is by appointment only, or 2 to 4 on Sundays as always!
I admired tremendously my mother for taking care of three mildly hyperactive preschoolers in a confined place, holy or not, for two solid hours. I do not recall specifically what we did and I am sure God will remind us at some point, but I can only imagine we were neither religious zealots nor prayerful. We probably ran amuck through the church, touching things that were considered holy and screaming loudly enough to wake up the saintly dead. God must still shutter to this day when we make ourselves known in his presence. I understand His memory goes back a long time!
We eventually made our way to the stores as sleepy downtown became alive. Mom never missed going to the city market where the staples of life were fresh and emitting an aroma I can still recall by memory. My mother is an Italian immigrant who always looked forward to this rather European experience as the market was stocked primarily by Italian vendors. The farmers’ market was a sight to behold for a young child and the sights and smells were as breathtaking as any carnival. Everything was fresh and the pasta was homemade. Meat, fish, pasta, fruits, vegetables, cookies, candies and other sweets filled the stands. Chickens were slaughtered and plucked on the spot. We laughed as they persisted with their contorted dance without their heads—after all, we were preschoolers.
A multi-layered sugar wafer cookie was our favorite treat at the city market and mother seldom disappointed us. We were admonished to “be good” to receive our treats. Mom was an expert at applying contingencies to our behavior long before such techniques were formalized in psychology textbooks. And best of all, the layered sugar wafers cost only about 25 cents a pound. Mother knew how to stretch a dollar. What a cheap token behavior management program our mother created and implemented!
We walked from store-to-store following our mother like imprinted ducklings. Mother did more window-shopping than buying. Men riding three-wheeled bicycles hawked ice cream and other novelties. Blind men and men maimed in war having lost their legs were often seen sitting on boards with roller wheels pushing themselves along sidewalks and across streets. They often sold pencils and brooms to help support themselves and their families. To wee little ones, downtown seemed to have an endless number of stores, and like the state fair, we would not be able to visit each and every one of them. One store had a horseshoe shaped walkthrough with a large scale located at the center of its curve. We all took turns weighing ourselves for it was free and in those days free meant free— even our mother did so when we were not looking. The ‘five and dime’ store was a favorite of our family’s, not only because goods were incredibly cheap, but also the ‘five and dime’ had a dinner counter with a long single row of twirling bar stools. One could rest and order your favorite ice cream or sandwich. You could watch your order being prepared by women dressed in white because the stoves and other equipment were just on the other side of the counter. I think my mother liked it so much because it was a rare moment where she could watch somebody else do the cooking! And when were done with lunch, we could twirl the tops of the dinner stools making them higher and lower in an autistic-like way for no particular reason or goal.
Somehow time passed and my mother always managed to survive until lunch, a meal that she always prepared for us before leaving home. Mom did her best to skimp, save and cut corners in those days. She was better than my father at applied home economics. The family income was low even by the standards of the 1950s. Money indeed must have been the root of all evil because our family did its best to stay away from it! Whatever could be stretched was stretched. Our family seldom used condiments. We grew skeptical of everything in liquid form, as the staple was apt to be diluted by half or more with water. Although my mother does not receive patent monies, I am sure that she invented skimmed milk. Until I was an adult, I did not realize that products such as milk, ketchup, tomato sauce and shampoo were so rich in color, taste, and texture! Mother economized where she could. Anything that could be branded as a staple in our every day family life that was not nailed down became fair game. Mom “borrowed” just about everything she could from local department stores, restaurants and restrooms, sometimes even toilet paper. Mother was also very practical and sensible. Although I did not appreciate it at the time—um, this would be an understatement—my mother exchanged a birthday gift from my aunt, a stamp album, for something that every little boy would be overjoyed about—a pair of pants. My mother was a shrewd businesswoman who did not need a degree in economics to be savvy. For my part, I licked those pants for several months every time I put them on just out of childhood spite!
Then there were those special times of the year that going downtown captured the young and those young at heart. Christmas is a time of awe, miracles, and imagination for children. In the heart of downtown, a 284-foot limestone monument dedicated in 1902 to soldiers in the armed forces who died in the Civil War, was transformed magically into the world’s tallest Christmas tree. The strands of Christmas lights boasted nearly 5000 multicolored lights.
One prominent corner store had its beginnings in the late 1800s. A clock with eight foot illuminated dials faced in all four directions. Each holiday season, a cherub miraculously appeared on the top of this clock. The store dressed up its ordinary window fashions with seasonal scenes, most of which were animated and enchanted us beyond expression. Watching Santa laying gifts underneath the tree, carolers holding hymnals and singing, and reindeer pulling the sleigh captivated us and captured our hearts, as we pressed our noses to the glassed enclosures. In the basement of the store was Santa’s Toyland equipped with a small train that transported wide-eyed children throughout the land of magical toys.
Our family participated in any form of entertainment in which little or no funds were expended. We usually visited the cemetery after church on Sundays. Dead people neither charged for visitors nor seemed to mind their presence. Had we been older, this would have been a rather morbid experience. My grandparents were laid to rest in the cemetery’s above ground mausoleum and my parents purchased their own vaults beside them many years ago. One of the most fiscally appropriate judgments made by my father who paid $300.00 a plot. In making pre-planning arrangements I was informed by a credible source that it will cost $500.00 to open each vault by unscrewing 4 screws and applying leverage with a pry bar. Upon hearing this, I believe I was hit over the head by the latter and only one screw was involved.
This particular mausoleum hosted row upon row of marbled compartments stacked a half dozen high. I remember trying to peer between the bordered cracks of my grandparents’ vaults only to see what I thought was an eye staring back. This always spooked my brother, sister and me, as did a showing of The Wizard of Oz, especially the part where the stripped stocking feet of the wicked witch of the east curled and were sucked under the house that fell upon her—be gone before somebody drops a house on you! After our family paid their respects to the departed, we fed the ducks in the cemetery’s pond. The ducks always seemed happy to have contact with living people even the three of us with stale bread. It was generally a pleasant experience for such a morose edifice. Besides telling our friends, the only other drawback was that swans occasionally chased us around the lake. They were apparently unimpressed and impatient at how fast our little hands could dispense stale old bread. How rude!
As adults, we paid increasingly more respect at the cemetery as our paternal grandmother Antonetta and our beloved uncle and aunt, Joseph and Edna, were laid to rest. Grandma died in 1971. Aunt Edna lost her battle with cancer and slipped away at the age of 71. Uncle Joe died at the age of 80. Our father was lovingly taken care of at home by our mother and passed away at the age of 89.
On many Sundays, we had the double treat of not only visiting the cemetery, but also appraising new model homes. The suburbs were growing immeasurably at the time. The boundaries of natural woods, a ready free source for landscaping dirt and soil according to my father, were in constant flux and being driven away long before environmentalists complained of manmade erosion. Local and television personalities were often hired to help market the homes. I particularly remember meeting Leo Carillo one Sunday at one of the model home openings. He was best known for his role as Pancho, partner of the Cisco Kid from the 1950’s television western action series, The Cisco Kid. Pancho
