Bill OBoyle: Those good old days never end
Nov. 12—OK, Election Day is behind us and we have honored our veterans, so it's a good time to hop in the Way Back Machine and take a trip back to the Homeland, the Center of the Universe, Old Shawnee, yes, Plymouth, PA.
And before you moan and groan, just remember that my hometown was just like your hometown, so when I talk about my trips back in time, you can relate.
We really did grow up in the best of times. That's why it is so therapeutic to remember those days, those times and most importantly, the people.
So when my friends and I gather at Raub's Restaurant, or Abe's Hot Dogs, or anywhere, we talk about those days, those times and those people. We sometimes wonder how we ended up where we are today, but we are happy we are here and that we can get together and relive those glory days of the Shawnee Indians and the Vinnies — back in the day long before the Kielbasa Festival was a thing.
Now get on-board and travel with me in the Way Back Machine — back to the 1960s when car doors and house doors were unlocked, people sat on their porches and talked across the street, and cars flew by that you could name at first glance.
On Reynolds Street sits the home I grew up in and the homes where my pals lived are still there. Even where Maslowski's Bar and candy store were, and around the corner at Third Street we get to Nottingham Street and my first school, Nottingham Elementary, is in rough shape, but it's still there.
Back down to Second Street and past Jack's Market and the the 12th Ward Memorial Honor Roll, where I always stop, say a prayer and recall all the games we played on that corner.
Over to Orchard Street, climb to Fourth Street and turn down Barnes Street where the Plymouth Little League field sits on the land where I learned to play and love the game of baseball. Those were the days of choosing sides, rocks for bases, white-washed baseballs, taped wooden bats and made-up rules. It's sad that the field is seldom used these days.
But my dad would be happy to see the condition of the field that he helped build. Back in the mid-1970s when the Wyoming Valley West School District decided it was going to build its new high school in Plymouth, they chose the site where Plymouth Little League's original field sat on Wadham Street. That ill-conceived decision necessitated the Little League to move and Barnes Street was chosen as the new site.
My dad's friend, Cas Good, had a masonry company and his crew dismantled the press box and dugouts at the Wadham Street field and reassembled them at Barnes Street. And with the constant care of the new field by Joseph "Shep" Chepulis, the new field became a beautiful site.
And here I was staring at this field of my dreams, realizing that not many Little League games are ever played there these days. I'm told there are less kids these days and the kids who are around most likely prefer those new-fangled video games over outdoor sports like baseball. My sadness was brightened by the new look of the old park.
I immediately had a flashback — Gary Kochinski Sr. and I would choose sides — deciding who got first pick by gripping a baseball bat hand-over-hand until only the knob was visible. At this crucial point, whoever's turn it was would use two or three fingers to grasp the bat and then would have to complete the process by twirling it around his head three times without dropping the bat. Then and only then would he be awarded first pick.
I could see us there playing baseball in the heat of summer. We would play all day before heading home for lunch — maybe a tuna sandwich with tomato soup!
A bunch of us would gather on my front porch and play Strat-O-Matic, a baseball game using dice and cards. I was always the Yankees. Walter Roman was the Phillies. George Miklosi wanted to be the Yankees, but we made him pick another team — usually the Giants with Willie Mays, Willie McCovey, Orlando Cepeda, Juan Marichal, Bobby Bonds. A darn good team. Chris Balita and Mike Shusta would take the Cincinnati Reds or the Minnesota Twins, the Dodgers or the Pirates. We would spend hours in the shade of our huge maple tree playing that game.
After supper, we would be outside again, riding bikes, or playing hide and seek or up-against, where we would fire a rubber ball against Roman's wall and try to catch the edge of the cinder block to send the ball sailing for a home run.
The point is there was always something fun to do. We would even hike up the mountain along the creek and stop at the small water dams along the way. We did this when the heat was unbearable.
Those really were the good old days and by sitting around a table all these years later, those good old days will never end.
We will sing and dance forever and a day.
Reach Bill O'Boyle at 570-991-6118 or on Twitter @TLBillOBoyle.
