By Dan Shine
Voice Columnist
Historian’s Corner
Campbell Avenue, Fifty Years Later
Part I
(This story was originally written and presented to the public in the summer of 2010. Since then, the story—and the author—have grown15 years older. Hope you enjoy this recollection of summer, youth, simplicity, and very different times!)
“The seven-year-old smiled as he pedaled his bicycle toward Campbell Avenue. In his pocket was a fistful of pennies and nickels that he had traded for a wagonload of empty soda bottles and beer cans. This warm summer afternoon was to be one of pure indulgence, for Campbell Avenue had everything a boy needed: penny candy, comic books, and finally, Mayer’s soda fountain, where he’d make sure that he ruined his appetite for dinner.”
In 1960, the town of West Haven was one year away from becoming “Connecticut’s Youngest City,” a title to which it still holds. The newly-completed Interstate 95 neatly bisected the town, handily linking it with a speedy route to surrounding cities and states.
Ground had just been broken in Milford for a new type of de-centralized shopping: Connecticut Post Shopping Center (Now Connecticut Post Mall) was a departure from the time-honored Main Street shopping concept, and would participate in the shopping revolution that would sweep America in the 1960s.
Meanwhile, the urban redevelopment of New Haven was in full swing—New Haven was at that time receiving more urban funding per capita than any other city in the United States. In downtown New Haven, brand-new Malley’s and Macy’s stores were attracting shoppers from the surrounding towns.
West Haven’s Campbell Avenue had long been “the” place for West Haveners to shop. In fact, it was easy and convenient for a shopper to purchase every kind of goods and services they needed, right there on West Haven’s main thoroughfare: groceries, produce, medicines, clothing, dry goods, shoes, appliances, automobiles and entertainment! However, the advent of these outside competitive pressures brought about a steady change in the shopping habits of the West Haven populace.
“It was early in the afternoon, and since he had time, the boy chose to pedal through the old Savin Rock amusement area. He rode from Kelsey Avenue to Rock Street and then along Beach Street, past fun houses, shooting galleries, hot dog stands, and the midway at the Grove. Along the way he had picked up a stick, and when he reached the Virginia Reel and its corrugated, galvanized steel fence, he held out the stick and listened to it chatter against the ridges of the fence. For such is the way with boys: they feel empowered by the ability to create loud noises. In fact, he had clipped baseball cards to his bicycle fenders and they now fanned against his spokes, so that he could pretend that he was riding on a motorcycle.
“At the corner of Campbell Avenue, the boy turned north. The store signs began to pass him, one-by-one: Farina’s Restaurant, Savin Rock Liquor, Three Decker Restaurant, Tom’s Market, Egidio’s Pastry, Pee Wee’s Swap Shop, Peschell’s Pastry, Sally’s Lunch.
“He passed Kornman’s Department Store, where his mother bought his school shirts and his play clothes. Later that summer, they would buy his first Cub Scout uniform from Mickey Kornman—and his first pocket knife. The boy would fold that pocket knife closed on his index finger later that year, requiring some stitches; for this is the way that boys learn to be careful.
“Next door to Kornman’s, the boy stopped at Byer’s Hardware, where he liked to go with his father on Saturdays. Byer’s had swinging doors then, like in an old Western movie, and the ceiling was made of embossed metal. The boy enjoyed looking at the tools, and the metal bins filled with screws and nails that were so big that he couldn’t imagine what use they could possibly have.
“At the corner of Park Street, he stopped again to check out the comic book racks at Cameron’s Drug, and pedaled one block further to Sam’s, where he could spend his pennies on a variety of candies which were kept behind a tall glass display case.
He passed Rapid Shoe Repair, where the air was always full of the smells of leather and shoe polish—smells that reminded him of Sunday mornings and the first day of school–and Dannenberg’s Household Appliances. Across Blohm Street from Dannenberg’s was Campbell Motor Sales, with its collection of chromed and tail-finned cars, and Jerry’s Market; the boy continued onward, now passing West Shore Cleaners, Perry’s Lure Company and Burban Press.
“At the corner of Atwater Street, he stopped at Squeglia’s Market; it also had those swinging double doors. The meat counter was in the back. When customers shopped there, they set their selections on the counter next to the mechanical cash register, and the clerk, in a white apron, pulled the items past the register using the sliding wooden three-sided fence that was common in markets of that time. The clerk would add up the purchase on a shopping bag, using the stub of a pencil that he kept above his ear, take the money from the customer, and pull the lever that opened the cash register drawer with the sound of a bell ringing. The Squeglia brothers could always be counted on for friendly service and corny jokes.”
(To be Continued)
In the preparation of this column, we gratefully acknowledge the recollections and guidance of Cathie Iaccarino, Bill Breen, Phyllis House, Joanne Archibald, Helyn Johnson, Peter Malia, Steve and Jeanne Insalaco, Frank Belbusti, Tim Wrightington, Judy Iversen, Sal Montalto, Rosemary Fitzgerald and Harry Peschell. Artwork by Ray Owens.