This past summer I spent a considerable amount of time golfing, although what I do may not actually be considered “golf” except in the broadest definition.
I had contacted a friend to play golf with me, set up a tee time and had everything arranged. The night before we were supposed to go out and play golf, I received a phone call from him stating that he couldn't make it because he had to take his 11-year-old son on a “play date.” This play date consisted of he and his son picking up his son's friend, going to McDonald's and then going to the movies.
Now, I learned how to play when I was young. No one taught me. No one arranged play dates for my friends and me. We just got together and played. Mostly outside.
The only time we played inside was during inclement weather. (Read: Thunderstorms that would float Noah's Ark with no problem; blizzards that would make the Inuit seek shelter in Florida, etc.) Play dates? We didn't need no stinking play dates! Left to our own devices and imaginations, we were free to play. It was the law of being a kid. You played, and you stayed outside while you played, and you didn't ask your parents to arrange for someone to come and play with you!
Okay, now that the ranting is over, I'll get to the meat of this column: Concord play in '63 B.C. (Before Computers).
The best time to play was Saturday. It was a given free day – no homework, no going to church – only early-morning chores and then FREEDOM TO PLAY. Play time lasted most of the day and went something like this: Wake up, grab a bowl of Cheerios without milk, plop down in front the TV and watch “Boomtown” until 8 or so, watch some other cartoon until 9ish and then go out to play. Well, after the following scripted dialogue with my father.
Dad: “What are you going to do today?”
Me: “Go out and play.”
Dad: “With who and where?”
Me: “Everyone and upstreet and then to the movies”
Dad: “How come there's no milk in your cereal bowl?”
Me: “I used powdered.”
Before he could process this, I was out the door and on my way, meeting up with various and sundry friends along the way to upstreet. For those of you unfamiliar with “upstreet,” a brief definition is in order: Going upstreet or downstreet meant that you were heading uptown. Upstreet usually indicated either going in a northerly direction or climbing a hill. Downstreet meant you were heading south or going down a hill. Both directions had the inevitable endpoint of downtown. You went either upstreet or downstreet to go downtown. There was no uptown downtown. And on your way back, the terms upstreet and downstreet were moot because at that point you were just going home. But I digress.
As I said, Saturday mornings were spent outside, heading for downtown to get stuff from the stores prior to ending up at the movies at 1 o'clock or so. You took your allowance, any change you could scrounge from cashing in bottles and any other money you may be able to mooch off your parents and went out for the day. No real plans etched in stone, with the exception of going upstreet and to the movies. Money was pided between two pockets, right hand pocket – movie money, left hand pocket – buy stuff money. Never, ever did you mix the two!
As we walked en masse (usually 10 or so neighborhood buddies), plans for doing stuff upstreet began to take shape. First stop was the local Mom-and-Pop store, which in my neighborhood was Frank's Market, to get something to eat for your trek. After all, it was almost a half mile to our destination, and one needed to maintain stamina and endurance for the day's activities. Twenty-five cents worth of penny candy would sustain one's energy level for quite some time, which was especially necessary for contests like who could shout the loudest, who could walk the curb the longest without falling off and other feats of one gunmanship. I never won any of these, by the way.
We knew we were close to our destination when we saw Mickey Finn's Army and Navy Store and Western Auto, both requisite stops to check out things we would buy when we were older and had jobs. From there it was on to the Sterling CutRite for God knows what. At age 10, anything new and shiny that would fit in a pocket and cost less than a quarter was worth buying.
At this point of the uptown safari, we would split up according to age. It was just not right for the 12-year-olds to be seen with their younger siblings and friends, especially in the throng of people that were in downtown Concord on a Saturday morning.
Stores beckoned us, knowing that we had money to burn! There was J.J. Newberry's with it's 45's selection for 79 cents. Albums were $2.99 or so, and when we were older, we were going to buy them, too, right after the hub spinners and inflatable rafts and a hi-fi that doubled as furniture. From there, we'd venture down to THOCO Sporting Goods, where someone would inevitably end up buying a single arrow for some unknown reason. My belief is that since the Robin Hood TV series was on most nights, it was subliminally suggested to us that an arrow would be a prudent and wise purchase. Didn't matter if we didn't have a bow with which to use it. It was better to be prepared.
Across the street was the mother lode! Kresge's and Woolworths, both five and dime stores where nothing could be bought for either a nickel or a dime. But there was stuff! Lots of stuff. More stuff than you could shake a stick at! And you could even buy a stick to shake! Though even we thought that would be stupid. If only we had known that sticks would someday be classified as a toy.
Woolworth's was the final stop of the day before heading to the movies. Here we would walk around, pick up stuff and price stuff for future purchases. (My mom cornered the “Evening in Paris” perfume market thanks to my wise consumer savvy, knowing that a quart of it for $1.99 was a fantastic deal.) And then on to the exotic animal collection of canaries, goldfish and turtles. A turtle a week seemed to be the norm. They would mostly stay still in your pocket while you were at the movies.
We would end up at the lunch counter, buying a hot dog plate and splitting it three ways so we could tell our parents that we didn't just eat junk food. At that point, we'd start the southward trip to either the Concord Theater or Capitol Theater, based on the following criteria: What the movie was, whether we had enough for a Disney movie, whether the balcony would be open, where the older people in our group were going and whether there was a double feature.
After the movies, we would again join forces as a collective mob and make our way home, discussing the merits of Cinemascope, why it's not a good thing to put a turtle in your back pocket and forget about it, how one could make a bow from a Yew tree like the Penacook Indians did and how we forgot Debbie at Woolworths.
Yep. Saturdays circa 1963 were fun, spontaneous and, to a 10 year old, the most amazing adventure you could have before being hauled off to bicycle court!
Play dates? We didn't need no stinking play dates!
Kevin Trottier
