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Thank you Walter!
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Old Postcard Photos to jog your memory!
Remember the Washington Avenue Viaduct over the Esopus? I can remember visiting family friends on the dead end street that you could only access by driving under the Viaduct.
Wall Street in 1907
Wall Street in 1907
Wall Street in 1907
Wall Street looking South with the spire of the Old Dutch Church in the background.
Dietz Stadium
The Hoffman House - 1907, North Front Street at Green Street.
Who could forget Shapiro's Paint store on North Front Street (1946)
Parade up Wall Street in 1958.
Woolworth's Menu in 1960!
The Old Dutch Church, Wall Street.
Myron J. Michal Jr. High School
The Lobby of the Kingston Savings Bank on Wall Street as it looked in 1960.
County Court House on Wall Street.
The original Ulster County Clerk's Office replaced by the "Glass Menagerie" in the 1960's
St. James Methodist Church at Fair Street and Pearl Street.
Fair Street as it looked in 1925
The Stuyvesant Hotel on Fair Street in 1950.
The Governor Clinton Hotel at the head of Albany Avenue.
The YMCA on Broadway at Pine Grove Avenue in 1923
Memorial Day Parade in 1959.
The stately, original Post Office on Broadway before it was razed for a parking lot.
Post office and Trailways bus terminal.
Broadway Atlantic Station in 1954
Kingston Armory in 1910 - now the Mid-town Civic Center
Kingston City Hall
Kingston City Library - a Carnegie building.
Kingston High School - KHS - as it looked when new.
Kingston Academy
Broadway at the Strand in Rondout
Kingston Point Dayliner Park in 1909.
The Rondout Light House
The Wilbur Railroad bridge entering Kingston from Port Ewen.
View from the RR bridge of Wilber and Eddyville.
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As published in The Lincoln Eagle Well, where does one start? For we Kingstonians who are in our mid-50's, there's been lots of change to the city, and much of it is not for the better. Some of the items may sound like cliches but they are no less true. There WAS more business in Uptown Kingston: I grew up in a family that never owned a car. (Wow! What a concept!) And you know what? We got around by walking, biking and taking the bus. Uptown Kingston had sufficient stores then so the walk to Uptown was well worthwhile. Woolworth's, Montgomery Ward, Newberry's, Yallums, Whelan's Drug Store, O'Reilly's, Elston's Sports, Schneller's, Saccoman's Jewelery, Mohican Market, Penney's, Yallum's, Rafalowsky's… There was the Bull Market and Shapiro's Paints, and Herzog's Hardware Store. Abram's Music, Standard Furniture, London's, to name a few. The various banks. The many churches, which are still there, thank the Lord. And to keep we young ones in fear of the law, the Ulster County Jail was behind the Court House. Yes, there were prisoners in it, looking out the barred windows, saying scary things as you went by. Then things started changing and the businesses moved farther out of town. The streets WERE safer to walk. Case in point, and my mother will probably shoot me for this one, BUT!.. Here we go. One of my earliest memories is going uptown with Mom, my brother Russ and my sister Nancy. Now, a carriage was being pushed so Nancy, the youngest, could not have been very old, which makes me about 4 years old and Russ about 6. So, up we went. It was a pleasant walk with fine weather. We walked up Wall Street to the corner of Wall and John. Mom had some business in the bank, the name of which I have forgotten. Well, the streets were bustling, as Uptown streets used to be. Mom decided to leave us three kids out in front of the bank so as not to have to maneuver the carriage through the lines. That may sound outrageous, but things were different then (talkin' 'bout 1955 now). I distinctly remember the people walking by us for what seemed just a few minutes to me. Well, Russ apparently decided we had waited long enough, turned the carriage towards St. Joseph's Church and started heading us home. I can still recall the wonderful trees we passed under on Fair Street. I recall sitting on our porch (We could not get into the house, of course, as the door was locked) when a police car pulled up in front. Hey, that was cool. It was a great surprise to me to see Mom get out of the vehicle, very upset, then very relieved, when she spotted us. I also recall Russ and the tall policeman talking together about somethin'. You can just imagine. So, here's the point. We made it home, kids about 6, 4 and 2 without any molestation. I just don't think it would happen that way now. I'm sure there was crime in Kingston then, but nothing like what we see today. Murders in Kingston! Rapes in Kingston! Gangs in Kingston! Drug peddlers from NYC in Kingston! I think of the poor Knox girl. Bodies found off Broadway and behind Kingston Hospital in the old railroad cut. Poor John Simmons' murder never solved. (Remember John? He worked as porter in Benedictine Hospital. A harmless soul.) Okay. Let's jump ahead a few years to about 1961. That's when I joined the Boy Scouts of America. We had a wonderful troop based out of the Old Dutch Church. That was Troop 12. That organization was blessed with a great cadre of adult leaders. I remember people like Gil Sampson, Al Stingel, Al Townsend, a Mr. McMahan, even Ed Ford, I think. The outstanding person, or course, was Ralph Shapiro. Looking back, it is very clear how fortunate we young fellows were to have caring, committed adults around who were willing to put in the time and energy required to provide an atmosphere which reflected the values of Family, Community, Nation and God. (By the way, there are still good folks involved in delivering the scouting experience to our young people. Check it out. Get involved. Ignore the ACLU.) And speaking of the Old Dutch Church, there used to be dances there every weekend. Battles of the Bands. Matt Marnell on drums. Steve Atwood on bass. Not necessarily in the same band, now mind you! I'm sure some of the church elders were beside themselves, but Bethany Hall was wall to wall kids every Friday. Here's the point. There was a safe, supervised place for young people to congregate. That was the mid-Sixties, as I recall. A year or two later, there was the Cellar Club at the YWCA. Again, a nice place for youth to get together and have some fun. Back to the scouts, here's an example or two of great learning experiences that surely have stuck with me. Al Stingel, one of the assistant scout masters, took a number of us to the lower spillway falls of the Ashokan Reservoir. This was when it was still okay to go below the bridge. We guys spent an hour or two cleaning trash from the area in the cold. taking several bags of garbage out with us. What did we learn? Always leave a place cleaner than when you arrived. Respect the beauty and purity of the outdoors. Today of course that area is off limits. Here in Kingston, there's more outright littering than ever, usually on OPP (other people's property), which seems to make it okay. Here's another. These days, there is the Scouting for Food event around Thanksgiving. This is a great project scouting sponsors. Bags are distributed to our neighbors one weekend. Their food donations are collected the next by the scouts. In the recent past, the food has been taken to the UPS facilities off East Chester Street Bypass for collection and distribution to various food banks. Back in the day, our collection efforts ended a bit differently than today. We actually delivered food baskets to those families that could use them. I'll never forget delivering several cartons of food to a needy family on Hasbrouck Avenue. The lady of the house greeted us when we knocked. She apparently had no idea the delivery was coming. As the food cartons were brought in, her surprise was quickly replaced by tears of gratitude and several God Bless You's. What did we learn? Though we were not part of the upper class, there were many who needed even the basics (Food!) much more than we did. And we learned that providing alms could make you feel good. Now, it's not safe enough for scouts to make the deliveries in person… or, if the deliveries were made, there would be the inevitable lawsuit, someone claiming the food was bad or poisoned, or "they got more than me", or the like. One last thing, though I could go on. Troop 12 had members from all the neighborhoods in Kingston. There was a great attraction - the Kingston Indians Drum Corps. Boy, was that ever a fun experience! We traveled to parades every weekend. (Not always on the best buses!) We competed in shows all over the Northeast. We got exercise, made music, learned unit discipline and teamwork. Got baloney and cheese sandwiches from the firemen's auxiliary after the parade. Hey, we sang doo-wop songs to attract the girls. Jimmy Brodhead, Danny Fiore, Barry Jackson, various others. Know what else? We learned to get along with and respect one another. There was no better place or way for us to learn that we was all Equal. Now? I hope there's still places/occasions beyond the sterile "diversity classes". I hope so. Well, this could go on and on. I'm stopping now though. I'm a bit sad thinking that one of the homes where we had scout patrol meetings every Saturday, Bobby Wells' house on Furnace Street, is scary even to drive passed, Heck, we used to walk there, and up Van Deusen Street, and down Clinton Avenue, with our instruments, day or night, without being scared. I'm thinking of Miss Anna Van Der Zee, Deaconess of the AME Zion Church, who was on my paper route. She lived in a small house on Pine Street which now borders the Pine Street Medical complex. Back in the day, that area was an old cemetery. Every Friday, when I collected the 40 cents per week the Freeman cost back then, Miss Anna would have me come inside. Usually, she would just count out the quarter, nickel and dime for the paper (along with 5 or 10 cents tip for me). Other times though, Miss Anna would sit me down and sing me hymns! Yes, she would. Ms. Anna was like that. She told me that once, when she was sick, the Lord Jesus appeared at the foot of her bed, and told her, "Don't worry, Anna. It'll be alright, Anna." I believed her then. I believe it now. She also told me how, when the power was off one night, and she had just heated she can of soup over one of the two burners of her natural gas stove, she prayed, "I thank you Lord, for this meal. But, Lord, it sure would be nice to have just a little light to eat my soup by." That's when the moon rose, and poured light through her kitchen window, right onto that soup and Miss Anna. Don't think prayer gets answered? Well, Miss Anna has gone on to her reward. I happened to be there when her nephew and the police found her, ill. I was walking up to Cellar Club and saw the cops there. I saw the poor dear finally answer her door just as it was going to be forced. I heard she went to a New York City hospital for treatment. Then I heard no more. That all makes me a bit sad too, but I'm glad I knew Miss Anna. Now she would be labeled a crank or worse for singing hymns to a paperboy. And saying she saw Jesus… I'm thinking of Mom giving lemonade or Kool Aid to the city guys who were paving the road on a roasting summer's day. You'll never see that again. I'm thinking of how we would shovel the snow from the fire hydrant and clear the storm drains, as an act of civic duty. Do you see that anymore? No, now we see sewer projects that go on and on, month after month, then break again within weeks of being complete. We see homes flooded with raw sewage, then see the city "powers that be" refuse to pay just compensation to the home owners. We see streets go unpaved throughout the winter because of poor planning. ("They are not making asphalt now, so we have to wait until spring.") Probably hear that about Wilbur Avenue this winter. That all makes me kinda sad too. And just a bit mad. As published in The Lincoln Eagle XIV October, 2008 Page 10 I guess Michael Marnell has plastered my high school picture in this article, but I'm not going to discuss Kingston High School in this piece. No, I'm going back further in my Back to School rant. All the way back to George Washington Elementary School on Wall Street. We walked there. Truly a neighborhood school. No busing at that time. If it snowed, you went to school anyway. And knew all the kids because they were from the neighborhood. Kindergarten: Mrs. Maclean. I visited this classroom with Mom a few days before the school year actually started and was introduced to Mrs. MacLean. She was a wonderful, kind woman whose class contained... Monkey bars!! Well, I was up in those so fast you wouldn't believe it. Mom and Mrs. M. laughed and talked and agreed I'd be fine. Hey, I thought so too what with monkey bars in the room and al1. So, the big day came. On I went for a school year's worth of those half-day sessions. Ready and willing and able. Imagine my chagrin, then, to find...No Monkey Bars!! Someone had fallen from them on his/her introductory visit. The bars were pulled. We never again saw them in the classroom. It was my first exposure, though I did not recognize it at the time for what it was, to PC… Political Correctness. Oh well. So what? We still finger painted, played with those big wooden trucks, ate the white paste glue, got naps and a carton of milk, played store, listened to Mrs. MacLean read to us. Struggled with the basics of the Alphabet, learned to read, etc. And learned all we needed to know to make it in life, as somebody said in a book. I loved Mrs. MacLean. And still do. 1st and 2nd grade: Miss Elmendorf. Both years!! What a change from Kindergarten. In school all day! And hard! And sometimes not fair! The Mary Stephanie Corsones and the soap eraser dust that I got cracked across the knuckles for comes to mind. Yeah and there was no one to complain to or sue over for the application of corporal punishment that unfairly came my way. After all, Mr. Boyd, the principal of George Washington Elementary had a paddle displayed on the wall of his office labeled, "Board of Education". The display of that piece of lumber was enough to keep us all in line pretty well. I remember only 2-3 paddlings being talked about in the 6 1/2 years I spent with those brick walls. And that's out of how many hundreds of Baby Boomer kids being educated?? Anyway, Miss Elmendorf, was always in a long black dress, was tall and thin, frankly reminded me of Miss Gulch from that famous old movie (Look it up! I'm melting...) and had even lost the tip of a finger when a wooden screen door on her family's Midwestern farm house slammed shut on her hand. Actually, I received a fine education in her class. And she wrote great comments on the report card. I learned several years ago that Miss Elmendorf was in her last days, living in the nursing home that used to be on Albany Ave just past the Sharpe Burial Ground. I went to visit her. She was well in her 90's. Miss E. did not really remember me well. After all, there had been so many children and I was no one special really. But I still had my report card and showed it to her. She read the comments. And said, "These would be good on a resume." Here they are. "Walter is a darling little boy. He has a keen sense of right and wrong. He is alert, capable, dependable and an excellent worker. He is a good listener and follows directions. He enjoys school and is a friend to all." Bless you Miss E. 3rd Grade: Mrs. Dunn: A really nice lady. I don't remember us giving her much trouble. The main thing was that I was one of the first kids that caught the German measles that December. Seems to me I was out of school quite a few days. But, when I returned, it was close to the class Christmas party. (Yes, there was a Christmas party, diversity be durned!) So, I returned to a class with many, MANY empty desks. The German measles had just rampaged through the whole school apparently. Anyway, I was treated as something of a returning hero. Why? Because Mrs. Dunn had bought every student a small Christmas present. Since the class had been temporarily decimated, all we returnees or immunees got EXTRA PRESENTS'! So there's that Silver Lining you hear people talk about. 4th Grade: Mrs. Roosa's class. We were exposed to French lessons piped in over the PA system. Dinosaurs and rocks. How could one not like this grade? Well, we did do the brain transplant thingie behind the old backboard on the playground. Transplanted a "smart" kid's brain into a "dumb" kid's brain. No names here. So, somehow the word got back to Mrs. Roosa and we had to apologize to the ''dumb" kid, who wasn't. It was all in what we thought was fun. I think the receiver of the apologies was as mortified as we apologizers were. And I was, and stayed, friends with both of these guys. Mrs. R. gave me, at the end of the school year, a huge chunk of sandstone loaded with shell fossils. It was several weeks into the summer before that rock was completely split up and the shells extracted. 5th: Grade: Mrs. Norman's class. A tough lady. Mike Hawkins once was seriously berated for supposedly making a face at Mrs. N. when in fact he had simply been wrinkling his nose to push his glasses hack in place. We all knew the truth of the matter, but there was nothing to be done. Mrs. N. kept us in line. Roger Thiel and I both had broken a foot in the Fall, so for a while we got to eat lunch in the classroom while everyone else was in the cafeteria. Us hobbling along on our crutches was considered too dangerous. A very wise call, if you remember the GW halls filled with kids, and hungry ones at that! In the 5th grade we all were required to give a little presentation in front of the class (Hated that!!). The presentation was to be about a bird of the North East. The bird one was to speak about was assigned to us by Mrs. N. You see Mrs. N. had a set of bird cards with a great picture of the bird on the front and some starter info on the back. These cards were the personal property of Mrs. Norman. We were all given a card to take home and study. And Mrs. N. wrote our name on a list so she knew which card she had assigned to you. She wove quite a tight web. Well, guess what? Mine got thrown in the garbage somehow. After digging through a can or two of trash, there it was. I can still see the dried eggshells and coffee grounds on the picture of the bird, though I cannot remember which bird I had been assigned.. This turn of events was devastating. How am I to explain to Mrs. N. that this was all an accident? The card was from her personal collection. Remember how Mike H. had been treated for just wrinkling his nose at the wrong time? So, my parents looked at the card, found the address of the card company and wrote away for a complete boxed set of these cards. Now the suspense built. Day after day. Would the set of cards arrive before it was my turn to speak on the bird? Mrs. N. was proceeding alphabetically so here was a time where being a "W" kid worked to my advantage! She was calling a kid a day, or more it seemed. Rob Astelos, Susan Blakely, Linda Fischang, Mike Hawkins, Dorothy Metcalf, Danny Moore... Boy, the tension was really thick, and my doom was fast approaching, when, at last! At the beginning of June! A box arrived! It was from the card company! Saved! Saved! Mom and I opened that wrapping, my heart was beating so! Life would continue past 5th grade and into the summer! But... Wait... The set of cards was for Birds of the SOUTH East United States. And, and my card was from Birds of the NORTH East United States! What kind of cruel joke was this? I riffed through the whole set of cards looking for mine. No luck. It was not there..... My parents let me know there was no way the correct set of cards would reach us by school year's end even if they returned the set. Doomed. Doomed. So, I did my best to clean up the card. Memorized it as well as I could. Added more facts from other sources. Could not see past the coffee ground stains though. Couldn't see how Mrs. N. would not notice. And the days of 5th grade trickled down to a precious few. My doom was nearing... When, a miracle happened. Yes, miracles do happen. Mrs. N. had apparently been told to prepare us for some special exam or another. There would be no more bird card presentations. "Those of you who had not yet given your talk, count yourselves lucky and bring your card up here to the desk and return it to the stack of other bird cards." We blessed few brought those cards up to Mrs. N's desk. I buried mine deep. Deep into that pile of cards. And got out alive. I think it was during an assembly in 1961, that we watched Alan Shepard become the first American in space. You have to remember that we had all seen rockets aplenty blow up on the launch pad. Unmanned ones of course, with only satellites or the occasional monkey. But this was a manned flight. I remember the tension and silence as we all watched the countdown on a TV set up on the auditorium stage. When the engine roared into life, and the rocket ascended, I remember Mr. Boyd hurriedly whispering something to Mrs. Plank, our Music teacher, while giving her the keys to the organ down by the stage. Mrs. Plank rushed to the organ, opened it and led us in a rousing chorus of, well, either "The Star Spangled Banner" or "God Bless America". Either way it was great. 6th Grade: Mr. Ascarino's class. Not a bad start back. New kids from the Hurley school so that's neat. On the second or third day of class a new girl arrives. Jean Lown. Quite a pretty young lady but she is obviously so nervous! I have never seen such a pale face. Alabaster. But we make her welcome and she fits in. One of Mr. Ascarino's activities is a demonstration. We all have to get in front of the class (Hated that!!!) and do our demo. Mine was how to load a (toy) muzzle-loading rifle. Into Civil War even then. Obviously not something everyone paid attention to. And I zoned out on some demos myself. It was Bette Jean Weisman, I think, who did her demo on how to properly set a table with the plate, glass, silverware, etc. Well, my lack of attention must have been palpable because Mr. A. directed me to come up to the front of the class (Hated that!!!) and show what I had learned from Bette Jean's demo. Obviously it was .... not much. I tried to put the silverware into the right places. Mr. A. asked Bette Jean if the placement was correct. She said, "No." and I slunk back to my seat. To this day, I cannot set a table. Gotta be PTSS. And although I did pretty well in class work, I did receive a "D" in some subject or another. Mr. A's comments included him saying that it really should have been an "F"!! Boy, don't you know I hated to bring that report card home and show Mom and Dad. Mr. Ascarino went on to be principal of GW School for a short time. He had a fatal stroke or heart attack only a few years into that job. I remember how the yellow chalk dust looked on his fingertips. Funny, huh? 7th Grade: Myron J. Michael. Split sessions. My brother Russ and I went in the afternoon. Around Noon to 5:3Opm or something like that. Why? The Kingston School Board had put up a proposition to fund building a new junior high school. The voters rejected it. The board got even by coming up with this split sessions idea. The proposition passed the next time it was put to the voters. Mr. Glennon was our Art teacher. An ex- corrections officer - and big. I once walked up behind him and clapped him on the back, saying, "Hi Mr. Glennon, old buddy, old pal." He spun around and hefted me into the lockers like a bagful of leathers and told me to never, ever do that again. I did not. Mrs. Kemble was our Science teacher. Her greatest story was about drinking out of a stream in the woods. The water looks clean, but how do you know that old Mama Moose hasn't just dropped dead a little upstream? That got us thinking. So did this. We were in the 7th grade during the Cuban missile crisis. Again, in split sessions, we were in school as sunset approached. I remember looking out her classroom window at the sunset colors thinking, "This is what it would look like if an A-bomb went off." Ah, those Golden childhood memories! At the end of the school year, I got my traditional baldy hair cut. Little did I realize that I'd have to go back to school for finals or something. Kids being what they are, guess who was the target of much humor, jest and ribbing? It was the last baldy haircut I ever got. 8th and 9th Grade: In the brandy new J. Watson Bailey Jr. High School. Things were so new that, for a while, I rode on a bus to school! Man, that was something different. Naturally, it did not last. Apparently, my house was about 100 yards short of the line to legitimately be a bus student. The district had made an error in telling us we could ride to JWB. I was not the only one called into the cafeteria and told our "free ride" was over. Since I had been raised to not accept such things as free rides, this comment rankled. I said something to the school suit, like, "What? You told us to get on the bus! We did not just sneak on!" Well, he apologized and slunk back to wherever he had come from. That momentary triumph did do something to expiate the long walk. But not much. Mr. Deschenes was one of our science teachers. He was from Massachusetts, and we were in his class when it was announced over the PA system that President Kennedy had been shot in Dallas. Mr. D. came close to tears. We were all sent home. Then there was the lab work I did for Mr. Mercier. We all had to assist Mr. M. at least once to prepare for an upcoming lab. For my stint, we had to prepare for dissection - of mice. So, we had to load I don't know how many mice into one of those big white paste glue jars which was empty, screw on the lid, punch a hole in the tin lid, feed in a gas line tube used for the Bunson burner, cover the jar with a cloth, and turn on the gas. Lovely. I may have been assigned that special duty because I once wore a WW I gas mask into class. The formaldehyde smell you see. Mr. M. just walked over and stood next to me, as the class chortled, and the mask was removed. I believe a chuckle actually escaped Mr. M's lips too. And I failed geometry in my time at JWB. Mrs. Hannigan was simply too attractive, and my concentration waned. Then there was Mr. Bernard, the Hispanic French teacher from South America. Those of you who were in that class know what transpired there. I will not go into it. Suffice it to say, Mr. B. was not with JWB the following year. Somewhere in the two years, Stan Albright gave Mrs. Thiel, a French teacher and mother of my good buddy Roger, a scare by hanging out of the second story classroom window just to get a rise out of her. We were pretty rotten and got yelled at more than once. And there was only one person who could take that type of punishment and not be punished by it, no matter what. That was Mike Lipp. Mike could hang his head in contrition at durn near a 90 degree angle with his shoulders!! Think about that. It was incredible to see. Couple that with the way he pouted out his lower lip and you had a work of art going on right there in front of you. Many tried mightily to match or better Mike in this, and Bill Brinnier came real close, but none could surpass the Master, Mike Lipp. Well, that's it. All that schooling did indeed provide an education - in scholarship, citizenship, camaraderie, respect and sheer fun. Wouldn't have missed it for the world. Would I do it again? Thankfully, that question need not be answered! Ring, ring goes the bell!!
Well. The Fourth of July in Kingston, back in the day. Hmmm. You know, it must have been the hazy, crazy days of summer, because basically what I remember is the heat and fireworks. People talk about heat now but I swear it was hotter in the summers of my youth. Just like there was more snow. So go figure. Yeah, heat. And I recall going to Berlin's store on Pine Street, pushing through a curtain of shimmering sun, scared to death, because the radio (must have been WKNY because there was no FM then) had been advising us all to beware of packs of dogs that were roaming the town, gobbling up young people. Well, so it seemed to me anyway. That was probably one of my quickest trips ever to the store! The fireworks were fired off at Dietz Stadium then. There must have been "doings" before the show, as we arrived in the daylight, but, whether it was those hard wooden benches, or the anticipation, I'll be darned, I just can't recall. The stadium had been named after Robert H. Dietz, Kingston's only Medal of Honor winner. On March 19, 1945, according to the Medal of Honor citation, Staff Sergeant Dietz moved "… forward with his men to protect engineers while they removed the minefield and the demolition charges attached to the bridges, S/Sgt. Dietz came under intense fire. On his own initiative he advanced alone, scorning the bullets which struck all around him, until he was able to kill the bazooka team defending the first bridge. He continued ahead and had killed another bazooka team, bayoneted an enemy soldier armed with a panzerfaust and shot 2 Germans when he was knocked to the ground by another blast of another panzerfaust. He quickly recovered, killed the man who had fired at him and then jumped into waist-deep water under the second bridge to disconnect the demolition charges. His work was completed; but as he stood up to signal that the route was clear, he was killed by another enemy volley from the left flank. S/Sgt. Dietz by his intrepidity and valiant effort on his self-imposed mission, single-handedly opened the road for the capture of Kirchain and left with his comrades an inspiring example of gallantry in the face of formidable odds." S/Sgt. Dietz saw no more 4th of July celebrations in Kingston. Now when the show started, it was always great. Being that close, and that young, each shell produced a show all by itself. For several years, it seemed like that light show would never end. And then came the grand finale. There would be some type of firework fountain, then a stream of contrails and colors that built and built in intensity, ending with concussive shots that were nothing more than giant flashbulbs that had the added benefit of slamming a wave of that hot air into your chest. Color and light made palpable. What a concept! Then it was over till next year. The last show I saw in uptown Kingston was the bicentennial display on 1976. Bob Stingel and I were out in the field, facing the stands. After one resounding shot, a paper base of the firework shell rolled up to my feet. Bob wrote a little note on it, something like "Happy 4th! Boom!". I still have that somewhere. Over those years, the length and quality of the fireworks show seemed to lessen. As we got older, and friends started driving, the trip was made to Saugerties for a better show. It was a great show, better than Kingston's but a real pain to get out of town. These days, Kingston's show is very good again. My getting older may have helped weaken the intensity of the Fourth. But then, other factors helped bring that intensity back. Like a love of U.S. History. So, besides the date of the Declaration of Independence, the 4th, in 1826, is the date that Founding Fathers Thomas Jefferson (He wrote the Declaration, remember) and John Adams both died, within hours of each other. It's the date that Confederate Vicksburg, the key to controlling the Mississippi River, surrendered to U.S. Grant in 1863. And it's the date, four score and seven years after 1776 that two armies rested after three terrible days of battle at Gettysburg, PA. A good number of men from Ulster County took part in the battle. Here's a few stories. Theodore Gates found himself in command of his own 20th New York State Militia, made up of men from Ulster and Greene Counties, as well as the 151st PA on July 1, 1863, the first day of the battle. After holding the extreme left flank of the Union Army of the Potomac's line, the Confederate pressure became too much and retreat was ordered. Gates had been one of only two officers on horseback at this part of the line, making him a very conspicuous target. To steady the men and maintain an orderly withdrawal, Colonel Gates grabbed the 20th's regimental flag, hoisted it aloft and called on the men to stand by the colors. This the men did, retiring slowly from the field, firing continuously at the pursuing enemy. Gates was miraculously unscathed. Colonel Gates and the 20th NYSM were not done with battle. By July 3rd, the regiment had been shifted towards the center of the Union line. At approximately 1PM on that sultry afternoon, a great Confederate cannonade announced the start of Pickett's Charge. Gates and the 20th took part in repelling the attackers, moving from the Union line to counterattack the right flank of the attacking Rebel column and aid in repelling it. Thus did our local men play their part in this great drama. Gates lived through the action and saw the 4th of July on the battlefield. He survived the war and is buried in Wiltwyck Cemetery. A friend recently reminded me of Gates' heroism. It is now impossible to pass that citizen-soldier's final resting place without seeing him with the colors, riding, exhorting, encouraging by example. A brave, brave man. Another locally-recruited regiment was on the Gettysburg field. The 120th New York State Infantry was involved in the July 2nd fighting as part of General Dan Sickles 3rd Corps salient. The men were ordered to lie down behind a slight rise to await the enemy's approaching attack. Lt. Edward Ketcham, Co. A, a Quaker from Gardiner, had been observing the enemy drawing nearer. This was his duty to do and he was not lying down. His captain, Abram Lockwood, had just advised Ketcham to exercise care. The lieutenant replied, "A dead man is better than a living coward.," and was then hit and instantly killed, probably by a sharpshooter's bullet to the head. It is said that when hit, Edward put up his hand and said, "Oh!", then fell. Ketcham is buried in the Friends' Burial Ground in Milton. He had seen his last 4th. Edward's brother, John, was a 2nd Lieutenant with Co. M, 4th New York Cavalry. He was on the field as well. He tried several times to retrieve his fallen brother's body, but the fire was too hot. Some 36 hours after Edward fell, John finally succeeded, and interred his brother's body under an oak tree using shovels provided by a nearby artillery battery. What a bleak 4th for John, who then wrote home to tell his mother the heartbreaking news. John himself did not see another July 4th . He was captured shortly afterwards and died in Libby Prison, October 8, 1863. Another officer of the 120th NY followed Edward Ketcham, though he survived several days after the fighting had ended, dying of his wounds on July 22, 1863. This was Lieutenant William Cockburn, considered by a comrade to be "a young man of noble qualities and excellent promise". Worthy of note is Willie's mother, Anne, who undertook the trip to return her son's remains to Kingston. Just a few moments' consideration given to the difficulties involved in traveling 1863-style, and navigating the ravaged post-battle environs and burial grounds of Gettysburg should give anyone a new appreciation to the depth of a mother's love for her children. I have seen a photograph of this woman. The strength, and the grief, and the anguish is there to plainly see. Mother and son are buried in Wiltwyck Cemetery. It goes without saying that the non-coms and privates were the backbone of the fighting prowess of these two fine regiments from New York. Here's one common 120th NY soldier's comments from a letter home: "...there I saw [Pvt.] Henry Skutt [Schutt, Co. K, 20th New York State Militia WIA Gettysburg July 3, 1863]. The 20th Regt was there that day. We marched 29 miles and I saw some of the best land in Maryland...we marched on till we came into Pennsylvania and there we found the rebs and we march into camp the 1st of July...the next day we went into the battle and we had a hard time of it. Our Captain A. G. Barker...was shot dead and William Holenbeck...was shot dead...Alexander Layman...was shot through the side and in the left leg bad...I was shot in the right leg. I am getting along first rate. They are a moving them off as fast as they [can] to Baltimore and Philadelphia and New York. As soon as I get there I think that I can get a furlough and get home...we lost in our regiment 200 and 5 killed and wounded, 100 killed, 105 wounded, 8 officers killed and 6 wounded. The 20 regt was all cut up too but we whipped them and took 15 thousand prisoners killed and wounded 17 thousand...". Well, maybe, but you get the point. Lastly, an unknown soldier buried in the Gettysburg National Cemetery was recently almost certainly identified, with the help of Seward Osborne of Olivebridge, NY. 1st Sgt. John S, Snyder, Co. A, 120th NY Infantry lost his life on the field. He was one of two sergeants from his brigade who perished, but whose body was unaccounted for. That situation is all but settled now. Sgt Snyder is buried in plot #83 in the New York area of the national cemetery. John was 38 years old and from Kingston. A memorial stone to him is in Wiltwyck Cemetery. So, I'm back to really enjoying the 4th of July. Mainly for the fireworks. The light, the noise and the smell of the gunpowder rivet my attention to the sky. But I see a lot of our history in and amongst each airburst. May it always be so. God Bless America!! And Happy Birthday to Us All!!!!
The Troop 12 Kingston Indians Drum Corps was around for a long time. I'm not sure when it started or when it ended. My time was from 1961 to 1966 and it was a great experience. There was a great bunch of guys to pal around with and a great cadre of adults donating time and riding herd. Some of the guys were, in no particular order, Dennis Robinson, Wayne Grey, Pete Wells, Russ Witkowski, Ernie Townsend, Bob Stingel, Matt Marnell, Doug Ellsworth, Bobby DuBois, Barry Jackson, Pete and Eddie Nekos, Danny Fiore, Jimmy Brodhead, Tom Kelly, Al Stingel, Bill Reynolds, Mike LeFevre, Jerry Yaple, many, many more. Some of the adult leaders were Al Townsend, Mr. Spencer, John Amorello, Mr. Marnell, Mr. Stingel, Mr. McMahon, Steve Nekos, Mr. Wells, Mr. Sampson, many, many more. Oh, and let's not forget the backbone, motivator, energizer, organizer, Boy-am-I -glad-he-was-there Guy - Ralph Shapiro. And let's not forget the Moms that did a lot for us. Mrs. Marnell, Mrs. Grey, Mrs. Kelly, my Mom, Mrs. Sampson, Sis Nekos, many, many more. My mother just reminded me that it was Mrs. Sampson and a dedicated group of ladies that sewed together and kept in good repair, our woodland Indian uniforms. Hats off to the ladies!! The drum corps traveled to parades every weekend during the summer months. Most parades were fairly short and very pleasant. We exercised, saw a new town, showed off for the local girls, and got fed baloney and cheese sandwiches. Maybe even snuck a little beer from the kegs at the Fireman's Day parades! Many times we paraded locally. One local parade stands out. It was an evening parade in Kingston for the city-sponsored Halloween party. We were all a bit skittish about that one, but Ralph told us we could wear Halloween costumes, not our woodland Indian uniform. So that felt better. We marched down Broadway. Before going too far, the shower of shaving cream and eggs and other things started to descend on us. I myself got a rotten tomato on the back of the neck. Did Ralph have a premonition designed to protect those uniforms. Maybe… Practice. Boy, did we have to practice a lot! Monday nights would be in the Old Dutch Church, unless the weather was good enough to get us outside. I started as a second bugle. If one got good enough, one moved up to first bugle. Since some of the songs in the early days were not all that challenging, we second bugles might play just 2-3 different notes through the whole song. Inevitably, since the note "G" was in there, we soon picked up the nickname of "The 'G' Boys". The older guys would remind us of our status with such lines as, "Gee boys, I thought you could do better than that!". Ah memories! Anyway, we would arrive clear of ear, and supple of wrist and lip early in the evening and would leave 2-3 hours later tripping over our lip, constantly repeating the question,"What did you just say?" due to the stupefying effects of power-playing in those small rooms in Bethany Hall. Hey, that could be why the east wall of the Old Dutch Church now needs support. We also had marching and maneuvering practice at various locations in the area. Some Sundays, when the weather was less than ideal, we would meet at the Kingston Armory on the corner of Hoffman Street and Broadway. We would also practice in the Kingston Plaza, which was known as Britts Plaza back then. The marching and maneuvering, affectionately known as "M & M", would occur in the summer and fall on various weekday evenings and on Sunday afternoons. It's many a mile we trudged in the Britts Plaza. Britts was in the Hannaford building. It was a great department store. Santa appeared there every Christmas, there was a cafeteria at the far end, and there was a big record department! Anyway, we practiced in the parking lot to the right of the building which was unencumbered with the covered walkways that are there now. So, there was lots of room for marching by the right flank, by the left flank, by the right oblique, by the left oblique, etc., etc. Do any of my ole corps buddies remember this command? "Double to the rear with a slight hesitation, change step, change step, harch!" Yeah, I tried it in the backyard today. Needless to say, that ship has sailed! One practice session stands out. There we were, tired and in a company front facing Britts, to our left was Clinton Avenue, to our right was Col. Chandler Drive. Ralph was in front of us with his back to Britts, delivering one of his world-famous pep talks, extolling us, in his way, to do better, try harder, be the best we could be. Suddenly, from out of the corner of our left eye, in the sky, appeared this huge fireball! No kidding! A fireball that moved from our left to our right, crossing our front and disappearing from view behind those trees across Chandler Drive. I've often wondered what Ralph must have thought, because every head traversed in unison, to the left, to the front, and to the right as we watched that fireball pass and, seemingly, fall to earth out in Ruby, or Saugerties or someplace over that way. And I for one will swear to you I heard a hissing sound as it passed. An awed silence followed for a few seconds, except for Ralph still going on. Then, 50-odd voices clamored, "Did you see that? What was it? Did it land close by?" "Whoa!" "Cool!". I learned years later that a large meteor was reported as entering the Earth's atmosphere above Canada traveling to the southeast and landing in the ocean. I guess that's what we saw. Maybe…. There was another place where the corps watched something come to earth. We were practicing out by IBM in Lake Katrine on the grassy lawn at the end of the science building across from the main plant, facing Rt. 209. Again, all eyes went to the skies as a small single engine plane appeared, experienced some sort of trouble, banked to its left and landed at the far end of the same grassy lawn we were on! One of the adults saw it and stopped us, avoiding anything like a near miss. Pretty cool watching that landing. And we competed in many places. These competitions got more serious as we, frankly, got better. Thanks to our adult leaders, and all that practice, we became better musicians and marchers and more adept at learning and executing a 15 minute M&M drill. This performance was delivered around the Northeast. We competed against drum corps from all over, and we were pumped enough to want to do our best, and win those darn shows. I guess Ralph's pep talks sunk in, eh? Psyched to win? One example. Chicky Buboltz (Hi Cuz!) moved from the color guard to the drum line, playing the bass drum. Chicky worked hard, put his heart and soul into every beat. Now, these competitions took place through the summer, for the most part. So, almost every July and August weekend we were someplace competing. After practicing, after parading, in that summer heat and humidity…...well, for awhile there, Chicky was known to make it over the finish line, pound that bass as we finished with a flourish… and then unceremoniously pass out, with the bass drum still attached. He was always okay and usually got a nice hand from the crowd, because he would march off with us, even if someone else carried drum. You sure worked hard, Cuz. Another competition locale was Agawam, Massachusetts. This place stands out because of the great amusement park there. It had a really BIG roller coaster. We stayed in a hotel, with a number of the guys in each room. We were hanging out when some of the older fellas, my dear brother Russ included, arrived with a pizza, explaining they had bought one pie too many. Would we like to buy it? We jumped at the chance, pooled our coinage, and paid out for the pie. The older guys smiled and left, we congratulated ourselves on our good fortune, opened the box… and found a pizza with absolutely no toppings!! I mean even the cheese was gone! Yup, just sauce, crust and denuded dough. Sigh! Another memory. We were in New York City for a competition or parade. Our lodging consisted of us in sleeping bags, spread out on the dance floor in some hotel's basement. Well, just hanging out there got boring real quick, so the plan was hatched to sneak out and stroll down the streets of New York. Somehow several of us got out and started strolling the City That Never Sleeps. And boy was it lively for this Upstate kid. So, things were okay until this rummy approached and tried to bum some money from us. He was persistent. We couldn't shake him. But then two NYC cops walked up and told the guy to move on. When he didn't, and gave them some lip, a nightstick got jabbed in his solar plexus. That settled his hash. The cops then turned to us, asked a few pertinent questions, then strongly advised us to returned to the hotel ASAP. We might have hesitated a minute or two before turning around. Maybe… One last performance to mention. The corps had been improving in ability. We moved up from a Class C corps towards the really good guys like the Garfield Cadets. Well, we actually received an invitation to play ...Carnegie Hall! Yes we did. Absolutely amazing. There was no marching at this gig. The corps was assembled on stage, Ralph said a few words, we all took deep breaths and the curtain opened. There in front of us was that storied hall, just chockfull of drum corps fanatics. Well, we did okay I guess as we were warmly received and it's a pleasant memory. Now we can all say we played Carnegie Hall! Whoops, one more. We played for President Lyndon Johnson at Stewart Air Force Base, as it was called then. The gigs that Ralph got us! Two things stand out in my memory - that President Johnson stood there, right close up and politely listened to this extremely loud corps without flinching, even saying a few kind words after. And that when Denny Robinson, the drum major, tried to give him a little gift, a doll dressed in a miniature woodland Indians costume I'm sure one of the Moms had made, President Johnson just stood there with his hands clasped together, making no effort at all to take it, which puzzled us. Seconds later, a Secret Service agent or an aide or someone, came over and took the doll, which was in a small shoebox. Security! Some things have not changed over the years. Well, great times were had. It is only fitting to close these few lines by again calling to mind friends and elders who were part of a wonderful experience from my youth. And some special thoughts about - Ralph Shapiro. Ralph worked tirelessly with us, both as scouts and as drum corps members. Scouting was inextricably entwined with the drum corps experience during my time there, and Ralph made it a point to keep it that way. He was Scout Master as well as Corps Director. Ralph would counsel and lecture and instruct and, let's face it, lead. He worked to instill pride in us and kept prodding us, in his way, to move to higher ground, both through attainments in scouting, and accomplishments on the field of drum corps competition. And he always kept his head up high, and helped us to do the same, win, lose or draw. I last saw Ralph several years ago at a drum corps competition held at Dietz Stadium, probably on the mid-1990's. Two of my kids were with me and we were enjoying the show. Well, at some point, probably as the scores were being tallied, the show's announcer said there was a special award to be presented, to a great friend of drum corps and to scouting, and his name was.. Ralph Shapiro! We followed the announcer's gesture and turned our heads to the left, and there he was, in his scout master uniform, striding, nay marching, towards the center of the track, head held high, looking not a day over "1966". The crowd, as they say, went wild. And rightly so. That's a lasting memory of Ralph to me. I don't recall now if the drums and horns were actually playing or not as he walked to the microphone and accepted his award. But I heard 'em! So lucky, we were so lucky to have dedicated, caring adults like Ralph in our formative years. God bless them all.
Well, I love the Fall. Probably my favorite season. Used to be summer, but that slipped away with summer vacations from school, I guess. The love of cooler nights and beautiful colors replaced that of long days and endless activity, and has for years. For whatever reason, a Fall memory is going to the holy sacrament of Confession, back before it called Reconciliation. It was normally a Saturday afternoon/early evening event that took place at St. Joseph's Church in uptown Kingston. Monsignor Keating is the priest I remember though of course the parish had several clerics in the 1960's. The usual drill was to walk up Pine Street and pick up Matt Marnell and we'd both go up together and unburden our souls. I'm sure it was all very run-of-the-mill listening for our parish priests, but, hey, Matt and I welcomed the grace that accompanied this sacrament. We felt so good, in fact, that we almost always headed up to Woolworth's right after saying our penance. We'd sidle on up to the cafeteria counter that was in the store. We'd have already discussed what treat was to be had there. It was, almost without fail, a banana split. Now Woolworth's had a great little gimmick going on. One would pick from a number of colored balloons displayed over the counter, pop that sucker, and look for a little piece of paper that showed the discounted price you were gonna pay for that treat. The savings could be quite hefty. Anyway, Matt and I would then thoroughly enjoy our treat and get on with our busy day. Halloween was another thing to look forward to in the Fall. The streets were always full of kids out loading up the ole treat sack. Pillow cases were preferred for ease of handling and capaciousness. The trick or treating was usually peaceful - and bountiful! We'd have enough candy to last, oh, maybe one-two days!! No, of course the sweets lasted longer than that!! The day always started off well because we'd have brought our costumes to school for the gala parade around the George Washington Elementary School playground. Any of you who are familiar with GW know how huge the playground is. There were many ghosts, princesses, cowboys, ballerinas and, the perennial favorite, hobos aged 5 to11 walking the perimeter. And since we were boomers, there was a whole passel of us taking the stroll. The Halloween party back in class always included apple cider and cupcakes. Other stuff too, I'm sure, but that's all I recall now. Oh, candy corn too!! In the fifth grade, Mrs Norman's class, my buddy Roger Thiel and I were relegated to the classroom lunchtimes because we had both broken a foot that Fall. How Roger broke his foot has faded from memory, but I broke mine riding my bike down Pine Street. Going down that slight hill between Greenkill Ave. and North Wilber Ave., I decided to do some "S" maneuvers down the hill, but turned the wheel too far to the left, putting it at a 90 degree angle to the rest of the bike. That sent me up and over the handlebars right in front of Tony Argulewicz's house. Knew I was in trouble as soon as I put pressure on the left foot. And pedaling the bike home was probably not the smartest thing. Seems to me I was x-rayed that evening in Kingston Hospital, missing I'm sad to say that Sunday night's episode of "Shirley Temple Theater", which had a lot of good stories. Honest! Spent a night in pain, sleeping in Mom's room, and even was given an aspirin or two for the pain. The cast went on the foot the next day and the crutches came with the cast. Anyway, a day or two before Halloween came around I had been fitted with a walking cast for the big evening, so I was able to motivate pretty good on the streets - as a hobo- on a wet night- with some plastic around the cast- which didn't work. The bottom fell out of the cast and back to the doctor I went. He was not too awful pleased with me. Neither were mom and dad who were footing, as it were, the cost of these casts! What my parents put up with. One year, I somehow conned my mother into dyeing an old sheet black to create the cape needed to complete my Dracula costume. Now, I'm talking Bela Lugosi's Dracula. You know, the Best One Ever!! You see, besides the Million Dollar Movie on Channel 9, there was a TV show called Chiller Theater on Saturday nights on Channel 11 out of NYC. Zacherly (of 'Monster Mash' fame) was the host. He showed all the classic monster pics, as well as the grade 'B' Sci Fi ones from the '50's and '60's like "The Incredible Shrinking Man", "Invasion of Planet Earth", "The Beast From 50,000 Fathoms", etc. And he was a Bela wannabe - like me - judging from his make-up and his salutation at the start of the show, "Hello there. Zacherly here.", not done with the Transylvanian accent but still, he had Bela in mind. I practiced that Bela accent and, more importantly, the conjurer's hand gesture Lugosi had mastered. The next time the movie "Abbott and Costello Meet Frankenstein" in on TV, check out Bela's hand jive when puttin' a spell on "Wilber (Costello), and, of course, the pretty leading lady. It is a work of art. So, this sheet gets dyed, but it just doesn't have the blackness of a silk or satin cape (Go figure!) and I was very put out. But it got used anyway. Our Boy Scout Troop 12 had a whale of a Halloween party. Besides all sorts of baked goodies, and cider, and donuts, we bobbed for apples and played other games. The best part of this event though, was the Tunnel of Terror operated by the older scouts and designed the scare the living bejeepers out of us younger scouts! Of course, there was always some scariness in the scouting experience, especially at Camp Tri-Mount, where we were assured that the Lady of the Latrine was waiting for those too weak-bladdered to make it through the night without making a trip. Yes, my courage was tested more than once. But not like in the Terror Tunnel. The tunnel was just that. It was/still is (?) located in the basement of the Old Dutch Church. This tunnel was excavated years and years ago and was part of a much longer tunnel used way back as an escape route out of Kingston in time of emergency. Rumor had it that tunnel once reached to Hurley, but had caved in/been filled in. And that bodies had been stored down there before burial. Or so we were told. The terror trip started by entering That Door which all scouts had been told all year long was off limits. Well, this tunnel had dirt walls, or so I remember. Sound was absolutely deadened in there. A handclap went nowhere. We younger scouts were escorted through this tortuous trek by older scouts with flashlights. At some point the bare-bulb overhead lights failed…… We had flashlights though, it would be okay….. We had to look in this musty closet……… There was a bandaged body-thing in an old wooden wheelchair ...…… It smelled bad down there…….. That air was stale and dry… At the end of the tunnel, Bela was in this box……. He was lying there so peacefully…. Then… The eyes popped open… He started to rise! The escort scout yelled, "He's alive! Get out! Get out!" We got out. Fast! And the mummy in the wheelchair trundled after us! And the Wolfman popped out of that closet that had been empty before. And a bunch of other scary stuff happened. And we just went faster and faster. Boy that was so cool! Our scoutmaster Ralph Shapiro finished the night off with some God-awful ghost stories about lightless rat-infested Paris sewers, and only three matches, and a coffin to be reached in the heart of the sewer… I don't know. But Ralph managed to set just the right mood to scare us and have us laughing about it before we left for the night. Yeah, nice. And the Fall is Veteran's Day. Ken Burns' "The War" series put a well-deserved spotlight on our World War II veterans. It was impossible for me not to compare our nation at war then and now. The phrase going around about our current conflict is that the military went to war and the nation went to the mall. How true that is. Many people my age say this war is just like Viet Nam and must be protested. They say they believe now just as they did then. I admit to protesting the Viet Nam war back then. However, the passing years led to contemplation on my part, and the realization, no matter how I tried to rationalize it away, that my actions encouraged our enemies in North and South Viet Nam. That encouragement most likely led to casualties being inflicted on my countrymen. There's no getting away from that conclusion if you are honest with yourself. We know for a fact that the enemy took heart in the dissention in the U.S. over the war and that it buoyed them in their struggle against us. In this age of global communication, picture-taking cell phones, 24-hour news stations, the blatant leaking of military plans and secrets to the media, all the worse. Imagine calls to impeach FDR. Or the landing strategies for Iwo Jima and D-Day being leaked. Or Ike being called a traitor? Or an announcement that we had broken the Japanese naval code and had a German Enigma code machine? Or headlines of senators and congressmen declaring the war lost, best end it while we can? What is going on now is the 21st Century equivalent, in my estimation, and is having the obvious results, giving aid and comfort to our enemies. Since "The War" aired on PBS, there's been several letters sent to other newspapers wherein people try mightily to show why things are different now, why it's okay that they don't support the war effort, and why they are very patriotic by not supporting the effort. Sorry, I just cannot buy it. Well, hey Matt! Looks like I went to Confession without you! And no banana split this time. Well, some dried cranberries will do. Which leads to Thanksgiving, which will find me thankful for my family, my faith, my friends and my country. Boy, I do love the Fall. Enjoy it here in the Catskills!
Well, Christmas memories. Quite a topic. We always had very fine times on Christmas. The Christmas tree was put up usually not before Christmas Eve. It probably was purchased from the Troop 12 Boy Scouts as part of the troop's fundraising. And my brother Russ and I had probably spent time selling them up the street at Mr. Sampson's house, across the street from Weishaupt's Market on Greenkill Avenue. We had more than enough decorations. My favorites were the bubble lights - glass or plastic tubes shaped like candles with colored water in them. The bulb in the base of the light heated the liquid and caused it to bubble up the shaft of the "candle". It was really neat! We had nice ones, but the best ones were at my Uncle Bucky and Aunt Cecelia Buckman's house on East Chester Street. They were older and just were outstanding. I notice my cousin has decorated the front yard of the house very nicely for the season. It was definitely a family affair decorating the tree. Mom, Dad, Russ, my sister Nancy and I would all be very busy fluttering around the tree while Polish Christmas carols played in the background. The final touch would be the placing of presents. There was never the amount of stuff one sees under the tree in my house now, but it always seemed like a lot. And there was that expectation of what Santa would bring! And we did wait for Santa, looking out the window for some telltale sign. Or listening for some telltale jingle, or snow crunch, or reindeer hoof beat on the roof. That Santa is a cagey one, though. We never did spot him, or catch him in our house which is pretty amazing when one considers that we were sure that not one moment of sleep occurred on any given Christmas Eve. I do recall sneaking down the stairs early at least one Christmas. I had missed the Jolly Elf, but there in the pre-dawn grey light, I could espy various shapes under and around the Christmas tree that had not been there the night before. This espionage work, by the way, was done from the stairs. I did not dare go all the way down to the living room. Well, the morning would arrive. Mom and Dad still managed to get downstairs before us. Frankly, that was the rule. We had to wait for the go-ahead, which of course seemed never to be given. When the go-ahead was given, I'm sure Russ, Nancy and I walked down the stairs with the greatest decorum and grace. Yeah, right! The tree lights would be on, coffee would be perking in the kitchen, Christmas carols would be playing, and we would dive into those presents. Actually, and I may be wrong on this, we had to go in turns to open the gifts so we could see what each of us got, and Mom could be assured everything had made it under the tree. Interestingly, I don't have a clear memory of many of the presents right now. I recall Nancy getting a, well, I don't know, a stuffed animal in the shape of a supine horse, that one would sit upon, or ride, while watching tv. And she got dolls. I remember Lincoln Logs and something I think was called "Mr. Magneto". This toy was basically a conveyor belt and a magnet. Mr. Magneto was a colorful plastic figure of a construction guy from the waist up. In front of him was a rubber conveyor belt maybe three inches wide and a foot long. The magnet was held in Mr. Magneto's clasped hands at the end of extended arms which could move up and down. Mr. Magneto's torso could also be moved to the right. There were two levers in the front to move the arms and torso. This needed electricity to work, whether from batteries or a plug I don't recall. Anyway, the thing would be turned on, the conveyor belt would move from left to right, one put metal washers on the belt and tried to pick them up with the magnet. After catching some metal, one turned Mr. M. so the metal was over a cart, a button was pressed, and the magnet released the metal, depositing it into that cart. Neat! I got a Joe Palooka punching bag. This inflatable toy was basically a 4 foot tall spherical item with sand in the bottom and Joe in his boxing stance painted in the outside. You punched the bag, it rolled away from you and then back and you punched it again. Well, this item MAY have made it to the day after Christmas before it had the wind permanently knocked out of it. Oh, I should say that we were allowed to open only one present before going to church. Talk about delayed gratification! But it was all good. One appreciated the presents more. There would be a big meal and various aunts, uncles and cousins would come to our house to visit. Don't know why the family visited us that day. Maybe it was the food, or the fact that we did not own a car (Wrap yer mind around that one!). Anyway, it was always a great time. We would visit the relatives in the days after Christmas. Of course, Russ, Nancy and I many times were put to bed at the end of a long and busy day before all the company had departed. While upstairs trying to now unwind and get to sleep, we would be choking on the cigarette smoke that wafted upstairs from our aunts and uncles. It was too cold to open a window, so we suffered. Mom and Dad did not smoke, and I never did either, I think because of that stifling feeling from those Christmas nights. One less bad habit to break. Another great part of the holiday season was visiting our friends homes to see their tree and presents, and of course having them come over to see ours. Visiting Tony Argulewicz on Pine Street and Roger Thiel on Wall Street and Al and Bob Stingel and their brothers on Lindermann Avenue just lend more magic to the times. It was also great to look over the toys in Elston's Hobby Shop, which was on Fair Street, in two different locations, as I remember. One was where the parking lot is now for Ulster Savings bank. There was also lots of cool stuff to peruse in Woolworth's, J.J. Newberry's and Montgomery Wards, all of which were in uptown Kingston. And then there was that Christmas pageant that the Old Dutch Church still presents. The Dutch-flavored Christmas story was just wonderful. And I can still picture Black Peter on that huge black stallion, doin' a great job scaring us straight simply by his presence. Of course, there were other community-related events I was involved with. There was the Christmas pageant in George Washington Elementary school. I recall the excitement of getting ready for whatever performance we were gonna be in, and having make-up applied to us by the teachers. I now can understand a certain smile one teacher couldn't suppress as she told this young lad to pucker so she could better apply the lipstick. And whether it was that year or another, I do recall being one of the "candles" in a Christmas tree made up of we students. We were singing Christmas carols, and I was right there with the best of them, when I spotted Mom and Dad in the audience. Well, I got so exited, I just started waving and waving, until some teacher came over and told me to stop and just sing. It's traumas like that that go a long way in explaining my present-day fear of public speaking! I think we also performed with our band instruments in the Washington Avenue Infirmary that was right next to the school. The elderly folk really did enjoy our performance. Which brings me to the end of this tale, remembering a buddy who passed away before Thanksgiving. Al Stingel did not shake the Demon Tobacco and it claimed him at the tender age of 56. Al was a school chum, a Boy Scout buddy and a drum corps pal. We stayed friends for years after those events, and Al and I took a three-week trip in my Volkswagen to see the marvels of the Mid-west: the Badlands, Yellowstone, the Grand Canyon, Pocatello, Idaho, Mt. Rushmore, these great caves, etc. Al, RIP. I guess as we get older, the strains of "Auld Lang Syne" take on more meaning. My Christmas Past was always warm and fuzzy. I'm very lucky. Here's wishing all of you the best warm and fuzzy holidays ever! Merry Christmas! Happy New Year!
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