My Summer 1964

A Philly Yo = Honolulu's Aloha

“. . . A wounded heart
 will heal in time,
 and when it does, 
the memory 
and love of our 
lost ones 
is sealed inside 
to comfort us.”
                     Brian Jacques

“Memories are bullets. 
Some whiz by 
and only spook you. 
Others tear you 
open and leave you 
in pieces.” 
 Richard Kadrey

“The past
 is a foreign country; 
they do things 
differently there.” 

                            L.P. Hartley




[/]


When I was a little kid

my Dad,

a WWII Veteran,

was a very modest businessman.

He owned a small

English Ford truck

full of affordable merchandise

that he sold on his route.

Profession:

Installment Sales.
A Modern peddler.

Dad's business consisted

mainly

of the fact that housewives

in every ethnic neighborhood

of gritty Philadelphia

knew him,

bought from him,

owed him money-

which he kept track of

in small loose-leaf notebooks.

Johnny The Dress Boy.

He had other street names

in other neighborhoods.

His name was not John.

President Kennedy

was Gone
since November;
I had seen teachers
crying that day.

The Beatles 
had first been on TV
 Sunday Feb 9th.
Something New
and Fresh
was blowin` in the wind.

It was 1964.

That Summer

as on other school holidays

I sometimes went to work with Dad.

We left the suburbs early,

drove into the city,

ate street food in the car;

We made our own day.

I shyly talked to ladies

who pinched my cheek

and gave me cookies:

Polish, Italian, Jewish,

Southern Style,

Store-bought.

Dad would sometimes park

in a tough neighborhood

and leave me in the car

while he ran into a store

or upstairs in a house.

 Then I observed

the activity of

the living streets
through a child's eyes.

Looking back I wonder:
was I watching the merchandise,
or was it "watching me"
giving me a reason
to be part of the scene?

When pantyhose appeared,

dad placed and filled 

racks of them

in mom & pop 

neighborhood stores.

Photo: Hidden City Philadelphia Link

My dad was friendly

with people of
every status,
every shade of skin color,

and everyone liked him.

The only fear I ever saw
in him had to do with
the Philadelphia Police,
unsmiling, predators
of drivers and the streets.
[ An earlier policing culture - earlier day ]

My suburban schoolmates

and I watched

the first NASA space flights

on TV's wheeled into class.

Some of the other kids

used the "N" word
on the playground.

NOT space age!
NOT cool.

I knew better

and despised their 

ignorance.

50 years ago

this August

Philadelphia exploded:

the Columbia Ave Riots.

Link

Places I had been

were burning on TV 

and in the newspapers.

Places where Dad made a living.

I learned a lot on those streets,

in that city of neighborhoods.
A lot about work
and a lot about life.

Dad did not carry a lunch pail.

He was his own man.

Today we would call him

an entrepreneur.

Eventually, he launched

a janitorial company

becoming a "real"

Small Business Man.

"When you work for someone else,

you are making money for them."

Dad used to say.

Looked at  closely

this attitude values

workers.

And he treated them right,

even when they made missteps.

He trained them.

He bailed them out of jail,
he drove them around,
loaned them money for cars,
but he fired some too,
often saying:

"Some people 
don't know what work is."

Alternately he would observe:

"Some people 
just don't know what dirt is."
[ we were in the cleaning business ]

Dad taught me by example
that business comes down to

providing a real service,
so you can hire people
who need work
to feed their families,

If you do it right
 you make money

to feed yours.

Our employees,
some of them,
learned the business
and started their own.
.

One great guy,
Jerry Gardner,
essentially became
dad's business partner
and a trusted
family friend.

Work is dignified

and deserves appreciation.

I knew that
dad felt a deep
 obligation
to make the payroll
on time.

Pretty good approach to

capitalism I think!

I had a nice middle-class

upbringing;

but I also cleaned

offices and factories

all over the city

with co-workers and
customers from

every neighborhood 
in town,

 of every background

and skin color.

I can speak

with an Oxford Don,

or a "bum" in the street.

And I make eye contact 
with each of them.

I know the people

who go to work

every day
in the dark,
on the bus,

who keep society

functioning.

Thanks for the education

Dad.

Can we stop 

for a soft pretzel?

[-]

Thanks for visiting
dear Friends

                  Warmly, cloudia


"Some people strengthen the society 
just by being the kind of people they 
are."  -John W. Gardner  

"The good neighbor looks beyond 
the external accidents and discerns those 
inner qualities that make all men
 human and, therefore, brothers." 
Martin Luther King

Motivation is the art 
of getting people to do 
what you want them to do 
because they want to do it.
 Dwight Eisenhower