Social Studies

School certainly introduced us to a lot of new things but it gave us a couple of subjects that we knew already. One was English. You wouldn't believe anybody could flunk English. F? "How long have you been in this country?"

You should do well in Social Studies unless you are a recluse. Or maybe on the way to being anti-social. That's it!

When I was a kid, we all escaped from our houses on Saturday mornings. We went out to play. That's social. Later generations sat in front of television sets and got entertained.

"What did you do on Saturday morning?" You'll get the same answer for Tuesday afternoon and Wednesday night. We played. Those after us sat in front of television sets...even when they were eating. We had discourse at the table, even after the food was ingested. Late at night we went to the land of nod. Our successors watched Johnny Carson and his wannabes.

The greater influences in our lives were our pals, our companions, our friends. We put them ahead of inconsequential sagas that are scripted by entertainers who we didn't know. Sometimes we put more faith in our friends than in our families. That's not necessarily bad because eventually we would have to leave the nest and we better be prepared to get along with newer contacts. The hope is that we wouldn't abandon the older, very precious ones. We're not supposed to. If we do, we're on the way to being anti-social. Habit, you know!

Of the kids who I knew, four had greater residual impact than the others on my understanding of the wider world. It's not to say they were my "best" friends. That sort of thing is undefinable. Best friends were always all of our friends, even after they disappeared because they moved to some other part of the planet. With luck, we might see a few of them occasionally in later life. And remarkably, we might have continued old friendships with a few of them. On these foundations we were sure to make new friends. They rise to a definable level, one as precious as all the others.

I went to Fortesque with Johnny Bertman and his family in 1947. I was thirteen and was allowed to accept the invitation by his parents. It was the first time I was permitted to go away (except to Boy-scout camp) in tow of someone other than my own family.

Bill Pira's parents invited me to their dinner table often. "Put on a tie," mom would say so that I would look a presentable guest. It's a wonder that she didn't force me to get a haircut, too. I was fourteen then, and I was allowed to sit with and listen to adults at a table of remarkable civility.

When I first knew Billy Sandrow, he lived on Gorgas Lane, some distance beyond Emlen School. Usually I would ride my bicycle to his house. His mom (like Pira's) loved his friends. She'd make snacks. I think that I never had a more comfortable friendship than that with Billy. There were bonuses too. Through him I met Dave Wagner. Best Friends! Yes! My God, I look back to those times of unshakable loyalties, or better, of that unshakable knowledge that we would be (as "Curley" Grandinetti saluted us) "pals forever."

In later times when innocence would lose fashion, we might define things otherwise. We would learn to make allies of people because something might be gained. It's good to be around those who are influential. It's a cheaper relationship though if, when we talk with those who we love, we can't say kind things about those who were our patrons...and those who we tried to favor.

Best friends? Three more (how lucky I am) would develop at about that time, but mature after 1950. Richard Carr, George Haas and John Roebas came to that definable level, as precious as all the others.

— — -

Make some lists. First, good friends. Don't scratch off those who have moved to another planet. Then, make a list of kids you feared. Throw that one away because they don't count. Make another one of the kids you hated. Hopefully, that should be shorter than the one of kids you feared. If you can't remember that lot, you've grown-up and you're not likely to be thought of as paranoid. You're lucky. You aren't the type that buys books about conspiracy theories.

When people visit noteworthy places, they see plaques and commemorative plates, signs by the road that tell them of great events of past times. Most drive by without reading them. They're going from "point A" to "point B" and they want to do it without bother. Anyway, some of the plates have been stolen by bronze-thieves.

I've driven back to the town where I lived when I was young...er, a kid. The shrines of childhood adventures are gone. That's because later guardians didn't know who I was so they didn't protect the sites.

-The Antiquities-

POINTS OF INTEREST

1. The quarry

2. "Cow Lots"

3. Berry's drug store and fountain

4. The American Store

5. The site of the shooting

6. Fleming's yard

7. Cliveden Church; Boy Scout meeting place

8. The Lots

9. Jack's Tomato Pie House

10. Socony Vacuum, The Mobilgas Station

11. McCall's store and fountain

12. The junkyard

13. Ostrum's drug store

14. The Rialto Theater

15. Christ Church and St. Michael's Church and the dance hall

16. Henry's store and Fountain

17. YMCA and pool hall

18. Slavin's chemist shop

All gone:

"soon or late they stoop to fate, and must give up their murmuring breath...."