Go-go boots. I had a shiny white pair and a shiny black pair. How I loved those things. I remember my first pair of bell bottoms — red hip huggers — which I wore with a navy blue button down shirt that had large red polka dots. The things we thought were fashionable!! Do you remember the peasant dresses and shirts that we wore around 1970. Shopping for my daughter in the mall this weekend, I found that same style. Guess history does repeat itself.
30 some years later and I still moan over never getting those go-go boots! I finally derived some satisfaction when I discovered a pair that, alas, were not MY size, but, the next best thing, my 6 year old daughter’s size. I surprised her with them and she was as thrilled with them as I would have been, had I not be so cruelly deprived (?!)
When I very young in Coney Island, I would go to the Boardwalk with my grandmother, who was originally from Roumania. Some of the merchants on the boardwalk were gypsies; my grandmother told me to stay away from them because they would steal small children. This terrified me but not enough to mitigate the fascination their exhibits generated in me…memorable was a bird, (I think a mynah or parrot) that hopped the length of a stall and picked the correct card. There were also strange contraptions that people were pushed in…I never did but always want to get in….
It was the first time I was invited to one of the parties that my big brother was going to. I didn’t have any idea why he decided this time it was ok to take me because he never had said it was ok before and my mother didn’t care one way or the other. Probably she didn’t even know I went or that he went. You know just how exciting it is for this dumb eight year old to be invited to a party of thirteen year olds. I mean I was really ready, or so I thought. It started out kind of boring as I recall. I knew a couple of the people, mostly from a far, because they were in a different school than me. When I was in kindergarten they had been in fourth grade. Our school only went up to fifth grade so the overlap was minimal. Anyhow back to the party. I don’t even know if I had much fun at all and wondered what am I doing getting all interested in these boring parties. Finally the game of spin the bottle became the activity and I was included and I sat there and was a part of this thing with a mixture of thrill, dread and disgust when somehow the bottle that was spun by my brother’s yuckiest friend pointed to me. My brother later told me that was why I had been invited, no other girl ever followed through on their obligation to this guy when the bottle turned their way.
I remember especially liking to throw the chain kind of key chain. They didn’t bounce too much, they kind of slid into place. There were times throwing to the high numbers that all the keys would fly off because the chain would open. Did your hopscotch board have a rounded part on top that you would reach for the thing you threw with your back turned? You hoped it landed in the center so that you wouldn’t touch any lines and be disqualified.
On 3rd Street between 2nd and 3rd Ave, in the late 50’s and early 60’s we would play like this: First base was a fire pump, 2nd base was a manhole cover and third was a wheel on a car parked in the street. Had to wait until traffic passed (or we sometimes stopped it ourselves) then hit the ball on a bounce and run like the devil, everything was in bounds as long as it was in the imaginary base lines. Fire escapes on the building sometimes posed a difficult catch, the ball would bounce around and you weren’t sure where it would come down. Also if you broke a window it was a home run or time to RUN HOME..by the way, how many brooms did we all borrow to make the bat??
I got my first kiss in the basement of a synagogue in Canarsie during the bar mitzvah reception of my older brother’s friend, Larry Wolfman. I had just come out of the ladies room when one of Larry’s friends grabbed me and pulled me into a phone booth. And then he did it…he shoved his face into mine. I was a very round chubby nine year-old. He was a much more mature and experienced thirteen year-old. He walked away with a big smile. I ran away with a bloody lip. It was totally yucky!!
Forget about lemonade stands – we had a penny stand. We’d take a very large glass jar — like the gallon pickle jars from the deli — and cut a slit in the lid large enough to put a penny through. We’d fill the jar with water. On the bottom of the jar, we’d center a shot glass. Kids would come by and send a penny through the slot, trying to get the penny to end up in the shot glass. Which of course, almost no one ever could do. The lucky winner would get a nickel. Now that I think back on it, we were underage gamblers!! No wonder some many of my generation love Atlantic City.
That flat taffy wrapped in waxed paper that sold for a nickel. It was colored on the sides with a white stripe down the middle. How about watermelon slices. Thin flat coconut-flavored candy that looked & was shaped like a slice of watermelon. Sold for a penny. Remember flying saucers. Two wafers sealed together will small round hard non-pariels within. It looked just like a flying saucer. Wax lips & fingernails. Long tubes of wax filled with very sweet liquid in it — as well as those shaped like soda bottles. Candy dots on paper — liquorice in chocolate and grape. And chocolate cow soda — just like yoo hoo! Kids today don’t know what they’re missing.