RUDIMENTS, pt. 46
Making Cars
When I was 10, the Summer of
5th grade, an odd thing happened
to me. This kid I knew, my age, only
the vaguest of a school chum, had
his father call my mother and ask if
I could go with them, the kid, the
father, and me, to Palisades Amusement
Park, up in Palisades Park, NJ. This
whole thing surprised me, for sure. My
mother said OK. Turned out, they'd asked
their son what he wanted for his 10th
birthday, his father related, and the son
(Ron Sutor) said he wanted to spend the
day with me at Palisades Park. So weird.
I'd never been there before, had only
heard of it - it was a 1950's-60's era
NJ amusement park, with rides, a wading
kind of pool with a wave machine - that
was pretty cool - and a little soundstage
where occasional B-level pop music bands
and things would play on Saturday night
date-night soirees, etc. It all turned out fine.
I forget what day of the week it was or how
it all went, but his father drove us up, to
Fort Lee - next town right there - and we
got momentarily lost too. None of it cost
me a penny; we got rides, amusements,
lunch stuff, tons of fries and ice cream,
and just wandered around like old pals.
I hardly knew the kid, but after that we
stayed in touch. Ron was a quiet kid, and
nice. His father, later, ended up a scoutmaster
or something around, and through that I
ran into him, but no more about Ron at all.
Pretty odd, but he didn't mingle well. It
was about the next year, I remember, Ron
got clipped by a car on his bicycle while
crossing Rt. One at the firehouse; he was
OK, but spent some time in the hospital.
I remember talking to his father about that.
And then, just like that, they moved away.
Palisades Amusement Park was also cool
for having, at one of its sides, a rocky
precipice which overlooked the Hudson
River below, maybe 500 feet down, and
a really great view of NYCity, skyline and
all. Once it got dark out, it twinkled and
was lit up - totally stunning for us kids
from the swamps. I forget how we got home;
probably conked out and slept on the ride,
but, I don't remember. The other thing was,
while we were lost for a bit, Ron's father
pulled over and asked some guy for directions.
(we were real close, like two miles off). The
older guy turned out to be a real creep -
probably a monied local (it's expensive up
there) annoyed by motley people creeping
through their town looking for the "musement
park." Ron's father asked for directions to
Palisades Park - really simple - and the guy
got up in his face talking all fancy like and
saying, 'Well, which do you mean? Palisades
Park, which is our town here, and you're in it,
or Palisades AMUSEMENT Park, which is the
arcade section over there.' Big whoop. He had
to make that big-deal distinction to get uppity.
Boy I just wanted to smite the guy, for the whole
scene but mostly for putting Ron's father down
like that just to be a superior asshole. I was
hoping his wife someday would have to clean
toilets there or something, to make ends meet,
so he could just see what crap he looked like.
-
It's funny how you make an effect, sometimes,
and you don't even know it. Like this one. I
was pretty baffled. Ron wasn't one of my first
neighborhood pals - he'd moved in a few
years later, in a newer house, built in a
different style (50's split level). It was by
itself, at the corner of Woodbridge Ave., at
Monica Court - which was the end section
of all those look-alike, dippy homes that mine
was part of. In Ron's new backyard, when the
house was put in, was the Krug mansion or
something like that - a big, odd, old-style
white mansion, with a peak and a widow's
watch thing on the roof, big yard, etc. Used to
be some sort of family fortune there, the Krug's.
In fact, that little hermit guy I wrote about
somewhere who lived alone in a little shack
in the middle of a side-patch of trees and things
by the mansion house, well the spot where they
built Ron's house, in about 1958, I guess, was
exactly where that little shack had been. None
of us kids ever knew what had happened to the
hermit, nor his shed, nor why he was there,
(gardener for the Krug's grounds?) or what his
story was. It didn't matter anyway, because we
kids had surely mucked up that poor guy's
paradise as soon as the woods were cut and all
our goofy houses got dropped in. Maybe he just
went mad - couldn't blame him. We would
torment him endlessly from the other side of
the fence, even throwing things in at him. He
was a small man, about maybe 5 feet and a few
inches, always in the same gray clothes, worksuit
material or something, with a big, white beard
gone yellow around the mouth, stained from
pipe smoke of food or coffee. He finally began
shooting a salt-pellet rifle back at us, to ward
us off and keep us away. No harm, just total
annoyance. And that's where Ron lived.
-
Back to my point - how it's funny you make
an external impression outward and mostly you're
not even aware of what's happening. A lot of
that - like reunions stuff and all - only comes
out much later. Someone begins telling you
something about way back then, and you think,
'that was me? that's how I came across?' I guess
there's no real control over that, since each
of us is too busy just living our lives. The input,
as we see it, is just everyday stuff. So, for a
tiny, world-moment, Ron and I clicked, my
presence mean something to him, and I
reciprocated. I'd love to find him now
somewhere and get the lowdown on what
he does or doesn't remember about any of this.
And, since he was after the fact, I wonder if
he even ever knew about the hermit?
-
On this subject, I have another acquaintance
from back then, Alan, who I do see, is still
around, etc. His funniest recollection to me,
about me, and one that I have absolutely no
recall on, is as follows: He relates how one
time, at the local candy store, run by an old,
quarrelsome, almost pain-in-the-neck Jewish
couple named Murray and Martha - always
feuding and screaming at each other, squabbles
in the store, from family to store, etc., (they
lived upstairs and in the rear of the store, so
not much was really that private). Al says that
one day she came out, Martha, scolding and
yelling at me for throwing some candy wrappers
or papers of some sort onto the ground instead
of using a garbage can, outside. After berating
me for a bit, he says I turned on her and said,
'Yeah, but at least I don't eat with my hat on.'
We think that was meant as a Jewish slight, but
I cannot recall that at all, nor why and how I'd
come up with such a line, even if I knew about
the hats and the eating. What a crazy world.
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