RUDIMENTS, pt. 319
Making Cars
My mother was always concerned
about her weight. She was never
heavy in any way, but some sort
of weird self-image thing was
underway. Lo-Cal, Diet, at-home
exercises, TV workout shows, all
that stuff was always underway,
probably 1957 - 1961 anyway. They
were very active slim-down years.
I wasn't ever sure what ladies were
going through with that stuff, or
why it concerned them at all. It
always seemed more sensible to
me, less tedious and cheaper too,
to just stop eating, or stop eating
so much that it bothered one's
weight. It was a sort of oddball
high-stylish time anyway, all
that Marilyn Monroe and Jayne
Mansfield stuff. I don't remember
much really, except when Jayne
Mansfield - who was really a
goof, like a cheesier version, if
you can imagine, of Marilyn
Monroe, and she had crummy
voice-tone too - got killed in
a car crash, whenever that was,
decapitated actually, there was
a big swoon. When Marilyn
Monroe died, I was a little older,
but still didn't understand the
whole deal - her getting porked
by the Kennedy brothers all
the time and then all that 'did
she really die, or was she not
murdered for her silence?' stuff.
No one knew, they all just
blabbered on. Endless stupid
evenings on the little front stoops,
fathers hosing their silly lawns,
people coming over, house to
house, to chat and waste time.
It was crazy, and who cared?
Then Kennedy himself got
killed, and all that crap was
over. There were some other
notable deaths too - Ernie
Kovacs, supposedly a drunk
alcoholic, and James Dean,
supposedly a nutcase of
intensity and speed (fast
driving). I never liked him;
he always came off as wimpy
and overly, cloyingly, sincere.
Lasty, oh, did I mention the
Diem Brothers, leaders of
Vietnam. They were killed,
together, side by side on Nov.
3, 1963. But we killed them,
meaning the CIA, so 'we' could
get into the Vietnam War. Hmm.
By the 22nd, Kennedy was dead
too. Must just all be coincidence.
-
You see, in the enclave of Avenel,
NJ, this stuff never entered the
normal discourse. Porch to
porch and stoop to stoop, Dads
watering lawns paid it all no
mind. My father's task, early on,
as with so many others there, was
putting a yard together. It wasn't
yet the day of landscape crews
and Mexican guys with chainsaws
and rakes. The land was raw, in
that was was newly churned.
When we moved in, there was
a huge pile of dirt and debris
in the yard - hills and berms
of leftover stuff. It took a few
months before the 'yards' were
officially leveled and cleared.
As I remember it, the whole
thing was a bit like living out
of a suitcase, at first, and a bit
of living on a construction site
as well. There was a huge, high
dirt hill in our yard; I remember
so well. My father's immediate
task was, with my Uncle Joe,
planting three or four dogwood
trees (white flowers, in May),
hedges along the back perimeter,
and a willow tree. At the front
of the house went two oaks, which
he'd proudly measure me against,
for height, for a few years. The
tree eventually spread out, and
then surpassed me in height
as well. They both lasted there
15 or 20 years. The yard became
green and level. A shed or two
went up. The railroad rear got a
fence and a gate. The neighbor
built a garage. We (and they,
and about 15 others) installed
those above-ground pool things
that everyone in the late 50's
seemed to want. The big race
was on, for those who got a 16
foot pool (circular pool, but
straight measurement across),
versus, I think it was, a 13 foot
version. Status seekers, even
among the untouchables.
-
The cool thing was, for Inman
Ave, that buyers had a choice.
On the railroad side, where I
was, from the first house, at
the Abbe Lumber end terminus,
until about halfway up, (three
houses from mine) the yards
were left wooded - large oak
trees, the forest cover that had
been removed. Some people
sought shade and tree'd yards,
a bit more privacy, and less
baking sunlight. That was
fine, but when pool-mania
struck, those people were in a
pickle, if they wanted a pool.
The trees kept the yard in
deep shade; not good for
having a pool. Our (sunny)
end had suddenly plenty of
pools. The shade people, I
only can remember 3; with
people, as I recall, figuring
out sun angles, shade lines,
etc., with various types of
tree trimmings done to open
up the 'sunlight hole' to
better warm the pool. Fun
stuff. It's pretty much still
like that. I occasionally walk
the tracks back along the rears
of all those houses, tree'd
ones and bare ones (they can
all be seen from the train too),
and I can see the situation. It's
a bit different now, of course,
50 years on. I see how most
people ignore the rear area,
between the end of their yards
and the tracks. Back in the
early years, that was coveted
space - oftentimes our fathers
kept it clipped and mowed, for
sight and also almost as an
extension of their own yard.
It was nice stuff. Now mostly,
by contrast it's weedy and tightly
grown in, nearly sometimes
impassable for me - briars
and stickers, and plenty of
old junk too - I've seen
bicycles, tires, large pieces
of cast-off metal and concrete,
cinder blocks, old toys, parts
of old walls, and more. It's
mostly more like no-man's
land now. The impassibility
of it all just usually makes me
end up walking the tracks. Which
I also enjoy, recalling the vistas,
places and occurrences of when
we used to hang there.
-
There used to be a railroad call
box, right at the spot behind my
house - it was a maybe three
foot by two foot wooden box,
built onto one of the electrical
caternary poles. Painted white,
now and then, the front flipped
open to reveal a telephone. The
really cool old kind, with the
mouthpiece you talked into,
and the earpiece you held to
your ear, with a fiber-wrapped
cord between. There was a
crank on the side, and you
cranked that to ring the other
end - which was at some sort of
railroad yard. The phone was
like a hot-line, always live, for
emergencies, reports, calls for
help, etc. Just a crank and
someone would be on the
other line. (The 'original'
version of a 'crank call,'
for sure). Of course, that was
all we needed to know. We
often made (and I don't know
how we did it, now) false calls
of distress, rude comments,
dire warnings of derailed trains,
etc. We'd talk fast, and flee.
Our biggest fear (and, once
again, I don't know how this
got started, where the term came
from, or if it was true) was of
'Railroad Dicks' (track detectives)
who catch us. Whether or not
they existed, out deal was that
we were brave and in the know
enough to elude these prowling
RR lawmen on the search for us.
Thank God they were only thought
of us being men. If they were to be
female, I'd not know what we'd
be calling them. Heavens forbid.
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