You know, in a number of ways it was very much like sitting vigil at the deathbed of an old and dear friend...
Not long after I entered the first grade at Bliss School in the fall of 1954, the decision was made by my family (mother, maternal grandfather and grandmother, and me, only the latter having no vote in the proceedings) that we move from the first floor of a three decker house at 43 Holman St. to an eight-room house with bath one block up at 12-1/2 Emory Street.
I knew that my Pop-Pop and Nana had raised their five children (including my mother) in that Holman Street house and it was the only home I ever known as well, never mind the many friends and neighbors I had come to know in my travels around the block.
But when I learned that the move was irrevocable I consoled myself with the thought that our new home was only 150 yards from our old, and the new house was all ours, and it was a mere 30 second hike from our new digs to the downtown arches, so I would be living in the middle of all the action!
Previously, I had only been in the center of town with my grandparents on Wednesday night shopping trips, on daytime sojourns with Ma to pick up school shoes through the nurse's shoe club at Sillman's, or to see Dr. Adolph Bender, the podiatrist in the First National Bank building (where Comcast is now) and maybe do a little bank business prior to leaving-then maybe a soda and a sandwich at the fountain in Woolworth's (the Five and Ten).
Yet another preschool reason for visits downtown were the annual forays into the basement of London's or the sleek festive trailer park near the arch at the Common to visit Santa.
Believe me, for a young boy in the 1950s, the downtown offered up an endless smorgasbord of sights, sounds, smells, tastes, and more local characters than you could believe.
The first time I crossed Emory Street to the parking lot of London's store and then Park Street so that I might run an errand for Ma at a place called "Bill's Spa," my mission (which I always chose to accept...) was probably to get milk and bread, a transaction wherein I dug in the pocket of my jeans for a half-dollar and received considerable change in return.
As I gained the sidewalk and approached the door, right away I picked up on a distinct difference from the quiet tranquility of our old neighborhood store, Stanton's, at Brook and Emory streets. On some primitive level deep in my bones I could feel a bass line thrumming from within.
Opening the front door, my head entered before my cautious feet; the source of the driving beat was the music of the spit-curled guitarist, Bill Haley and his Comets pounding out "Rock Around the Clock" from a colorfully lit juke box. To the right was a double row of booths were bigger, teenaged kids nursed ice cream sodas and burgers and gazed wordlessly into one another's eyes.
Their more active counterparts jitterbugged wildly in dungarees with rolled cuffs, casual shirts with cuffs and collars rolled up, and penny loafers or black boots were on their flying feet.
The gals were in tight sweaters and lots of makeup, and most wore the bobby socks which would become identified with the era, over low cut sneaks or saddle shoes with flowing poodle skirts for very tight skirts (which could make a 7-year-old boy forget baseball for a second or two), Capri pants or pedal pushers.
Perfume mixed with animal magnetism and maybe just just a tad of unbridled lust, and I knew that my question to Mom every single day after school would be, "Ma, you need anything at the store?"
But, before very long, "Bill's Spa" was sold by Bill McGee (many years later, I found out from his daughter Joan that Bill was the nice man that had lived next door to us on Holman Street! Small world, indeed.)
Next week, I'd like to revisit further into those great years spent in a little corner store on Park and Pine in Attleboro - thank you...
Parting thoughts
Prayers and sympathy for the sole and loved ones of a young lady I've known since her birth, Kristina M. "Krissy" April.
Krissy grew up in the same Fourth Street neighborhood where we lived at the time, and as she grew, my family was witness to any number of occasions which demonstrated Krissy's personal worth and human kindnesses toward others around her. Her untimely passing is a loss to all those whose lives she touched.
They include her father, my old friend Kevin April and his wife Cheryl, and also her mother, Tina (Jewett) April and my former coworker, Bud Godfrey. Condolences also for her fiance, old friend Jack Berger and her beloved son Rian April; to Krissy's brother, Michael, and sister, Shannon Fisher; and also a niece and nephew, Alexus and Kyle.
Sympathy also to her paternal grandmother, Frances April, and maternal grandmother Gerylin Peterson.
Condolences to the family of Paul E. Fortin, especially his mother, the late Jean B. Fortin, and his stepmother and stepfather, Adrienne (Fortin) Nimiroski and my late friend, Andrew H.J. Nimiroski; his siblings, Sue McPhee and her husband Rick Marshall, Michelle Barbieri and her husband Jim, and Phil Fortin and wife, Susan.
Sympathy also to his nieces and nephews: Sue Randall, John McPhee, David and Danielle Neveux, and Theodore, and Amanda, Caroline and Timothy Fortin.
Our sympathy to the family of Thomas C. Conlan, especially to his father, friend and popular retired AHS teacher William "Scotty" Conlan, and his mother, Eleanor (Carpenter) Conlan and to his loving wife, Celeste (Messier) Conlan; and also to his sons, Richard M. Conlan and wife Sera Autumn Galvin, Dennis P. and Gregory T. Conlan.
Sympathy also to his sister, my old schoolmate Susan (Conlan) Tremblay and fiance John Murray; his brother and his wife, both old friends and schoolmates, Douglas and Pamela (Coddaire) Conlan; and yet another friend, brother William (Chip) Conlan and wife Linda.
Well, that's about it for this week; please be good to one another out there and try to do someone a good turn each day. Remember the hungry and the homeless, and the less fortunate among us. Together we can move mountains.
Peace...