by John Mooy
I often hear conversations in which one generation talks to another about their growing up and how the young folks of today have it so much better than we did during our years of childhood.
In short, I think every generation has both its good points and not so good points. Hopefully each generation enjoys the time and place they occupied in childhood.
Like many of you reading this, you have grown up in what I often refer to as the greatest small town on the planet. This in part because it’s the only place I have ever known. Many others would make the same case for their hometown which is as it should be.
In my conversations with others today I make the point that in the fifties and sixties our lives were uncomplicated. It seems that we seldom varied far from our daily routines. During one of my most favorite summers, this was the routine. I should tell you that it was the summer of 1962. I was working for Gordon Foncannon who owned a Christmas tree farm with areas of Christmas trees scattered around the countryside south of Marcellus.
I slept on our front porch which was screened in. The bed was one of those fold-down couches. I loved sleeping there especially when there was a cool breeze and on occasion the sound of a thunderstorm and the rain on the roof. I got up each morning about seven, put on my work clothes and had breakfast before Mr. Foncannon showed up in front of the house with his old green pickup truck. There was a gang of five or six of us and we rode in the back of the truck out to the field. We used hedge clippers to trim the trees. Maybe a better description would be that we shaped them. We went up one row and down the other. I loved it because
We were out in nature . . . and working with friends.
We all had lunches and during our lunch break we ate and then rested for a while before returning to work. It was a forty-hour work week. Well worth it as we made forty dollars. Yup, forty dollars. Can you imagine being fifteen years old and having forty dollars. Big time.
Each day after work, when I got home, I showered, had supper with the family, and then went over to the gym to play basketball. We practiced until about nine. I’d come home and go to bed. The next day it started all over again.
When the end of the week arrived, we were on the verge of two of the greatest days of a teenager’s life, Friday and Saturday.
Those two evenings usually consisted of “hanging out” with friends. I remember getting cleaned up, putting on khakis, a shirt and sweater . . . and Old Spice cologne. You could probably smell the cologne from your house.
If I was lucky, I could borrow Dad’s car for the evening, and we could cruise Main Street and wave and holler at all of our friends. Destinations varied. What is now the Moormann Building was a skating rink. Pantale’s was always an option to have a burger, listen to the juke box and maybe shoot a game of pool. Then there was the occasional movie, maybe in Three Rivers.
As you can tell the social schedule was heavy and loaded with commitments.
And Melville’s on beautiful Fish Lake with a live band was also a gathering spot.
Looking back now those days were certainly abundant with a minimum of responsibility. But as time passed, other more serious matters filled our lives and presented us with more responsibilities.
Hold on to all your daydreams while you can.
Youth is a marvelous time of life. It provides a “wealth” that goes well beyond that forty dollars a week and that test you never studied for. As teacher, philosopher and friend Arnold Schten would say, “think about it.”
Have a great week, Marcellus.
You’re the best.
Wildcats Rock.
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