On Friday, November 22, 2019, I had lunch with my friend Lenny Felder. He reminded me that was the day when Jack Kennedy was shot in Dallas 56 years ago.
With the caveat that the memories of this old man should be taken with a grain of salt…..
It's 1963, and Leslie and I took a trip East to visit family and friends. We got to New York on that Thursday, Nov 21. We visited Ed and Liz Burns who were living at that time in a 4th floor Manhattan apartment, with no elevator. That’s OK when you are still under 30, which we all were.
The next day, Friday the 22nd, Leslie spent the day with her good friend from Smith, Mandy Loutrel, and I spent the day with Ed. He took me to the gallery of the NYSE and explained what was going on there. It looked like total chaos, but I guess that’s what unbridled capitalism can be. Then we went to lunch, and then headed back to his office.
As we entered his office building and got into an elevator, another man said: “Did you hear that the President has been shot.” Strangely, at first I thought it was the opening line to a joke about Kennedy. (We were all Republicans then.) But of course, it was not.
One of the highlights of our trip was to be the Dartmouth/Princeton game the next day at Palmer Stadium, Princeton. Of course, that did not come off that day. So the four of us went to the Palm Court at the Plaza, where we were joined by Walt Fogarty and spent the day drinking and schmoozing...and bemoaning the fact that the game had been postponed. (The game was played a week later, the Saturday after that Thanksgiving. Dartmouth won, 22-21.)
The next day, Leslie and I left New York and drove the the Philadelphia area, where we stopped in to visit the parents of some good friends from Pasadena, Barbara and Ken Shutt. As we entered their parents' house, the television was replaying the scene of Jack Ruby shooting Lee Harvey Oswald in the Dallas jail. It felt like we were living in some kind of unbelievable dream. (It feels like we are living in another bad dream today.)
(As a side note, Leslie’s parents were approached by a Kennedy agent about renting out their Pasadena house to Kennedy for his stay during the 1960 Democratic convention, which was in LA. Being Republican loyalists, they declined.)
Saturday, November 16, 2019
Sunday, November 3, 2019
A Night in the Harrisonburg (VA) Jail
This story was related to me by my brother, Stan Colla, in October, 2019. We has just returned from a family gathering in Luray to remember our deceased cousins, George and Shirley Seely. This event kicked up many memories, mostly sweet and funny. Here's one.
---------------------------------------------------
The year is approx 1955. My family is now living in Buffalo NY, and my grandparents, Albert and Alice Lewis, had retired years ago and moved to Luray VA. My brother Stan Colla (Jr) is 11 years old. I was away at college.
Albert had a stroke and was in the hospital in Harrisonburg, VA, about 30 miles south of Luray. My mother Dele had taken Stan Jr with her, and driven to Luray to see her dad, Albert. Many of the roads were two-lanes only. Dele could be an aggressive driver, and did not seem to mind the drive to visit her parents. She probably enjoyed it.
From Luray, Dele with Stan Jr in tow drove to the hospital in Harrisonburg to visit Albert. Visiting hours were late in the day, after the dinner hour. After seeing Albert, they started the drive back to Luray. It was late in the day, and Dele was probably going pretty fast. She got pulled over by a cop in Harrisonburg VA. He charged her with speeding, and told her to follow him to see the local justice of the peace.
When the arresting officer and my mother got there, the judge was sitting in the rear seat of a parked car in a closed-for-the-night gas station along the side of the road.
This "judge" told Dele that the fine for speeding was $40, which she could pay in cash. The alternate penalty was a night in the Harrisonburg jail. She chose, for herself and her 11-year-old son, a night in the Harrisonburg jail! The jail cops were at a lost as to what to do with an eleven-year-old, and so gave him a lot of candy during his stay in the clink. The next day they were released and went on their way returning to Luray, and later home to Buffalo.
--------------------------------------------------
Stan's note: My guess is that Dele was mad for two reasons: (1) that she got caught in the first place because it was dark and this was clearly a "speed trap", and (2) that they tried to run this out-of-state scheme on her after hours when who knows where the cash would go. (Had we been taken to a well-lit public building, the outcome might have been quite different.)
Coleman's notes: In those days, it was a given that many small towns everywhere often relied on citing out-of-town motorists and fining them more or less on the spot, as a source of funding for the town government. Some were notorious as "speed traps". Perhaps Harrisonburg was one my mother had not heard about.
At the time that my grandfather, Albert Lewis, was in the hospital at Harrisonburg, my cousin Ada Humphreys was a nurse there.
---------------------------------------------------
The year is approx 1955. My family is now living in Buffalo NY, and my grandparents, Albert and Alice Lewis, had retired years ago and moved to Luray VA. My brother Stan Colla (Jr) is 11 years old. I was away at college.
Albert had a stroke and was in the hospital in Harrisonburg, VA, about 30 miles south of Luray. My mother Dele had taken Stan Jr with her, and driven to Luray to see her dad, Albert. Many of the roads were two-lanes only. Dele could be an aggressive driver, and did not seem to mind the drive to visit her parents. She probably enjoyed it.
From Luray, Dele with Stan Jr in tow drove to the hospital in Harrisonburg to visit Albert. Visiting hours were late in the day, after the dinner hour. After seeing Albert, they started the drive back to Luray. It was late in the day, and Dele was probably going pretty fast. She got pulled over by a cop in Harrisonburg VA. He charged her with speeding, and told her to follow him to see the local justice of the peace.
When the arresting officer and my mother got there, the judge was sitting in the rear seat of a parked car in a closed-for-the-night gas station along the side of the road.
--------------------------------------------------
Stan's note: My guess is that Dele was mad for two reasons: (1) that she got caught in the first place because it was dark and this was clearly a "speed trap", and (2) that they tried to run this out-of-state scheme on her after hours when who knows where the cash would go. (Had we been taken to a well-lit public building, the outcome might have been quite different.)
Coleman's notes: In those days, it was a given that many small towns everywhere often relied on citing out-of-town motorists and fining them more or less on the spot, as a source of funding for the town government. Some were notorious as "speed traps". Perhaps Harrisonburg was one my mother had not heard about.
At the time that my grandfather, Albert Lewis, was in the hospital at Harrisonburg, my cousin Ada Humphreys was a nurse there.
Wednesday, August 7, 2019
August (1945); Beach Haven, NJ
Most every year, our neighbors Mike and Jude, spend some time at the Jersey shore. When they leave for the East, I feel a little envy and a lot of nostalgia for that place...and another time.
WWII (for America) started in December, 1941. I was almost 6 years old. In early 1942, my father enlisted in a USNavy officer training program. He was 32 years old. He was gone until the war was over in 1945, except for a few brief shore leaves when his ship returned to the East Coast.
We lived in Oakmont, PA, a suburb of Philadelphia, just four blocks from my mother's parents, my Grandad and Nana. Also living with my grandparents were my aunt Norma and my cousins Alice and Ada. Ada is just 10 months older than I am, and we attended the same grade at Oakmont Grade School for several years. Oakmont School was just across the trolley tracks from my grandparents house. Just a few miles away was my mother's other sister, Ethel, her husband Henry, and my other cousins George and Shirley. For those years, when my father was away, I spent a lot of time at my grandparents' house.
For quite a few years during and after the war, my grandfather would rent a large summer house in Beach Haven, NJ, for the whole month of August. And most all of the family would go down there for the month. What great freedom and fun we had then.
Beach Haven is one town on a long, narrow island called Long Beach Island. Basically a giant sand bar, about 15 miles long and averaging about four blocks wide. Beach Haven is about 20 miles north of Atlantic City, but I don't remember ever going there.
The various rental houses were simple, rustic summer places. Usually with an ice box; the ice man came every other day with a huge block of ice slung over his shoulder, and threw it into the ice box. Also, an outdoor shower to wash off the sand before coming into the house.
Bicycles allowed us kids to roam far and wide. Alice and Shirley, a few years older than Ada and I, always managed to meet some boys. One time their summer boy friends, one of whom was named Buddy, caught a huge ray, and they decided to bury it in the sand just to the side of the house. After a few days, a terrible stench arose.
No one was concerned about our safety, except that Aunt Norma forbade us from going into the water for an hour after we ate lunch. The beach was only a block or two away, with large sand dunes, and easy surf. The bay on the other side of the island was shallow for many yards; we could walk far out into the bay and only be up to our waist in water.
Just a few blocks away, there was a movie theatre and a ice cream parlor; think banana splits. Beach Haven had a boardwalk with arcade games, tchotchkes shops and salt water taffy. Also, every August a carnival came to town for a week or two, with a ferris wheel, other rides, side shows, candy cotton, and those strange-looking people who were clearly part of the traveling show.
Norma took Ada and me for my first ferris wheel ride. I was terrified that the seat was going to roll over backwards, so I kept pressing against the flimsy-looking wooden bar in our laps; Norma was sure that was going to pop loose and we would all fall out the front. After a couple of spins around the wheel, I was able to calm down somewhat. (Years later, my mother took me for my first roller coaster ride, and I was even more convinced then that my life was about to end.)
In 1945, Ada and I were quartered in the attic of the house. There was a wind-up Victrola with one 78-rpm record: Chopin's Polonaise. So we played that ad infinitum. I love it to this day.
August 15, 1945. We were in the house when we heard a lot of yelling and car horns, so we dashed outside to find out what was happening. It was V-J day; the war with Japan was over. Car horns were blasting, and people were throwing streamers of some sort into the air (rolls of TP?).
Hiroshima was nine days earlier, August 6. I was nine years old. I don't remember anyone talking about the atom bomb that we had dropped on that city, or the terrible death and destruction it had caused. We were just glad the war was over. My father would be coming home.
(About seven years later, because I now had a driver's license, my family went down to Beach Haven again for a couple of weeks. Myself and another boy met two girls and spent a lot of time with them. my summer girl's name was Linda. The morning my family was to drive back to Philadelphia, I asked my father if I could take the car for a brief visit to where Linda was staying, to say goodbye. It was the first Buick of several that he eventually owned. I drove over the Linda's and said goodbye. Then I backed up the Buick while turning, unaware of the telephone pole just next to the car. This ended in a big fat dimple in the front fender. I was sure my father would explode. If he did, I have blanked it from my memory. Below are me and Linda on the right, the other couple, names long forgotten, on the left, and the Buick behind us.)
These vacations ended on the Saturday of Labor Day weekend. Before that, Ada and I would each get an old shoe box, and go into the bay and gather a collection of sea shells, which we would take home as a mementos of another fun August at the Beach Haven. Then into the car, and the drive back to Philly. School was about to start.
WWII (for America) started in December, 1941. I was almost 6 years old. In early 1942, my father enlisted in a USNavy officer training program. He was 32 years old. He was gone until the war was over in 1945, except for a few brief shore leaves when his ship returned to the East Coast.
We lived in Oakmont, PA, a suburb of Philadelphia, just four blocks from my mother's parents, my Grandad and Nana. Also living with my grandparents were my aunt Norma and my cousins Alice and Ada. Ada is just 10 months older than I am, and we attended the same grade at Oakmont Grade School for several years. Oakmont School was just across the trolley tracks from my grandparents house. Just a few miles away was my mother's other sister, Ethel, her husband Henry, and my other cousins George and Shirley. For those years, when my father was away, I spent a lot of time at my grandparents' house.
For quite a few years during and after the war, my grandfather would rent a large summer house in Beach Haven, NJ, for the whole month of August. And most all of the family would go down there for the month. What great freedom and fun we had then.
Beach Haven is one town on a long, narrow island called Long Beach Island. Basically a giant sand bar, about 15 miles long and averaging about four blocks wide. Beach Haven is about 20 miles north of Atlantic City, but I don't remember ever going there.
The various rental houses were simple, rustic summer places. Usually with an ice box; the ice man came every other day with a huge block of ice slung over his shoulder, and threw it into the ice box. Also, an outdoor shower to wash off the sand before coming into the house.
No one was concerned about our safety, except that Aunt Norma forbade us from going into the water for an hour after we ate lunch. The beach was only a block or two away, with large sand dunes, and easy surf. The bay on the other side of the island was shallow for many yards; we could walk far out into the bay and only be up to our waist in water.
Just a few blocks away, there was a movie theatre and a ice cream parlor; think banana splits. Beach Haven had a boardwalk with arcade games, tchotchkes shops and salt water taffy. Also, every August a carnival came to town for a week or two, with a ferris wheel, other rides, side shows, candy cotton, and those strange-looking people who were clearly part of the traveling show.
Norma took Ada and me for my first ferris wheel ride. I was terrified that the seat was going to roll over backwards, so I kept pressing against the flimsy-looking wooden bar in our laps; Norma was sure that was going to pop loose and we would all fall out the front. After a couple of spins around the wheel, I was able to calm down somewhat. (Years later, my mother took me for my first roller coaster ride, and I was even more convinced then that my life was about to end.)
In 1945, Ada and I were quartered in the attic of the house. There was a wind-up Victrola with one 78-rpm record: Chopin's Polonaise. So we played that ad infinitum. I love it to this day.
August 15, 1945. We were in the house when we heard a lot of yelling and car horns, so we dashed outside to find out what was happening. It was V-J day; the war with Japan was over. Car horns were blasting, and people were throwing streamers of some sort into the air (rolls of TP?).
Hiroshima was nine days earlier, August 6. I was nine years old. I don't remember anyone talking about the atom bomb that we had dropped on that city, or the terrible death and destruction it had caused. We were just glad the war was over. My father would be coming home.
(About seven years later, because I now had a driver's license, my family went down to Beach Haven again for a couple of weeks. Myself and another boy met two girls and spent a lot of time with them. my summer girl's name was Linda. The morning my family was to drive back to Philadelphia, I asked my father if I could take the car for a brief visit to where Linda was staying, to say goodbye. It was the first Buick of several that he eventually owned. I drove over the Linda's and said goodbye. Then I backed up the Buick while turning, unaware of the telephone pole just next to the car. This ended in a big fat dimple in the front fender. I was sure my father would explode. If he did, I have blanked it from my memory. Below are me and Linda on the right, the other couple, names long forgotten, on the left, and the Buick behind us.)
These vacations ended on the Saturday of Labor Day weekend. Before that, Ada and I would each get an old shoe box, and go into the bay and gather a collection of sea shells, which we would take home as a mementos of another fun August at the Beach Haven. Then into the car, and the drive back to Philly. School was about to start.
Tuesday, July 30, 2019
Emergency Contact Please
Every Monday morning at the SOVA West food bank where I volunteer, there is a short staff meeting at 9:15AM to brief the volunteers on the latest things they need to know, such as what food items are in stock or not in stock, what job fairs or free medical clinics are coming up, etc.
On recent Mondays, Dennis, our pantry manager, has been asking the volunteers who do intake with the clients (of which I am one), to try to get an emergency name and phone number for each client, so that should there be a need in the future, we would know whom to contact.
Later that morning I overheard this conversation:
Intake Volunteer:
"We would like to have an emergency name and phone number for you in case it was needed. Can you give me a number?"
Client:
"Oh yes. Call 911."
On recent Mondays, Dennis, our pantry manager, has been asking the volunteers who do intake with the clients (of which I am one), to try to get an emergency name and phone number for each client, so that should there be a need in the future, we would know whom to contact.
Later that morning I overheard this conversation:
Intake Volunteer:
"We would like to have an emergency name and phone number for you in case it was needed. Can you give me a number?"
Client:
"Oh yes. Call 911."
Wednesday, July 10, 2019
"Conservation" during WWII
My friend Joan, a fellow volunteer at the SOVA food pantry, recently sent me a humorous piece about the "green thing", which now means being environmentally conscious, and what Americans did long ago (when Joan and I were kids), with our trash and other environmentally sensitive issues.
This got me to thinking about things we did during WWII. Our objective was not to save the environment. Rather it was to win the war, But it did have some environmental side effects. I was almost 6 when that war began, and I was 9-1/2 when it ended.
Here are the things that I can remember:
Finally, there was rationing. This did not impact me much, but was a concern for my mother. This included allotments for meat, butter, eggs, sugar and gasoline. Perhaps we should have just kept the limits, especially on the meat and gasoline!!
This got me to thinking about things we did during WWII. Our objective was not to save the environment. Rather it was to win the war, But it did have some environmental side effects. I was almost 6 when that war began, and I was 9-1/2 when it ended.
Here are the things that I can remember:
- We planted Victory Gardens. There was a large plot of undeveloped land up the block from our house. (After the war, a developer built 3 or 4 homes there.) Many in the neighborhood staked out areas in it and planted gardens. I think my mother and I worked a small area.
- We collected newspapers. Myself and several friends went door-to-door in the neighborhood and collected used newspapers. We tied them up in bundles about 8 or 9 inches high. Our next-door neighbors, the Robinsons, donated their garage to this effort, and we came close to filling it up with newspaper bundles stacked very high. Eventually, some men came and hauled the papers away somewhere; I'm sure that helped the war effort.
- We collected the tin foil that was then used to wrap chewing gum and balled it up into balls about the size of a baseball.
- We collected rubber bands and wound them upon each other making balls of rubber bands, also about the size of a baseball.
- Finally we filled stamp books with saving stamps that we bought at school. I think the stamps cost one or two cents each. When the book was full, we took it to school and exchanged it for a savings bond. I suspect that these savings stamp books were the forerunners to the S&H Green stamp books that were to come after the war.
Finally, there was rationing. This did not impact me much, but was a concern for my mother. This included allotments for meat, butter, eggs, sugar and gasoline. Perhaps we should have just kept the limits, especially on the meat and gasoline!!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)