7186. BELOW THE WATER LINE, pt. 14

BELOW THE WATER LINE

(PT. 14)

I think there were guys, fathers, as I said before,

still living the war, but there wasn't much evidence of

it  -  not like today anyway  -  no bumper stickers, no

assistance programs, medical needs. Don't get me wrong,

there were veteran's hospitals and soldiers' homes, and there

were shell- shocked guys still around, either taken away or

just living their own lives, without talking and without

concerns. I know, for instance, only of my uncle, who'd

fought in the Pacific, and in his house in Colonia he had

an entire room, like a den or a big rec-room, decorated with

'Jap' memorabilia  -  stuff he said he'd taken out of the jungles

and places in the South Pacific he'd fought. Actually, how he'd

gotten it all back here is beyond me, but it made for some

decorative motif : Japanese bayonet/rifles, Japanese infantry

helmets, a few hand grenades, I guess, defused or whatever,

sabers, long knives, sheaths, bullet belts, a machine gun, a

holster, all sorts of things, buckles, gloves, and much of it

decorated too, with that Rising Sun logo or emblem or national

Japanese symbol. Whatever; this stuff was all up on the walls in

this large room. They'd been living in Bayonne still, and it was

a few years after we'd relocated to our new house in Avenel that

they too found and waited for completion of their new house, on

Starlight Drive, Colonia, off Inman, I think Number 77. No one

ever talked of their wartime stuff, not even my uncle, but he had

things everywhere. They jusy lived with their situations, and left

it unspoken, or maybe just kept it all private; I don't know. Certainly

it wasn't talk-show fodder and all that touchy-feely stuff like now.

And one other time, we were driving one of my neighborhood

friends up the Parkway with us, as a family, for some reason,

and as we passed the Oranges, I can remember my mother turning

to him as we passed the Veteran's Hospital up there somewhere,

'Michael, that's where your father is again, right?' So, I guess this

guy had intermittent treatments or maybe even internments. I don't

know, and I never found out. Adult things.  No one on my block, to

my knowledge, was ever like crazy-military blasted. World War II

was little mentioned. People seemed instead to talk only about newer

things  -  their pools, their cars, their 'memberships' at Holiday Lake, in

Edison. Once everyone began getting backyard pools  -  which about

three-quarters of the people did end up having, that was pretty much

the end for places lake Holiday Lake, which is now a huge industrial

park built by some guy named Heller, after he sold off all the land

for commercial uses instead of pleasure. Holiday Lake used to have

very nice membership decals for the rear-side windows of the
member's car  -  for parking and entry. Very 1950's looking, a
buxomy lady in a one-piece bathing suit, all curvy and
exciting-looking, arc'd on a diving board, ready for the dive.
Member number, permit #, etc. It was kind of a badge of honor

and we never had one, no, but  -  across the street  -  the Yacullos

did. They also had a constant sticker for Lavalette too  -  some

beach membership down there. Life had its certain perks, and

the kind of invisible caste-distinction that was going on, well,

it was really that invisible. It was a big deal for us to just get a

barbecue grille, let alone join a swim club or something. My

father worked, pretty slave-like, as an upholsterer, breaking his back

and fingers with lifting, fabrics, sewing, woodwork, and finishing.

He used to bring home a cash-pay envelope, I well recall, with $125

in it. That did the week, for everything, and for four people. He'd buy

a dollar-a-day worth of gasoline, which would get him back and forth

to Newark, and later Union, for his jobs. For a few years, I remember,

my father was, quite really, the toughest guy I'd ever seen;
muscle-bound and 'strong-like-ox', as the saying goes. He'd lift a
couch, if he had to, and flip it too, with not a second thought.
He'd handle a cinder-block as if it were a brick.