By Dan Shine
Voice Columnist
the 1950s and 1960s.
Winter Recess
My, how times have changed!
February, 1959
The boy leaned over the back of the sofa and steamed up the living room window with his breath; then he traced a big “D” on the glass with his finger. Outside the window, the cars crept along Kelsey Avenue, which was beginning to freeze up. The bitter cold outside couldn’t keep the boy inside of the house for long, because he had a serious case of cabin fever.
Winter recess hadn’t come a moment too soon for him, but not for the usual reason. Just a few days ago, it had been his last day of school before vacation was to begin; the boy’s parents hadn’t believed him that morning when he told them he didn’t feel well, and so they sent him off to Stiles School anyway. And so it was about an hour later that it had happened: Miss Englehart had sounded so shrill and intense when she had squealed out, “Oh, DANNY!” as he was throwing up on the folders in her open desk drawer. He wasn’t proud of that moment, but it did get him sent home and put to bed. Next time, perhaps his parents would believe him when he told them that he was sick. And hopefully when he got back to school next week, everyone would have long since forgotten the whole nasty incident, and his teacher’s desk and sweater would be all nice and clean again.
He couldn’t think of a more pointless time of year to waste a valuable school vacation—why couldn’t they save those days and give them to him when the weather was nice outside? For the boy, the days of a February vacation were boring, monotonous, and painfully predictable: each day after breakfast, he would watch Captain Kangaroo, and then there would be no children’s programs on their black-and-white television until later in the afternoon when Ranger Andy came on. The boy didn’t watch Romper Room at lunchtime; that was for babies–and after all–he was almost seven now. Stuck there in the house, there was only so much time that he could spend playing with his baby brother, and he was already starting to get bored with the toys that Santa had brought to him just a few weeks before, so he must go out soon, and find a worthy diversion.
Finally, he couldn’t stand the confinement any longer, so the boy asked his mother if he could go outside and play. She said alright, but reminded him that he had to be back before dusk—and pointed out that he still couldn’t go exploring in the marsh, because of last summer’s incident. Would she never forget?
The next few minutes were spent struggling with layers of clothing, along with a snowsuit and his arctics (rubber overshoes with rows of metal fasteners which would mystify any child of today as to their purpose or application). Finally, the boy set forth into the February cold. Yesterday’s snow laid the ground, and now some more fluffy light snow was beginning to fall.
In 1959, every house on their street had children in it; however, today nobody was outside, so the boy walked down Kelsey Avenue toward Savin Rock, and turned up Richmond Avenue, the south end of which had been a dirt road until the year before. Lower Richmond Avenue ran through a wooded hillside, which was about to be bulldozed and prepared for new homes. However, on this day it was still a fine place for a restless boy to find adventure.
The boy paused, and looked to the south, where West Haven Speedway and the grandstands lay silent under a grey sky and a blanket of snow. At the foot of Rock Street, a couple of hot dog stands were open for business, waiting to serve the needs of those who wanted a summertime snack to break up their wintertime blues. Right at the foot of Kelsey Avenue were the Tel-Rad Appliance store, A&W Root Beer and a Laundromat where he could duck in and warm up if needed. Off to the left a couple of blue-and-white Connecticut Company buses were parked between the roller coaster and the Old Grove. Everything he saw was silent and motionless, and it appeared to the boy as if the whole world had gone to sleep for the winter.
The woods extended from Savin Avenue to Richmond Avenue and Kelsey Avenue, and now the boy began to walk along the wooded hillside, here and there picking up the tracks of different animals, in the way that his grandfather had taught him. First, he found the trails of squirrels and rabbits, but that was to be expected. He saw no human footprints, but suddenly he spotted the tracks of a deer, and this excited him–he couldn’t wait to tell grandpa!
Moment later, while the boy was “testing” the ice on a vernal pool about the size of a bathtub, he heard a crackling sound and suddenly found himself standing in frigid water up to his knees; now he could feel it oozing over the tops of his arctics and making its way through his socks, and down to his toes.
This seemed like an excellent time to turn around and head for home, which is exactly what he did. Only now did he realize that it was getting pretty dark, and he was very late. Where had the time gone?
A few minutes later, the boy sloshed into the house with cold feet that left wet circles behind him. The lecture went as expected: his mother started by calling him “Daniel,” which was always a sign of bad things to come. As she went on and on, he was vaguely aware of something being said about rules and punishments and being responsible, whatever that word meant.
He hadn’t meant to be bad, he thought to himself–it had just happened–didn’t she understand? After the incident in the marsh last summer, he had told her, “Mom, if you were ever a little boy, you’d know why I went there—I just wanted to see the hobo camp.” He never was much good at talking his way out of things.
Suddenly, the boy was aware that the lecture had ended. Through it all, he had been watching his mother with keen interest, and perhaps she thought it was a sign that the recalcitrant lad was finally thinking about mending his ways.
“Well, young man, what do you have to say for yourself?” To this, his response was solemn and thoughtful, and when he spoke, it truly came from the heart, “Mom, did you know that when you talk, only your lower jaw moves?”
Mother seemed to explode. He wasn’t sure what he had done wrong now, but a minute later the boy found himself in his room, wishing–like he’d never wished before– that vacation was over and he was back in Miss Englehart’s class, where he would be free to look out the window and daydream endlessly about the adventures of this day.