THE DAY AFTER

Today, the day after Christmas…a day of rest and coming down from the frenetic pace of shopping and preparing for a day that always flies by so fast.  I think about this day and the many I had in my life ...And then it’s 1957 and the day after the big day for me again.

This day was not a day of rest for a kid.  It was the day of trying on stuff (which was torturous) and trying out stuff.  I explored my new toys (which was fun – the joy of getting can’t be beat).  And this year I got my dream bike that I wanted forever.

The Schiwinn Corvette a bike with smaller tires – it was “in-between” the very popular English racers with the skinny tires and the old, lumbering, one speed bikes with the big tires – which was my old Black Beauty, the next to best bike ever.  But like its namesake – this new bike was much faster, sleeker and  more fun to ride, like a Chevy Corvette!  It had a three-speed shifter on the handle bars, a first for me.

After trying on an endless array of new clothes under the watchful eye of Mom – who reviewed each garment and then uttered, “They are a little big, but you’ll grow into them” about each – it was time.  On a very windy and grey day I bundled up and announced, “I’m going to take my new bike for its first ride.”  It was in our laundry room because it took up far too much space by our Christmas tree.  “Bundle up,” mom ordered.  It was about 22 degrees out this post-Christmas morning so I wasn’t about to argue.  I put on heavy and hated corduroy pants and my new sweater under my bulky winter coat - one that an Eskimo would have found too hot.  And ventured out into the imagined tundra.  I loved seeing my breath in the winter air and took a few moments to “smoke” an imagined cigar trying to blow smoke rings like my uncle Ray – but found this wasn’t possible with just pure lung warmed air.  I walked my bike out to the street and hoped that some of my pals would be around so I could show off this great gift I got “from Santa” as the tag, still on the handlebars proclaimed.  (I knew this great prize was from Garton’s Sport Center - I was a 7th grader for goodness sake – but I didn’t let on I knew because my Mom still was clinging to a wish that I would remain her “baby boy” for life.)

Now the moment I had been dreaming about was at hand.  Would my blue Corvette stack up to the many TV commercials with Clint Walker that I memorized and and could repeat word for word? -  “The Schwinn Corvette – the brand new 26” middleweight with forged, narrow design…front and rear caliper brakes, front luggage carrier, stainless steel fenders, whitewall tires…and the new two toned color coordinated saddle…the newest and greatest Schwinn bike with a boys and girls model…and just in time for Christmas.”  Thanks “Santa” I said to myself!  I mounted my new bike and it fit like a glove.  I pushed off and it peddled like a dream.  I immediately imagined I was racing at Le Mans.  This bike was more than fast, it seemed self-propelled.  I must have been doing at least ten miles an hour as I flew down Stratton Avenue.  I took the corner onto third street and didn’t need to  slow the pace – this bike held the road.  But then I made a terrible miscalculation that would haunt me for years.  In front of me was a giant patch of ice from a deep puddle that came with every rain storm.  I had to brake.  But which lever was the rear brake and which the front brake?  I knew from several rides on my cousin’s racer that you didn’t hit the front brake first.  But I only had a second to react.  I chose the left brake and squeezed it hard. Immediately the front wheel locked and the rear wheel, still free, left the payment as I flew over the handlebars – I was airborne and then the bike flew over me and we both hit the ice hard.  Face first I slid forward for at least 10 feet. I just laid there hoping no one had seen this embarrassing disaster.  I quickly took  stock of damage to myself first - nothing broken, no blood - but I was more worried about my new Corvette.  It laid a few yards ahead of me.  “Oh no!”  I saw the front fender was bent upward.  The handle bars were knocked off center and my brand new two-toned seat was now backwards.  I had just wrecked the greatest bike I would ever have.  I picked myself up and walked the bike back home in tears.  Later that day Pop inspected the carnage and made repairs.  My mom later that day would order a  new fender and brake lever from Sears and several weeks later the bike looked almost like new.  But it never felt the same for me again.  

For several years I rode this bike to school until I could drive a car.  I replayed that crash every time I hopped on it and the lesson that I would never forget.  A lesson, not just about a new bike, but also about the many cars I would own later down the road of life.  Never love your bike, or car too much – because if you do they will eventually break your heart.  Treat them like the machines they are – and whatever you do, never ever break too hard on ice...and also - never give them a human name like Betsy!

MARGARET'S SONG

     My Mother would have been 100 years old yesterday...she passed 16 years ago but I still remember her at least once a day.  Here's some of my Millville Memories of my Mom.

    I thought she was the prettiest person in the whole world.  She worked her from graduating high school in 1942 till she "retired" and had a few years of rest - many too much idelness?  When my stepfather Tom retire he actually quit everthing.  Sold his tools.  And devoted hours on his telegraph clicking his words around the world.  This was indeed amazing to me because he only went to school until the fourth grade.  And my mother sat and drummed her finges on the arm of her chair...thinking about what was, what would come...and what could have been.

    She was a basketball player and almost proudly displayed her deformed finger that she got playing against our arch-enemies the Vineland Poultry Clan (the worst team name every devised).  She told me about this at least 10,000 times over the years alway closing with "thank God it wasn't my ring finger!"  She, the Captain of the Millville Thunderbolts (there's another story about our team's name that is to come).  And she remembered the cheer she wrote that was still being yelled 20 years after.  With her orange and blue knitted hat and scarf she attend most of the games in her adult life - unless it rained.  And would cheer along with the "girls" throughout the games and each time her cheer was made she would tell "I made that cheer up".  "What askee botin notin, what askee fight...!" (The forties were known for lyrics that didn't make sense but sound like they did.  She was of the "Jitter-Bug" era).

    In here Junior year she fell in love with one of the prize guys in Millville, my Dad.  He was an "OlderMan" she said.  A post grad student who in those days could return to public school and take course they needed to be accepted in certain colleges.  He was going to preparing to go to a pharmacy training school and needed a year of chemistry which was one of the required electives that he didn't choose.   Calvin Sr. spent his time as a "soda jerk" in local parmacy which in those days many had a long marble bar with stools that spun and featured ice cream sodas (check one out in the film "It's a Wonderful Life".)  Those days are long gone - now CVS is a convenience store that also sell drugs.  He did go to school but his higher education was unexpectedly interrupted by a World War.  He joined the Navy as a Pharmacist's Mate and was in the hottest battles waged in the Pacific.

    He came home for a long weekend and Mom and he were married in Boston befor his ship set out for the other side of the world.  A whirlwind romance.  I was concieved their wedding night.