Listening to Paul McCartney’s new album The Boys of Dungeon Lane, my mind drifts back to the iconic years of my young childhood growing up on Crescendoe Road in my little upstate New York hometown of Johnstown.
I believe it was during 3rd grade that our family was uprooted and moved to 21 Crescendoe Road during the dead of night. The reason for the move escapes me, but I do suspect it was some disagreement between my dysfunctional father and the landlord of our previous apartment. In any event we moved to a place that was perfect for never ending summer vacations of baseball, football, tree climbing, kite flying, rocket launching, critter catching, and adventures without end. Our new abode was on a dead end street next to a couple of leather finishing businesses and surrounded by two open and maintained fields where we could work our magic. The downside was that the stinky old Cayadutta Creek ran beside the fields, polluted by the endless stream of crap flowing out of the aforementioned leather mills. We mostly ignored the creek other than throwing rocks or catching rats using large and potential finger severing rat traps that we bought from the local hardware store.
Thinking back on the years we lived there, my perception was of a relatively safe harbor against the dangers associated with “other neighborhoods”. Those other neighborhoods were perceived to contain gangs of kids that were hostile to our way of having fun. We’d have occasional encounters with other gangs of kids that seemed to resent being left out of our reindeer games. The Nellis boys, Hennessy brothers, Greg Henderson, the Klingbiels, and the Hornings, all would occasionally rear their ugly heads to drop a couple of turds into our little punchbowl of fun. There were probably others, but those were all just brief interruptions into our endless summer fun.
Mike and Tim Vose were two early characters in our hood. They eventually picked up their hillbilly family and moved to Florida somewhere. Junior and Mona Vose were the parents, and I think they also had a younger sister and an assortment of cousins that lived nearby. We never heard from them again, except for one brief encounter later in life with Mike when he came home to visit. Mike would often don a cape, vampire teeth, and a cane, hobbling around the neighborhood ala Barnabus Collins. He was a major fanboy of the campy afternoon soap opera Dark Shadows. Tim had the nickname of King Phlegm, as he could pick off a gnat at 10 feet with a lugie.
As time progressed, more characters joined our benign gang of fellows. Most of these dudes we either connected with through the local Elementary School, with many becoming lifelong friends. As I age I often stir up memories of these characters and wish that I had a way of reconnecting.
A few characters come to mind, and I’ve actually reconnected a bit with a couple of them for drinks and laughs. Tom was my best buddy through grade school and into Junior High. We had endless adventures together along with sandlot baseball games that went on for days. Others include Ken and Carl Avery, Ollie Oxford, String Bean Sackett, Bobby (Big Shoe) Baird, Marty McGrath, Dana Racas, Andy Russo, the Pavlus Boys (Mark and Gary), and many others. Some came from other neighborhoods, perhaps attracted by the charisma of our little group or maybe they just loved the sandlot baseball games and Crescendoe Field adventures that we engaged in on a daily basis.
Of particular note was The Great Luigi, my younger brother. Many tales have been told of his daredevil feats, the first of which may have been instantiated by yours truly. In fact, I may have launched him on his daredevil career when I sailed his ass down the driveway on my old 20 inch Schwinn bicycle. I think he may have been about 3 years old when I convinced him to get on the bike sans training wheels gave him a quick push. To my utter amazement, he sailed right down the driveway and down the street and into the sunset with nary a crash.
There were many other kids that came into and left our orbit over the approximately 5 years that we lived on Crescendoe Road. I do wish that I had the patience and wherewithal to document those years in a book or a screenplay. A few of the posts in this blog have documented a few of those stories, so feel free to search under the category “Tales from my yoot”.
Maybe someday day
