I don’t know how many of you had childhoods similar to mine. I imagine, if I write enough of these, you will all remember similar incidents. Here is one of my very own, BOOMER MEMORIES!
My childhood memories come from the 50’s and 60’s with high school memories coming in the early 70’s. Return with me to those thrilling days of yesteryear (Yes I stole-no-, borrowed-no-, procured- yea, I like procured, that from The Lone Ranger radio and TV programs- Original Radio show ran from 01/31/1933 to 05/25/1956, although reruns can still be heard on many “old-time” radio shows. The TV Series ran from 1949 to 1957 on ABC TV and can still be seen in reruns- in case useless facts like these interest you as much as they entertain me!) while I recall stupid, childish, things I have done.
Season 1 – Episode 1: The shoe polish incident:
In the late summer between third and fourth grade my friend Tim and I were lying on the grass in a prairie behind his house; lamenting yet another wasted summer in our young lives. The “prairie” as we called it was actually one of the few remaining single lots in our suburban community in the shadows of Chicago. It was a dangerous thing- to lay on the grass. We were both aware that many local residents walked their dogs with a target of making it to the vacant lots where they were not expected to clean any “droppings” their dogs may leave. Vacant lots were known to be filled with these piles of canine biohazards (Not a word commonly used in the 50’s-60’s) but we were tired from a long day of playing catch, tag and other games with our neighborhood friends, so we made a quick check and went for it- no droppings detected.
Tim said, “We only have a week left before school starts again.” I thanked him for adding to my childhood melancholy, although I did not use that word, and I added, “My family didn’t do anything this summer. My dad said he’d try to take us to the lake last weekend, but it was raining so we didn’t go. “Tim countered with, “We were going to go to the Sox game last Friday, but that was when the worst of the rains were falling.” “Yea, I remember. It sounds like our ‘fun’ weekends were being canceled at the same time” was my response.
About then a semi-truck filled with lumber passed by to make a drop on the old Atwood farm property where they were building a big new community they would name “Atwood Estates.” Trucks had been coming by all morning and we didn’t pay much attention to them.
My brothers and I used to walk through the Atwood farm property to buy candy at a small depot for the, since closed, Aurora Elgin commuter lines. For me, the farm featured a slump backed horse I would pet when my brothers weren’t paying attention and the dog, we all thought was a killer, wasn’t anywhere to be seen. Those were always fun trips; I would buy a small bag filled with penny candy and, usually, eat it all before we got home where I would have to share anything that remained with my two sisters.
Tim said, in a monotone voice betraying his boredom, “You know they waste half of that wood.” I replied with excited astonishment, “What! Are you crazy? Who in their right mind would buy all these truckloads of lumber just to throw half of them away? Why are you always trying to trick me?” Tim’s response was immediate and sincere, with a touch of irritation, “They have to waste a lot of it. My dad told me that they get 12-foot 2X4’s and only need 10-foot lengths; so, they cut off two feet, but don’t need any two-foot 2X4’s, so they throw them in a pile of wasted wood and other materials they don’t need.”
Tim’s eyes lit up and he said, “Hey! We’ve been talking about building a clubhouse; these guys are delivering our supplies!” I responded, still not grasping the whole concept, “How are we going to build a club house with a bunch of 2-foot lengths of wood?” Tim was much further down the road on this project and rolled his eyes while he schooled me. “Phil, they have some plywood panels they don’t need, some longer lengths of wood, miscellaneous nails, screws and other stuff. We can just bring my little brother’s wagon and take what we need.”
I told him he had definitely piqued my interest and it would be great if we could salvage our summer, I did have a bit of concern though. ” I would love to save this rotten summer with a last minute ‘Hail Mary pass’ like this, but my mom will kill me if we get arrested for stealing from the construction site.” Tim turned on his best Eddie Haskel (Leave it to Beaver TV series character) impersonation and said, “If we think it’s garbage, it’s not stealing and my brother Jack says, ‘It’s only stealing if you get caught,’ how many cops have you seen today?” We lived in a small quiet area of a small quiet town and would see a police car about twice a month, if that.
We worked on the clubhouse for 3 or 4 days (About 2 months in grown-up time), leaving only the weekend to enjoy it before we returned to school on Monday. If my memory serves me correctly, it was a bright and clear Saturday morning. We had just driven in the last nail and Tim, and I had agreed that he would get a couple of cans of pop (Midwestern term for soda or carbonated beverage), and I would run home to get snacks. We would have a great 2-person party and, hopefully a sleepover, to celebrate our momentous achievement. That’s when everything turned dark!
My mother who was a very beautiful and happy woman drove by. She stopped the car and called, “Philip” in a happy and carefree tone. “Hi mom, what’s up?” “I need you to come home right now. We’re going to the store to get you and Polly (My younger sister) shoes for school.” I was the fourth boy out of four. I never got new shoes for school. I got Paul’s hand me downs (That Paul got from Pat and Pat got from Pete). I was not a rebellious child, usually. I tried to calmly explain to my mom that this was a momentous project that we had just completed. We would only have two days to enjoy it and I could not waste one of them buying shoes.
As mom’s do, my mother got out of the car, put on her stern voice, stamped her foot, and ordered me to get my body (mom did not swear) in gear and get home. I angrily ran through the yards and was entering my home, two blocks away, before her car was in sight at the end of the block.
“OKAY.” I thought to myself. “Here I am, Home! If you cared at all you would have raced home, and we’d be shopping now instead of me here waiting for you to arrive.” I counted, “1, 2, 3, 4, 5….” She still wasn’t home! I would have to show how angry I was. A bottle (Glass- plastic had not come of age yet) of black shoe polish was on the counter. I decided to throw it as hard as I could against the beautiful hardwood floor- that should release some of this rage! WAIT! Even I wasn’t that childish- I should check to see if that’s a safe move. I tossed it onto the couch, softly. It did not break! It must be okay to throw it against the wall and floor then.
SO I PICKED IT UP OFF OF THE COUCH AND THREW IT WITH ALL MY STRENGTH AGAINST THE FLOOR, AT THE KITCHEN POCKET DOOR, IN FRONT OF THE CHINA CABINET!
As I released, I silently evaluated my actions. Was it on target?- Yes. Velocity? Very high- I cranked that sucker! WAIT! DANGER! DANGER! (This was before “Lost in Space” aired so no attribution is necessary). Retrieve projectile! Retrieve projectile- eminent danger, explosion unavoidable!
My childish mind grasped onto the warnings my childish brain was screaming to it. Translation: That sucker is going to explode if I don’t… too late! I was definitely too late. My rage was gone (Well at least I succeeded in that). Fear had replaced that rage!
I watched the end of my life unfurl, it appeared to be happening in slow motion, as many disasters do. The bottle had not made contact yet. Now it is flipping, and the metal top has contacted the hardwood floor. No explosion noted- perhaps my Guardian Angel has saved me! The bottle is still rotating as it approaches the wall, contact, I see contact. Oh, the humanity! (Is that too much?) The bottle is disintegrating. Pieces are flying into the Kitchen, behind the China Cabinet in the front room, back onto the hardwood, further onto the carpet. Something is following the glass, it’s shoe polish. a lot of black shoe polish. We never have full bottles of anything around the house with six kids- but the shoe polish is full! It’s soaking into the newly painted wall, the kitchen tile, the hardwood floor, the carpeting. Uh oh, I hear a car in the drive. Now she’s home! Why couldn’t she have gotten home before me!
Let me assess the damage as I run to hide in the bedroom (Who am I kidding? There is not hiding from this). One new bottle of black shoe polish- 40 cents? One destroyed living room carpet- $200.00? One repair of hardwood floor- 2 feet not covered by carpet-$300.00? Repair China cabinet- $150.00.
Mom enters. A short period of time elapses, PHILIP JOSEPH STEIK! Come here this instant!- I evaluate her tone as angry.
I don’t remember much after that. There was a lot of screaming. When dad got home, he said he was too mad to deal with me. Boy, that’s never happened before, and I hope it never happens again- He was too mad to talk to me! He was afraid he might hurt me! He finally, after talking with mom for a while, said, “Come on with me.” I wasn’t sure that would be a good move, “Where?” He took me to confession and he went too.
I was taking no chances. He motioned for me to sit in the front seat, usually a privilege. On that day, I chose to sit in the very back seat of our Chevy wagon, it faced backwards and, I was hoping, would keep me out of his long reach.
That was my first, worst, and only temper tantrum!
And you’re still alive to tell the tale!
My parents were very patient, especially considering I was the 5th of six children!