Please Allow Me To Introduce Myself - PART II

My parents tell me that I arrived on this earth during an episode of “The Price is Right.”  I am just glad they didn’t have television monitors in delivery rooms back in 1956 or the doctor might have waited to pull me out until the next break for station identification.  A Jewish kid born during “The Price is Right?”It seems to make perfect sense.

What an ugly baby I was – small, red and wrinkled.  When my Grandparents visited the hospital, they saw me and hoped I belonged to someone else.  But, nope. I was the kid going home to Taylors Mills Road with the family.  My dog, “Billy Boy,” a Boxer mix met us at the door.  Great dog.  Never bit me, UNTIL I stuck him with a pencil, when I was about three!

Mom always tells the story of how my sister wanted them to “send him (me) back,” as a baby.  She was six years old and already displaying shades of her present self – never wanting to share attention with anyone else.  But, here I was, her baby brother.  There wasn’t much she could do about it, other than complain whenever I got more attention than she did.

Growing up on Taylors Mills Road in Manalapan had its good points and bad ones.  Yes, it was the open spaces and we were surrounded by few houses and lots of fields, farmed by local families like the Carchesios.  We were officially “hicks” now and life in the area was much like it was on “The Andy Griffith Show.”  Everyone knew everyone else; any store that opened nearby was a really big deal; and our neighbors were mostly friendly and simple people.  Seems like they all had Dutch last names like Applegate, Wykoff and Conover – definitely descendants of Henry Hudson’s “Half-Moon” crew.

Aunt Dorothy and Uncle Barge Applegate lived next store with their son, Kenneth and daughter, Carol. They were our adopted relatives. We loved them very much and they loved us back.  Desly and I were always at their house enjoying stories and eating dinner. Aunt Dot never let us have milk or juice until AFTER we finished eating.  That was her thing. 

They had a black and white cat named “Mr. Peepers” that we liked to play with.  But, Aunt Dot also had a bird. When she let it out of its cage to fly around the house; I was out the door as fast as I could run.  I am always reminded of that fear – most recently while visiting Smithville Village near Atlantic City.  There a bird decided to “poop” on me from the sky above.  They say it is good luck when
a bird poops on you.  How can it be?  It cost me $20 to buy a clean “Smithville
Village” Tee Shirt before going into the inn for dinner.

In 1956, the Manalapan – Englishtown area didn’t have too many Jewish families.  We faced some discrimination that I’ll get into in Part III. But, at Aunt Dorothy’s house we were always made very comfortable and even learned to enjoy Christmas time and Easter helping to decorate her wonderfully smelling, live pine tree, set up the trains that circled it and coloring Easter eggs, when that holiday came around. Mom and dad were fine with these festivities. They, in fact, eventually bought into having our very own Christmas tree (fake of course), which we all ran around to hide when Jewish relatives came around,
unannounced. 

Aunt Dot saved my life as an infant.  I choked on vomit and was turning blue as she raced over to our house and dislodged whatever it was that stuck in my
windpipe.  My mother and grandmother were frozen in panic as Aunt Dot calmly worked on me and got me breathing again.  Yes, I have wonderful memories about my adopted Aunt and Uncle.  And…did I mention that Uncle Barge was also our milk man? Yes, we had fresh milk delivered to our door every day in the 50’s and early 60’s. There was something very special about rural living. 

I really don’t have too many recollections of my earliest years growing up.  Obviously, some of what I know my parents and grandparents shared with me. I do have vague memories of the snow storms that hit the area as a young child.  How our electric went out and how mom and dad lit the oven and we slept in the kitchen, including grandpa and grandma.  Our water pump lost power, so we melted snow to flush the toilets and wash up. Few snow plows were around back then, so the smallest snowfall would cripple everyone around us.  We’d be stuck in the house for days at a time and living like the early settlers once did.

I also remember the scary hepatitis outbreak that began in the town of Englishtown and spread throughout the Manalapan area.  We all had septic tanks and there was fear that hepatitis was being caused by those with open septic tanks.  One neighbor was suspicious of another and friendships were challenged by some claiming that a neighbor had an open cesspool that was not properly maintained. A child actually fell into one and that really set off a firestorm of anger and fear.

Growing up as a small child on Taylors Mills Road wasn’t too bad.  My parents would take us into the towns of Englishtown and Freehold Borough to shop for whatever we needed.  I was fitted for my first pair of shoes by Ben Silverglade at “Ben’s Shoe Store” on Main Street in Freehold Borough.  Some of my first toys were bought at “John’s Bargain Store” across the street from Ben’s.  And, I saw my very first movie, “101 Dalmatians” at the movie theatre in town.  These were some good memories.

When summer arrived, my parents continued their old tradition of spending the warm weather at Bergerville. Now, it seems so silly.  We packed the cars and headed eight or nine miles down Route 9 to spend the summer in a primitive bungalow.  Everyone else there – including many of our relatives – made the same trip from New York.  Mom and dad loved Bergerville so much that they just couldn’t break with their long running tradition.  It was our vacation.  The whole summer cost the family $500.  To them it was well worth it and they saved up money all year so that we could go again.

It was great for Desly and me, because we went to day camp every day, swam in the pool, fished at the pond and visited with relatives and friends.  I suppose we were also getting a stealth exposure to our Jewish roots, which my parents realized we were lacking throughout the remainder of the year.

In September of 1961, I got on a bus and went to school for the very time. To be continued...