Dear Jackrabbit,
I never knew much about my dad’s younger days. Occasionally, when we were both older, I got a few tidbits, but rarely any day-to-day, mundane sort of things that gave me an impression of his youth. The same–maybe even moreso–with my mother. Remember those photos I posted a few weeks ago? I have no idea why she was on that farm, or for how long, or even where it was.
With that in mind, I’m pulling a few items out of the memory back to share now. Nothing really earth-shattering, but real. So, in no particular order… just some memories that came, almost unbidden, as I chose this letter’s topic:
A picture of the Westerly Public Library from 1937. Floating above? That’s the Hindenberg which would go up in flames a few days later in a field in New York.
Books and writing have always been a big part of my life. I had a miniature printing press when I was around eight. I started writing stories around then as well. I was a volunteer librarian at the Westerly Public Library’s children’s section, and a volunteer librarian during junior high. In junior high, I also started a literary journal (one for seventh and one for eighth grade) where my friends and I published poorly-written adventure stories. I worked in my dad’s bookstore and another bookstore over the bridge in Pawcatuck. I was editor of the school newspaper in my junior and senior years of high school. In college? More of the same.
I used to make my dad sandwiches for him to take to work for his lunch. He always liked my sandwiches because I was rather generous with the meats and cheeses. I made thick sandwiches. This was pretty easy to do because, as far as I knew, the sandwich supplies just appeared in the fridge like magic. I even used the dreaded mayonnaise because my dad liked that kind of thing. Feel free to make me sandwiches–but no mayonnaise. Mayonnaise will get you a time out.
I spent a summer when I was 16 practically living on the beach. A friend lived in a house two blocks from the beach and I used to spend my time working at a snack shack or hanging out with him and other friends either body-surfing, playing volleyball, or hanging out at his house playing D&D. I would bike home (about six miles) every couple of days, but for the most part I spent most of my time at Misquamicut that summer.
The Kelly Nature Center at Yawgood Scout Reservation where I would spend the summers of 84 and 85.
The next two summers (1984 and 1985) I worked at Yawgoog Scout Reservation as a camp counselor. Specifically, I worked in the Nature Center running classes on environmental science and leading hikes all over the place. More than 30 years later, I still know most of those trails.
I was in England for a few months doing research for a thesis and getting some exposure to another country. Money was tight, so I earned some extra money by playing a guitar on a street corner of the busy High Street. I did all right considering I wasn’t very good. I later used the experience as inspiration for a story I wrote and sold called “Digger Don’t Take No Requests” about a guy who played guitar for tourists on the moon.
Also while in England I went camping in Wales for a few days with some friends. One night we made camp on someone’s farm near Caernarfon. We had hiked up and down Mt Snowden the day before and I was _beat_ by the time we went to sleep in our tents. I woke early because a chicken had wandered into the tent and a sheep had stuck its head in through the tent flaps. Rude awakening.
There were a number of abandoned granite quarries near where I grew up. Sometimes these flooded and made great swimming areas. Kids from all over would congregate at these places during the summer to cool off. This was pretty illegal and incredibly unsafe as there was no bottom to touch and, if you went deep enough, you might come across abandoned construction equipment which was pretty dangerous. Needless to say, there was no adult supervision and yes, there were a couple of fatal tragedies. In retrospect, I wouldn’t recommend swimming at places like these.
Likewise, abandoned granite quarries also had a huge number rough stone laying in mountainous piles. It was possible to squeeze between these big pieces of stone and go “cave exploring.” The possibilities in getting injured or stuck buried under a ton of granite were very real. Again, I wouldn’t recommend this now. I’m sure if my parents knew what we were getting up to, they would have put a stop to it.
(Really, it’s a miracle I’ve survived this long. I did a lot of stupid things when I was younger. I hope you’re going to be more sensible.)
I used to roadie for a band called Roomful of Blues. Aside from working at a bunch of local clubs, I rode on the band bus for a bunch of New England-based shows and would occasionally meet famous musicians. The coolest would have been having a beer with legendary guitarist Stevie Ray Vaughn at a club in New Hampshire. Bonnie Raitt was a disappointment. She struck me as a kind of diva without really having any reason to be.
Worst drum kit ever, but I had fun.
I was also in a band myself. It was a garage punk band called Gothic Snowtire (previously Lack of Foresight, previously The Wide Men). I was the drummer and it was a lot of fun. Eventually, however, I had to choose between that and school and school won out. I was able to play witht he band in a couple of interesting clubs in RI and Massachusetts, but missed out on playing CBGBs. You, Jack, are partly named after the guy who was our lead singer, Chris Reilly.
Chris Reilly, front for Gothic Snowtire in our practice space.
When I was in the third grade, I had the job of sweeping and mopping the train station. I think I got five bucks for the privilege, but looking back it was probably super illegal to have me doing that. Still, five bucks was five bucks, and in 1976 that was a decent amount of money. The train station was recently closed which made me a little sad. It was a beautiful station and originally one of the Works Progress Administration projects that helped lift people out of the Great Depression.
Quality time with my dad often meant going to the library, finding a good book or two, then going to the Bee Bee Dairy across the street to read while drinking coffee and eating french fries. It’s also where I first acquired a taste for fried whole-belly clams. Good times. During the school year, I sometimes worked at that restaurant as a dishwasher. Quality time with my mother was usually also reading–or sometimes filling in coloring books or playing board games–around the kitchen table. I drank coffee, she drank herbal tea. Also good times, although it would be decades before I acquired a taste for herbal tea.
And finally–not because I’ve run out of memories, but I need to cut this letter off at some point (I promise to revisit this topic again) … after the blizzard of ’78 (a topic unto itself), the snowplows left a mountain of snow in our front driveway because we were at the end of a short cul-de-sac and there was nowhere else to put it. It made parking for my dad tricky for a bit (he ended up walking to work for a few days), but where other kids had impressive snow forts following the blizzard, we had a snow _castle_. We even carved steps along one side so we could have two levels to defend the castle from. I’m not a big fan of snow, but when you’re a kid with a snow castle… well… that was pretty cool.
Hope you enjoyed some of these tidbits.
All my love,
–Dad
