Bill OBoyle: Remembering those really good old days
Nov. 13—WILKES-BARRE — Now that the midterm election is in our rear-view mirror, it's time to hop into the Way Back Machine and take a trip back to how things used to be for many of us.
Let's return to the days when small town Main Streets were busy with many shoppers patronizing many stores. In Plymouth, places like Weil's, Ben Franklin, Al Wasley Jewelers, Mitch Plessett's Men's Shop, Home Furniture, Shawnee TV, Fainberg's Furniture, Plymouth Hardware, Rea & Derick Drug Store, Woolworth's, and many more were bustling with people.
And we are now approaching that bustling season. It's time to start preparing for the holidays, where families will gather for turkey dinners and gift giving and goodwill.
We can see windows of businesses painted with holiday scenes, and we can hear carolers on street corners throughout the town. Christmas lights of red and green are strewn across Main Street and homes are decorated with magnificent displays. Inside those homes, trees are decorated and cookies are baking as visions of Santa and reindeer dance in children's heads.
And as we wait to attend church services, we all anticipate a bit of snow to fall to make the scene complete.
So as the Way Back Machine lands in the middle of Huber Stadium, we get out and start walking to see what is going on and we are sure we won't be disappointed.
Because we never were disappointed. We were good boys and girls, well, most of the time. And we were sure to be on our best behavior as Christmas approached. We left cookies and milk out for Santa and we went to bed early. And there was no Elf on the Shelf to spy on us and squeal to Santa about our slight indiscretions.
We had a good summer, playing outside all the time — games of sport and games of adventure. We used the streets and our backyards as our stadiums. We made up rules, we flipped the bat to see who would choose first, we climbed trees, we sat in the shade near a creek, we counted cars, we ran to Mister Softie and Dairy Dan, we marveled at the deliciousness of Mergo's hot dogs, Red's Subs, Joe's Pizza and we couldn't wait to get a CMP at Golden Quality or a cherry Coke at Rea & Derick.
We played Little League, and we rooted for the Shawnee Indians. We had hometown pride, and we might have had our first kiss in the balcony of the Shawnee Theater. We respected our teachers and our coaches and most of all, our parents. We got away with some shenanigans, but we rarely tried to fool anybody. We were too "a-scared" that we would be sent to Kis-Lyn.
We loved our moms' home cooking — we were always given two choices — take it or leave it. But we never left it. Ham and scalloped potatoes, roast beef, mashed potatoes, corn, relish trays, apple pies, pierogi, kielbasa, chicken, turkey, green beans, waxed beans, pork and beans, red beets — but please no broccoli or Brussels sprouts.
In our house, we had a spare room. We played basketball in there, using a rubber ball and a Quaker Oats box cut in half. Those games were very competitive. We also had a slot-car track on a platform and raced our favorite cars. In the summer, the windows were open, and we could smell the aroma of the lilac trees.
Sometimes we had to postpone our backyard Wiffle ball game because mom was hanging clothes. But as soon as she brought them in, the games were on.
We would ride our bicycles through the neighborhood, stopping at Jack's Market for a Yoo Hoo or Kickapoo Joy Juice and a cupcake. We would buy a few packs of Topps Baseball Cards and exchange with each other.
In the winter, those steep hills of Reynolds Street and Nottingham Street became our favorite sleigh-riding spots. We would take turns at each cross street to make sure no cars were coming.
As darkness arrived, we would return home, wash up and have our supper. Then we would sit in our living room and watch TV. It was a cycle that kept going for all the years of our youth.
During the school year, we walked down in the morning, back up for lunch, back down for the afternoon and back up after school. After supper, we would wait to hear our friends calling us out to play.
And when it was time to come home, our moms would holler for us. Some evenings, we would just sit on our front porch and watch the world go by and talk with neighbors.
We all had this type of existence, and we all long for those days and that is a good thing.
Now back to the Way Back Machine and our trip back to reality.
Reach Bill O'Boyle at 570-991-6118 or on Twitter @TLBillOBoyle.
