A RESTLESS FAMILY

When I started the first Post of this blog, I mentioned that I had an unusual childhood. I also noted that my memory of those childhood years was acute. It is well known that long term memory remains strong as one grows older. Even so, my own memory of those early years of my life is very acute. One contributing factor was that my mother was very restless. As a result, during the first seventeen years of my life, we lived in thirteen different locations in Saranac Lake, and I remember incidents from all of them except the location on Bloomingdale Ave., where I was an infant.

At various intervals, during those seventeen years, my siblings joined the family. I am now going to relate a series of incidents which occurred in my life, many of which indicated a highly imaginative mind.

The first vivid memory I have is of something that happened when I was two, and we lived on Marshall St. I can still visualize the scene. Ma and Pa were having coffee at the kitchen table, and the percolator was standing there on the table with its cord in extended across the floor in a loop to a socket. I tripped over the cord and the boiling hot coffee spilled on my bare leg. I remember searing pain, screaming and my father jumping up to run and get the Ungentine. The other vivid recollection is seeing three large blisters on the front of my leg. My dad put on the salve, and that's the extent of that recollection.

From Marshall St., we moved down the road and around the corner to a location on Pine St. We lived next to the LaPoint family, a member of whom (Rita) became a classmate. This is my memory of Pine St.: Pa was driving an Essex at the time, and I decided to play a little "gas station." I poured some "fuel" (a quart of water) in Pa's gas tank. Of course, his car started coughing and stopped soon after he got downtown. I freely confessed. (Age 4)

The next family move was to the little village of Bloomingdale, five miles away. I turned five in May, and since there was no Kindergarten in those days, I entered the first grade in Bloomingdale Union School. There were twelve kids in my class, which was presided over by Miss Grace Newell. A couple of recollections. Miss Newell heard me use the word s--t on the playground, and summoned my mother to the school. There I was made to recite the naughty epithet for my mother, who had a hard time containing herself (she had a pretty salty vocab.)
She left me to Miss Newell's tender mercies. She ordered me to sit in a chair facing her, while she administered my punishment. She said: "Hold out your right hand with the palm up." I did so, and she raised her hand slowly and gave me one ceremonial slap! For a moment, I stared at her eyes, and then let out an expected yowl. (It really didn't hurt at all.)

We didn't stay in B'dale long. We moved back to Saranac to an upstairs appartment at 235 1/2
Broadway. This was 1935, and my sister Rosie joined us as an infant. Soon after her birth, she contracted pneumonia, and came close to leaving us. But she made it! At this time, I went to the 2nd grade in the Broadway School. That was where one day, after school, Charley Shaw punched me in the nose and gave me a phenomenal nosebleed. I went home, looking like as though I had been mortally wounded. We ended up in front of the Superintendant of Schools, H.V. Littell, who smoothed things over. I remember his solemn demeanor and hearing him use the expression, "In your opinion..."

Residence #5 at 14 Pontiac...sort of "across town" from Upper Broadway. At that residence, I was entered into the 3rd St. Bernard's Parochial School, which had Sisters of Mercy as teachers.
I remember all of my teachers vividly except this first one. I believe she was Sister Alexis. My principal trauma at this time was walking to school. I began to be accosted on my
way to school by one particular kid who lived out on a street nicknamed "Rat St." His name was Billy Demming and it seemed that all he had to do was look at me - and my fear-stricken face - and he was seized with an irresistible urge to punch me. This meant that my daily walks to school became circuitous...through a lot of store backyards, ever on the lookout for Bill Demming, my leering tormentor. During the 3rd grade, when we were lined up it was in alphabetical order. This placed me (Klein) directly in back of Frank Lezak, who was constantly dumping in his drawers, which kept me walking behind him in a constant miasma. Those olfactory memories linger! Oh! One last important thing... It was at this time, when I was living at Pontiac St. and in the third grade that a neighborhood kid whose last name was Nason gave me my first lessons about sex. He told the that a man and woman did this "thing" together with their sex organs which created a baby. He said that the baby started as a little ball and gradually grew to be a real baby. I was thoroughly confused, because I thought that whatever they were doing together was instantly forming this little growing ball. I was confused and said so; I said I couldn't see how this could happen. He said to me: "Ask the priest, if you don't believe me..." which I had no intention of doing. Early sex education, bah!

Presently, it was time to move again; this time to an upstairs apartment at 63 River St., which was right next to the municipal beach! What a great location. This is where I learned to swim, and I can still remember the exact time I did the "dead man's float!" From hence it was a brief move to the dog paddle, and I started swimming in the water on the deep side of the dock.

It was at that time, I had a real brush with possible tragedy. As I was paddling along the dock, someone pushed a girl off the dock and she landed on me and she threw her arms around me! I recall the panic of having her forcing me down over my head, where I sucked in a considerable amount of water! When I escaped, I ran crying to the beach, where the lifeguard, Wally Herron was chatting with - of all people - a village official. I ran up to him sobbing "I almost drowned!"
As soon as the village guy left, Wally jumped all over me, bawling me out for making him look bad! I went home and that night told Pa what happened and he sought out Wally Herron and blistered him!

At this time, I was in the 5th grade. One day, I was standing under the swings, drying myself with a towel and I had an idea which was: " I'm going to make myself remember this one moment for the rest of my life!" - Just to see if I could do it (I haven't forgotten it yet!"

Sister Purification was my 5th grade teacher, and she was a sourpuss. One day, three of us were at the soda fountain at the Hotel (Saranac) and the woman who made our milkshakes asked us if we knew Sister Purification. We unloaded, telling her what a pill Sister P. was. Don't you know, she was Sister Purification's sister?!. The upshot was that the three of us had to apologize ON OUR KNEES to Sister P. (I should have noticed! The soda woman had a sour puss just like Sister P's!!

I'd be remiss if I didn't mention that 63 River St. was where we got out piano, and I started piano lessons. I also had the distinction of falling into the nearby icy water on an Easter Sunday not once, but TWICE - each time bedecked in a different set of fancy Easter Sunday clothes. (You could hear my mother's screaming for miles!)

Time to move again! This time to 8 1/2 Lake Flower Ave. By this time, Rosie had beautiful blonde hair. I took her in a closet and gave her a "haircut" with a pair of scissors. My Ma screamed even louder. I used to hang out with a kid who lived across the street named Charley Sporck. Charley and I had the same types of imagination. I remember the time he put some very gooey bicycle shellac on the knob of his brother Chris's stick shift in his car. Chris, who called Charley "Superbeast" chased him down and painted his head with that same shellac.
(Charley went on to become an extremely wealthy person.)

Once again, it was time to move. This time to 26 River St., right next to St. Bernard and the nuns' convent. It was there that I had a strange accident, which led to very serious complications. Between my house and the school was the school flag post. It was a wooden pole, with two pieces of log stuck in the ground on either side of the flagpole to serve as braces.
The tops of the log/braces were slightly slanted. Slightly above was a hook sticking out of the pole around which the rope to raise the flag was wound. I was standing with one foot on each brace, sort of lolly-gagging with my arms around the flagpole when one of my feet accidentally slipped off. This caused the rope hook to give my right armpit a violent "twang." I didn't realize how much damage I had done to myself until I went home and Ma told me to take off my shirt so she could wash the "scrape." To our horror, we discovered that I had torn my armpit open, and the tear looked sort of like a gaping mouth. We immediately went downtown to see Dr. Murphy
who stitched up my wound. And that's when the trouble began! Dr. Murphy decided to give me a shot to forestall tetanus poisoning. At that time, they were using what was called "horse serum." They have long since stopped using this stuff. Dr. Murphy injected a bit to see if I would have a reaction. I didn't so he injected a full syringe. By the time I got home, I was covered with hives. He came to the house and gave me a shot of adrenlin chloride (I think.) The reaction continued for two full weeks and was quite severe with many other symptoms, such as fever and terribly achy joints! Other things happened at 26 River Street!

The kitchen stove had a coal fire. Every the experimenter, one night while Ma and Pa were in the living room, I conducted an experiment with the stove. I removed one of the stove lids and was curious to see what would happen if I poured some olive oil on the hot coals. Naturally, I bent over the opening to see. Something between a "boom" and a "whoosh" suddenly happened. Although my face wasn't seriously burned, my eyebrows, lashes and some hair were exrensively singed. My folks were listening to the radio (probably somebody like Jack Benny) and they didn't hear the muffled explosion. ( I can't remember how I explained my newly bizarre appearance.)

At this time, I was an altar boy and often served mass. Since we lived right next to the nuns' convent, I often served mass there. One day, attired in my cassock and surplice, just before the mass started I had the urge to go to the toilet. I knew where it was and hurried right up to the door and yanked it open. There, seated on the toilet was one of the sisters. I was shocked beyond belief. I had never realized they did things like that!

During this years I spent a lot of time at our wonderful municipal beach. Even the bath house was an entertaining place. My friends and I found some convenient knot holes between the boys' and girls' sections, which enabled us to conduct surreptitious but serious studies of female anatomy. I still remember a day that I spent one bright summer's day at the beach. It was a day that I became hungry and had a sudden desire to eat some dates. I went down to Charley Green's grocery store and charged a pound of dates to the family account. (...that was naughty)
I returned to the beach and the hot sun with the dates, which I consumed in their entirety. (I mark that day as the one on which I developed a lifelong aversion to dates.)

You guessed it...time to move again! This time isn't too far away. Sort of cross lot; the lot being the St. Bernard's playground. To 26 1/2 Church St. This time, it was a large house, the upstairs of which was rented to a reporter (for the Syracuse paper) and his girlfriend. Needless to say, Ma was scandalized by the thought of these two people - living in sin - right over our heads. It was at 26 1/2 where brother John arrived in the world. It was at this address where I expressed a desire to get a new bike, and Ma thereupon taught me a valuable lesson. I was to get a brand new bike from Montgomery-Ward (cost: $21.00) pay for it with a paper route. I thereupon got a paper route that had 21 customers, spread over a five mile route. For that effort, I made $ 1.5o a week, which I dutifully gave to Ma, and she took care of the payments. It was at this time that I ran out of grades at St. Bernards (it only went to 8th grade.) I remember my last three teachers vividly: 6th - Sr. Helena (always seemed overworked;) Sister Bernardine (funny as a crutch and a blast for all!) AND Sr. Roberta (also the Principal) whose feelings for me can be expressed in three words: SHE LOATHED ME! I still can't understand this. I was such a sweet kid!

Anyway, it was at this time that I entered Saranac Lake High School in the 9th grade, where I set new low standards for "not living up to one's abilities..." I just wanted to have a good time, and most of my teachers bored me. When I had a course that interested me, I did just fine. I flunked four subjects: Plane Geometry, Intermediate Algebra, Physics and Chemistry and Ma was having a fit that I would not get the mythically invaluable Regents Diploma. (Somehow, I got it...) Later, when I became a teacher, I began to understand why so many of own teachers seemed distraught. My greatest worry (as a pedagogue) was that I might encounter a kid like myself...