Posts filed under ‘REMEMBERANCES’
A NEWARK REMEMBERANCE
DOWN NECK ST. PATRICK’S DAY PARADE
A NEWARK EVENT
During my youth I live in a section of Newark, New Jersey referred to as the ‘Down Neck’ Section of Newark. The area was also known as the Ironbound Section due to the many factories in the area. The title ‘Down Neck’ was acquired, which I once read, due to the shape of the Passaic River running past the area. And on the Sunday afternoon, nearest to St. Patrick’s Day, the residents of this area and my street, Christie Street, were treated to what had to have been one of the shortest St. Patrick’s Day parade in existence.
The local Catholic Church sponsored the parade, whose steeple I could see from my parlor window. Weekdays were filled with the rumble of Balentine Brewery trucks set on the mission to quench the thirst of a parched city. Sunday was a day of rest for the trucks, making the parade possible.
Magically, sometime before the parade, a green line appeared down the center of our street, harbinger of the gala event. I never witnessed this line’s creation, but every year it materialized. At approximately one-thirty the residents began to gather on the sidewalk. Since the brewery and Catholic Church’s school took up one side of the street, the number of residents was few. Of course, there were always the annoying boys riding their bikes down the center of the blocked off street before the parade began. I was proud to be one of their number.
The parade began around the far corner from my house, on Market Street. With a band, not a school band, but one made up of adult men most of which had almost mastered the instrument they were assigned. Before the band came a few ruddy-faced Irish men, decked out in their top hats, waving to the minuscule crowd. At the front of this procession were the parish priests. The parade was half a block long and took thirty seconds to pass. The procession turned the corner onto Ferry Street, melting into the Down neck neighborhood, and repeat the tradition next year.
YOU KNOW YOU’RE GETTING OLD WHEN . . .
You remember what the value of a dollar once was. When young, living in Newark, New Jersey, I would ride the bus from my house to downtown, a distance of around two and a half miles. The fare was twelve cents.
YOU KNOW YOU’RE GETTING OLD WHEN:
You needed punched cards when you wanted to use a computer.
YOU KNOW YOU’RE GETTING OLD WHEN . . .
You remember being able to visit a national park without a reservation.
YOU KNOW YOU’RE GROWING OLD WHEN . . .
You remember the regular testing of air-raid sirens. Where I grew up, in Newark, New Jersey, that test was done every Saturday at noon.
YOU KNOW YOU’RE GETTING OLD WHEN . . .
You remember when banks gave away small appliances, such as toasters, to those starting new accounts.
YOU KNOW YOU’R GETTING OLD WHEN . . .
You remember when airmail stamps existed.
YOU KNOW YOU’RE GETTING OLD WHEN . . .
You remember when the TV stopped working and you called for a repairman to come and fix it. This was before every appliance was disposable – they were repaired. And you dreaded the chance that the repairman might say, “I have to take it to the shop”.
YOU KNOW YOU’RE GETTING OLD WHEN . . .
You remember a time when ballpoint pens did not exist. If you wanted to write in ink you used a fountain pen which you loaded with ink. When ballpoint pens did make their appearance, they were not disposable. When you ran out of ink you bought a refill.
YOU KNOW YOU’RE GETTING OLD WHEN . . .
You remember what an iron lung is and what it was for.
