SCHOOL

At four and a half years old, I was able to write my name. So my parents felt I was smart enough to go to school. Ordinarily, the school, which happened to be across the street from where I lived in Albany, New York, wanted to start the children at five years of age. However, somehow, my parents talked them into allowing me to start earlier. Throughout all my school years, I was usually the youngest person in class.

The first day I was to attend kindergarten, my mother took me. I was not too happy about going, so she introduced me to the teacher, a Miss Powers, I believe. Then my mother said she would stay outside the door to the classroom which had a diamond-shaped window for her to look through, but more importantly, for me to see that she was still there. So she left me in the classroom and I kept looking at the door to make sure she was still there. I guess I glanced away from the door, because the next time I looked, she was gone! I believe panic set in and there is no doubt that I started to cry. As I recall, there were other kindergartners who were crying along with me. Fortunately, I did not have this problem with my kids. (I wasn't the one who took them to school.) I'm sure I stopped crying eventually.


One day on the way home from school, a man with a pony and a camera stopped me and asked me where I lived. Not having been warned about this, I told him, "Right over there." Then he said, "How would you like your picture taken on the pony?" I said, "O.K." So he lifted me up, set me on the pony, and took my picture. I then went home, not saying anything to my parents about the picture. A few days later, the man appeared at our house door with the pictures of me on the pony. My mother was surprised, and asked me, "Did you tell this man that it was all right for him to take your picture on the pony?" I said, "Yes." My mother bought the picture, but after the man left, then I got the lesson, "Never talk to strangers!" Today, that lesson is drummed into children as soon as they are able to understand words.

STORE

During the 1930's, in Albany, New York, imaginations provided for fun things to do. Rather than having toys for every possible situation, when we were kids (pre-school and kindergarten age), we used materials that were readily available* -- such as weeds and what the trees had to offer.

We would play a game called "store." Two kids would be the storekeepers. They would obtain some sort of a box, probably an orange crate**, upon which their wares could be sold. The empty lot in the middle of the neighborhood was never mowed, so it provided a lot of different weeds. The "storekeepers" would gather these weeds to act as groceries to be displayed on the orange crate. There were dandelion greens, ragweed, goldenrod, as well as plants bearing burr pods that, when opened, had white-tufted seeds. Also, there were leaves from trees, as well as the wing-like seed carriers from maple trees that looked like helicopters when they feel from the trees.*** Acorns were also available. All this vegetation would take the place of asparagus, beans, beats, celery, and a host of other vegetables.

We kids that weren't the proprietors of the "store" would request a pound of this or a bunch of that, and the proprietors would take the appropriate greens from their display, wrap them in newspaper, and give them to us in exchange for pretend money.

One day while I was playing store, some of the kids said to me, "How would you like to see our hut," which was in another empty lot that was like a forest. The only thing wrong was that the forest was several blocks away. I said "okay" and away we went. My Aunt Celia, one of the most kindhearted relatives I had, was looking after me because my parents were both working in my father's pharmacy. I did not let Aunt Celia know that I was leaving the area of our neighborhood. So I went with my friends to this glorious forest and saw the "hut" they had assembled out of branches, old pieces of wood, and tar paper. After staying there a bit, my conscience slowly began to affect my judgment and I thought I had better go back home. As I neared my house, Richard R., one of my boyhood buddies, came up to me and said, "Boy, your Aunt Celia's really upset -- she said she would pay me a nickel if I found you and here you are!"

"You didn't find me. I was on my way here anyway." I resented the fact that Richard was getting a nickel for finding me. Nickels were hard to come by in those days. However, Aunt Celia was now out of the house and coming towards me, I presume to give Richard the nickel, which she did and then deal with me emotionally. No spanking, but a loving hug and admonition not to ever, ever do anything like that again.

"Are you going to tell my mother and father what I did?"

"I haven't decided yet."

Oh great, now I've got to sweat this ordeal out. I recognize now that the old Jewish guilt trip was being laid on me. But when my parents got home, Aunt Celia never mentioned a word. As I look back on this episode now, it was probably because I was able to disappear without her knowledge and she was supposed to be watching me closely.

* One of the items we used to make was a rubber band gun. The rubber bands were not the normal everyday rubber bands we know today, but were cut from tire tubes, which are no longer used today. These were about 1" wide. Together with a clothespin and a short board about 18" long, plus a number of rubber bands, a gun would be improvised. The one-piece wooden clothespin, with one of its legs broken off, was used as the trigger. One person was ingenious enough to make a rubber-band machine-gun.

** Orange crates turned out to be some of the most utilitarian items for kids to use in various ways. For instance, they could be used for storage shelves in some of the clubhouses (huts) we built in those days. Also, by attaching a board on the bottom of the crate and by nailing the separated two ends of an old-time skate to that board, and with two smaller boards nailed to the top o f the crate for handlebars -- one had himself a scooter.

*** Once the maple tree seed pods landed, we used to pick them up, separate one "blade" from another, each containing a seed, and split apart the seed-carrying blade. It had a sticky inside surface, which we proceeded to put on our noses. It looked like a small green fin stuck to our noses. The leaves, at autumn time, would provide piles of soft landings for us to run and jump into. And then there were maple leaf fights, where we would take clumps of leaves and throw them at each other, nobody getting hurt. So, with little money and lots of improvisation, we were able to have lots of fun.