RUDIMENTS, pt. 197
Making Cars
I was never ashamed of anything
because I never had much to be
ashamed about. When I was first
a kid, I had a pretty nice Columbia
bicycle, and then it was followed
by a nice, sturdy J. C. Higgins. The
names themselves meant really little
to me, though I was told by my
father they were good brands. I used
to really love that swirly text-type
that the Columbia logo use. It
was a really nice piece of metal
around the front fork tube and
riveted lightly on. The J. C.
Higgins, as I recall, was an
altogether sturdier bike, of more
heft and durability. To me, as a
kid, there was a real price of
loyalty to one's bicycle; it was a
funny feeling and completely
without connection to anything
but personal sentiment. Maybe
hot-rodders and motorcycle guys
shared in that same feeling, but
I don't know. Back then, you have
to realize, there was a lot less to
take up your time with, far fewer
distractions, let's say. Outside of
the opposite sex, there was a closer
latitude to what you did - maybe
girly mags, in their primitive stages
then, were the diversion needed for
any Bob or Joe in need of outside
stimulation; but most guys, as I
saw it, were content with tinkering,
tuning, and driving. It was all just
of a different focus. I remember
young guys in their yards working
for a month building engine hoists.
-
I never really had a bead on what ever
was going down then - I knew there
were crazes, and dances, and all that
which were making the rounds as hot
topics - even hula hoops, and skates,
jalopies, and hot rods. Home model
kits, of cars and planes, were another
big item, as were ten cent movies on
Saturday mornings at the local school.
But whoever wanted to sit in a sloppy
big room with 120 plus screaming
kids yelling back at Abbot & Costello
or Goldilocks and the Three Bears.
Nothing was ever shown possessing
any intelligence past 2nd grade.
Later on it was always held out to
kids that a good future was to be a
teacher. I'd look back at what I saw
and remembered and would just think
to myself 'who'd ever want that?' It
seems that people get stuck in the
rut of the crowd they deal with, and
you end up with 6th grade teachers
always acting and thinking like
6th graders, etc. How to figure
that as a career move? Beyond me.
As I saw it, there was nothing worse
than an insincere adult, except maybe
one who wasn't even aware of how
insincere their pandering seemed.
-
Some kids I knew seemed to have
really cool family lives - with
memberships in swim clubs and
pools, beach passes from Lavalette
on their family car's window year
after year. Big cars, newer and
fancier. I never knew if the house
atmosphere reflected a better
education, or awareness of things,
or connections or learning, but it
was never like that where I lived.
Which was OK and I never dwelt
on it. It just didn't seem to matter.
One of the big problems with
being a boy was the ongoing
rush of hormones; you kind of
just knew it was coming, felt it
flushing through you, and so
many friends had sisters. Yes,
all that was always before you -
calling, enticing something, and
you never quite knew what the
heck it was. Yet. Until. There
were some houses where the
daughter or sister was the older
one; some where they were
younger. I remember this one
kid, Jim, who had a sister about
6 years older than I was, maybe,
and I watched her in awe, thinking
of her as the most graceful, beautiful
thing I'd ever seen. Once or twice
she maybe looked my way, said
something, or smiled, and that was
enough for like ten weeks. And
to make it worse, she was arty,
talented, fine, delicate. A hundred
words. She disappeared, I disappeared,
life went on; but it still sticks. (She
died, alas, a very early death, in her
30's, of which I only heard later and
in passing). They lived on Park Avenue,
in Avenel (that doesn't mean rich
or any of that; it just leads to the
park, not like 'Park Ave' poshness
in NYC). Her father drove a soda
delivery truck for Royal Crown
Cola. Living there must have been
a difficult location for anyone like
her, in that it's really difficult to
be exceptional and be stuck in
such ordinary surroundings. It's
funny, because I still pass that
house all the time (no contact
with the brother at all, for 50 years
now), and the enormous tree on
the neighbor's small front lawn
is still there, huge and the only
tree left for nearly the entire
block. It's the same way with
another friend I once had, over
on Chase Ave. The neighbor
there still has the same giant
oak on the front lawn that was
there 50 years ago too. And it's
the only tree still standing along
that whole block as well. Funny
how things go, like the old bell
clanging on some leaky memory
ship listing on some choppy sea.
-
Avenel can pretty much be defined
by the scrub oaks that once grew
everywhere. On the street I lived,
Inman Ave, a long stretch of blah,
the first half of the block (not my
half) had backyards that had been
left treed, fully grown in. It was a
buyer's choice. My parents, evidently,
had opted for the treeless yard. My
father was a stickler, and really
disliked trees - dropping leaves,
acorns, making shade. He seemed
to like the bare, bright sun of a
mowed, crisp yard, picnic table
and cookouts under afternoon
clear skies. I guess it was just
a preference. I liked the other
yards - all that darkness,
and trees you could befriend
and grow comfortable with.
A really good scrub oak, if
left alone, grows secondary
branches off the main trunk,
low, at head height and less, and
they sort of grow downward too,
pointing towards the ground. It's
very cool to see that, natural state,
except most 'yard' people always
trim those bottom offshoots, clearing
the tree in the lower portions. It
had something to do with neurotic
niceness or demanding neatness
of a natural-state tree. Anyway,
in many of my friends' yards this
wasn't done, or rather it was
neglected enough so that no
one tended the wild trees. I
used to love the thickets formed
because of it - vines and weeds
and things which would grow in.
This was once all over Avenel.
It can still be seen, here and in
other places, oddly enough, in those
cast off triangles of land where
roads and ramps often lead into
other roads or highways. Spare
land, ignored, left to grow. They
always end up growing in perfect
specimens of what the entire area
must once have looked like. A
great site. I started out here saying
I was never ashamed of anything.
When these small parcels suddenly
get trimmed and shortened and
mowed and pillaged, I'm ashamed
of that.
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