ReminiscesUnder this heading you will find writings by class members of life as we all knew it in the 50s and in the 50 years since then. If you have thoughts you would like to contribute for the enjoyment of your classmates, please click here to upload your writings for publishing on this web site. Available pieces include (click on piece of interest):
A GUY FROM LIVINGSTON
By
Les Heskett
Surfing Down Memory Lane by George Smith Memoirs by Gayle Merwin Kellam Interesting "Stuff" Learned During Past 50 Years contributed by Jim Bredahl Poem contributed by Les Heskett, author unknown Who was Bob Hope?, contributed by Les Heskett Passaic River Story contributed by Paul Havas A Fun Reunion Story from Les Heskett About New Jersey, contributed by Ken Peschell ________________________________________________________ A
GUY FROM LIVINGSTON
The next thing I knew, it was time for first
grade. Living where I did on Bennington Road, near Northfield
Center, we should have gone to Roosevelt School. However, they had
no room for us; therefore; they put us on buses and sent us to
White Oak Ridge School in Millburn. We spent first and second grade
at that school. The school is gone now; and today, there is a park
and rescue squad building on that site. From third grade through
fifth grade, we attended Roosevelt School, which is now a Shopping
Center. While attending Roosevelt School, each year we would take a
trip to Becker’s Dairy Farm in Roseland. Two highlights of the trip
would be a train ride all round the farm and we each got a chocolate
milk at the end of the tour.
The times I spent in Roosevelt School, the
rest of Livingston attended several other grade schools: Central
School, Harrison School, and Squiretown School. Two new grade
schools were completed: Burnett Hills School and Monmouth School.
Central School is no longer there and is replaced by a large real
estate office, and Monmouth School is no longer used as a school.
As you can see, there have been many changes through the years.
Then came sixth grade; and we went to the new
Junior High School, which is now the front portion of Livingston
High School which is adjacent to the fieldstone building where I
went to kindergarten. As we grew older, the school became larger
until it has become what you see today. It has had some additions
and renovations since we left in 1958.
Aside from my school days, I remember many
other times and places growing up in Livingston. During the summer
months, we used the grade schools as recreation centers. We played
lots of games and had other activities to keep us busy. Teachers
and college students watched over us. The highlight of the summer
week was getting onto buses with our lunches and swim gear each
Wednesday to go to Caldwell to a swim club named Elm Tree Pool. We
would spend the day playing and swimming. Kids from all over town
participated.
I remember marching in the Memorial Day
Parade with my Little League Team along with other teams from all
over town. The parade started at Livingston Center, went along
Livingston Avenue to Memorial Field. Besides Little League players,
boy scouts, girl scouts, the Mayor and Council, firemen and their
trucks, police, war veterans, and civil organizations participated
in the parade. We all spent time at the field to honor war veterans
where wreaths were laid and speeches were given.
The highlight of the summer was the carnival
sponsored by the Kiwanis Club, which was held at the field next to
and behind Central School. There were rides, games, food, and
music. It was a week-long party culminating in a high-dive display
from a tower, approximately 75 feet high, where a guy would dive
from the top into a pool of water, maybe 15 feet across and 10 feet
deep.
Another big event held at Memorial Field in
December was a Christmas tree burning. The town collected
everyone’s Christmas trees and put them into a big pile. The Fire
Department stood by with trucks, and they set the pile of trees on
fire.
Everybody had a good time watching the fire, drinking hot chocolate, and listening to music
Another activity enjoyed by the whole town
was ice skating on Little’s Pond, just behind the high school.
Then around 1952, the town built the first community swimming pool,
between the high school and Little’s Pond.
I remember going to the Colony Theater on
Saturdays to watch 10 cartoons and a movie for 25 cents. As we grew
older, the Colony Theater became a Friday night ritual, and the
price was 50 cents.
Through the 40’S and early 50’s, I can
remember vendors coming to the neighborhoods selling goods and
services. During the World War II years, a man would come around
hollering “rags and paper”. They were used for the war effort.
Other vendors who came around were: the grinding man (who sharpened
scissors and knives), the milkman, Dugan’s Bakery, a fruit and
vegetable man, and the Good Humor Ice Cream Truck, (where we could
buy popsicles for a nickel and an ice cream bar for seven cents.)
We also had coal delivered to the house for our furnace.
Other places I can remember spending a lot
of time during my high school years was at the new Livingston
Bowling Alley, which included a pool hall and coffee shop. Three
other hangouts in town were: Silvermans Luncheonette at Livingston
Center, the Sugar Bowl on Livingston Avenue between Livingston
Center and Northfield Center, and Roger’s Sweet Shoppe at Northfield
Center. We would have rickies (a sweet drink from fruit juice),
vanillia, cherry, and chocolate cokes, and milk shakes. We would
play songs from the juke box for a nickel or six plays for 25
cents. Two other landmarks in Livingston as we got older, was the
Livingston drive-in theater on Route 10 and Don’s Drive-In Car-Hop
at the corner of South Orange Avenue and Hobart Gap Road.
As the population grew, the high school
became larger to accommodate us. When our class of 1958 became
Freshmen, there was only one class ahead of us-- the Class of 57,
which was the first class to graduate from LHS. There were no
juniors and seniors. Those older students attended Grover Cleveland
H. S. in Caldwell, as there was not enough room for four grades in
the new Livingston H.S.
As you can see, Livingston was quite rural
and had a small population. There were still some working farms in
town. The one I remember most was Collin’s Farm, which is now a
housing development, behind the new town hall. Behind my house was
the mental institution for the City of East Orange which we called
the “Poor Farm”. They were a self-sustaining property where they
grew all their own food and raised farm animals. Today, it is the
St. Philomena’s Church property.
Whenever my family needed something, we would travel to the Oranges or Newark. Christmas Time in Newark was something special. There were lots of street and store decorations. The large department stores were decorated beautifully, and I was in awe. We had no grocery store in town in my early years except a small A&P at Livingston Center.
When I became 16, I worked after school and
weekends along with other kids in the new A&P at Livingston Center.
A new Acme, also, opened up just down the street on Livingston
Avenue. Today, both stores have been replaced.
The DeCamp Bus Company originated in
Livingston and had their garage on Mt. Pleasant Avenue, one block
west of Livingston Center. Today, the U.S. Post Office occupies
that location.
I hope I have succeeded in putting a smile on your face and a warm spot in your heart by sharing my fond memories of growing up in Livingston during that time period. For all of you who shared my growing-up experiences, I say THANK-YOU! [Back to Index] _____________________________________________________________
Interesting
"Stuff" Learned During Past 50 Years In the 1400's a
law was set forth in England that a man was allowed to beat Many years ago in
Scotland , a new game was invented. It was ruled The first couple
to be shown in bed together on prime time TV were Fred and Every day more money is printed for Monopoly than the U.S . Treasury. Men can read smaller print than women can; women can hear better. Coca-Cola was originally green. It is impossible to lick your elbow. The State with the highest percentage of people who walk to work: Alaska The percentage of Africa that is wilderness: 28% (now get this...) The percentage of North America that is wilderness: 38% The cost of raising a medium-size dog to the age of eleven: $ 16,400 The average number of people airborne over the U.S. In any given hour: 61,000 Intelligent people have more zinc and copper in their hair. The first novel ever written on a typewriter: Tom Sawyer. The San Francisco Cable cars are the only mobile National Monuments. Each king in a
deck of playing cards represents a great king from history: 111,111,111 x 111,111,111 = 12,345,678,987,654,321 If a statue in the park of a person on a horse has both front legs in the air, the person died in battle. If the horse has one front leg in the air the person died as a result of wounds received in battle. If the horse has all four legs on the ground, the person died of natural causes. Only two people signed the Declaration of Independence on July 4th, John Hancock and Charles Thomson. Most of the rest signed on August 2, but the last signature wasn't added until 5 years later. Q. Half of all
Americans live within 50 miles of what? Q. Most boat
owners name their boats. What is the most popular boat name Q. If you were to
spell out numbers, how far would you have to go until you Q. What do
bulletproof vests, fire escapes, windshield wipers, and laser
printers all have in common? Q. What is the
only food that doesn't spoil? Q. Which day are
there more collect calls than any other day of the year? In Shakespeare's time, mattresses were secured on bed frames by ropes. When you pulled on the ropes the mattress tightened, making the bed firmer to sleep on. Hence the phrase......... "goodnight, sleep tight." It was the accepted practice in Babylon 4,000 years ago that for a month after the wedding, the bride's father would supply his son-in-law with all the mead he could drink. Mead is a honey beer and because their calendar was lunar based, this period was called the honey month, which we know today as the honeymoon. In English pubs, ale is ordered by pints and quarts... So in old England, when customers got unruly, the bartender would yell at them "Mind your pints and quarts, and settle down." It's where we get the phrase "mind your P's and Q's" Many years ago in England , pub frequenters had a whistle baked into the rim, or handle, of their ceramic cups. When they needed a refill, they used the whistle to get some service. "Wet your whistle" is the phrase inspired by this practice. At least 75% of people who read this will try to lick their elbow! Don't delete this
just because it looks weird. Believe it or not, you can read it. YOU KNOW YOU
ARE LIVING IN 2008 when... ______________________________________________________________________________
December 1956, Passaic River A cold day in early December, 1956. I told Bob Klenner that I had access to a canoe. He urged we get it and duck hunt on the Passaic river, three of us with Larry Umbreit. We picked up the Old Town canoe at Elys Aquatic Farm near the Morristown airport the night before. Early in the morning Klenner’s father drove us to the Columbia Turnpike bridge at the Passaic river. A clear morning, I noticed some thin shelves of ice at the rivers edge, but it was not terribly cold. I faintly remember Klenner, with a chortle, displaying a survival kit. We put in and set off, three teenagers in a canoe with loaded shotguns, hailing Klenner’s father as we turned down river, Voyagers of old indeed! At the time this seemed a perfectly normal thing to be doing, but times since, thinking of the three of us in a canoe with loaded shot guns, well I kind of get the heebee jeebees. And from parents, not even a “be careful now”...if they ever even knew what we were up to, excepting Klenner’s father, who was to pick us up at the route 46 bridge at dusk. Oh yes, there was still hunting in Livingston at this time. We were on the river. It was past daybreak. The trees,“bare ruined choirs” against the pale yellow sun. Ducks? Where were they? Around each bend a hopeful prospect revealing...no sign of ducks. Still the adventure of paddling down river had its tranquil pleasure, its watery reflections, each bend in the river, its anticipation of our quarry. We stopped for lunch, stretched, took a leak, set out again. We had crossed beneath Route 10 and perhaps another highway. We were now maybe four hours into this hunt and yet no ducks in sight, not one. Early afternoon, the sky now overcast, we were into treed marshland, no roads, no houses or industry, no other hunters or boats...we had not seen any all day. It was quiet. Finally, finally, ducks ahead on the river! They took off out of range, but we were seeing more of them at last. Ahead the river turned left, and we could see ducks gliding to land around a bend. We plotted an approach close along the left bank to come round on them by surprise. And around we came, edging into a small cove out of the main current. Up they went! Ducks steep against winter twigs. Paddles drop, shotguns up. Sighting. Sighting.......... KABOOM. We are under water , UNDER WATER! No interval, no thinking,“We are tipping over.” Just gunfire and the swirl of dark water. Somehow feet found bottom, the water there about rib deep. The canoe and paddles had kicked shoreward. I recall seeing my hat going slowly down river. We stood, river-sodden, gazing at each other, stunned. We made a few steps shoreward and then broke into a laughing fit which edged toward insanity. A mix of hilarity at our appearances and relief at our survival. This continued well into overtime, when Larry called for some restraint, noting the seriousness of our situation and the fact that our guns were on the river bottom. Our SHOTGUNS! So back in we trudged, footing the bottom for our pieces. Making contact, under we went picking the shotguns off the river bottom and up out of the cold muddy water. No, we could not see to the bottom, this being the Passaic river. Now we stood on a cold, gray day, bone-soaking wet, far from any help, not even a drowned cell phone at hand, such convenience being some 40 years in the future. Klenner had been in the prow, Larry low in the center, and I in the stern, when we fired simultaneously at a steep angle from canoe seats no less! Well, sure as hell, boys, the recoil is gonna knock you over! We made land on a small peninsula a foot or two above the river, dead trees and branches everywhere, no evergreens. The sky was overcast, but no rain, thank you. We needed fire. Then sure as hell, Klenner produced from his soaked hunting jacket one of those olive-drab Army surplus match cylinders, opened it and there in full glory, a bead headed cluster of dry Ohio Blue Tips. Now to light a match. Damp marshland, no rocks anywhere, we tried the rough bark of a tree, nothing. Then Klenner, again!, remembered the file-like texture on the choke of his shotgun. That did it . We had FLAME! Curls of birch bark lit immediately, got twigs and branches going, and we set about the woods dragging in a copious supply of larger limbs and trees. With no shortage of fuel we soon had a major blaze going---HEAT! A long length of canoe rope became our clothesline, as near as we dared string it. Off came our soaked clothes until we had a wilderness tenement clothesline, and three naked guys round a blaze in deep winter woods. Round the flame we stood jabbering and laughing at our folly and our expertise, so far, at dealing with this watery conundrum. Oh the ducks? We went looking, but crashing around naked in downed trees and brush soon put an end to that excursion. None found. I was at the river’s edge, when Larry asked me to bring his shotgun. I picked it up, and walked back when Larry wide-eyed, arms out, hollered, “PAUL, the hammers, the hammers! He had cocked the hammers of his natty, double barreled shotgun coming up on the ducks, but never fired. Instead he’d gone a-swimmin. Tending the clothesline like a fine roast we dried our clothes, two hours at least, and got back in them. Woodsmoke Wonders! With hunting on our minds once again, we made a test firing from the center of the canoe, low to the water. Safe enough! No more canoe seat cannonades from this crew! Before we reached the appointed bridge, more duck. A flock went up from a side marsh and Larry picked one out...oh, maybe he just fired into the flock. One dropped! The canoe had a duck! We met Klenner’s father at the bridge at dusk. We rode silently back to Livingston, our misadventure roiling in our heads. Here now in writing, fifty-two years later! Later, Klenner said, “We shoulda just kept firing, we woulda come back up!” As for me, I have not hunted since 1958. Paul Havas Klenner, it is 2008. Where are you?
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