I recognized this part of Brooklyn, New York because my father used to take us down this very road, Cross Bay Boulevard whenever we visited relatives. I drove along, appreciating the luscious creamy yellow, curvy contours of my Roadmaster with its bright red interior when I suddenly realized that there were no seatbelts. Seatbelts would not be required in cars for another fifteen years and this made me nervous. But I sank into the long soft living room-like sofa that stretched from door to door and enjoyed its nice balance of comfort and support. It could take three people up front and the soft sofa seats gave the interior a look and feel of luxury. I ran my fingers along the shiny brown mahogany dashboard and admired the speedometer with its ornate numbers. A large old-fashioned clock had elegant gold hands that pointed to 11:10.
I thought that as long as I was here, I would visit the old neighborhood where I grew up. So, I headed toward the Cross Bay Bridge that connected Brooklyn to Rockaway. My parents would take us across this bridge when I was a little kid and I remember watching my father pay the toll. Right now, I needed some toll money and luckily found some coins in the ashtray on the dashboard. Four small toll booths came into view and I drove over to the one on the far right.
“Five cents, please” said the gray-haired toll-taker in a blue bridge uniform.
I handed him an old nickel and he thanked me with a broad smile. After twenty minutes, I arrived at my old neighborhood and reached Rockaway Beach Boulevard.
On the way, I passed by the Post Office where my mother clerked for thirty years. She was always nagging me to apply for a job there, but my creative side didn’t want any part of working in a post office. Then, I drove by Boulevard Drugs, where I worked as a cashier when I was fifteen. My boss, “Morty” and I had the same first name, which felt awkward on the phone when people called to speak to “Morty.” After that, I passed by the synagogue where I had my bar mitzvah and attended Hebrew school classes that I found boring. I once got sent home for sending a paper airplane across the classroom. Then I saw the barber shop that was the site of my dreaded childhood haircuts. The German barber wore thick glasses and would accidentally cut me whenever he shaved my sideburns. His styptic pencil would stop the bleeding and his lollipops would lessen the pain. There on 67th street was the apartment building where I first lived as a kid. Over in the park nearby was my favorite tree that I loved to climb as a five-year old. I continued to PS-42, my public school for seven years. My twin sister Toby and I were in the very same class for all those years, and we just couldn’t seem to get away from each other to have our own space.
I drove by the two-story gray house that we moved into when I was six years old. It seemed so big and imposing as a little kid but now appeared shrunken, a shadow of its former self. I lived in that house on Elizabeth Avenue for fifteen years, just around the corner from where my best friend Arnie lived. Arnie and I had such fun together over those years. Driving further, I went by the small corner Italian grocery where I used to buy my bubble gum and baseball cards. I loved their five cent pickles that were stored in a big brown barrel at the back of the store. I drove past the waters of Jamaica Bay where Arnie and I would rent a motorboat to go fishing on Saturday afternoons and then headed to the beach with its boardwalk, where I spent many happy summers. There was Jerry’s knish stand and I could smell those wonderful knishes heating on his grill. And down a bit further was the penny arcade with its many lively, noisy games. I used to spend a lot of time in their tall brown wooden song booth belting out my favorite songs from the 1950’s. For a quarter, I could walk away with my voice on a 45-rpm record. Next door was the parking lot where I flew my twenty-five cent paper kites in the mild summer breezes.
But now it was time to head back to California. I was having a craving for ice cream and I decided to make one last stop at Mary’s, a favorite candy store of my childhood. As I approached Mary’s on Beach Channel Drive, I noticed Logrin’s grocery where my father used to buy tasty whitefish, lox and onion rolls for our Sunday morning breakfasts. Mary’s was a source for much of the ice cream, candy, and model airplane kits that I bought as a kid. Dropping in on Mary could be a high point to this visit to my old neighborhood. I parked, walked through the door and there she was with her husband, Larry. Affable Mary with her curly brown hair and sweet friendly face was always so kind to me. She and Larry were busy helping some people with kids and then it was my turn. I spent so much time here as a kid and was thinking that she might recognize me. But I had last seen her some sixty years earlier and of course, she would no longer know the face of this old man.
“I’d like a vanilla fudge sugar cone with color sprinkles, please” I said. “You know, your store was my favorite hangout as a kid. I so loved your candy and ice cream.”
She looked up at me with no sign of recognition.
“That’s nice” she responded and pulled off a brown cone from the tall stack behind her. I watched her lift the cover of the silver metal freezer built into her counter and dip her gray metal scoop into a huge bin of vanilla fudge ice cream. I felt an excited buzz as I watched her scoop it up for me.
“One scoop or two?” she asked.
“Two, please.”
She added the second scoop, turned the cone upside down to dip it into a flat dish of colored sprinkles, pulled it out and handed it over to me.
“That’ll be ten cents for the cone and its scoop, a penny for the second scoop and a penny for the sprinkles, twelve cents total” she said.
I didn’t have my coins with me so I pulled out my wallet and handed her a ten dollar bill.
“Gee” she said. “I don’t know if I can change such a large bill. Let me see.”
She walked over to her register and inspected my bill as she opened the drawer. My bill was different from the 1940’s currency in that it didn’t display the words “silver certificate” and I hoped she wouldn’t notice that. She lifted her coin drawer, pulled several bills from below, came back and handed me bills and change.
“Funny-looking bill you gave me” she said.
“It’s some new-styled money that’s going to replace the old” I responded.
She thanked me and as I walked out the door, I spotted their familiar red charm and gumball machine in the corner. I once had a dream where all the charms and gumballs spilled out into my hands when I put in my penny and turned the knob. Walking out of Mary’s, I took a bite from my cone and stopped in my tracks. It was delicious! The crunchy cone with its thick smooth vanilla ice cream and sweet, rich dark chocolate fudge topped with colorful sprinkles felt like a prize from some childhood fairyland. I finished it off in my car, savoring every bite and resisted the urge to go back for more. While looking at my handful of change, I noticed a silver 1932-S Washington quarter. I made a mental note to check my coin book back home to see how much it was worth in modern times. I started the engine, turned the car around and headed back home to California, feeling nostalgic for the simplicity and innocence of the childhood I had left behind.
The next few weeks were stressful at home in California. I was so tired of the pandemic-stricken 2020’s with the lockdowns, restrictions, climate change worries, terrible violence, dissension, and raging inflation. I had a deep longing to return to more carefree and laid-back days. One afternoon, I went to my local Goodwill store, bought an old brown suitcase from the 1940’s, came home and packed up everything that I would need for an extended trip. Having decided to head back to more peaceful and innocent times, I threw the suitcase in the trunk of my Roadmaster, jumped into the front seat and started up the engine. I drove down the narrow area of my desk, came to the edge and passed through that long dark tunnel again. It was the end of the day when I emerged from the tunnel and the sun was just going down. I drove off into the glorious sunset of quieter and more welcoming times, leaving behind all the craziness of the present.
Listen to more stories here