These are terrible times, times that have elevated gun culture to the point that the gun, particularly the automatic rifle, has become the instrument by which all problems are solved.
My husband and I, shocked again, as you no doubt have been at the senseless murder of innocent children and their teachers in Texas, compared how the times have changed. As a short refuge from these difficult times, I share with you my husband’s images of summers in the late 1940s and ‘50s’
“ We lived in the Corn Hill section of Utica, sharing streets with neighbors who were also family, immigrants, first and second generation Americans who combined the cultures of Italy and the United States into wonderful summers for my brother Sam and me.
Both of our parents worked at the Oneida Knitting Mills an so, in the summers, when we were 10 and 11, and 12 , we were “on our own” during the day. Now, to be truthful, being “on your own” only meant that your parents didn’t know what went on until they got home. Supervision was provided by the eyes and ears of neighbors and family. We were in and out of each other’s houses and were expected to obey adults as if they were parents as the adults were expected to look out for us as they would their own children.
What did we do? Weekends were busy. Often our parents would take us out to eat at the one and only Joe’s on Pellitteri Avenue. My parents were harsh critics of food eaten outside the home and Joe’s made the cut. Everyone ate at Joe’s. Even my Uncle Joe, who lived across the street ate there. Eating there was like eating at home.
And thinking about the name Joe. In our family there were so many named Joe and Mary that we had a series of nicknames to identify who we were talking about. Of course these were nicknames we only used at home. I can’t share them, even today.
Family, so much family, visiting all the time. There wasn’t a day that family didn’t visit us or we visit them. My mother came from a family of ten siblings and my father came from a family of six. Aunts and Uncles and cousins all over Utica. Visits meant gossip and food, “Come sit, eat.”
More eyes and ears to keep you in line.
East Utica never had a downtime when it came to excitement and fun. The Catholic churches in the area held festivals that we called feasts. There were the Mary of Mt. Carmel feast, the St. Cosmos and Damian Feast, the San Gennaro Feast … and others, the names of which I can’t recall. For several days, the area around each church would hold celebrations that included a dramatic parade when numbers of men would carry a heavy statue of the Saint after whom the feast was named. There was music and dancing for the adults and games, food and opportunities to get into trouble for the kids. But, again, the people who were there were neighbors, family, lots of family, the same eyes and ears as on the block,
My parents owned a small camp on Oneida Lake that they rented out over the summer months. This meant that, at least on some weekends, my brother and I would accompany them to the camp to help ready it for the next occupants. After we finished our chores, we could go swimming and visit Oneida lakes’ version of a boardwalk. Bright lights, barkers, excitement for Sam and me.
I had a bike. I loved that bike. It took me to marvelous places, at least in the eyes of a pre-teen. I could ride it to the park and get into a pick-up ball game, or ride it along the railroad tracks to the very first try outs for Little league ever in Utica. I made it as a center fielder and spent my one and only Little League year happily playing ball. Why only one year? I was 12 and aged out at 13. I rode that bike for two miles each way for all practices and games. Good times.
On any ordinary day, my brother and I played in the shade of the trees along our street with the other kids who lived on the block. We did ordinary things like play hide and seek, climb trees … actually we climbed just about anything that you could climb including the roofs of sheds. Pretending, a wonderful ability, we were WWII commandoes climbing into the headquarters of the enemy, jumping off, we were paratroopers or one of our movie heroes. I broke my wrist when I fell out of one of the trees. Jennie Minuti took care of me until my mother came home. I had THE lecture from both of them.
We sat on porches and played pitch for hours, we traded Superman, Archie and Wonder Woman comic books, or took off to the corner store to get a popsicle or a cold bottle of soda. We went to the movies; spent hours in the theaters watching two features, cartoons, news, and a serial, sometimes twice. The stars of these were the cowboys in the white hats. Tex Ritter, Gene Autry, Roy Rodgers and others were our poster heroes. We wiled away the hours in neighborhood camaraderie, with voices calling us to good behavior from all around.
It was a warm and innocent time, when we were surrounded by people who genuinely cared for us. It was that village that some always talk about when raising children. It seemed to work just fine.
