There used to be a time where, as a child, you could go just about anywhere you cared to, and do whatever your little heart desired, knowing full well your parents would never, ever be worried sick about your whereabouts. The time-period we’re talking about here is the 1950s and 1960s. To put things in perspective, at that time, there seemed a higher likelihood of one being struck by lightening than being lured into a total stranger’s car by their enticing you with a candy bar (your being an unsuspecting, impressionable youth like I was at the time, that is). To be fair, though, there were times when my parents reminded my brother and I of the importance of not speaking to strangers. So, there was that.
It probably wasn’t until I was at least age 5 that I would venture off on my own from our family’s digs, down the street to the firehouse located two blocks away. I’m reminded of Leave It To Beaver episodes, those where scenes of Beaver Cleaver being at the (presumed) neighborhood firehouse and engaged in chitchat with, who else?! Gus the fireman. The firehouse for me was definitely the place to be when there was obviously nothing more exciting going on anywhere else and I had time to dedicate to this sort of thing.
John, the fireman, used to provide insights on this, that and the other, I remember. I recall the board mounted on the wall near the firetruck entry/exit door, and to the best of my recollection, had lights on it that would light up, most likely indicating the neighborhood where the team of firefighters there would need to go each time a distress call came in. By the way, that firehouse was staffed around the clock.
I also recall being allowed to sit in the fire-engine cab, which, I’m sure to a kid that age, was like being on cloud 9. And, I recollect John sliding down the fire pole, me cradled in his arm. No way were any on-site staff going to take the chance of me sliding down the pole by my lonesome and risking my getting hurt. That I was allowed to be there at all, in this day and age, I find that quite remarkable. The way I probably saw it, there was no better place that I’d rather be.
Meanwhile, my brother’s was a variation on the same theme. His being about 2-and-three-quarters-years my senior, his thing was to ride shotgun on the garbage truck on days during refuse pickup. It was just in the neighborhood. Even so, that my parents went along, as in approved, is surprising.
There was seemingly nowhere in my possible-places-to-visit orbit that I didn’t or wouldn’t go to like the soda fountain at the local apothecary, the playground in the schoolyard, or the catching of a good kid flick at the nearby movie theater, even, which we would walk to and from, by the way.
I recall the time when my brother and I lived in our second home, walked to what was then an airstrip located on the outskirts of our neighborhood to watch airplanes take off and land. On one such outing and along the way, we passed a house and yard where the dog that was supposed to be fenced in got loose and insisted on tagging along. We did what we thought was our best to command the dog to stay put, but as hard as we tried, it was to no avail. So, off we went, of course, dog by our sides.
On the return we took a side trip, taking time to explore this very old house. There was no one living in it and to say the structure was dilapidated would not be unkind and what was once a floor, was hidden under all kinds of debris — loose and otherwise. Knowing my brother, I’m sure he tried to sell me on the notion that the house was haunted. Gullible as I know myself to be, I probably bought it.
Meanwhile, we two siblings decided to give the dog a name. I don’t remember what my brother’s name-choice for the dog was, but mine was “King.” Seemed as good as any, I s’pose.
Upon arriving back at the house where we first found the dog, we saw the canine’s owner. I’m sure at that point the man was super relieved, of course, him not knowing where the dog’s whereabouts were that entire time. And, I remember my brother and I asking the home- and dog-owner: “What’s your dog’s name?” Are you ready for this? Came the response. “King.” Can you imagine?! What are the chances of that?!
The stuff as a kid then I could do, and did: Priceless!