Simon & Garfunkle
My Little Town
They say you can’t go home again. I tried once. It’s true.
It had been about 15 years since I was last home. The last time before that was a rugged week when my brother and I cleared and cleaned out our old family home. And before that…. Hard to believe that it has been yet another 5 years since I was last there.
I was born and raised in Sayre, Pennsylvania. My home town. My little town had once been a big deal. And for me and my friends growing up, Sayre was still the center of the known universe. Life was good.
Most of town was nicely laid out on a grid of streets running north to south, east to west. Our family lived on the corner North Elmer Avenue and Stevenson Street. Elmer Ave. ran north and south for the entire length of town. And for the entire length of the street, every house along the many blocks and blocks of Elmer Ave. had a pair of beautiful Dutch Elm trees in its front tree border. In the summer, these trees formed a natural canopy which all but covered the street. Stevenson Street ran east from the Lehigh Valley Railroad yards west about as far as the town would allow. The corner of Elmer and Stevenson was one short block from Lehigh Ave. and the RR yards.
We lived in a nice, big house, the same house in which my mother and her family had grown up in. By the time we all moved out, the family had been in the house for almost 100 years. As it was a corner lot, the house had a big yard and sidewalks on two sides. There were lots of trees and bushes, but plenty of room for my neighborhood friends and I to play.
The yard, trees, and sidewalks ensured seasonal chores. Mowing, raking and shoveling. Summer, fall, and winter.
Across the street from the house was the 1st Baptist Church of Sayre. In all the years of living in our house, I never once entered that church. We were Catholic. Enough said. Next to the church, was Mr. Burch’s house; Mr. Burch had the first TV in the neighborhood. After Mr. Burch passed, a new family moved in. from New Your City. (Another story for another day!)
Looking left from the front porch toward the church, down the street toward downtown, our first neighbor was Mrs. Creighton’s house. Shingled in multi-colored siding, and less than well cared for, it was a sight to behold. Next to Mrs. Creighton lived the Gaileys, Arthur and Edith. They were nice people and excellent neighbors. Then came the Ayers house, and then Epiphany School, my elementary school.
Looking right, up the street, after crossing the short beginning of Stevenson Street, the first house belonged to an elderly couple, Mr. and Mrs. Bradshaw. The house and yard were tidy and well kept; the front and side yard were surrounded by a low, well-trimmed hedge. The hedge was repeated in the Callabuccis’ house, and the Alexanders’ house. There it ended. Next to Alexanders’ was “Angie’s”, our neighborhood grocery store. Angie had been in business since about 2 weeks after Columbus arrived. I was sent to Angie’s for a loaf of bread and a quart of milk several times a week. I jumped the hedges as I went up the street – until I got to Alexander’s hedge. That one was too high.
I didn’t mind running to Angie’s. Each time I went, I got a penny to spend on whatever I wanted from the candy case. Next to Angie’s store was the Nittinger house.
Looking off our back porch, across the back yard, was the short block which started Stevenson Street. Across the back yard, on Stevenson, was the Boritz house. Interestingly, that house was not small, but also not all that big for the large Boritz family. Not only were there several kids, but they were all pretty big people. Mrs. Boritz prepared meals for her family on an old wood burning stove. She was from the Old Country, and that’s the way things were done.
Moving down the short, back block, next came the alley. The alley ran north from downtown almost to the end of Elmer Ave. It was everything an alley should be, narrow, dirty, rutted, and dark. Every once in a while, The Ragman drove his horse-drawn cart up or down the alley collecting rags and junk. No one seemed to know who he was, where he came from or where he went. As kids, we were both intrigued by and scared of The Ragman.
Continuing the short block toward Lehigh Ave, the next place was a funny sort of house/apartment/store. The store was long gone, but people did live in the 2 or 3 apartments in the building. The next house faced Lehigh. And across the first block of Stevenson St., also facing Lehigh, was the Steiger house.
Across Lehigh Avenue were the railroad yards and shops. Although they were busy, they were not nearly as busy as they had been when Sayre really was a big deal town. The yards were the place where trains came for maintenance. Growing up, trains still did come and go. Time was told by shift-change whistles. Workers came and went through a tunnel entrance which led them under the acres of tracks and roundhouses to the shops where they worked. (Sometimes family or friends would come to our house to visit. “Doesn’t the noise from the trains drive you nuts?” they’d ask. “What noise?” we’d reply. We had become deaf to all that.)
All this is context setting. Within that small, small-town space, I grew up. My friends and I played. I went to school.
The second floor of Mrs. Creighton’s house had been turned into an apartment well before I was born. One of my first best neighborhood friends, Tommy, lived in that upstairs apartment with his growing family. Tommy and I were best buds. Looking back, I know that his life was quite different from my own. Tommy’s dad wasn’t around a lot, it seemed. And when he was, he was abusive. Of course, nobody talked about that much; people just didn’t do that. Tommy’s mom was always pregnant, too. How the family lived in the small, dumpy space, I don’t know. But they did for several years.
Dickie Nittinger lived in the house next to Angie’s store. Dickie was the youngest of 7. His oldest brother and 2 oldest sisters were actually half-siblings; their mom had died many years earlier, and his dad had remarried Catherine. Together, they had three more sons and one daughter. All the guys in that family were big – tall and athletic. For his early years, Dickie was sometimes referred to as Little Dick. Once he became Big Dick, the adjective part of his name was dropped!
Tommy, Dick and I played together all the time. We were joined by others in our neighborhood. Laura and Artie Steiger lived in the corner house on Lehigh Ave. Louie and Mark Alexander lived on the other side of Angie from the Nittingers. Louie John Angelo’s grandparents lived next door to the Nittingers. Louis John was at his grandparents’ house a lot; he joined in with the rest of us. Sometimes, the Gailey’s grandson, who was also about our age, came to visit and played with us, as well. Once the Boritz family outgrew their house, the Smiths moved in, and they had lots of kids, a coupled of whom were our age, as well. That was our core. Since we all had cousins and other friends, other kids were also frequently in the group.
We played all kinds of kid games. There was a lot of hide-and-seek. Whoever was “it” would use the telephone pole in the tree border on the side of our house as goal. As that person counted 5-10-15-20-25-30…to 100, the rest of us found places to hide. Once the ‘it’ person got to 100, he or she would call out, “Apple, peaches, pumpkin pie, who’s not ready, holler ‘I’”, and the rest of us had better have found our hiding place. Then it was a race to find the hiders or to reach the goal safely. The game was especially fun as it got darker in the summer.
We also played in the street. Yes, in the street. We played touch football, and giant hopscotch games. Someone was designated as the official car spotter – even as he played the game. Once a car was spotted turning onto Stevenson from either end of the short street, the spotter yelled, “CAR!” as loud as possible, and everyone would run to one side of the street or other until the car passed.
On adventurous days, we’d wander the alley. Within a few houses up and down the alley, it was pretty safe, but if we headed too far, it got pretty iffy. We didn’t go too far.
If my mother needed something from the store, or if was getting close to dinner time and I needed to come home, she would stand on the back porch and blow her whistle. Everybody knew the whistle. If I missed it, myself, someone would be sure to tell me that my mother was calling. Once I heard it, I’d yell at the top of my lungs, “Coming, Mother!” as I busted home as fast as possible. Going to the store meant earning a penny to buy any kind of candy I wanted!
As we got older, we also rode our bikes – all over town. This extended our reach, both physically and socially. As Sayre was the center of the known world, exploring the outer reaches of that world was exciting. A favorite destination was Spanish Hill, a spot on the western-most edge of town known for its buried treasures, arrow heads, and lost coins. Not that we ever found any of these, but that didn’t stop us from searching.
Bikes also gave us a kind of freedom lost today. Our friends would meet in the morning, start our ride, explore town, and not return until late in the afternoon. Did we eat? Did we carry water. Mostly no. But we did have the freedom to stop off at little stores to buy candy bars.
Life was good.
As we all moved through school and entered high school, our street play ended. Many of us had gone to elementary school together. Moving into high school changed a lot of dynamics. I went to a private high school in a different town. I did remain close to some of my closest friends, but many of the old neighborhood group went their separate ways. Some of my elementary friends attended my high school, but by and large, there were new friends to make.
After high school, as it so happened, many of my old elementary school and my new high school friends attended the same undergrad college. The groups mixed and mingled; a couple intermarried. But as is natural, things changed.
From the old neighborhood group, Tommy’s family had moved about 2 blocks away, up Stevenson Street. I have not seen him since 8th grade. I haven’t seen Dick since 8th grade, either, although in the small town, small world scheme of things, his sister Joannie married my cousin Bernie – who lived 2 blocks down the street. I have no idea whatever happened to Laura and Artie. No idea whatsoever. The same can be said of Louie and Mark Alexander. Louie John, however, became a dentist with a prominent practice in town.
The day of my college graduation was a beautiful, early summer June day. I drove home from school for the last time. I was preparing to leave again for a 2-year stint as a Peace Corps Volunteer. Driving up Elmer Avenue and approaching our house, I noticed something. Leaves on the ground. Elm leaves. It was the beginning of Dutch Elm Blight. It was killing all the stately old elm trees.
By the time I returned home 2 years later, all the beautiful elm trees which had lined Elmer Avenue for generations were gone. Totally gone.
I lived in Sayre for another 2 years, teaching in the same town in which I’d gone to high school. When I left home again, like the elms, I was gone. It has been decades now. Of course, over the years, I visited my family from time to time. The old family house is still there. Like the town, it is now fairly run down. There are still a few family members close by, and a few old family friends. But like the elms, most of my little town, my family, and most of the old friends I knew are gone. And so it goes.
You can’t go home again.
Life goes on. The center of my universe has changed. Change is a part of life. My own family has grown. Family connections have grown; friendships have expanded.
Life is still very, very good.
I dugg some of you post as I cerebrated they were very helpful very useful