7179. BELOW THE WATER LINE, pt 11

BELOW THE WATER LINE

pt. 11

For the first 8 years or so, the street I lived on

had not been paved; that didn't happen until about

1963. Inman Avenue had been always a loose-gravel

covered roadway, along which for too often cars sped

on their way to or from Route One, which joined at the

end. Because of that, the gravel, every six months or so, 

would be blown or have migrated, by the fast tire-tracking,

to the sides, so there'd be a 2 or three inch pile of the

gravel densely collected, and the road bared. The town road

truck would come by every so often then and re-grate the

little stones with a large rake-like contraption so the roadway

was re-covered. Then it all started again. Myrtle Yacullo,

and her husband Jim  -  my across the street neighbors  -  

were very good at sitting on their evening porch and just

loudly yelling out to cars passing : 'Slow Down! To no

real avail. A person could get to a pretty spontaneous

50mph along that street with no trouble. Jim Yacullo, whose

son my age was also named Jim, was the first guy I saw who

could whistle that loud whistle that guys do with their fingers

in their mouth. Enough to stop the world. I could never do that.

He always bought big new Buicks  -  a 1958 really glitzy

Buick Special, convertible, was my favorite. It was massive,

really tough-looking, and like a tank. Myrtle herself, the wife,

had a perfect 1955 Chevrolet. If any of us even got near its

blue and white two-tone paint, she start yelling for us to get

away from the car with our belt buckles and denim studs and

things (the rivets near the pants pockets on dungarees). I guess

she had a point, for scratches and stuff. Jim, the boy, friend then, 

he too is dead now (I've lost a lot of pals). I met his mother and 

his sister at some gathering a few years back and Jim's mother, as

I asked about him, where he's buried, etc. (They're all living 'down 

the shore' now), without hesitation just said, 'Jimmy, he did it to

himself; we all told him to stop, he ate himself to death, just kept

it on. He got so huge it killed him.'  -  which actually was a surprise

to me, hearing that. I always thought he was a tough old egg.

-

Jim had an uncle, from Carteret, who was a doctor. That's really 

all I know about him; we just called him 'Doc.' Every year, in

October, Doc would get a brand new Chrysler Imperial  -  huge

beast of a car, stately, finely-attuned  -  it was Chrysler's version

of a fine Cadillac. Without fail, each year for the five or six I can

recall, he'd drive over to us, on Inman, and Jimmy and I would get

the first ride with him in his new Imperial  - ten miles or so, just

tooling around the area. It was great. Jimmy, even back then, always

said he was going to have a car someday with a telephone in it. That

idea was amazing to me  -  he meant a regular house-type phone, on

which he'd talk and contact everyone as he drove. No cellular stuff  - 

except Jimmy and I talked more than a few times about how in 
the world he'd figure out the needed extendo-wire the phone 
would require. The kind of stuff boys tackle, and bicker over. 
Good memory.