Introduction

Introduction

While I was born in 1951, sometimes I feel like I was born in 1914. My father told me so many stories about growing up in Philadelphia, and occasionally even about his family, that I feel some sense of at least one person's life in those years before I was born. While my mother, of course, wanted a child, I'm not sure that my father did. I think there was a part of it all that scared him, so they waited quite a while to have me. I hope I was "a relief" to my father, and I think I worked hard to be a good son. Looking back, especially at those few older pictures I have of my father, I think the very best part of his life was the first half - back when things were simple, he had good friends, and the burdens of adulthood were not yet upon him. Looking back, I feel like the best part of my life was the first half, largely due to my parents. It was a time when life was simple, controllable, and when I was actually organized! I'm sure my father found many good things in his entire life, as do I, but I believe we had this in common - that there is nothing better than growing up in Philadelphia. So, do not find the title of my new blog in any way depressing, my friends, its just a perspective that I've found interesting to investigate.

I'll start by writing about my family. I realize we are nothing special, but as we've learned from millions of pages of memoirs written and published, there can be much to be learned from those who came before us.

As I get past some family stories, this blog may be of interest to anyone who grew up in the Delaware Valley/Philadelphia/Delaware County in the 1950's and 60's, or to anyone married/partnered to one (if you are, there is much you need to understand before the two of you can communicate!).

Please check out my book, Saturday Night at Sarah Joy's. All proceeds go to the Hurricane Sandy NJ Relief Fund. Information is available at: saturdaynightatsarahjoys.blogspot.com.

Thank you!

Monday, July 23, 2012

The City of Brotherly and Sisterly Love


Philadelphia has always been thought of as a shabby town, and perhaps not a very safe place to be after dark.  I always found it to be a friendly area, and I have two favorite stories to convince you that the town has earned its title over and over.
While I grew up in Philadelphia and the burbs, and am currently living in New Jersey, I did spend 25 years teaching at Michigan State University - technically out of the area.  Both of these stories took place during that time - well more than a decade ago.

MOM
My mother happened to tell me, in a phone conversation one day, about having car problems.  She was probably pushing 80 and my father had already passed away, so she was on her own.  She trusted people - she had no reason not to.  When she would drive up MacDade Blvd. heading for the Acme, she would look for people.  Sometimes she would spot a woman from church walking home with her groceries, and give her a ride.  She often noticed an older black gentleman who would carry his groceries home as well, and pulled over one day to offer him a ride.  They became Acme friends.  I think she even gave him some furniture of ours because he needed it.  So, she casually told me about the car problem she had.  Her car died.  She was sitting at a red light and her car died.  Now that is not a surprise, but what happened next is.  A car full of teenage boys was behind her.  Realizing her car stalled they all jumped out of their car, ran up to her, pulled open her door and told her to get out.  Now perhaps for some people, in some places, this would be the beginning of something very bad.  But this never occurred to her.  One of the boys jumped behind the wheel and closed the door.  Again, not something that sounds very good.  The other boys pushed the car through the intersection to the gas station on the other side.  She talked to the mechanic about taking a look at the car.  The boys lurked nearby.  Why were they still hanging around?  Well to give her a ride home, of course!  She would have expected nothing less.  Such nice boys.  Brotherly love.

Carlos
A Chemistry graduate student at MSU by the name of Carlos was somewhat of a bicyclist, and decided that he was going to ride his bike from mid-Michigan to the Jersey Shore (which may have been where his parents lived) one summer.  When he finally returned, he told me this story.  He had planned the eastern leg of his trip around going over the relatively new Commodore Barry Bridge, close to Sunny Chester.  He arrived at the bridge very late at night, and was told that bicycles were not allowed to cross the bridge, so he had no choice but to turn back, dreading the thought of having to make his way up to the Walt Whitman.  This time it wasn't my mother's car of white boys, but a beat-up old van full of black-boys.  Chester boys.  As he stood at the side of the road with his bike, he watched the van make a U-turn and approach him.  A few of the boys jumped out, took his bike, and threw it in the van.  Not a surprise to get robbed in this part of town at this time of night.  They sat there with the door open, staring at him, and finally said, "Well, are you getting in or not?"  He took a chance and got in.  The van drove over the bridge up to the tollbooths, where it made an illegal U-turn to head back to the PA side.  They got Carlos and his bike out and ready to continue his trip, and with that, they were off.  Midnight Zorros.  Robin Hoods, every one of them.  Brotherly love.  Kinda makes you feel proud, doesn't it?

© 2012 John Allison
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