Welcome back, baby…to the ‘poor side of town’
My borough was between the road at the base of my street (north-south) and a four lane thoroughfare (east-west). The borough sprouted in the 1900’s off the main thoroughfare and oozed up the large hill behind it. It was called “The Hills”. Houses were generally mansions, but as you went up the hill, the lots and houses shrank. Around the ’20’s they built a large subdivision of 4 bedroom homes on a steep slope that had the distinction of stone stairs to climb to the next highest street (No slanted sidewalks, d’oh!). Halfway up the hill the borough built a small school–houses literally next door. One room per grade, at 7th you went to the more well to do borough 2 miles away.
We were below the mansions, on the other side of the hill. Builders christened it ‘The Gardens’. The street behind us (other side of ‘the field’) connected to the hill. You couldn’t ride your bike up, but every kid sooner or later ventured up and explored those four story houses, marble pillars, sweeping lawns, and in-ground pools.
Being tucked away below the hill, surrounded by acres of fields and trees, made for an echo chamber. You clearly heard train whistles 3 towns away–unlike Paul Simon, these trains WERE true. The ice cream truck, ‘Sam the Ice Cream Man’, could play his jingle up on the hill, and it would sound like it was down the street. Time to run to mom and weasel coins for root beer or vanilla popsicles.
Fire station sirens two towns over sounded nearby and were often eerie–many would sound a single tone, then slowly go off pitch, then back. Looking back, I know that sirens in those days were much longer and louder than what is prevalent now. The closest comparison I could point out would be the intro to Grand Funk’s “Paranoid.” One engine house had no siren, just a loud, low 2 tone bark that sounded like an air horn. Quick two second bursts that must have made the neighbors twitchy with fear. They say dogs can sleep through anything, but I doubt they napped through something resembling a demonic version of Joshua’s horns.
The milk truck’s squeaky brakes would be heard ten houses away. All porches had insulated four-bottle tin milk boxes. You want extra? Leave a note. You paid when he left you a bill–check or cash in an envelope with the empty milk bottle. Stolen milk? Never happened. The bottles were sealed with little foil lids and yes, you often had cream at the top.
Garbage men would come, walk to the back of your house, carry the can out front, dump it, and walk it back WITH THE LID ON ! No one believes me. I remember this well, because after around four years, it changed to putting the can by your front porch, and they would take it from there and return it. No plastic cans in the sixties–metal only–tough, reinforced low grade steel. Those mothers were heavy. This was the first chore I was assigned, when the can was barely a foot shorter than I. It had to be carried and if my father heard it being dragged, there’d be hell to pay. No such thing as trash bags–everything was heaped into the can and in summer it smelled forty pounds of roadkill.
The dry cleaner delivered as well. You could do all your business this way or drop off at the store and have it delivered. You paid COD when he came–the young guy was super nice. Eventually, he would let mom slide if she wasn’t home when he arrived, leaving the hangers on the door handle with a pink bill.
And did I mention the mail came twice a day and you could have a morning and evening paper if you were so inclined? (and the newspaper was not in a bag, it was held together by a elasticized cloth band)
Next time: More children = New School