“…Can it be that life was all so simple then, or has time re-written every line? If we had the chance to do it all again, tell me, would we? Could we?…”
The above is from that classic Barbra Streisand song, “The Way We Were.” It is one of my favorites, and I have been singing it in countless concerts over the past 10 years and before that, at many of our local senior citizen groups.
Memories; indelible memories! Whether we realize it or not, as we pile on the years, we are storing countless memories in a mental database that is the envy of computer users everywhere.
In future editions of the Hamilton Post, I will recall many of the countless memories that lie deep within my personal memory bank. This column will also deal with the incredibly interesting and little known historic persons, places and things that are part of our Hamilton heritage.
Hamilton Township wasn’t always the sprawling metropolis we see today. In many cases, I will be writing about when Hamilton was large in area, but much more sparse in population, and rural in character. Many of my columns will recall wide white walls on 600 x 16 inch rims, running boards on every car, when Pepsi Cola was a nickel, RC Cola was Royal Crown. It will recall the time when Hamilton High School was the only high school, and you could buy penny candy for a penny.
At the grand old age of 83, my early memories of Hamilton go back to the late 1930’s. Besides my Kuser School and Hamilton High School reminiscences, which I have compiled in diary form, there are many indelible impressions left on my mind after all those many years.
When I started in “Reception Grade” at Kuser School in 1939, Newkirk Avenue was a narrow two-lane country road. At that time, the Hamilton Township Road Department was in the process of excavating in order to put in the huge storm drains. I watched by the hour as the clamshell crane from A.J. Cunningham or Perelli Contracting performed all kinds of fascinating feats which were avidly watched by all kids in the neighborhood.
We will be remembering some of the colorful people who came into our neighborhoods: We called him “the Rag Man.” He could be heard long before we saw him, announcing his approach with a never-varying monotone, “Ra-a-a-gs.” His horse seemed programmed to maintain a very slow pace. Whenever we had any rags, scrap metal, or other refuse which could be recycled, Mom Glover would hail him and after a little bargaining, he would pay for his treasure and move slowly onward.
Then there was “the ice man.” Our first refrigerator that didn’t use ice was an “Alpine” which we didn’t get until 1940; prior to that, we were buying blocks ice from the iceman. We were always happy to see the iceman arrive on a hot summer day. When he stopped to deliver ice at our house, the kids would wait for him to chip away at the large ice blocks which he kept under a heavy quilted canvas. When he hooked the tongs around the ice block he carried it to our house with a new block of ice. He gave us the okay to take whatever chips we found on the wooden floor of the wagon. You would think we had been given a free ice cream soda at Fromkin‘s Drug Store.
The first warm day of spring brought the neighborhood’s favorite visitor. We called him the “Hokey Pokey” man. This incredibly delicious enterprise was owned by the Spera family who had a delicatessen on South Olden Avenue just past Cunningham Avenue in Forrest Valley.
Mr. and Mrs. Spera were from Italy, and thank heavens they brought the recipe for their “Hokey-Pokeys” from the old country. There has never been a successful imitation of the “Hokey-Pokey” as formulated by the Spera family. Two cents would buy a single dip of that icy delight, and for a nickel you received a double dip; served up in a pleated, white paper cup. I have long since given up buying that watered down, flavorless junk that today passes as Italian ice. Mr. and Mrs. Spera worked long and hard to skimp and save so their children could be educated. My brothers and my sister went to school with Benny and Sammy. I graduated with Lucia (“Lucy”) in 1951, and see her during our too-infrequent class reunions.
Mr. Bennett delivered our milk. I remember the very early years when the horse-drawn wagon with the large name “Castanea” emblazoned on the side was a common sight on local streets. I sorely miss the joy of opening a fresh bottle of milk and taking a delightful sip of the cream. In those days, milk was delivered with about a half pint of cream filling the neck of the bottle. Mom always shook it up to mix it with the milk, unless one of us got to the bottle before she did.
I thank the Lord for giving me the gift of longevity, including very humble thanks for giving me the ability to remember those 80-plus-year-old memories of my past, including my ability to remember lyrics to songs that many of my generation seldom hear in today’s society. See y’all next month.
Images from the mid-20th century, including the logo for Castanea, which was emblazoned on local horse-drawn milk delivery wagons.,
