenon. I saw a rerun of an old Good Times show some time ago. It was the episode where the character James Evans passed away. Near the end of the program, I can't remember if it were the preacher or funeral director, but someone had said good bye to an older woman and said they'd see her tomorrow - at yet another funeral. Was she a regular just like Duck Lady? Could it be the writer of that episode spent some time on Broad Street? The mind wonders. And wanders.
AND YOU MAY REMEMBER (well, maybe a small few of us this time)...
*Going to confession at St. Monica's on a Saturday afternoon and raising the priest's ire. Rather than the usual standard "Bless me father for I have sinned, it's been 1,472 days since my last confession...", many of us who hung together took a shot at approaching and saying "Bless me father for I have sinned, I peeled a potato and ate the skin" and then ran out of the confessional. Some of the priests ran out after us, some never did, I guess they just sat there and shook their heads. What does this have to do with Duck Lady or funerals? Absolutely nothing. It's too short for it's own article and I wanted to post it before I forgot about it.
*We can remember horsing around at Leonetti's Funeral Home in the lounge during my mother's aun'ts viewing. We were kids who were antsy and couldn't sit still. My cousin Phillip set off a few firecrackers in an ashtray. Thankfully no one came running. Death can be a difficult thing for really kids to process. unless they are really disciplined, it may be better to have them say their goodbyes and then send them home with a sitter. We were in our early teens, so w had no excuse.
* One older man at my grandfather's funeral who paid his respects to our family, silently just nodding his head. As he headed back toward the rear, he turned around and came back again. And again. I was standing between my brother and my cousin Dell, when on the third pass, he wouldn't let go and kept shaking Dells's hand. We all laughed when he said, "Weren't you here before?", and then "Hey, let go! That's enough!" It was a humorous moment to a grievous evening.
Saturday, August 03, 2019
When TV Repairmen Were Everywhere
Anyone out there who can recommend a good TV repairman to fix...? Us baby boomers know that those men are just a memory, and there are younger people asking "What? They repaired TVs?"
At one time there was a TV repairman in every neighborhood, often more, especially South Philly. And everyone had the name of their favorite written in their phone book (whether it was personal or on the inside cover of the Yellow or White Pages). Again, the young folks are asking "The what? This must be prehistoric stuff." Between smartphones and computers, phone books are becoming obsolete too. You don't even need to write the numbers down in case your phone gets lost as long as the contacts are backed up. If you're helping a parent clean out a junk drawer and come across one, you're welcome for explaining what those things are.
Back to the TV repairman. Remember being anywhere from a day to a week without TV because your TV set was in the shop because the repairs were a bit more complex or the repair guy had to wait for a new picture tube that was on order and there was only one TV in the house? The great thing back then was that the repairman was like a doctor who made house calls and he usually came right away. He came to your home along with his case loaded with testers for circuits and tubes plus his tools. Kids knew they were going to go into cartoon withdraw when he shook his head, slid the chassis from the cabinet, and was off to the shop with it because repairs were more advanced. A good day was when it was a simple vacuum tube replacement (those were the things that were used before circuit boards and tiny transistors replaced them). The smart people were the ones who ran down to G.C. Murphy or another store and took the tubes down to be tested before calling the repairman. You could buy replacements right there. You were a smart parent if you sent your teen to do it for you. As long as the kid knew enough and asked for help if needed, you were okay.
Our TV repairman was a guy named Sam who had a repair shop on 18th Street andWolf Street. Sam was a nice guy. There was a guy named Sal right around the corner, but Sam's wife bowled with my mom at St. Monica Lanes on Friday nights. She was the type who was a loyal friend but she also worried that she would offend someone if she hired a person and then found out that a friend or friend's husband did that type of work.
Sam did have one misfortune - us. My brother and I used to stay up late on summer nights and browse her phone book for someone to make prank calls to. Some called them crank calls and whatever you called them, they could bring a lot of laughs as long as you didn't threaten or even give a hint of threratening someone. Kids, you can't do that today because of caller ID. Even if you make your call private, the phone company has the technology to track the calls and they will if you make them. With Sam being a repairman, he was the perfect guyfor these calls. We would awakened him at 2 A.M. to ask if he repaired some strange things. We were strange kids, so go figure.
Solid-State circuitry was the beginning of the end of the TV guy. I remember the TV ads when Motorola started to tout that repairs on their Quasar sets were a matter of popping out modules and replacing them instead of tubes. Amazingly, I found one of their commercials at https://youtu.be/CWhn2BLyM1o ! Hey, no waiting for the TV to warm up anymore! You do remember the picture starting as a dot and growing until you had a full screen, don't you? You still needed a repairman to do that as you could no longer pop the tubes out and test them yourself, or have your guy do that for you. But he needed to be up on things for that brand and it meant a longer wait before the repair guy received the module to install. By then, more people had a 19-inch "portable" TV. What made them portable was that they had a carry handle, but they still had some weight and the portability was that yo could take it from the bedroom to sit on top of the cabinet of your downstairs television.
Things became more advanced to where you replaced the TV instead of repairing it. It became less expensive to replace one than repair it. Now, you would only get one repaired if it was still under warranty, and you can almost forget calling someone to come to fix it. Modern circuitry means doing the work on a workbench instead of in the house. And more electronics in the landfill. Fortunately, the City of Philadelphia makes you bring your electronics to a recycling center. Or unfortunately, because you'll be fined for leaving them at curbside and not everyone has the ability to drop-off their TV. So much for progress!
AND YOU MAY REMEMBER...
* TV cabinets that were more like furniture pieces? Some people shopped for TVs that were close to matching the living room as much as they did features. As in: "We can't buy that one. The cabinet is oak and the tables are walnut."
* The weight of an older TV? I became friends with Sal who had the repair shop at 17th & Oregon Ave. He told me that carrying out a chassis from a home to the shop and back could be back-breaking, especially since most guys worked solo. He learned radio and TV repair after WWII and started a business that survived for decades until his servives became obsolete.
* A survivor - Sammy TV. I saw their van on the street recently and through an Internet search found that they still do repairs. I don't know if it's the same owner or if he sold the business. His son was in mt graduating class at Neumann when repairs were still being done actively.
* B&W TV. My brother had a conversation with a guy who wouldn't believe that there was such a thing. He had to ask his father if it was true and was amazed that anyone would buy one.
NEXT WEEK: The Duck Lady
At one time there was a TV repairman in every neighborhood, often more, especially South Philly. And everyone had the name of their favorite written in their phone book (whether it was personal or on the inside cover of the Yellow or White Pages). Again, the young folks are asking "The what? This must be prehistoric stuff." Between smartphones and computers, phone books are becoming obsolete too. You don't even need to write the numbers down in case your phone gets lost as long as the contacts are backed up. If you're helping a parent clean out a junk drawer and come across one, you're welcome for explaining what those things are.
Back to the TV repairman. Remember being anywhere from a day to a week without TV because your TV set was in the shop because the repairs were a bit more complex or the repair guy had to wait for a new picture tube that was on order and there was only one TV in the house? The great thing back then was that the repairman was like a doctor who made house calls and he usually came right away. He came to your home along with his case loaded with testers for circuits and tubes plus his tools. Kids knew they were going to go into cartoon withdraw when he shook his head, slid the chassis from the cabinet, and was off to the shop with it because repairs were more advanced. A good day was when it was a simple vacuum tube replacement (those were the things that were used before circuit boards and tiny transistors replaced them). The smart people were the ones who ran down to G.C. Murphy or another store and took the tubes down to be tested before calling the repairman. You could buy replacements right there. You were a smart parent if you sent your teen to do it for you. As long as the kid knew enough and asked for help if needed, you were okay.
Our TV repairman was a guy named Sam who had a repair shop on 18th Street andWolf Street. Sam was a nice guy. There was a guy named Sal right around the corner, but Sam's wife bowled with my mom at St. Monica Lanes on Friday nights. She was the type who was a loyal friend but she also worried that she would offend someone if she hired a person and then found out that a friend or friend's husband did that type of work.
Sam did have one misfortune - us. My brother and I used to stay up late on summer nights and browse her phone book for someone to make prank calls to. Some called them crank calls and whatever you called them, they could bring a lot of laughs as long as you didn't threaten or even give a hint of threratening someone. Kids, you can't do that today because of caller ID. Even if you make your call private, the phone company has the technology to track the calls and they will if you make them. With Sam being a repairman, he was the perfect guyfor these calls. We would awakened him at 2 A.M. to ask if he repaired some strange things. We were strange kids, so go figure.
Solid-State circuitry was the beginning of the end of the TV guy. I remember the TV ads when Motorola started to tout that repairs on their Quasar sets were a matter of popping out modules and replacing them instead of tubes. Amazingly, I found one of their commercials at https://youtu.be/CWhn2BLyM1o ! Hey, no waiting for the TV to warm up anymore! You do remember the picture starting as a dot and growing until you had a full screen, don't you? You still needed a repairman to do that as you could no longer pop the tubes out and test them yourself, or have your guy do that for you. But he needed to be up on things for that brand and it meant a longer wait before the repair guy received the module to install. By then, more people had a 19-inch "portable" TV. What made them portable was that they had a carry handle, but they still had some weight and the portability was that yo could take it from the bedroom to sit on top of the cabinet of your downstairs television.
Things became more advanced to where you replaced the TV instead of repairing it. It became less expensive to replace one than repair it. Now, you would only get one repaired if it was still under warranty, and you can almost forget calling someone to come to fix it. Modern circuitry means doing the work on a workbench instead of in the house. And more electronics in the landfill. Fortunately, the City of Philadelphia makes you bring your electronics to a recycling center. Or unfortunately, because you'll be fined for leaving them at curbside and not everyone has the ability to drop-off their TV. So much for progress!
AND YOU MAY REMEMBER...
* TV cabinets that were more like furniture pieces? Some people shopped for TVs that were close to matching the living room as much as they did features. As in: "We can't buy that one. The cabinet is oak and the tables are walnut."
* The weight of an older TV? I became friends with Sal who had the repair shop at 17th & Oregon Ave. He told me that carrying out a chassis from a home to the shop and back could be back-breaking, especially since most guys worked solo. He learned radio and TV repair after WWII and started a business that survived for decades until his servives became obsolete.
* A survivor - Sammy TV. I saw their van on the street recently and through an Internet search found that they still do repairs. I don't know if it's the same owner or if he sold the business. His son was in mt graduating class at Neumann when repairs were still being done actively.
* B&W TV. My brother had a conversation with a guy who wouldn't believe that there was such a thing. He had to ask his father if it was true and was amazed that anyone would buy one.
NEXT WEEK: The Duck Lady
Saturday, July 27, 2019
Time With Grandpop and Water Ice at Pop's
Pop's Water Ice is a South Philly institution that has been around since 1932. Recently remembering great summer days with our grandfather brings back memories of him taking us there.
My first memory of Pop's was back when I was a boy of about maybe five or six years old. My grandfather, after his retirement from Budd Company, would take my brother, sister and myself a few days a week during the summer to Marconi Plaza (or as we called it, "Down the Park"). Marconi Plaza was somewhat different back in the years prior to the city rehabilitating it prior to the Bicentennial in 1976. It was well-worn in those days. Water fountains - the type you drink from, not the ones used for landscaping - could be found on the Broad Street side where the Columbus statue now stands. Those were the days when you wouldn't think twice about drinking at a public outdoor fountain. Grandpop spent hours with us down there playing with us. He didn't care that the park had seen better days. He enjoyed the time with us.
After what was always a nice day playing with Grandpop watching out for us, he'd walk us over to the water ice stand near Broad & Oregon and buy us each a small "lemonade" as he would call it (although at the time they had cherry and chocolate too), and some pretzel rods. It didn't matter. To him, it was still lemonade, or as he pronounced it in his Sicilian accent, "lemonada". It was that same accent that kept him from pronouncing our names properly. He pronounced my sister Lisa's name as Eda. Matc, my brother, was called Marco. I could never figure out what he was trying to call me. He would always motion to me to come to him and would just say "Eh, come...". It figured I would be the kid with the first name that would be found in more Irish families than Italian ones. I remember he would call my cousin Robert what sounded like Ahbee. Still, as kids, we thought those days were the greatest. What could be better than spending time with your grandfather and him treating you to water ice at Pop's? Some of the kids on the block got to go there every week, but we were guaranteed at least two trips weekly with Grandpop. That didn't include the times Mom took us. When a friend accompanied us and Grandpop bought him a water ice, the word was out. Every once in a while another friend would ask to come with us.
After we married years later and my wife moved into the neighborhood, she too became a fan of Pop's famous water ice. We'd take a walk for the few blocks from 17th & Oregon and get our treats and eat them mostly before returning. Even after we moved to Darien St. for a few years, we'd make the trek, although there were vendors closer to home. They say your tastes change with age. Forget water ice. I've had plenty of others and they were still the best. With Pop's having gelati on their menu, she's been hooked on them for years. And they have many more flavors than the few in our youth. We make it a point to stop by when family came in from out of town. My cousin from Tampa was here a few years back while his oceangoing tugboat was docked at the refinery. We treated him at Pop's and he was truly enthused. "What's this? Look's like shaved ice, really good!", was what I remember him saying.
As we get older, good things change. Grandpop died in 1982. In the words of a medic, he was as strong as a bull when he had a diabetic episode just before he passed at 90. He didn't want to go to the hospital and struggled with them before my grandmother had the last word. Those days with him "down the park" and Sundays at Guerin playground were priceless. Those were sad days when he left this world. Likewise, Pop's is a memory although they're just a few blocks away. As much as I'd love to, having water ice can send me to the hospital or worse. I'll still stop by to get a gelati for my wife if I'm out with my brother. But like with Grandpop, those days are gone for me.
AND YOU MAY REMEMBER...
* Times with your grandparents. In our family, while Grandpop liked yo take us places, Grandmom liked to feed us. And have us stay over when our parents went out on Saturday nights. She's let us have the run of the house until bedtime. When she said lights out, there was no arguing. She did make a great Sunday dinner though!
*Your own favorite water ice vendor, especially when the heat rises. You may have to wait in line for a while, but it's well worth it. And beside New York, our area is one of the few to have authentic water ice, or as they call it in NYC, Italian ice
*Water ice in paper "dixie" cups in the candy store freezer. I guess it was a reasonable facsimile when you couldn't get what you really wanted. But come on, given a choice?
*October. No! We have still have most of summer ahead of us!
Pop's Water Ice is a South Philly institution that has been around since 1932. Recently remembering great summer days with our grandfather brings back memories of him taking us there.
My first memory of Pop's was back when I was a boy of about maybe five or six years old. My grandfather, after his retirement from Budd Company, would take my brother, sister and myself a few days a week during the summer to Marconi Plaza (or as we called it, "Down the Park"). Marconi Plaza was somewhat different back in the years prior to the city rehabilitating it prior to the Bicentennial in 1976. It was well-worn in those days. Water fountains - the type you drink from, not the ones used for landscaping - could be found on the Broad Street side where the Columbus statue now stands. Those were the days when you wouldn't think twice about drinking at a public outdoor fountain. Grandpop spent hours with us down there playing with us. He didn't care that the park had seen better days. He enjoyed the time with us.
After what was always a nice day playing with Grandpop watching out for us, he'd walk us over to the water ice stand near Broad & Oregon and buy us each a small "lemonade" as he would call it (although at the time they had cherry and chocolate too), and some pretzel rods. It didn't matter. To him, it was still lemonade, or as he pronounced it in his Sicilian accent, "lemonada". It was that same accent that kept him from pronouncing our names properly. He pronounced my sister Lisa's name as Eda. Matc, my brother, was called Marco. I could never figure out what he was trying to call me. He would always motion to me to come to him and would just say "Eh, come...". It figured I would be the kid with the first name that would be found in more Irish families than Italian ones. I remember he would call my cousin Robert what sounded like Ahbee. Still, as kids, we thought those days were the greatest. What could be better than spending time with your grandfather and him treating you to water ice at Pop's? Some of the kids on the block got to go there every week, but we were guaranteed at least two trips weekly with Grandpop. That didn't include the times Mom took us. When a friend accompanied us and Grandpop bought him a water ice, the word was out. Every once in a while another friend would ask to come with us.
After we married years later and my wife moved into the neighborhood, she too became a fan of Pop's famous water ice. We'd take a walk for the few blocks from 17th & Oregon and get our treats and eat them mostly before returning. Even after we moved to Darien St. for a few years, we'd make the trek, although there were vendors closer to home. They say your tastes change with age. Forget water ice. I've had plenty of others and they were still the best. With Pop's having gelati on their menu, she's been hooked on them for years. And they have many more flavors than the few in our youth. We make it a point to stop by when family came in from out of town. My cousin from Tampa was here a few years back while his oceangoing tugboat was docked at the refinery. We treated him at Pop's and he was truly enthused. "What's this? Look's like shaved ice, really good!", was what I remember him saying.
As we get older, good things change. Grandpop died in 1982. In the words of a medic, he was as strong as a bull when he had a diabetic episode just before he passed at 90. He didn't want to go to the hospital and struggled with them before my grandmother had the last word. Those days with him "down the park" and Sundays at Guerin playground were priceless. Those were sad days when he left this world. Likewise, Pop's is a memory although they're just a few blocks away. As much as I'd love to, having water ice can send me to the hospital or worse. I'll still stop by to get a gelati for my wife if I'm out with my brother. But like with Grandpop, those days are gone for me.
AND YOU MAY REMEMBER...
* Times with your grandparents. In our family, while Grandpop liked yo take us places, Grandmom liked to feed us. And have us stay over when our parents went out on Saturday nights. She's let us have the run of the house until bedtime. When she said lights out, there was no arguing. She did make a great Sunday dinner though!
*Your own favorite water ice vendor, especially when the heat rises. You may have to wait in line for a while, but it's well worth it. And beside New York, our area is one of the few to have authentic water ice, or as they call it in NYC, Italian ice
*Water ice in paper "dixie" cups in the candy store freezer. I guess it was a reasonable facsimile when you couldn't get what you really wanted. But come on, given a choice?
*October. No! We have still have most of summer ahead of us!
My first memory of Pop's was back when I was a boy of about maybe five or six years old. My grandfather, after his retirement from Budd Company, would take my brother, sister and myself a few days a week during the summer to Marconi Plaza (or as we called it, "Down the Park"). Marconi Plaza was somewhat different back in the years prior to the city rehabilitating it prior to the Bicentennial in 1976. It was well-worn in those days. Water fountains - the type you drink from, not the ones used for landscaping - could be found on the Broad Street side where the Columbus statue now stands. Those were the days when you wouldn't think twice about drinking at a public outdoor fountain. Grandpop spent hours with us down there playing with us. He didn't care that the park had seen better days. He enjoyed the time with us.
After what was always a nice day playing with Grandpop watching out for us, he'd walk us over to the water ice stand near Broad & Oregon and buy us each a small "lemonade" as he would call it (although at the time they had cherry and chocolate too), and some pretzel rods. It didn't matter. To him, it was still lemonade, or as he pronounced it in his Sicilian accent, "lemonada". It was that same accent that kept him from pronouncing our names properly. He pronounced my sister Lisa's name as Eda. Matc, my brother, was called Marco. I could never figure out what he was trying to call me. He would always motion to me to come to him and would just say "Eh, come...". It figured I would be the kid with the first name that would be found in more Irish families than Italian ones. I remember he would call my cousin Robert what sounded like Ahbee. Still, as kids, we thought those days were the greatest. What could be better than spending time with your grandfather and him treating you to water ice at Pop's? Some of the kids on the block got to go there every week, but we were guaranteed at least two trips weekly with Grandpop. That didn't include the times Mom took us. When a friend accompanied us and Grandpop bought him a water ice, the word was out. Every once in a while another friend would ask to come with us.
 |
| My Grandfather |
As we get older, good things change. Grandpop died in 1982. In the words of a medic, he was as strong as a bull when he had a diabetic episode just before he passed at 90. He didn't want to go to the hospital and struggled with them before my grandmother had the last word. Those days with him "down the park" and Sundays at Guerin playground were priceless. Those were sad days when he left this world. Likewise, Pop's is a memory although they're just a few blocks away. As much as I'd love to, having water ice can send me to the hospital or worse. I'll still stop by to get a gelati for my wife if I'm out with my brother. But like with Grandpop, those days are gone for me.
AND YOU MAY REMEMBER...
* Times with your grandparents. In our family, while Grandpop liked yo take us places, Grandmom liked to feed us. And have us stay over when our parents went out on Saturday nights. She's let us have the run of the house until bedtime. When she said lights out, there was no arguing. She did make a great Sunday dinner though!
*Your own favorite water ice vendor, especially when the heat rises. You may have to wait in line for a while, but it's well worth it. And beside New York, our area is one of the few to have authentic water ice, or as they call it in NYC, Italian ice
*Water ice in paper "dixie" cups in the candy store freezer. I guess it was a reasonable facsimile when you couldn't get what you really wanted. But come on, given a choice?
*October. No! We have still have most of summer ahead of us!
Pop's Water Ice is a South Philly institution that has been around since 1932. Recently remembering great summer days with our grandfather brings back memories of him taking us there.
My first memory of Pop's was back when I was a boy of about maybe five or six years old. My grandfather, after his retirement from Budd Company, would take my brother, sister and myself a few days a week during the summer to Marconi Plaza (or as we called it, "Down the Park"). Marconi Plaza was somewhat different back in the years prior to the city rehabilitating it prior to the Bicentennial in 1976. It was well-worn in those days. Water fountains - the type you drink from, not the ones used for landscaping - could be found on the Broad Street side where the Columbus statue now stands. Those were the days when you wouldn't think twice about drinking at a public outdoor fountain. Grandpop spent hours with us down there playing with us. He didn't care that the park had seen better days. He enjoyed the time with us.
After what was always a nice day playing with Grandpop watching out for us, he'd walk us over to the water ice stand near Broad & Oregon and buy us each a small "lemonade" as he would call it (although at the time they had cherry and chocolate too), and some pretzel rods. It didn't matter. To him, it was still lemonade, or as he pronounced it in his Sicilian accent, "lemonada". It was that same accent that kept him from pronouncing our names properly. He pronounced my sister Lisa's name as Eda. Matc, my brother, was called Marco. I could never figure out what he was trying to call me. He would always motion to me to come to him and would just say "Eh, come...". It figured I would be the kid with the first name that would be found in more Irish families than Italian ones. I remember he would call my cousin Robert what sounded like Ahbee. Still, as kids, we thought those days were the greatest. What could be better than spending time with your grandfather and him treating you to water ice at Pop's? Some of the kids on the block got to go there every week, but we were guaranteed at least two trips weekly with Grandpop. That didn't include the times Mom took us. When a friend accompanied us and Grandpop bought him a water ice, the word was out. Every once in a while another friend would ask to come with us.
After we married years later and my wife moved into the neighborhood, she too became a fan of Pop's famous water ice. We'd take a walk for the few blocks from 17th & Oregon and get our treats and eat them mostly before returning. Even after we moved to Darien St. for a few years, we'd make the trek, although there were vendors closer to home. They say your tastes change with age. Forget water ice. I've had plenty of others and they were still the best. With Pop's having gelati on their menu, she's been hooked on them for years. And they have many more flavors than the few in our youth. We make it a point to stop by when family came in from out of town. My cousin from Tampa was here a few years back while his oceangoing tugboat was docked at the refinery. We treated him at Pop's and he was truly enthused. "What's this? Look's like shaved ice, really good!", was what I remember him saying.
As we get older, good things change. Grandpop died in 1982. In the words of a medic, he was as strong as a bull when he had a diabetic episode just before he passed at 90. He didn't want to go to the hospital and struggled with them before my grandmother had the last word. Those days with him "down the park" and Sundays at Guerin playground were priceless. Those were sad days when he left this world. Likewise, Pop's is a memory although they're just a few blocks away. As much as I'd love to, having water ice can send me to the hospital or worse. I'll still stop by to get a gelati for my wife if I'm out with my brother. But like with Grandpop, those days are gone for me.
AND YOU MAY REMEMBER...
* Times with your grandparents. In our family, while Grandpop liked yo take us places, Grandmom liked to feed us. And have us stay over when our parents went out on Saturday nights. She's let us have the run of the house until bedtime. When she said lights out, there was no arguing. She did make a great Sunday dinner though!
*Your own favorite water ice vendor, especially when the heat rises. You may have to wait in line for a while, but it's well worth it. And beside New York, our area is one of the few to have authentic water ice, or as they call it in NYC, Italian ice
*Water ice in paper "dixie" cups in the candy store freezer. I guess it was a reasonable facsimile when you couldn't get what you really wanted. But come on, given a choice?
*October. No! We have still have most of summer ahead of us!
Saturday, July 20, 2019
The Mad Barber
Most of those I hung with around here remember the "Mad Barber", Mr. John Torresse at Bancroft & Oregon. It was said that John was a race car driver back in Italy. True or not, who knows? I think that the photos on his wall of drivers and race cars gave that impression. He did have a pair of Alfa Romeos that he owned. and at one time he had a third; all were the same model but different paint. He reminded me of a guy in New York City who had a number of cars, all the same make, model, but with him, they were all the same color. He was a serial killer, so the car thing only added to his mystique. John wasn't that far goneJohn was almost invisible to us, not earning our attention until our teens and then well-earning the moniker. As some of our neighbors were, John was not a man who had patience with people or could tolerate noise. He did not like anyone hanging on his corner. You could irritate him if you were a Buddhist monk in a saffron robe sitting there silently meditating. If you did hang there, you were an open target. What was strange is that if you were just walking by quietly, he would smile and nod to you as if he had a different personality.
I think every one of us had at one time or another been chased or felt his wrath in some way. I remember waiting for someone on his corner - actually not even in front of his shop but next door - and the Mad Barber burst through the door chasing me up Bancroft Street with a straight razor. Others said he threatened them with the razor too. Fortunately, my youth made me faster than he was. I may have avoided being sliced and diced that day or maybe he was just trying to put some fear into me. I didn't stop him to ask his intentions.
Another time, my friend Kenny (aka "The Professor") walked into class while we attended Bishop Neumann and told me he was going to "kill that ______! (This is a family site, no obscenities.) He said it out of anger and John wasn't in any danger, but Kenny was really upset. The Mad Barber had seen him standing on the corner with another person and tossed an M80 out the door at them. They ran off before it exploded, getting just far enough to escape harm but with ears ringing and the barner becoming a sort of Mad Bomber. Kenny didn't appreciate that. Anyone would be upset with someone who did that to them.
What was odd is that normally, we do stupid things as kids and then make peace with older neighbors as we grow older. With John, it was in reverse. The barber had a water ice stand that he operated in the garage at the rear of the barbershop during the summer months. We got to be friendly with him because of that stand. But as we got older, it seems we were perceived as the enemy and open targets for him. We all lived through it, none of us were ever truly physically harmed.
Like many of the old characters mentioned in this blog, he's no longer with us.
I remember the Barber/Bomber moved into a local nursing home some years ago and sold the property. Flocco's Painting was located there and now it's a convenience store. I heard a few years ago that he had passed away. The memories are still there though, part of growing up in South Philly.
AND YOU MAY REMEMBER...
*Vito's Barbershop on Broad near Porter Streets. Vito's was the first place my dad ever took me for a haircut. He shut the place down sometime in the late 1960s.
*Bob's Barbershop at Bancroft & Shunk. Bob was the shop owner where Johnny of Johnny's Place got his start. Bob had a glass eye. I remember Johnny telling me that he liked to play a joke with some customers where he would hang over the chair from the rear and drop his eye into their laps. That had to spook some guys. I remember him in my youth, Bob was a nice guy.
*Victor's at 16th & Oregon Ave. He had at least five barbers and you still had to wait. Some waited because they wanted to see a certain stylist but were willing to do it. Forget Saturdays. You could kill most of the day waiting to get snipped.
*Johnny's Place is now gone, leaving the block a few years ago. I remember in my early teens, I was getting the kid's rate because John didn't know my age and I didn't know at what age he charged adult rates. One of the neighborhood guys, Enzo, blew that for me. I was in the chair shortly after my birthday. Enzo was there and said, "Hey, thirteen years old now huh?" John took notice and said, "ah, I thought you were younger than that. No kid's price for you anymore." I could have had some pocket money saving the difference if he didn't know, but I got snagged on an honest error.
Originally posted in 2008.
Close the Door, You're Letting the Cold Air Out!
Summertime! When you were a kid, you couldn't wait for it. If you were like me, you counted down the days before summer vacation once Memorial Day came and dreaded the final days of August when our summer came to a close. Not the official summer of the calendar, but the one that was over when the school doors opened again. Then it was time to face the sadistic, yardstick or pointer-wielding nuns again for another nine months and wait once more for June to roll around. High school came and the nuns were swapped out for priests who were not nearly as brutal with some exceptions. Then we got older and learned what some of them did to friends or classmates or even people we had a passing knowledge of and our opinions shifted. But this is a site for fine memories and good times and discussion of that will go no further.
Back in the late 60s and 70s, air-conditioning wasn't as widespread as it is today. We were fortunate to have air conditioning to cool the living room in our house, but neither ours or many of the parents of those we knew had frigid air in their bedrooms. You could forget about the kids' rooms being chilled. On the hottest of nights, my father would let us run the air downstairs to stay cool. The heatwave of this week brings back those memories. Dad and Mom slept on the couch or one of the living room chairs. My brother, sister, and I were relegated to the living room floor. Hey, it was carpeted and we spread our bedsheets across it to prevent rug burn. With more hardwood floors today, heavy blankets would be required.
If the night wasn't too hot, Dad wasn't going to spend good money running the AC through all hours. My father grew up with nine siblings in hard times, and his memories of that age caused him to be careful in his spending. My brother and I shared a room and we'd have to do with an old steel fan with openings in the guard large enough to put your hand through. Fans like that would be banned as safety hazards today. The one that we had in our room was heavy dark green steel and looked like it was a relic from some military barracks.
In those days, the daytime temps didn't seem to bother us too much, but the night was a different story when trying to sleep comfortably. Except when the extremes came, and then you couldn't seem to buy a chill. Kids don't know how good they have it today. I hardly ever hear kids say that it's too hot anymore. Maybe because there's air conditioning everywhere you go. Or maybe that's because I hardly ever see kids on the streets during the hot weather. Hey, come summertime, we were all out from morning until our parents made us come in at night. We made the most of every minute. It was our summer, and we didn't want to be in the house. It's not that we weren't in and out throughout the day, but we spent more time outside.
If you remember your mom or dad yelling, "Close the door, you're letting the cold air out!", you know what I mean. They used to worry that the "parlor" (another word that seems to have fallen from our lexicon) would get too hot if you kept the front door open for longer than five or six seconds. Most people didn't have central air conditioning at that time and our large window or in-wall units were working constantly. Now we all have air and no one thinks at much about it. Except when the unit fails and we make the mad dash in a heatwave to find a store with one in stock. That's when you really appreciate them working.
Long live the dog days of summer!
AND YOU MAY REMEMBER...
* When the weatherman used to tell you it was hot, and gave you the temperature and humidity. No "heat index", at least none that I remember. And the were all men back in the day. There were no weatherbabes, just older men like Herb Clarke at WCAU Channel 10 and Dr. Francis Davis before Jim O'Brien came along on Channel 6 when it was still WFIL-TV and they changed the call letters to WPVI. If you remember who the weatherhead was at KYW-3, you've got a good memory.
The weatherman told you about the weather once during a news broadcast, not two or three times like today.
Originally published in 2009 and updated .
Back in the late 60s and 70s, air-conditioning wasn't as widespread as it is today. We were fortunate to have air conditioning to cool the living room in our house, but neither ours or many of the parents of those we knew had frigid air in their bedrooms. You could forget about the kids' rooms being chilled. On the hottest of nights, my father would let us run the air downstairs to stay cool. The heatwave of this week brings back those memories. Dad and Mom slept on the couch or one of the living room chairs. My brother, sister, and I were relegated to the living room floor. Hey, it was carpeted and we spread our bedsheets across it to prevent rug burn. With more hardwood floors today, heavy blankets would be required.
If the night wasn't too hot, Dad wasn't going to spend good money running the AC through all hours. My father grew up with nine siblings in hard times, and his memories of that age caused him to be careful in his spending. My brother and I shared a room and we'd have to do with an old steel fan with openings in the guard large enough to put your hand through. Fans like that would be banned as safety hazards today. The one that we had in our room was heavy dark green steel and looked like it was a relic from some military barracks.
In those days, the daytime temps didn't seem to bother us too much, but the night was a different story when trying to sleep comfortably. Except when the extremes came, and then you couldn't seem to buy a chill. Kids don't know how good they have it today. I hardly ever hear kids say that it's too hot anymore. Maybe because there's air conditioning everywhere you go. Or maybe that's because I hardly ever see kids on the streets during the hot weather. Hey, come summertime, we were all out from morning until our parents made us come in at night. We made the most of every minute. It was our summer, and we didn't want to be in the house. It's not that we weren't in and out throughout the day, but we spent more time outside.
If you remember your mom or dad yelling, "Close the door, you're letting the cold air out!", you know what I mean. They used to worry that the "parlor" (another word that seems to have fallen from our lexicon) would get too hot if you kept the front door open for longer than five or six seconds. Most people didn't have central air conditioning at that time and our large window or in-wall units were working constantly. Now we all have air and no one thinks at much about it. Except when the unit fails and we make the mad dash in a heatwave to find a store with one in stock. That's when you really appreciate them working.
Long live the dog days of summer!
AND YOU MAY REMEMBER...
* When the weatherman used to tell you it was hot, and gave you the temperature and humidity. No "heat index", at least none that I remember. And the were all men back in the day. There were no weatherbabes, just older men like Herb Clarke at WCAU Channel 10 and Dr. Francis Davis before Jim O'Brien came along on Channel 6 when it was still WFIL-TV and they changed the call letters to WPVI. If you remember who the weatherhead was at KYW-3, you've got a good memory.
The weatherman told you about the weather once during a news broadcast, not two or three times like today.
Originally published in 2009 and updated .
Saturday, July 13, 2019
Fun With Neighbors - Dave W and the Fishing Line
Part of growing up in South Philly was that when you were bored, you ended up using your neighbors as unwilling players in a form of participation sports. It was a strange way to pass the time and it could be fun, depending on what you did. Well, maybe it was for some young people, but definitely not for some of the neighbors, especially the ones who had repeatedly given us a hard time.
Back when we grew up in the 70's, we used a certain creative flair to kill the boredom; a kind of imagination that's not found with kids today. Now just about everything's electronic, whether communications or entertainment. With us, give us something as simple as a roll of monofilament fishing line and we were happy.
In this episode, we remember a neighbor named Dave W. who was really a good guy. He was the Coca-Cola employee that I mentioned in my post about neighbors sitting out together on summer evenings. His only grievance with us was yelling about our football playing. Other than that, he was, as we often said, good people. But Dave had an unusual problem. That being that he lived almost directly across the street from our house - a home with two young, sometimes bored boys. Oh yeah, and he had one of those heavy metal door knockers that made a loud bang when you knocked at the door. Those simple things turned him into a somewhat-perfect victim.
One evening, I came upon my brother and his friend Louie hanging around. They told me they had this plan to have some fun with our good neighbor. The plan was to take a spool of fishing line, tie it to his door knocker, throw the spool over a parked car and knock on his door. My brother and I hid behind the car while Louie, being the stealthiest and fastest on his feet, ran up to the top of the step. He tied the line to the door knocker, threw the roll under the car and ran to join us. When we were in place, the fun started. "Knock, knock, knock" came with the pulling of the line, and in a few seconds, Dave was out the door looking for the phantom that he heard, but didn't see at the door. He probably shrugged his shoulders before closing the door, because; oh well, no one's there.
A few seconds later, "knock, knock, knock". Dave springs out the door, again, no one there. I can describe the situation on and on, but I think you get the picture. After a few times, Dave didn't go back to the sofa. He waited at the door; you could see his hair, forehead, and eyes peering at the top of the door out the small glass panes. After a few minutes of nothing happening, he started back for the sofa. "Knock, knock, knock"... He had only gotten a few feet away from the door. This time he's gotta find out who's doing this. Dave springs like a tiger out onto the top step, and still, no one is there.
This may be a somewhat boring story if it ended there. Since we were kids with nothing better to do, we did it again the next evening. I had my fun and let it go there. My brother and Louie had other intentions. They kept going back over and over again. They made it too much of a good thing, and this went on for over 20-some evenings. There were a couple of other times I participated, but they usually had their own fun before joining friends for the rest of the night. Sometimes we hid behind the cars, other times they ran the line across the street and into the basement window. One can only wonder if Dave's sanity suffered tremendously. After all, he never knew who was doing this or how. To make this work repeatedly, Louie had to let things quiet down for the evening before cutting the line from the knocker. If they just broke it somewhere between, Dave would most likely see it when coming home from work or returning from walking his dog.
As they say, all good (?) things must come to an end. Doing this almost nightly, they became complacent and weren't watching. So after more than three weeks, another of our neighbors came walking down the street at the same time they did their knocking. She caught her neck in the fishing line at the same time Dave came barreling out the door. He followed it across the street and caught Mark and Louie. I wasn't around that night. You could say that I caught a lucky break and didn't get grounded along with my brother because I wasn't there at the time. Then again, you could say I missed out. I didn't get to see Dave's reaction when he came storming across Chadwick street and screaming about his sanity.
When I got home that evening from a friend's home, my mom, by then furious, said, "You'll never guess what your brother and that other no-good did." I could have said, "I bet they took a roll of fishing line..." but I'm not stupid. She went on to tell me the story, totally un-amused at my laughter. She didn't know that I was in on the fun, at least at times.
Dave's long gone, passing away in the early 1980s. Hopefully. he forgave us that mental torture, but I know he couldn't have forgotten it. I remember that he walked by us without even the usual "Hey boys" for a while when we saw him. But we did eventually start talking again. Hey, I didn't forget, and we're more than four decades removed from it.
Kids today don't do these things. Maybe that's a good thing. These are different times, and a simple act like that can be met with gunfire if you mess with the wrong person. If your kids do it and get caught and are brought home by an angry neighbor, don't be too upset with them. Or with me for that matter. I'm only telling a true story. They're responsible for their actions. But if they do it and don't get shot by neighbors who are more likely to be armed with large-caliber weaponry (get the hint kids?), be glad they did something besides sit at the computer or smartphone all day or play with their Play Station, Xbox, waisting instead of killing time. They interacted with a buddy and learned how to have fun. It might be something new for you, but you'll handle it. After all, you're a parent.
AND YOU MAY REMEMBER...
* The way you would have fun tormenting the neighbors. Whether it was ringing and running or an ignited paper bag of dog poo, we all had our own way of getting some laughs.
* Something happening if you lived down this end of the block and not knowing who did it. It's true that we liked to have our fun, but we didn't do everything around here. We were accused of quite a few things and didn't do it, but because we were the only kids down this end of the block that weren't shy about it being known that we did something, we sometimes caught the blame. We knew a few guys who would really get punished - sometimes a bit too severely - if they did these things. They were really sly and didn't tip their hat to what they were up to.
Look at it this way: We remained good neighbors and friends and we turned out to be good, responsible citizens. Call it a statute of limitations. If we did you wrong, I apologize. Despite a laugh or asking "did they do that?", let's put it behind us.
* About a year or so ago, some kid rang my doorbell and ran. When I answered, another boy looked at me neorvously and said "He ran around the corner." I smiled, closed the door, and laughed. Somewhere in South Philly, there's a kid who's doing those things that we did when we were young.
Back when we grew up in the 70's, we used a certain creative flair to kill the boredom; a kind of imagination that's not found with kids today. Now just about everything's electronic, whether communications or entertainment. With us, give us something as simple as a roll of monofilament fishing line and we were happy.
In this episode, we remember a neighbor named Dave W. who was really a good guy. He was the Coca-Cola employee that I mentioned in my post about neighbors sitting out together on summer evenings. His only grievance with us was yelling about our football playing. Other than that, he was, as we often said, good people. But Dave had an unusual problem. That being that he lived almost directly across the street from our house - a home with two young, sometimes bored boys. Oh yeah, and he had one of those heavy metal door knockers that made a loud bang when you knocked at the door. Those simple things turned him into a somewhat-perfect victim.
One evening, I came upon my brother and his friend Louie hanging around. They told me they had this plan to have some fun with our good neighbor. The plan was to take a spool of fishing line, tie it to his door knocker, throw the spool over a parked car and knock on his door. My brother and I hid behind the car while Louie, being the stealthiest and fastest on his feet, ran up to the top of the step. He tied the line to the door knocker, threw the roll under the car and ran to join us. When we were in place, the fun started. "Knock, knock, knock" came with the pulling of the line, and in a few seconds, Dave was out the door looking for the phantom that he heard, but didn't see at the door. He probably shrugged his shoulders before closing the door, because; oh well, no one's there.
A few seconds later, "knock, knock, knock". Dave springs out the door, again, no one there. I can describe the situation on and on, but I think you get the picture. After a few times, Dave didn't go back to the sofa. He waited at the door; you could see his hair, forehead, and eyes peering at the top of the door out the small glass panes. After a few minutes of nothing happening, he started back for the sofa. "Knock, knock, knock"... He had only gotten a few feet away from the door. This time he's gotta find out who's doing this. Dave springs like a tiger out onto the top step, and still, no one is there.
This may be a somewhat boring story if it ended there. Since we were kids with nothing better to do, we did it again the next evening. I had my fun and let it go there. My brother and Louie had other intentions. They kept going back over and over again. They made it too much of a good thing, and this went on for over 20-some evenings. There were a couple of other times I participated, but they usually had their own fun before joining friends for the rest of the night. Sometimes we hid behind the cars, other times they ran the line across the street and into the basement window. One can only wonder if Dave's sanity suffered tremendously. After all, he never knew who was doing this or how. To make this work repeatedly, Louie had to let things quiet down for the evening before cutting the line from the knocker. If they just broke it somewhere between, Dave would most likely see it when coming home from work or returning from walking his dog.
As they say, all good (?) things must come to an end. Doing this almost nightly, they became complacent and weren't watching. So after more than three weeks, another of our neighbors came walking down the street at the same time they did their knocking. She caught her neck in the fishing line at the same time Dave came barreling out the door. He followed it across the street and caught Mark and Louie. I wasn't around that night. You could say that I caught a lucky break and didn't get grounded along with my brother because I wasn't there at the time. Then again, you could say I missed out. I didn't get to see Dave's reaction when he came storming across Chadwick street and screaming about his sanity.
When I got home that evening from a friend's home, my mom, by then furious, said, "You'll never guess what your brother and that other no-good did." I could have said, "I bet they took a roll of fishing line..." but I'm not stupid. She went on to tell me the story, totally un-amused at my laughter. She didn't know that I was in on the fun, at least at times.
Dave's long gone, passing away in the early 1980s. Hopefully. he forgave us that mental torture, but I know he couldn't have forgotten it. I remember that he walked by us without even the usual "Hey boys" for a while when we saw him. But we did eventually start talking again. Hey, I didn't forget, and we're more than four decades removed from it.
Kids today don't do these things. Maybe that's a good thing. These are different times, and a simple act like that can be met with gunfire if you mess with the wrong person. If your kids do it and get caught and are brought home by an angry neighbor, don't be too upset with them. Or with me for that matter. I'm only telling a true story. They're responsible for their actions. But if they do it and don't get shot by neighbors who are more likely to be armed with large-caliber weaponry (get the hint kids?), be glad they did something besides sit at the computer or smartphone all day or play with their Play Station, Xbox, waisting instead of killing time. They interacted with a buddy and learned how to have fun. It might be something new for you, but you'll handle it. After all, you're a parent.
AND YOU MAY REMEMBER...
* The way you would have fun tormenting the neighbors. Whether it was ringing and running or an ignited paper bag of dog poo, we all had our own way of getting some laughs.
* Something happening if you lived down this end of the block and not knowing who did it. It's true that we liked to have our fun, but we didn't do everything around here. We were accused of quite a few things and didn't do it, but because we were the only kids down this end of the block that weren't shy about it being known that we did something, we sometimes caught the blame. We knew a few guys who would really get punished - sometimes a bit too severely - if they did these things. They were really sly and didn't tip their hat to what they were up to.
Look at it this way: We remained good neighbors and friends and we turned out to be good, responsible citizens. Call it a statute of limitations. If we did you wrong, I apologize. Despite a laugh or asking "did they do that?", let's put it behind us.
* About a year or so ago, some kid rang my doorbell and ran. When I answered, another boy looked at me neorvously and said "He ran around the corner." I smiled, closed the door, and laughed. Somewhere in South Philly, there's a kid who's doing those things that we did when we were young.
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