Back in an ancient time, my Cub Scout leader lived in a house on the block behind our house on Alden Street. The shortcut there and home was through their back yard, over the fence into my next door neighbor’s yard and then over another fence into my own yard. On that particular December cub scout meeting, I was wearing the shirt with my badges and a good pair of jeans. I was wearing a coat, so the shirt was safe, but I didn’t want to snag the pants on the fences, meaning the next shortest route was not much longer. I would walk from the scout leader’s front porch and twenty yards down the street and then up a driveway that once led to a garage that had been demolished at some time or other. With no garage at the end of the driveway, it led directly into my back yard. That driveway route was to be the route I selected that night.
But, while on the short sidewalk I heard chimes: Christmas songs.
It wasn’t some out of body experience. There weren’t any angels that appeared to me and it was not a Paul-on-the-road-to-Damascus kind of thing, What I heard was just the organist at Quayle Memorial Methodist Church playing chimes through the loudspeakers on the outside of the building.
So, instead of making the left turn down the driveway and toward home, I continued to walk down the sidewalk, north on 17th street, toward where the music being played. Seventeenth Street made a little ninety-degree hook to the left where the big stucco house was (and still is) and then a couple of hundred more feet to the corner of 17th and Yecker. That was where Quayle was. There was a stained glass window on the Yecker side of the church, if my memory is correct—and it may not be. I believe last time I was by there, it was boarded over, so I could not confirm.
I remember on that ancient December afternoon, I stood for a while at the corner and listened. There was something back then about Christmas that piqued the imagination of a ten- or eleven-year-old boy. There was something about the songs of the season that re-enforced the connection.
They still do.
I remember after hearing a song or two, I headed west down Yecker, took the shortcut through the alley and back home on Alden.
It is strange how one can forget something someone said this morning or the name of someone met yesterday, but still have a fairly solid memory of hearing a song fifty years ago.
Like I said, there is something about the songs of the season…
Well, no need to repeat myself. I just said that three paragraphs before. And they are short paragraphs.
However, we sometimes repeat ourselves in Jimbo’ world.
Sunday, December 18, 2011
Sunday, July 10, 2011
the north forty-forth street sidewalk surfing association
Most of the things we used to do in ancient times—back when I was growing up—have slipped into history. Kids today don’t do a lot of the same things we did two generations ago. One of the few, however, that seems still to be in vogue, is the skateboard.
Back in 1964 a group called Jan and Dean had a popular song on the radio called Sidewalk Surfin’ and we loved the song. Perhaps it was because we were riding sidewalk surfboards at the time, so it was something with which we could identify.
Either we were too poor to buy them or skateboards were not widely commercially available at the time. Anyway, we made our own.
I took a scrap piece of 1” X 8” pine, cut it to a couple of feet long and then penciled lines on it—a pattern that came to a point in the front and tapered to about four inches wide in the back. Then I took a hand coping saw and cut the board to the configuration I drew. Afterward, I sanded down the edges, removing any sharp corners and then smoothed out the top surface with fine sandpaper. I managed to find a skull and crossbones decal at the hobby shop and spray painted a thin blue stripe at a diagonal across the board, just behind where I applied the decal toward the front of the board. Then, I took a steel wheeled roller skate and used screws to attach it to the bottom side of the board. I put a coat of dark shellac on the board to give it a light brown color.
I was then ready to put my life on the line.
Forty-forth street had a gradual incline to the North of our house and it was a good hill to walk up and then ride the board back down. However, to the south, there was a very steep hill and, once we knew how to ride the board it was always the South hill we rode down. All of the neighborhood kids built boards or had their fathers build boards for them, and we would attack the hill as a group. There were a lot of bruises and skinned elbows and knees, because the hill was fast and we didn’t wear any protective equipment.
Because interaction in society requires that we belong to something and give a name to that something, we called ourselves the North Forty-forth Street Sidewalk Surfing Association. It was better than joining a street gang, I suppose.
Even though we are sure that you can go to You Tube and hear Jan and Dean sing,
“Grab your board and go sidewalk surfin’ with me,” Jimbo has reached the point in life that falling off a skateboard would require some time to heal, so he won’t be joining in.
But it is good to remember how it was forty-seven summers ago on Forty-forth Street in Jimbo’s world.
Back in 1964 a group called Jan and Dean had a popular song on the radio called Sidewalk Surfin’ and we loved the song. Perhaps it was because we were riding sidewalk surfboards at the time, so it was something with which we could identify.
Either we were too poor to buy them or skateboards were not widely commercially available at the time. Anyway, we made our own.
I took a scrap piece of 1” X 8” pine, cut it to a couple of feet long and then penciled lines on it—a pattern that came to a point in the front and tapered to about four inches wide in the back. Then I took a hand coping saw and cut the board to the configuration I drew. Afterward, I sanded down the edges, removing any sharp corners and then smoothed out the top surface with fine sandpaper. I managed to find a skull and crossbones decal at the hobby shop and spray painted a thin blue stripe at a diagonal across the board, just behind where I applied the decal toward the front of the board. Then, I took a steel wheeled roller skate and used screws to attach it to the bottom side of the board. I put a coat of dark shellac on the board to give it a light brown color.
I was then ready to put my life on the line.
Forty-forth street had a gradual incline to the North of our house and it was a good hill to walk up and then ride the board back down. However, to the south, there was a very steep hill and, once we knew how to ride the board it was always the South hill we rode down. All of the neighborhood kids built boards or had their fathers build boards for them, and we would attack the hill as a group. There were a lot of bruises and skinned elbows and knees, because the hill was fast and we didn’t wear any protective equipment.
Because interaction in society requires that we belong to something and give a name to that something, we called ourselves the North Forty-forth Street Sidewalk Surfing Association. It was better than joining a street gang, I suppose.
Even though we are sure that you can go to You Tube and hear Jan and Dean sing,
“Grab your board and go sidewalk surfin’ with me,” Jimbo has reached the point in life that falling off a skateboard would require some time to heal, so he won’t be joining in.
But it is good to remember how it was forty-seven summers ago on Forty-forth Street in Jimbo’s world.
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