Precious Memories

There is an old gospel song whose lyrics include:

Precious memories, how they linger

How they ever flood my soul

In the stillness of the midnight

Precious sacred scenes unfold.

My mom always said that what impresses a child the most will become a precious memory in adulthood.

In one way I agree with her; yet, in another, I don’t. I have memories of things that happened when I was four years old that have nothing to do with impressing anyone. I’m sure along the way, things that should have impressed me, have long been forgotten.

When my dad came home from WWII and he and mom began their family; they found an apartment in Greenpoint, New York. Greenpoint is a subdivision of the city of Brooklyn.

Here are some of my impressionable (?) memories:

• I lived on Nassau Avenue. On any given day, we could smell the stench from the Newtown Creek. While the cleanup of wastewater began sometime around 1930, the wastewater treatment plant wasn’t fully operational until around 1967. Within that time span, year after year, the smell was improving, yet growing up, it was disgusting.

• There always seemed to be more stray cats than dogs in Greenpoint. I remember when my brother who was six years old and had seen a dog who’d been hit and killed by a bus. He ran to the nearest garbage can, pulled out a few old newspapers and ran back to the animal’s carcass. He pulled the dog aside until he reached the curb and then covered it with the newspapers. He found a few old small twigs from the tree nearby and made a cross to place on the newspapers. He said a silent prayer and cried over the little body.

• On a different hand, I saw a little kitten that walked with a severe limp. Thinking it might have gotten hit by a car or bus, I wanted to help it. I was only four at the time. I wrapped my little hands around the cat’s belly to pick it up. The cat shrieked, panicked (in I’m assuming pain), and scratched my finger. Blood oozed out very quickly. My brother grabbed my hand and pulled me up the three flights of stairs to where my parents were preparing dinner. My dad took one look, went to the bathroom where he’d retrieved a bottle of mercurochrome, then held my hand over the sink and poured probably half the bottle on my open wound. OMG!!! The burning sensation from that red medication hurt more than the scratch. But it saved us a trip to the emergency room.

• My dad worked for NBC as a carpenter/stagehand. For those who don’t know what a stagehand is, I can explain simply. After the scenery for a show is built, it’s stored off stage in a designated area. When the act approaches where that scenery is needed, the curtain closes, and the stagehands move what’s on the stage and replace it with the items needed for the next act. Dad built the scenery and moved it around when needed. Dad also built a lot of scenery for Broadway shows. At the time, JJ Schubert owned many of the theaters on Broadway. One particular summer, JJ offered almost a dozen carpenters a chance to work a weekend at his Byram CT home. He wanted a houseboat built. They were told to bring their families for a weekend vacation. Dad agreed. As I wandered through the massive waterfront backyard, I saw a most magnificent rose that I wanted to give to my mom. I reached inside the fence and grabbed it. I was only six and had no idea roses had such huge thorns. Yep, it punctured my thumb. The kitchen maid washed my thumb and put a Band-Aid on it, and she was sure to advise me to never pick Mr. JJ’s flowers.

• Advancing to my young teen years, I lovingly recall what we called “The Kissing Rock”. It was a huge boulder stuck in the middle of road that was never dedicated for traffic. It was an unpaved muddy road used for the truck traffic that came and went from the Standard Oil Company refinery. This was back in the early 60s. I had a super crush on Mike. I thought he was a really cute guy and had a great sense of humor. I was extremely excited when Mike asked me for a date. He never gave a clue as to where we might go or do but I assumed the possibility of a move, stopping afterwards at the ice cream parlor for a coke float. (For those who don’t know what a coke float is, it’s when you put ice cream in a large tumbler, then fill it with coke cola.) Anyway, getting back to my date: Mike walked up the three sets of stairs to knock on my parents’ apartment door. We left and made our way down to the vestibule where I noticed a large leather box with a handle. Mike picked it up without saying a word. We began walking. Mike held my hand and in his other, he carried the leather box. We walked the two blocks to Kissing Rock, helped me sit on its top. Then to my surprise and teenage shock, he opened the leather case, removed his accordion, and began playing. I guess he thought he was romancing me but how can a young fourteen-year-old girl be romanced when the guy she’s with is playing Polka music on his accordion? At that time, it was one of the worst dates of my life.

I know there are many other memories I can recall from my younger days, but in order to list them all, I’d have to write a book – which, who knows, maybe one day, I will but for now, since at my age (in my seventies) I’m lucky if I remember what I did yesterday, I’ll just sit back and recall the good old days.