SUMMER VACATION AT LAKE CHAPMAN

SUMMER VACATION AT LAKE CHAPMAN

Lake Chapman is a small lake about 15 miles north of Scranton Pennsylvania. My sisters, Jean and Colleen, and I visited the Lake in 2008 which was 44 years after we had stayed there on a family vacation. Believe it or not it hardly changed. There were a few more houses and indoor plumbing arrived but aside from that not much changed. Many of the roads were still dirt roads. There were lots of empty lots. The pace was extremely slow and the neighborhood was filled with families with small children. The lake was in walking distance from everyone’s house or cottage. It was like going back in time almost Twilight Zone like.

The Summer of 1963 my dad rented a vacation cottage at Lake Chapman. All of my dad’s sisters and his brother lived in Scranton and several had rented houses at the lake as well. My Aunt Ann and Uncle Frank owned a real log cabin at the lake. The cottage we rented was at the end of Jay Street nestled right next to the woods. Although the cottage was small we managed to sleep 6 children and 4 adults. I slept on a hammock on the porch! One of my dad’s best friends Jackie Gitch and his wife Dot stayed with us. They didn’t have any children but we had enough in our family to share. Mr. and Mrs. Gitch weren’t related to us but it didn’t stop us from calling them Uncle Jack and Aunt Dot. What the hell did we know we were just kids? My Uncle Jack was like a lumber jack. He was really big and lived in the woods by Lake Hopatcong. He had a pond with ducks and was a big game hunter. He had a knotty pine room with lots of rifles, hand guns and knives. There were heads of elk, deer, and moose on the walls. There was also a bearskin rug that Jack would tell everyone he fought and killed. He had scars on his chest he would show you to prove it. I believed that tale until age 17 when my dad told me the scars were from WWII and not a bear. Somehow telling me that didn’t change my opinion of Jack as a matter of fact it may have enhanced it. One of Jack’s talents was he could really draw well. He would be eating breakfast at the table and sketch pictures of Woody Wood Pecker, the Roadrunner and Coyote. Stuff like that…it was so cool. One day while walking back from the lake I asked Jack about his tattoos. He told me he got them when he was in the Navy. He asked me if I wanted one? I said sure but I didn’t think my dad would be OK with that. Jack said “trust me it will be ok.” So when we got back to the cottage Jack asked his wife, Dot, for a special pencil. Dot routed around in her purse and pulled out this pencil. Jack asked me what I wanted and where. He made some suggestions and I decided on a destroyer ship on my chest. It took a really long time and I had to be very still but finally he finished. I went and looked into the mirror and couldn’t believe how cool I looked. This was like Christmas Morning to me. I had a real tattoo of a ship on my chest…awesome! Jack was right too my dad thought it was just fine. As the week went on and the more and more I went into the lake the more faded the tattoo became but I didn’t care I still liked it.

I learned to drive that summer. My dad taught me on a car he bought for my cousin Robbie. It was a late 50’s French Peugeot. A four speed on the column. My dad said it I could drive this car I could drive anything. He wasn’t kidding but he did teach me and I could drive it. There was virtually no traffic there and all the roads were dirt so I really couldn’t do much damage. This was the best summer ever. I learned to drive and got a tattoo!!

Every day we all went swimming at the lake with my brother, sisters and 12 cousins and every night we had cook outs and my mom had her stereo on the porch blasting Irish and Scotch tunes to the neighborhood. Sometimes during the day we would all go and pick blackberries and raspberries in the fields and bring them back to my aunts, Agnes and Ellen. Those berries turned into pies in no time at all. I think Agnes and Ellen made pies every day! Wow was this the best summer or what?

Most of the people at the lake all seemed to know one another and if a mom or dad needed go home and get or do something other parents would offer to watch their kids. Parenting seemed to be a shared responsibility between other parents. Ironically when we went back for a visit in 2008 parents were still watching neighbors kids. I could hardly believe that sharing of responsibility exists today but it does at a small family lake in Pennsylvania, Lake Chapman.

My Uncle John

MY UNCLE JOHN

My mom came from a large Irish Catholic Family. She had two brothers and five sisters. Her two brothers ran the family business, Flaherty’s Tavern in Jersey City. My grandfather, Barney, build the establishment on the corner of Bostwick and Ocean with money he saved from his bootlegging operations in Montreal. The bar was a classic mahogany with etched glass and brass. The ceiling was tin and the walls were covered with pictures of race horses, jockeys and boxers. The entrance and patio area was done in classic glass block and the floor tiles were the small green, black and white. There wasn’t a ladies room as women were not permitted in Taverns. They could have a drink on the patio if they liked but except for my mom and aunts I never saw any women there. The coolest thing in the bar was the old telephone booth. It had a two piece phone. The kind you have separate ear piece and mouth piece and the entire booth was made of wood. I can still remember the phone number DELeware 6524. There was a dartboard in the back room and a bumper pool table that was seldom used except to put betting slips into the holes at either end. Oh yea my Uncles were bookies did I fail to mention that?
Although New Jersey is a corrupt state, it pales in comparison to Jersey City which is the capital of corrupt. Everyone was on the payroll; the mayor’s office, chief of police, district attorney and most of the police. I worked at the Tavern the summer of 65 and every Saturday Night there was a poker game in the backroom. I waited on the same guys each week; the mayor, a judge, the chief of police, the district attorney a detective named Cunningham. They always tipped me a dollar a round and sometimes when I came in Sunday Morning to clean up they would still be playing. My uncle would lock them in the bar sometime after two in the morning.

My uncle would go in early on Mondays to clean the taps. He always entered the bar from the patio so he wasn’t so visible. On one of those Monday Mornings in 1965 two armed robbers lie waiting behind the garbage dumpster in the back of the patio and rushed the door as soon as my uncle open it. They pushed him through door at gun point and locked themselves inside. My uncle said the guy holding the gun on him was very nervous and was visibly shaking. My uncle tried to calm him down and asked him not to point the gun at him as my uncle wasn’t going to resist. John told them his insurance would cover his losses so there wasn’t any reason for anyone to do anything stupid. My uncle was worried I would show up for work and get involved so he wanted to get this over as soon as possible so that didn’t happen. The guys must have cased the place earlier as they knew right where the safe was and escorted my uncle to it. Actually everyone knew where the safe was as it couldn’t have been more visible. The four foot high pewter colored Fort Knox Safe was directly below the dartboard. My uncle got down on one knee and opened the door to the vault. The thieves hit the jackpot there were stacks of money. They tied my uncle to the safe, gagged him and left with their fortunes.

I arrived at the bar shortly after and let myself in through the patio door as usual. The bar was especially quiet. I thought my uncle was downstairs hooking up the taps. I went into the storage room to get the mop and I heard noise coming from the back room. I peeked around the bar to see what it was. I didn’t see John right away as the tables and chairs blocked my view but I did hear him. At first I thought he slipped and fell but then I saw the gag and ran towards him to untie him. “Uncle John, Uncle John are you ok” I shouted. “I’m fine just help me up”. John’s hands were tied behind his back and to the safe door. I untied him and helped him to his feet. He told me what had happened and phoned the police. While we waited for the police I questioned my Uncle on how much money they got away with and my Uncle laughed. “Uncle John how could you laugh about getting robbed?” My uncle then escorted me to the basement where the beer kegs and wine barrels were. In one corner there was two 40 gallon wine barrels on the floor with another one stacked on top between the other two. The ceiling was low in the basements so the wine barrel on top was a tight fit. My uncle made a fist and cracked open the top wine barrel. The lid folded in half as it was apparently hinged. Inside the wine barrel was all the money! My uncle then explained that the Fort Knox safe upstairs was a decoy and the money inside was counterfeit. The bills were all marked and traceable so who ever robbed them would probably be caught. I asked John how the money got into the wine barrel and he swore me to secrecy and then explained that the liquor cabinet that was always locked because it housed the expensive single malt scotch also had a hole in the corner that dropped directly into the wine barrel. I said. “Wow Uncle John you’re pretty smart.” John then explained that he couldn’t take credit for the ruse as it was my grandfather who had the bar set up like this from day one. I never had the pleasure of meeting my grandfather as he passed before I was born but I wish I had. I think he must have been a lot like my Uncle John!

Kelley's Triumph 250

KELLEY’S TRIUMPH 250
Was there anyone within a three mile radius of Farms Circle Road that didn’t ride or ride on Kelley’s Triumph Trophy? Answer absolutely not! Did anyone have a license that rode it? Answer no way! And what were the magic words necessary to ride this Triumph…..”Paul could I have a ride?” Yes Paul Kelley believed everyone should experience the same feeling of freedom that he did motoring on two wheels. He was a one man ambassador introducing motorcycles to all his friends! Of course few did ever feel the same wicked passion he did fortunately I didn’t fall into that group. I was addicted from the first ride.

Paul would ride the bike from Farms Circle to my house on Lois Avenue and let Tom Selvaggio, Donny Hansen and I take turns riding it. We were all about 12 and we would ride through the neighborhood and in the woods behind my house. The guys that were waiting to ride the bike would always shout out to the guy riding it that the police were coming. This was a ruse to get you to stop so someone else could take their turn. It never worked but it didn’t stop us from trying. One day while Tom was riding the bike the police really did come and of course he got caught riding it without a helmet or license. The officer asked him where he got the bike. No answer. He then ran the plate that was on the bike and asked if there was a Paul Kelley present. Paul didn’t answer and the office said if no one claimed the bike he was having it towed. Paul then said, “I think it’s mine”. He asked Paul if he had the registration and that’s when Paul confessed the plate didn’t belong to the bike it was the plate on the back of his father’s hot dog stand. That seemed to confuse the officer and he decided to take Tom and Paul to the police station. He placed Tom and Paul in the back seat of the police car and continued to get numbers off the bikes motor and frame. He asked if was ok to leave the bike at my house and so long as we had the keys I was ok with that. For whatever reason Tom and Kelley were laughing so hard in the back of the police car they had fogged up all the windows. The cop had to defrost them before he took off. I drove the bike over to Paul’s house and told him mom what happened. Sure enough Paul called her a few minutes later to get a ride home. They just gave him a slap on the wrist, no fines, penalties, no penance. We figured it must have been one of the neighbors complaining. But we did all learn a lesson that day…sometimes when the guys are telling you the cops are coming they are!
Just a few days later I was riding the bike and a police car began to chase me on Merrill Avenue. He followed me all the way up to Memorial School but it was getting dark and I didn’t have the lights on so I was losing him when the bike started to sputter and I ran out of gas. I went to switch the reserve tank on to find out I was already on reserve. I was so pissed I was always running out of gas on Paul’s bike but the timing couldn’t be worse. I pushed the bike as fast as I could into the back yard of the closest house. I was ducked down behind these hedges with the bike on the ground. The cop was driving by with his cherry on and the spot light searching for me. All I could think was they would probably take Paul’s bike this time on account of me. That couldn’t happen I would feel like total shit. I felt so relieved as the black and white drove right past the house. I was still a little shaky so I stayed down waiting for the cop to be out of sight when all of a sudden I felt this hand on my back and a voice asking me if that cop was looking for me. I’m lucky I didn’t wet myself. Just when I thought I was home free it appeared I was gonna be turned in. I turned around and looked up as the stranger behind me only to realize he wasn’t a stranger. It was Mr. Florick a teacher and Soccer Coach at East Brunswick High School and more importantly a friend of my dad’s. He asked me if I wanted to come in for a while to wait for the cop to leave. Great idea I thought. He never asked me why the cop was chasing me. He even gave me some gas to get home and to my knowledge never told my dad. I never had Mr. Florick as a teacher or coach but I always wished I had!

SUMMER OF SIXTY FOUR
FAMILY COOK OUTS

The summer of 1964 was flush with sounds from your transistor radio. The Beatles were at the top of the charts with “I Want to Hold Your Hand” followed closely by the Animals “House of the Rising Sun”. There was a plethora of good sounds that rocked the summer; Beach Boys “I Get Around”, The Drifters “Under the Boardwalk”, The Kinks, “You Really Got Me”, Roy Orbison’s “Pretty Woman” and the infamous Zombies “She’s Not There”. Summers were always fun at 13 Lois Avenue in East Brunswick. We were one of the first families to have a high fidelity stereo. It was as big as a suitcase and had speakers attached to both ends that could be separated. You could listen to Cousin Brucie on WABC AM Radio or the great late night host of WNEW FM Allison Steele “The Night Bird”. It also came with a turn table for 45 singles or 78 albums. This latest and greatest piece of technology was fired up at 7 AM in the morning and went well into the night. That stereo had a permanent position in the kitchen window speakers facing the back yard!

We had an above ground pool that was set up every summer and over utilized by my four sisters, my brother, me and a myriad of friends. It was nice to be able to cool off on those hot and humid Jersey Days. Most of our relatives lived in Jersey City and many of them would drive to the country (East Brunswick) for the summer weekends. Our house was like party central every weekend. We had 24 cousins on my mother’s side of the family and I swore some weekends they were all there. My dad would always grill hot dogs, hamburgers and chicken on the charcoal Weber Grill. My mom would make a big salad and cook corn on the cob. There was, of course, lottsa cold beer to cool off the adults. There may have been a few stray beers liberated by some of the teenagers. There was always a lot of singing along with the radio or specific albums. My mom loved music, all music. There weren’t many parents back then that appreciated Rock & Roll. My mom loved it. She particularly enjoyed Sam Cooke and she played his music so much that my sisters, brother and I all knew every word to every song he ever recorded. I think half the neighborhood did as well. To this day I remember the words.

Some nights my dad would make a bond fire and throw in a bunch of potatoes wrapped up in aluminum foil. He called them hot taders. He would leave them in the fire for almost an hour and then pull them out and serve with butter, pepper and chives. They were always the best potatoes! I liked eating them outside at the picnic table watching all the fire flies in the woods. It was always so much fun having so many cousins, uncles and aunts over. Many of them would stay over and god knows where we all slept. Three to a bed I think. Life seemed so much simpler back then, I wouldn’t mind going back for a weekend or two!

The Coke Caper

THE COKE CAPER

During 1964 Khrushchev is replaced as Communist Party leader, Lyndon Johnson crushes Barry Goldwater as presidential nominee, Beatlemania sweeps the nation, Martin Luther King wins the Nobel Peace Prize, New York hosts the World’s Fair, Cassius Clay beat Sonny Liston and sadly none of these historical events had any influence on me or my friends in the 7th grade. Summer was over and we had started back at Churchill Junior High School. Seventh grade was radically different from all grades previous as you had 6 or 7 different teachers and changed class about every 45 minutes or so. I liked it much better. It broke up the day by giving everyone a hall break at least 6 times a day where you could have a few words with you buds that weren’t in your class. Also your chances of getting teachers you liked improved and if you didn’t like one or two well you only had to put up with them for 45 minutes each rather than the entire day. Miss Lipman was our Spanish teacher and by far was my personal favorite. Don’t get me wrong it wasn’t like I enjoyed Spanish or anything she was just really hot. I’m sure there were lottsa other 7th grade boys that had crushes on Miss Lipman not to mention Mr. Eppilido one of the gym teachers. The fact still remains that I was the only one who patted her ass in a bikini at Seaside Heights that summer. I was convinced she liked it! Hey I was an outta control hormonal teenager! Didn’t mean to get off there on a tangent back to the story.

Lois Park where I grew up was just a block from our high school so we always used to play ball on the fields there. One day in September while playing baseball on the field next to the football field we observed this panel truck driving up to the football field. The driver stopped at the gates and opened them with a key. He then proceeded into the area surrounding the field and stopped at the snack shop. This really got our attention as we stopped playing ball and spied on guy delivering canister after canister of coke. Enough to satisfy stands full of thirsty football fans. There didn’t seem to be a lock on the snack shop just the one on the entrance gate. The keen minds of 7th graders were at work. We figured we’d head up there around dusk and sneak onto the field behind the home grandstands where we had cut a line in the chain link fence last year. This way we could go to all the home games free.

There were six highly trained burglars involved in this caper; Tom and Pat Selvaggio, Joe Willis, Donny Hansen, my brother Kevin and I. We went through the woods across from Schaborder’s Farm passing all the fields back through the woods behind the Home Grand Stands. About two thirds the way down we found our magic door and all slipped through under the bleachers. It was getting dark so it would be difficult for anyone to see us. It was only about 30 yards from the beginning of the bleachers to the snack shack so in our best “I Spy” fashion we advanced to the target. Once there we just opened the unlocked door and helped ourselves to 3 or 4 canisters. They were much heavier than we expected and cumbersome. One guy really couldn’t carry one of them too far. We barely made it back to the bleachers. Huffing and puffing we were out of breath and excited we made it this far but realizing how much further we had to go we needed a better was to carry these lead torpedoes. We decided the best way was for one guy to shoulder the front and the other guy to shoulder the back. Kevin and Joe paired up as did Donny and Pat which left Tom and I to carry the third and fourth canister. By the time we reached the dugouts we were exhausted and needed water break. From the dugout to Cranberry Road was like traveling another football field and by the time we got there we were dragging these canisters over the humps on the path. We did have the cover of darkness now and were excited realizing we were in the home stretch and we actually pulled this off. We crossed the road and ran into the safety of the woods. The Woods was like an extension of our back yards. We knew every inch of the territory and had many forts built to defend this precious property. We could celebrate now we were home free! You would have thought we just robbed The Heritage Savings Bank the way we acted. We put all the canisters in my parents garage as it was the closest and we didn’t want to carry them any further. We closed the garage door so no one could see us and marveled at out treasure. It wasn’t until that moment we realized we didn’t have a tap for the highly pressurized canisters. So we improvised by sticking a screw driver into the valve and aiming it into our mouths. We actually did that for a couple of days until we got a beer tap from Chets and could actually poor soda. We shared our good fortune with all our friends! We were Coked up for months!! There’s nothing like the free taste of Coke!!!