A FORTUNATE BREAKDOWN
KENNETH E. HALL 1 April, 1998 HOUSTON
There is a saying in Spanish: "No hay mal que por bien no venga. Roughly translated, it means that no bad can come that you can't get something good out of it. --- Every cloud has a silver lining.
&
My mother and I lived in the Washington, D.C. area from 1955 to 1961. We often referred to this time period as our "Baroque Period." I mean, we were ALWAYS Baroque! We had just enough for rent and food; the car took the rest. We were Baroque. Period!
Back then we were poor. We were SO poor!
How poor were we?
We were so poor, that in English class, I conjugated the verb "to break" as break, broke, BANKRUPT!
We were SO poor, our Latin motto was: IN HOC TU OFEN!
We were SO poor, we were living on asbestos... we were doing as BESTos we could!
OK, maybe it wasn't THAT bad, but believe me, we were broke. Nevertheless, we made the best of these bad times and turned them into good times despite an appalling lack of folding green. Money isn't everything, but a little sure could have come in quite handy back then.
We knew this man called Captain Tom. He had a cabin cruiser and lots of money. But he had his happiness in his bank account - not in his life. I am sure he would have gladly traded his monetary wealth for some true happiness.
We couldn't have been too poor: we had a car. Actually, the truth be told, we were probably poor because of the car!
We nicknamed the car Kate Mehitabel, after a feline character in the novel "Archy and Mehitabel", who was an old ally cat - but would often sing: "There's life in the old gal yet!" and, like nearly every other car we ever had, it was always one step away from the mechanic's, and two steps away from the junkyard. We owned more rattletrap contraptions than the law allows, and every last one of them had a voracious appetite for money. Kate Mehitabel was certainly no exception.
My mother tried to save up her money so she could buy a pair of shoes, but every doggone time she had just enough to buy a pair, sure enough, the car would need something done, and whatever it was would cost her every cent she had saved up, and then some. Talk about frustrating!!
If anyone were to make a comment about our transportation, she kept it positive: "It has four wheels, a motor, and it runs!" --- and it did --- Most of the time.
One lovely Spring day in maybe 1960, Mom & I decided to drive to Rock Creek Park for a picnic. This was something we had done many, many times on weekends. I thoroughly enjoyed those outings and remember them with fondness. We also enjoyed going out for rides, when the car wasn't in the shop.
This particular day, we did not make it to the park. I pointed out a highway which I hadn't noticed before.
"Mommy" I asked, "Look - I wonder where THAT road goes?"
"I don't know, Sweet Angel," she answered, "Let's find out!" To my delight, we rounded the traffic circle and turned onto the highway. There was a sign that I read as "David Highway," but it really was "Divided Highway."
We headed out of the smog and congestion of D.C. and Arlington and headed out into the Virginia countryside. We didn't know where the road lead to, and didn't much care. It was such a beautiful day for for a picnic and a lovely day for a ride in the country. Things were going fine for awhile; then I smelled something awful. We had past some huge smokestacks belching thick, black smoke skyward, but that was some time ago.
Finally I piped up: "Mommy, I smell something like rubber burning!"
Mom, then, smelled it, too, and before long there began to issue dark, stinky smoke from beneath the hood of out car. Gazing at the deserted highway before us, Mom began to despair. We were now on a narrow, two-lane country road with just a bare bit of earth for a shoulder. What was worse, there wasn't a town, farmhouse, or gas station in sight. The smoke was getting thicker and thicker.
"Please, God" Mom prayed silently as we continued on our smoky way, "Don't let us break down so far from help!" I can only imagine now as an adult what ran through her mind as she contemplated our situation. Our outlook appeared bleak indeed...
Yet often help is only a prayer away.
Fortunately, on the side of the road just ahead there appeared a farmhouse - in the middle of nowhere! This was it... farmhouse of no we had to stop - the smoke was just too thick to continue. Seeing the house, Mom immediately pulled off onto the shoulder of the road, and she turned off the ignition, and jumped quickly out of the car. I did the same from my side. We were afraid the thing was going to catch on fire and blow up. It didn't, but smelly smoke still gushed forth from the hood.
We were stranded out there in the sticks on a desolate, forlorn stretch of road, far from help... and our car was on fire, or just about to be. As we were looking at our poor car puffing inky smoke, we were distracted by the shouts of a few small children.
"Mommy, come quick! Their car is on FIRE!" came the screams of a little boy and girl who, just seconds before, had been swinging from an old rubber tire hanging from a tree in the front yard.
Right away a lady emerged wearing an apron. She came over to investigate the commotion.
Happily, the fire we feared never got to the open flame stage. It was only smoke.With the ignition turned off, whatever was burning simmered down, and the danger of the car burning up had passed. The lady kindly invited us inside.
"Go get your daddy, quick!" the lady told her little boy, who immediately sped off down the road on his bicycle.
We were relieved that the car, such as it was, was still in one piece. Now came the realization that we were stranded far from home. The lady told us that we were not too very far from a small town, and that her husband had gone to an auction there. Pretty soon the boy returned with his dad.
"What's the trouble, lady?" the man asked.
"I don't know," Mom replied, "The car just started to smoke real badly just a ways down the road, like it was going to catch on fire."
"I'll take a look and see what's wrong," the man promised.
So, there, under that big tree with the tire swing and the farmhouse family, we had our picnic in the country - complete with homemade ice tea!
Then came the bad news: "Lady, your clutch burned up, and will have to be replaced. I'm going to go into town or parts," the man related, matter-of-factly. Then he drove off in his truck.
We enjoyed our visit immensely. The ladies talked, and I played with the kids - eager for a new playmate. A few hours later the man came in. His calloused hands were now black with grease.
"Well, it's fixed!" he said, smiling.
My mother was on the verge of tears when she said: "but I don't have any money to pay you!" She added: "Write down your address and I'll send you ten dollars every two weeks until it's paid off."
Without a moment's hesitation, the man smiled and said, reassuringly: "That's all right, Ma'am. You don't owe me anything. One day my wife might break down and someone will help her out."
As we left that old farmhouse and family on that narrow country highway, we came away with much more that we could have ever hoped for. My father-in-law says: "Diós aprieta, pero no afloja." This simply means: "God may squeeze you, but he'll never let you go!" The going may get bad, but he'll always be there for you.
Often help is only a prayer away.
We should know: the place where we broke down was not just ANY random farmhouse. We broke down in front of the home of the town MECHANIC!
HERE IS ANOTHER STORY ABOUT KATE MEHITABEL:
http://kennyduke.blogspot.com/2014/04/nobody-shimmies-like-my-old-car-kate.html
Sunday, July 6, 2014
Saturday, July 5, 2014
Send in the Clowns
5 July, 2014
Houston
"At the Beach, at the Beach, out at Pontchartrain Beach,
You'll have fun, you'll have fun every day of the week!
You'll love the thrilling rides - laugh till you split your sides,
At Pontchartrain Beach!" - RADIO JINGLE
In summers long-past, I remember my Uncle Gene picking me up, along with my grandparents. We'd drive along Elysian Fields and look at the nice, new, modern houses with the glass globes and birdbaths in the front yards. There was no doubt - I knew where we were going: we were going to Pontchartrain Beach!
My first memories of that place were when I was just three or four years old - 1954 or 1955.
I remember the building anticipation as first an old smokestack, then the star-shaped neon lights of the Ferris Wheel came into view - then the top of the Big Zephyr, with its multi-color neon rings and globe flashing. We would stand in line to get tickets, and I'd see a big 7-up sign saying "Live and play the American way!"
Once inside the gate, the very first sight that met my view was the entrance to the Big Zephyr itself. When I was real small I couldn't go on the "Big Zephyr" roller-coaster. (But Kiddieland had a "Little Zephyr" and I enjoyed riding on it for years.) Next to it was a little ride for children - a crank-powered car that ran on rails. I tried to make it go as fast as I could, and even wondered if it could (or would) tip over as we reached a sharp curve. That ride was my favorite one there - when I was five.
After that, we would go to KIDDIELAND! Here was a magical place - it seemed so BIG back then, but it really wasn't. There were the boats that went round and round in a tiny cement pond. The kids would sit in front or in back - and I preferred the front so I could ring the bell!! That was one of the sights, sounds, and memories of that long-ago time. The constant ding-ding of the little boat bells meant kids like me were having a good time.
Looking up from the boats, there was an old lighthouse, with a yellow light flashing on the top. There were other rides there, including the carousel, which I liked to call the "flying horses." It was right next to the bumper cars, and I loved to watch the people run into each other. Every so often there was this whip cracking noise that would come from that vicinity. I never found out what it was. Also, when the cars started, a set of musical horns tooted a quick "Meet me in St. Louie, Louis" tune.
THE GAY MIDWAY!!
There was a main drag called the Gay Midway. (Gay back then meant happy.) It was one mile long, and boasted dozens of rides and other attractions from one end to the other.
On the Midway was the "Penny Arcade", and it was always thronged with people eager to put their coins in slots to play the machines - in the day before video games. I saw no sense in paying to get in to an amusement park just to play pinball! Along the Midway were lots of traditional carnival or county fair attractions such as the milk bottle throw - I never saw anybody win by knocking down those lead milk bottles! I really think they were glued there! One popular place was a pellet-gun duck shoot, and my favorite was the fish stream. This was the only place where kids were guaranteed to catch a fish! Actually, they weren't really fish - they were made of wood with a metal staple at the mouth and a number on the side. The player was given a fishing pole and almost as soon as the hook hit the water there was a wooden fish on the line! The man there would take the wet fish and look up the number. I don't recall ever winning anything there, but I'm sure somebody got a prize every so often.
There was the Port O'Call restaurant. Actually it was a hamburger stand, and I never went there until much later on in life - and felt bad that I hadn't gone sooner. The food was very good. The place had a nautical theme, with portholes, fishnets and life rings, in keeping with the overall beach/water theme.
My all-time favorite ride there was the Ferris Wheel. It wasn't anything special, as Ferris Wheels go, but it afforded the rider a chance to get cool, as well as to see the whole beach from way up high. That wasn't the best part: the city was behind in the distance, and could be seen on clear days or nights. Straight ahead was the lake - Lake Pontchartrain. On hot summer nights, Nature outdid Man in putting on an electrical show, as raging thunderstorms sparked white and orange in the distance.
Most of the time on the ride involved getting all of the people on and off. I always hoped they'd forget about me and let me go around once again. Up above, a couple of kids would rock the seat, and soon enough, others would follow suit. I remember hoping that whoever I was riding with would not get the urge to rock the seat as well! I used to admire the latticework and the construction of the wheel itself.
Then it would start to move, and the cool breeze would really kick in. My stomach would flutter as we'd descend, and as we passed the motor, it made a funny grinding sound that sounded to me like "Chlorox! Chlorox!" so I called it the "Chlorox machine."
FUN HOUSE!
There was a fun house which changed through the years, at the earliest having a big clown face in the front. A song, "New Orleans is My Home Town" was to mention it: "Meet at the Beach in front the Clown!" When the clown head was removed, there was a tiny clown head put there so anyone meeting somebody could remember where the old one "usta" be.
The Space Walk: Later the huge clown head disappeared, and the old Fun House became some sort of interplanetary walk-through fun house, complete with a hall of mirrors and out-of-this-world caves, way-out music and sound effects, and space ship interiors, ending in a Saturn Slide."
In its last incarnation, it became a haunted house and that was a very good quality ride.
MORE RIDES:
There was a twirley ride called the Scrambler at the end, and later another more modern roller coaster, called the Rajin' Cajun was built. There one could take an aerial lift car to the other end of the Midway.
At the other end where the Skyway ended, some great attractions were to be found! Some rides that came and went there include the Rotor, which was a rotating cylinder that went so fast the riders were pressed up against the side walls. Then the BOTTOM dropped! It was an awesome ride!
At the same opposite end of the Midway was the SailPlanes. There were these small cabins suspended from a center pillar. Each "plane" had a rudder for steering, and one could perform aerobatics by moving the rudder when the central column began to twirling the planes got airborne. I have a favorite memory of going on this ride with my grandfather. We had a lot of fun. My mind plays that memory like it lasted a long time, but in reality the ride only lasted for a few minutes.
Toward the middle was an ancient ride called the BUG. It was supposed to be some sort of caterpillar and went up and down on a track, while going in a circle. It was a simple ride, but as has been said: "Everybody loves the BUG."
Near where the BUG was, there was a controversial ride, the Wild Maus, an import from Germany. It consisted of individual cars negotiating a roller-coaster-type track layout. It was famous for the very tight hairpin turns that the cars made way high up on the upper level. One day, shortly after the ride opened, my Aunt Marie and Uncle Johnny went to Pontchartrain Beach, and rode the Wild Maus. My Aunt suffered a bruised rib. On that day, also, one of the cars had an accident involving serious injury
On the Beach itself, there was a stage, where every day high-wire, trapeze, and many other acts took place. Local and nationally known celebrities such as Michael Landon and even Elvis appeared on this stage. There were also dancing fountains, changing color and intensity with the music.
These were fun times - and this was a fun place. In "the City That Care Forgot," this was truly a park to forget one's cares and to just have a good time. The Beach was proof positive that one indeed could have a ball without alcohol!!
THE END OF AN ERA
Then came the announcement that nobody could believe: it seems as though, despite the many undeveloped areas and run-down sections of town, a major condo development was slated for this very area! The Beach would have to be torn down!
There were numerous reasons given for why the Beach closed: the condo project, integration, insurance costs, dwindling attendance, etc. For whatever reason or combination of reasons, the Beach would go - and there was nothing anyone could do about it.
One day I had a limo job that took my clients to the Bali Ha'i Restaurant. I was surprised that that venerable Lakefront institution had survived the Beach Closure. While waiting outside, I saw the rides and places of amusement I grew up with as a kid. Today there were no lights. Today there was no noise of kids screaming on the roller coaster. There were just boards and debris - and what remained to be torn down.
I walked through Kiddieland for the very last time. I saw what was left of the little rides that to me were so very big and exciting when I was a little boy. It is always so big and bright and exciting when you're five. I looked up to see the old lighthouse: it was still there. I noticed a National Historic Places plaque on the side of it, and hoped that little bronze square would be enough to protect it from the bulldozer.
I walked down the "Gay Midway" but it wasn't so gay today. All was in shambles. As I threaded my way through the destruction, I remember finding myself unconsciously whistling "Send in the Clowns." In the circus, clowns were sent in as a distraction when an act had gone wrong and performers were in trouble. From where I stood, looking at the sad scene before me, they really needed to send in the clowns. Here and there stood few steel drums in which some boards were being burned, and it was like watching all those good times go up in smoke. Smoke can get in your eyes...
A year later, with the exception of the lighthouse, the whole Pontchartrain Beach Amusement Park was gone - gone to join the swelling ranks of things that we look back upon. The feelings, tastes, sounds, sights, and smells of that place would live on, but only in the memories of those of us who were lucky enough to have had this magical land as a part of our lives when we were young.
As I turned to leave, I took a look back, and thought: "Thanks for the Memories!"
EPILOGUE:
That big condo and resort project that provided the excuse to do away with the Beach was never built. The land was left void of structures - except for the old Kiddieland Lighthouse, which actually was there well before the land for Pontchartrain Beach was reclaimed. It is ironic that the first thing built on the site was also the last thing to remain. The only other landmark structure visible in the area is the smokestack. It has now been incorporated into the University Of New Orleans' University Center.
In the United States, many - if not most of the traditional amusement parks have been torn down in the name of progress. Washington, D.C. no longer had Glen Echo, Houston has done away with AstroWorld, and Pittlburgh's fabulous Kennywood Park has turned itself into a theme park in order to survive.
So where do we take our kids? We have to travel large distances to overcrowded mega Theme Parks such as Disney or Seaworld. We pay exorbitant prices for one or two visits - in a lifetime.
Theme Parks are sterile, clean, efficient separator machines - quickly separating us from our MONEY! The chances of bumping into family or friends by accident at one of these places? Highly unlikely!
The old-style amusement parks were unsophisticated hometown affairs, geared for the locals. On any given visit to one of these, one could almost be assured of bumping into friends, neighbors, schoolmates, or family members. It was even a place to meet up with them and have a great time - and make wonderful memories - without it costing a fortune. It wasn't a mega-coaster or super ride that I recall; it was the atmosphere that is not present in any of the parks of today.
There are reasons for nostalgia: remembering what once was with fondness, and lamenting its passing. Then I guess I'm nostalgic. I wouldn't mind another chance to get stuck on the top of the ferris wheel - and watch the fireworks of a midsummernight's thunderstorm over the lake.
I wouldn't mind that at all!
Houston
"At the Beach, at the Beach, out at Pontchartrain Beach,
You'll have fun, you'll have fun every day of the week!
You'll love the thrilling rides - laugh till you split your sides,
At Pontchartrain Beach!" - RADIO JINGLE
In summers long-past, I remember my Uncle Gene picking me up, along with my grandparents. We'd drive along Elysian Fields and look at the nice, new, modern houses with the glass globes and birdbaths in the front yards. There was no doubt - I knew where we were going: we were going to Pontchartrain Beach!
My first memories of that place were when I was just three or four years old - 1954 or 1955.
 |
| ABOVE: THE 7up SIGN AND MAIN PART OF THE ROLLER-COASTER CALLED THE BIG ZEPHYR. SINCE HURRICANE BETSY DESTROYED THE TOP NEON PINNACLE IN 1965 AND A NEW ONE WAS BUILT LATER, THIS PHOTO MUST HAVE BEEN TAKEN SOME TIME IN EARLY 1966 |
Once inside the gate, the very first sight that met my view was the entrance to the Big Zephyr itself. When I was real small I couldn't go on the "Big Zephyr" roller-coaster. (But Kiddieland had a "Little Zephyr" and I enjoyed riding on it for years.) Next to it was a little ride for children - a crank-powered car that ran on rails. I tried to make it go as fast as I could, and even wondered if it could (or would) tip over as we reached a sharp curve. That ride was my favorite one there - when I was five.
After that, we would go to KIDDIELAND! Here was a magical place - it seemed so BIG back then, but it really wasn't. There were the boats that went round and round in a tiny cement pond. The kids would sit in front or in back - and I preferred the front so I could ring the bell!! That was one of the sights, sounds, and memories of that long-ago time. The constant ding-ding of the little boat bells meant kids like me were having a good time.
Looking up from the boats, there was an old lighthouse, with a yellow light flashing on the top. There were other rides there, including the carousel, which I liked to call the "flying horses." It was right next to the bumper cars, and I loved to watch the people run into each other. Every so often there was this whip cracking noise that would come from that vicinity. I never found out what it was. Also, when the cars started, a set of musical horns tooted a quick "Meet me in St. Louie, Louis" tune.
THE GAY MIDWAY!!
There was a main drag called the Gay Midway. (Gay back then meant happy.) It was one mile long, and boasted dozens of rides and other attractions from one end to the other.
On the Midway was the "Penny Arcade", and it was always thronged with people eager to put their coins in slots to play the machines - in the day before video games. I saw no sense in paying to get in to an amusement park just to play pinball! Along the Midway were lots of traditional carnival or county fair attractions such as the milk bottle throw - I never saw anybody win by knocking down those lead milk bottles! I really think they were glued there! One popular place was a pellet-gun duck shoot, and my favorite was the fish stream. This was the only place where kids were guaranteed to catch a fish! Actually, they weren't really fish - they were made of wood with a metal staple at the mouth and a number on the side. The player was given a fishing pole and almost as soon as the hook hit the water there was a wooden fish on the line! The man there would take the wet fish and look up the number. I don't recall ever winning anything there, but I'm sure somebody got a prize every so often.
There was the Port O'Call restaurant. Actually it was a hamburger stand, and I never went there until much later on in life - and felt bad that I hadn't gone sooner. The food was very good. The place had a nautical theme, with portholes, fishnets and life rings, in keeping with the overall beach/water theme.
My all-time favorite ride there was the Ferris Wheel. It wasn't anything special, as Ferris Wheels go, but it afforded the rider a chance to get cool, as well as to see the whole beach from way up high. That wasn't the best part: the city was behind in the distance, and could be seen on clear days or nights. Straight ahead was the lake - Lake Pontchartrain. On hot summer nights, Nature outdid Man in putting on an electrical show, as raging thunderstorms sparked white and orange in the distance.
Most of the time on the ride involved getting all of the people on and off. I always hoped they'd forget about me and let me go around once again. Up above, a couple of kids would rock the seat, and soon enough, others would follow suit. I remember hoping that whoever I was riding with would not get the urge to rock the seat as well! I used to admire the latticework and the construction of the wheel itself.
Then it would start to move, and the cool breeze would really kick in. My stomach would flutter as we'd descend, and as we passed the motor, it made a funny grinding sound that sounded to me like "Chlorox! Chlorox!" so I called it the "Chlorox machine."
FUN HOUSE!
There was a fun house which changed through the years, at the earliest having a big clown face in the front. A song, "New Orleans is My Home Town" was to mention it: "Meet at the Beach in front the Clown!" When the clown head was removed, there was a tiny clown head put there so anyone meeting somebody could remember where the old one "usta" be.
The Space Walk: Later the huge clown head disappeared, and the old Fun House became some sort of interplanetary walk-through fun house, complete with a hall of mirrors and out-of-this-world caves, way-out music and sound effects, and space ship interiors, ending in a Saturn Slide."
In its last incarnation, it became a haunted house and that was a very good quality ride.
MORE RIDES:
There was a twirley ride called the Scrambler at the end, and later another more modern roller coaster, called the Rajin' Cajun was built. There one could take an aerial lift car to the other end of the Midway.
At the other end where the Skyway ended, some great attractions were to be found! Some rides that came and went there include the Rotor, which was a rotating cylinder that went so fast the riders were pressed up against the side walls. Then the BOTTOM dropped! It was an awesome ride!
At the same opposite end of the Midway was the SailPlanes. There were these small cabins suspended from a center pillar. Each "plane" had a rudder for steering, and one could perform aerobatics by moving the rudder when the central column began to twirling the planes got airborne. I have a favorite memory of going on this ride with my grandfather. We had a lot of fun. My mind plays that memory like it lasted a long time, but in reality the ride only lasted for a few minutes.
Toward the middle was an ancient ride called the BUG. It was supposed to be some sort of caterpillar and went up and down on a track, while going in a circle. It was a simple ride, but as has been said: "Everybody loves the BUG."
Near where the BUG was, there was a controversial ride, the Wild Maus, an import from Germany. It consisted of individual cars negotiating a roller-coaster-type track layout. It was famous for the very tight hairpin turns that the cars made way high up on the upper level. One day, shortly after the ride opened, my Aunt Marie and Uncle Johnny went to Pontchartrain Beach, and rode the Wild Maus. My Aunt suffered a bruised rib. On that day, also, one of the cars had an accident involving serious injury
On the Beach itself, there was a stage, where every day high-wire, trapeze, and many other acts took place. Local and nationally known celebrities such as Michael Landon and even Elvis appeared on this stage. There were also dancing fountains, changing color and intensity with the music.
These were fun times - and this was a fun place. In "the City That Care Forgot," this was truly a park to forget one's cares and to just have a good time. The Beach was proof positive that one indeed could have a ball without alcohol!!
THE END OF AN ERA
Then came the announcement that nobody could believe: it seems as though, despite the many undeveloped areas and run-down sections of town, a major condo development was slated for this very area! The Beach would have to be torn down!
There were numerous reasons given for why the Beach closed: the condo project, integration, insurance costs, dwindling attendance, etc. For whatever reason or combination of reasons, the Beach would go - and there was nothing anyone could do about it.
One day I had a limo job that took my clients to the Bali Ha'i Restaurant. I was surprised that that venerable Lakefront institution had survived the Beach Closure. While waiting outside, I saw the rides and places of amusement I grew up with as a kid. Today there were no lights. Today there was no noise of kids screaming on the roller coaster. There were just boards and debris - and what remained to be torn down.
I walked through Kiddieland for the very last time. I saw what was left of the little rides that to me were so very big and exciting when I was a little boy. It is always so big and bright and exciting when you're five. I looked up to see the old lighthouse: it was still there. I noticed a National Historic Places plaque on the side of it, and hoped that little bronze square would be enough to protect it from the bulldozer.
I walked down the "Gay Midway" but it wasn't so gay today. All was in shambles. As I threaded my way through the destruction, I remember finding myself unconsciously whistling "Send in the Clowns." In the circus, clowns were sent in as a distraction when an act had gone wrong and performers were in trouble. From where I stood, looking at the sad scene before me, they really needed to send in the clowns. Here and there stood few steel drums in which some boards were being burned, and it was like watching all those good times go up in smoke. Smoke can get in your eyes...
A year later, with the exception of the lighthouse, the whole Pontchartrain Beach Amusement Park was gone - gone to join the swelling ranks of things that we look back upon. The feelings, tastes, sounds, sights, and smells of that place would live on, but only in the memories of those of us who were lucky enough to have had this magical land as a part of our lives when we were young.
As I turned to leave, I took a look back, and thought: "Thanks for the Memories!"
EPILOGUE:
That big condo and resort project that provided the excuse to do away with the Beach was never built. The land was left void of structures - except for the old Kiddieland Lighthouse, which actually was there well before the land for Pontchartrain Beach was reclaimed. It is ironic that the first thing built on the site was also the last thing to remain. The only other landmark structure visible in the area is the smokestack. It has now been incorporated into the University Of New Orleans' University Center.
In the United States, many - if not most of the traditional amusement parks have been torn down in the name of progress. Washington, D.C. no longer had Glen Echo, Houston has done away with AstroWorld, and Pittlburgh's fabulous Kennywood Park has turned itself into a theme park in order to survive.
So where do we take our kids? We have to travel large distances to overcrowded mega Theme Parks such as Disney or Seaworld. We pay exorbitant prices for one or two visits - in a lifetime.
Theme Parks are sterile, clean, efficient separator machines - quickly separating us from our MONEY! The chances of bumping into family or friends by accident at one of these places? Highly unlikely!
The old-style amusement parks were unsophisticated hometown affairs, geared for the locals. On any given visit to one of these, one could almost be assured of bumping into friends, neighbors, schoolmates, or family members. It was even a place to meet up with them and have a great time - and make wonderful memories - without it costing a fortune. It wasn't a mega-coaster or super ride that I recall; it was the atmosphere that is not present in any of the parks of today.
There are reasons for nostalgia: remembering what once was with fondness, and lamenting its passing. Then I guess I'm nostalgic. I wouldn't mind another chance to get stuck on the top of the ferris wheel - and watch the fireworks of a midsummernight's thunderstorm over the lake.
I wouldn't mind that at all!
Thursday, July 3, 2014
Around the Belt Twice!
3 July, 2014
Lagos, Nigeria
"Clang! Clang! Clang! Went the Trolley!!"
The decade of the 1920's was the heyday of the trolley car. These iron-wheeled contraptions were everywhere - from the largest of cities to small towns and even in rural areas as well. In New Orleans, street railway lines criscrossed the city, serving nearly every neighborhood with fast, reliable public transit.
At first, horse-drawn carriages on steel wheels plied the muddy streets, followed years later by horseless, electrically-powered trams that rocked and sparked their way along the dusty streets of the city. As the urban area grew, so did its need for reliable transportation, therefore, bigger streetcars began to haul larger numbers of passengers greater and greater distances. By the early 1920's, the streetcar had truly come of age.
Born in 1905, my grandfather was, by 1923 or 1924 when this story took place, a handsome, dapper man-about-town. His father, a building contractor, built many houses around the city, and there was no tolerance for idleness: he soon put my grandfather and my great-uncle to work. Usually my grandfather would do the electrical wiring on the construction sites, while Babe, as my Uncle Gene was called, became a master carpenter.
Often enough, when the need arose, the two were often pressed into service as part of the labor gang, and there was no privilege here! Nothing was beneath these strapping lads - not even mixing concrete, which all too often they did. My grandfather used to tell me: " There's nothing to mixing concrete - nothing to it at all... BUT HARD WORK!!
THE BELT
Often enough, when the need arose, the two were often pressed into service as part of the labor gang, and there was no privilege here! Nothing was beneath these strapping lads - not even mixing concrete, which all too often they did. My grandfather used to tell me: " There's nothing to mixing concrete - nothing to it at all... BUT HARD WORK!!
THE BELT
There was a special trolley route in New Orleans, affectionately known as "The Belt." So-called because it made a closed circuit, the Belt was one of the city's main streetcar lines. Streetcars running one way bore the destination sign: "TULANE." Cars traveling in the opposite direction on the same route bore the "ST. CHARLES" sign.
One day, as a joke, my grandfather made a bet with a good friend that he could and his friend could not walk the entire Tulane-St. Charles Belt - TWICE.
The bet was made, and the day had arrived! After a day of hard work on the jobsite, It was still daylight when they boarded a car for the spot where this trek was to begin. They set out on their walk-a-thon, each one determined to out-walk the other. It was summertime, so the sun was still up - barely - as they proceeded down the downtown streets and avenues of the city. On and on they sauntered, long after dusk and sundown, putting one foot in front of the other. Occasionally a streetcar might rumble unheard past the parapetetic pair, and flivvers puttered by unnoticed. Although the temptation was strong just to hop on the next trolleycar and go home, neither had any intention whatsoever of losing a bet.
A dim, white headlamp burned in the distance, in the center of the avenue, framed at the bottom by a pair of shining steel rails. It was the "Owl Car" that rocked along the streets of the slumbering city. This was the very last and certainly the only streetcar on the line at this hour. It ground and clattered past the two weary boys, breaking the silence, rocking and swaying as the car rumbled down the rails, leaving a slight scent of ozone in the air. It hissed and clattered to a stop, and let off a few weary passengers - its lights illuminating an otherwise very dark area. The chug-chug-chug of the streetcar's air compressor was the only sound heard, save for the occasional rustling of leaves from the oak trees that lined the avenue.
When it had disappeared into the night, and its passengers had gone home, the boys were left alone in the gloom of the night. It was a moonless night. and the darkness was not broken except for an occasional dim, white incandescent light that only illuminated the area immediately beneath it.
The other boy began to tire quickly, turning gradually to severe fatigue. With no help in sight - no cars, trolleys, or taxis - there was no option but to carry the lad. He was smaller and lighter than my grandfather, but he was by no means light. My grandfather, too, was tiring. Eventually the two boys made it back to the friend's house at the walk's end. My Grandpaw bid his buddy a good night, even though it was the wee hours of the morning. He then had to walk home - it was not too far: only a MILE! He plodded along, wearied beyond belief.
He cut across the silent streetcar tracks of the Cream Cheese Barn - s small streetcar storage facility that used to be a dairy. Arriving at Lapeyrouse Street, he stopped to wait for some early-riser to putter by in his car.
A voice came into his head that got louder and louder: "Sir! Hey, mister: are you OK?"
My grandfather opened his eyes and saw a policeman standing in front of him.
It seems as though he was so tired he actually fell asleep at that corner, standing up!!
He told the officer what happened and went home to get about one hour's shut eye… before going to work at his father's construction site… MIXING CONCRETE!!!
He finished his day, went home and went straight to bed, and slept very soundly indeed!
Needless to say, he never made a bet like that again!
LIMO LINES: SAX and Violins
3 July, 2014
Lagos, Nigeria
Although being a chauffeur was at times interesting and exciting, the days and nights on the job were interspersed with spells of boredom. Long, lonely nights waiting on some desolate curbside for several hours, cooling my heels doing nothing while my client whoops it up in some opulent ballroom, can be tedious.
It's quite a contrast. I guess that is the point, isn't it?? It's not that these people have money, power, and/or prestige. That is a given, though it should be mentioned here that even a wino could hire a car and driver for a few hours if he somehow manages to up with about $200 cash. But the whole "Home, James" thing usually boils down to making some appear to be better by putting down others.
People get pleasure seeing others scurry around for their benefit. I never cared for this step-and-fetch-it mentality, but it seems as though the farther one goes DOWN the socio-economic scale the more likely one is to want to sit on his tail, clap his hands like some pompous Roman Emperor, and be served grapes and be fanned while lounging on his couch.
People need to feel important - that they matter. This goes for a boardroom executive all the way down to a security guard. The truth is, the more confident people feel with themselves and with their lot in life, the less likely they are to make others miserable in order to make themselves look and feel important. My best, most down-to-earth clients were the ones who had made a success of themselves in life, knew it, and had no need to prove anything to anyone.
Confucius says: "The superior man is satisfied and composed; the ordinary man is always full of distress." I have seen this to be the case, although I have also seen a great number of "distressed" so-called "Superior" men.
My grandfather often said: "There is no such thing as satisfaction; to want something and get it is only to want something else."
It did no good to concern myself or to worry about the psychology of people, although it amused me to do so. I had a family to feed and just did my best to do my job. If people got their happiness putting down a working man while they hire opulence by the hour, so be it. I was getting paid: the money rolled - or in my case trickled - from them to me, and not the other way around for once. I didn't feel put-down; I just felt a little richer!
One night I was on a job involving dropping some guests at a club or business in the French Quarter in New Orleans. It goes without saying that any job involving the Vieux Carré will inevitably include crossing pedestrians-only Bourbon Street at some point. I never saw the attraction of a street that caters chiefly to people who pour mass quantities of poisons down their throats, killing their brain cells, and acting like fools.
But these morons, seeing a brand-new, shiny-clean stretch Lincoln limousine pull up to the stop sign at the pedestrian mall (or Fools' Way), dumbed down (if such a thing were possible!!). Instead of just walking on by, or … or… dare I say this? OR… maybe stop for a second to let me by!! (What a CONCEPT!!) ... instead of doing that, they'd actually stop in front of me deliberately, or walk slower, joke around, or whatever.
If I inched forward to try to get by, these distinguished scholars would kindly offer a language tutorial right then and there. They'd point to the stop sign - I found out that the red hexagonal sign at the corner with the word "STOP" meant to cease forward motion of my vehicle. I thought STOP was an abbreviation of: "Stupid Tourists On Patrol."
When they'd block me I'd pick up the carphone and make out like I'm calling the cops. Trust me, a New Orleans cop is someone you don't want to cross. That worked sometimes.
More than a few times I'd have to sit there while throngs of stinkers --- sorry, drinkers - would stagger past in a seemingly unending procession. I'd wonder when - or IF - I'd ever be able to get by. They'd angrily point to that stop sign - as if I couldn't see it. I felt like telling them: "I AM stopped... It still says 'STOP'; When do you think it's gonna say 'GO?'"
I preferred to bide my time away from that lunacy in a quieter area of the Quarter. There I could be alone with my thoughts and with my solitude - instead of being alone in a crowd. Give me peace and quiet and a good book, I say.
I was heading to pick up my guests. Always arriving before I was expected, I was enjoying the late night drive through the picturesque old city. I came upon yet another dimly-lit corner, happily void of stupefied sojourners. I had my window down in order to take in the sights, sounds, and smells of that eclectic area. I came to a stop sign and saw on one corner a burly man playing blues on the saxophone. Catty corner from there was a pretty, young girl playing classical music on a violin.
There being nobody behind me, or in my limo at the time, I jumped out of the limo and shouted: "STOP IT!! Just STOP IT RIGHT NOW!" I put my arms out, like a football referee calling for silence.
The musicians ceased playing immediately and looked up at me, bewildered.
"Say, man, what's yo PROBLEM!?" The saxophonist shouted, unaccustomed to having his sidewalk concerts interrupted, especially so rudely.
I explained: "That's just what's wrong with New Orleans: there's too much SAX and VIOLINS on the streets of our city!"
With that, I got back into my limo and drove off into the night, leaving, no doubt, two bewildered street musicians who thought they had seen and heard it all.
In the French Quarter - you NEVER see it all!!!
Lagos, Nigeria
Although being a chauffeur was at times interesting and exciting, the days and nights on the job were interspersed with spells of boredom. Long, lonely nights waiting on some desolate curbside for several hours, cooling my heels doing nothing while my client whoops it up in some opulent ballroom, can be tedious.It's quite a contrast. I guess that is the point, isn't it?? It's not that these people have money, power, and/or prestige. That is a given, though it should be mentioned here that even a wino could hire a car and driver for a few hours if he somehow manages to up with about $200 cash. But the whole "Home, James" thing usually boils down to making some appear to be better by putting down others.
People get pleasure seeing others scurry around for their benefit. I never cared for this step-and-fetch-it mentality, but it seems as though the farther one goes DOWN the socio-economic scale the more likely one is to want to sit on his tail, clap his hands like some pompous Roman Emperor, and be served grapes and be fanned while lounging on his couch.
People need to feel important - that they matter. This goes for a boardroom executive all the way down to a security guard. The truth is, the more confident people feel with themselves and with their lot in life, the less likely they are to make others miserable in order to make themselves look and feel important. My best, most down-to-earth clients were the ones who had made a success of themselves in life, knew it, and had no need to prove anything to anyone.
Confucius says: "The superior man is satisfied and composed; the ordinary man is always full of distress." I have seen this to be the case, although I have also seen a great number of "distressed" so-called "Superior" men.
My grandfather often said: "There is no such thing as satisfaction; to want something and get it is only to want something else."
It did no good to concern myself or to worry about the psychology of people, although it amused me to do so. I had a family to feed and just did my best to do my job. If people got their happiness putting down a working man while they hire opulence by the hour, so be it. I was getting paid: the money rolled - or in my case trickled - from them to me, and not the other way around for once. I didn't feel put-down; I just felt a little richer!
One night I was on a job involving dropping some guests at a club or business in the French Quarter in New Orleans. It goes without saying that any job involving the Vieux Carré will inevitably include crossing pedestrians-only Bourbon Street at some point. I never saw the attraction of a street that caters chiefly to people who pour mass quantities of poisons down their throats, killing their brain cells, and acting like fools.
But these morons, seeing a brand-new, shiny-clean stretch Lincoln limousine pull up to the stop sign at the pedestrian mall (or Fools' Way), dumbed down (if such a thing were possible!!). Instead of just walking on by, or … or… dare I say this? OR… maybe stop for a second to let me by!! (What a CONCEPT!!) ... instead of doing that, they'd actually stop in front of me deliberately, or walk slower, joke around, or whatever.
If I inched forward to try to get by, these distinguished scholars would kindly offer a language tutorial right then and there. They'd point to the stop sign - I found out that the red hexagonal sign at the corner with the word "STOP" meant to cease forward motion of my vehicle. I thought STOP was an abbreviation of: "Stupid Tourists On Patrol."When they'd block me I'd pick up the carphone and make out like I'm calling the cops. Trust me, a New Orleans cop is someone you don't want to cross. That worked sometimes.
More than a few times I'd have to sit there while throngs of stinkers --- sorry, drinkers - would stagger past in a seemingly unending procession. I'd wonder when - or IF - I'd ever be able to get by. They'd angrily point to that stop sign - as if I couldn't see it. I felt like telling them: "I AM stopped... It still says 'STOP'; When do you think it's gonna say 'GO?'"
I preferred to bide my time away from that lunacy in a quieter area of the Quarter. There I could be alone with my thoughts and with my solitude - instead of being alone in a crowd. Give me peace and quiet and a good book, I say.
I was heading to pick up my guests. Always arriving before I was expected, I was enjoying the late night drive through the picturesque old city. I came upon yet another dimly-lit corner, happily void of stupefied sojourners. I had my window down in order to take in the sights, sounds, and smells of that eclectic area. I came to a stop sign and saw on one corner a burly man playing blues on the saxophone. Catty corner from there was a pretty, young girl playing classical music on a violin.
There being nobody behind me, or in my limo at the time, I jumped out of the limo and shouted: "STOP IT!! Just STOP IT RIGHT NOW!" I put my arms out, like a football referee calling for silence.
The musicians ceased playing immediately and looked up at me, bewildered.
"Say, man, what's yo PROBLEM!?" The saxophonist shouted, unaccustomed to having his sidewalk concerts interrupted, especially so rudely.
I explained: "That's just what's wrong with New Orleans: there's too much SAX and VIOLINS on the streets of our city!"
With that, I got back into my limo and drove off into the night, leaving, no doubt, two bewildered street musicians who thought they had seen and heard it all.
In the French Quarter - you NEVER see it all!!!
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