When I was a kid, my dad would take me to the airport to pick up my grandmother, flying in from her home in Pennsylvania. The airport in question was Newark Municipal Airport, now Newark Liberty International Airport.
In the mid '60s, Newark’s main terminal was a gleaming showpiece, with a grand concourse that seemed (to me) to be miles long. The auto companies showcased their latest models on raised turntables, slowly rotating. There was a huge observation deck, reached by long escalators, and hanging over that was a gigantic sign, made of triangular segments that rotated, showing two different advertisements and a mirror. To my single-digit aged eyes, it was a magical place, and my dad and I had a wonderful time going there.
Flash forward twenty years, and I am just out of grad school, working in the Washington DC area. My family had long since moved out of New Jersey, and I traveled home quite often, either by car, or train, or (expensive) air travel. Shortly after I moved to DC, the PeopleExpress airline opened for business. Rock-bottom, no-frills transportation. You paid for your ticket on the airplane, when the stewardesses (not yet called “flight attendants”!) would roll a cart with a cash register up the aisles instead of a drink cart. But, who cared when the 500 mile trip cost $27 during peak travel times, $19 off-peak.
Virtually all PeopleExpress flights were based out of Newark airport. I recall my first trip, when I walked out of the jetway into the main lobby, and was struck by incredible deja vue. The basic structure of the concourse was the same, although much smaller than I recalled. The turntables were long gone, the big sign was fixed on the mirror side - mostly, as some segments were stuck partway through the rotation, and the overall air was best described as “shabby”. Or perhaps “seedy”.
The Old North Terminal is gone now, replaced by a modern structure. But my memories of seeing it with my dad during its heyday, and the contrasting memories of seeing it in its decrepitude are vivid.
I remember the day Roosevelt died. We had just moved and it was a shock to everyone. The mayor came on radio (I don’t remember this part, but my father couldn’t stop telling the tale) and said, “We wuz all very sorry to hear it.”
I was 10; my sister was a baby - probably jut shy of a year old. She was in a reclining seat my mother had put on the kitchen counter. No one was watching her closely. From across the room I saw her leaning forward in her seat, about to pitch herself off the counter.
I managed to catch her - head down, a few inches from the floor. I was definitely the family hero that day.
*Earliest would be maybe 2-3 years old, climbing out of my child’s bed (not a crib but there was wooden guards on it) and going to my parent’s bedroom to sleep with them. I remember my dad have a large mole on his back, kind of like a boxer’s punching bag, and I’d play with and punch it. Bless that man, he never moved or stopped me.
*I was 4 and got into the family car to ‘drive’. Somehow I managed to put the car in Neutral and we started coasting slowly down the driveway. I knew enough to step on the break, but I was small enough that it was hard to put pressure on it and my head was to low to steer or blow the horn. Finally rolled slowly into a ditch across the street before my parents rescued me. Can’t remember if I got in trouble or they were just relieved I hadn’t been hurt.
*In kindergarten and was sitting in a circle. A couple of kids had gotten in trouble and the teacher (Mrs. Harpster; amazing I still remember the name) was, in the way of the 1950’s, was making her way around, standing them up and giving them a whack or two with a paddle. I was giggling because to my 5-year old mind seeing other kids paddled was funny–until Mrs. Harpster picked me up and whacked my behind. Guess she figured I thought I was getting away with something.
Been 62 years now and I still maintain it was a bum rap.
I was 6, Dad and I were in the backyard assessing the winter ravages on the duck skiffs. Next door neighbor came over and said he heard it on the radio.
One late Saturday afternoon in Brooklyn when I was 4, I came back to our apartment filthy from playing in Sunset Park. My mother insisted I take a bath. I wasn’t a fan of baths but she sweetened the deal by showing me (and my brother) two bottles of Beatles Bubble Bath soap. There was a Paul and a Ringo bottle. I remember arguing with my brother over who got which one. My favorite color was red but my brother was older and he took the red one which was apparently Paul. I got “stuck” with Ringo. Too bad we didn’t keep the empty bottles, or if we did, they didn’t make the cut for keeping when we moved out to Long Island three years later.
When I was 5 or 6, we were on our annual summer vacation visiting my aunt and uncle (Mom’s brother). They lived on a hill in the Sierra Foothills east of Sacramento. The sky was much darker at night there than at home in suburban Los Angeles.
One night my dad and I were outside looking at the stars, and I was blown away by the immensity of it. As we were talking, I asked Dad if there was anyone who knows everything.
“No, nobody knows everything.” And then, under his breath, “except your uncle.”
Wow! I don’t think I’d ever been more impressed by anything in my life. I have an uncle who knows everything! How awesome is that?!
Some months later, I was having a conversation with my mother. I don’t remember what it was about, only that she was unsure of something. So I said “why don’t you ask Uncle?”
Mom: “What? How would he know?”
Me: “Well, he knows everything.”
Mom: “He does not! Where’d you get that idea?”
Me: “That’s what Dad said!”
Mom: “Oh, really.”
I was in the car with my parents, can’t remember the exact age but I do remember it and quite young. I broke out in song repeatedly uttering the n-word in a sing-songy voice. My dad slammed on the breaks and ask my why I was doing that. I had heard the word from a young friend, had NO idea what it meant, and though it sounded funny.
Oh that reminds me:
I was playing with our cat and my mom overheard me telling him that he was “a little queer.” When questioned, I told Mom that it was a word meaning strange, and I had read it in Alice in Wonderland.
Mum was away for some reason, and Dad was looking after us. It was the end of the Easter holidays, in fact, I thought the Easter holidays were finished and me and my big brother (2 years older) were supposed be to going back to school the next day, but him and Dad both said no, we had one day left.
Next morning, after a leisurely breakfast, he drove us to the newsagent, a few miles away, in his Reliant Robin, to get some sweets and probably comics.
The route led past the school.
The school with a playground full of kids.
Dad’s immediate response is to yell ‘Duck!’ so we both skootched down in the rear footwells until out of sight of the kids staring at the -extremely distinctive- car. Dad sent us both in the next day with a note saying we’d both had a stomach bug and were sick all day
I missed ASGuy’s post before I wrote my story. That L.A. suburb I lived in was La Crescenta.
So here’s another one from when I was about 5 years old. My parents’ best friends (who lived in Montrose!) were over one night. They had a son my age. He was telling me about how his parents were going to Hawaii on vacation, and he was going to stay with his grandparents. And at first he was scared, because he thought his parents had to fly to get there, and the plane would crash. His mom told him not to worry, because there’s a bridge from Los Angeles to Hawaii, so they were going to drive.
Unfortunately for my friend’s parents, I was quite a bit more intelligent, and informed, than him. I completely ruined their cover story by telling my friend the truth of the situation. Including pulling out a road atlas and proving there was no bridge.
During the summer between 4th and 5th grade, I, along with about 10-15 of my classmates, were invited to come to our school to participate in a project during a seminar that all of our elementary school teachers (and teachers at other elementary schools in our district) were participating.
A scenario was presented where all of the kids were assigned roles as passengers on a cruise ship. The roles as best as I can remember were:
elderly man
elderly woman
doctor
lawyer
college professor
teacher
police officer
college kid
high school kid
elementary age kid
I’m sure there were a few more roles.
The problem presented to the teachers in the assembly was that there was one lifeboat that could hold only 5 people. We had to present to the teachers why we (the role we were assigned) should be saved and put in the lifeboat. The remaining passengers on the cruise ship were going to die.
After our individual appeals, the teachers voted and the five people were selected to be on the lifeboat.
I remember that I was one of the kids roles, and appealed that I had a longer life to live. I was selected to be on the lifeboat!
I was in the back seat, singing “Casey and Murphy were digging in a ditch.” My father slammed on the brakes, turned around and repeatedly slugged me. I had no idea why, and wound up with a black eye, bloody nose and busted lip.
I remember sitting on the stairs in the converted barracks block which was our first housing in Gander, Newfoundland. I would have been around two, and it’s the only thing I remember about the place. I have more memories of the house my parents rented when I was three.
I remember going through a gamut of emotions, anger, confusion, resentment, and maybe even outrage!
I was being pulled from the group and being told I had to sit at this desk facing the wall next to the door of the authority figure’s office. This was at my grandma’s church, most likely pre-school, because if it was Sunday School, I would have found an adult to hissy fit in front of…
I had chicken pox. I think I remember mom explaining to me on the car ride home, but I know I remember the Exile from the Group, You are not welcome here, was devastating. After that, chicken pox seemed to mean lots of ice cream, so there was a happy ending, I guess.
Strong memory to me considering our current crisis
I sure hope they didn’t fill the lifeboat only with young children based on your proposal. It would be good to have at least one college age kid or older to make sure the lifeboat stayed upright for a while, etc.
panache45, I don’t understand either. Is there more to the song than you posted?
Okay, my story. For my eighth birthday, I had a Little House on the Prairie party. Everyone in my friend group read and loved the LIW books, and most watched the TV series. We all had pioneer dresses and sunbonnets, and that’s what we wore. I forget what was on the menu, except lemonade and one orange each (book references). I was Laura, the prettiest blonde girl was Nellie, and my friend Barbara was Mary, because she’d already logged many hours on the playground pretending to be blind. I no longer remember who else played who else, but there was a Carrie (no Grace because she wouldn’t have been born yet), an Ida, a Mary Power and a Minnie Johnson. And there must have been one other, but heck if I can remember. We acted out scenes from the books and debated about book vs. show, decades before the term “book purist”. Great time, and I still have the photo somewhere.
