58 Steel Street - Mike Ringwood
58 STEEL STREET
This is our original neighborhood. Like all good neighborhoods, it was more than a house. It was more than home. It was a backyard and all those adjoining back yards on the block, none obstructed by fences. Its beginning was move in day. At that time, the family was barely underway consisting of Joanie, Red, Nancy, Michael & Patty. Its epilogue was earmarked by a fabulous neighborhood party hosted by the Donovans. The Mohan family, who purchased our Steel Street home, were invited. I spent the better part of that party- at age 10 - in the Donovan basement, dancing with Joanne Mohan (one year my senior).
Sandwiched between those two events were, the house, the Y-field, the neighbors, Doan’s Grocery, Mattie Street Dairy Store; safe and comfortable, nothing ostentatious, almost no garages, tree lined streets, sidewalks - some made from slabs of slate, others with poured concrete with the imprint of the paver placed while still setting; this was our first real home. We learned every crack or hole on sidewalk or in street to avoid when walking or riding bikes.
Most of the homes (including ours) were two-story, single family, wooden structures with full attics, full basements and front porches. Picture the scene. It was ours back in the S0's and 60's. Dad would pull into the paved driveway adjacent to our house, driving our only car - the company car available to him in his capacity as a young salesman employed by Red Star Express Lines. The car I recall best was a beauty - a light blue four door Chevy with sleek curved rear wings. Had there been a second vehicle available- for the most part an unheard luxury in this neighborhood- it would have gone unused for many years. Mom had no license until year later. Were this a typical summer day, there would have been activity on the porch and in the back yard. Quite possibly the original kiddie pool would have been out, on and at the far end of the driveway. I remember the pool fondly. My belly remembers it painfully. The contraption was a simple but sturdy steel framed rectangle draped with some type of dark green rubberized vinyl. It could not have been more than ten inches deep once filled by the garden hose. There it stood, resting on a bare asphalt driveway. I can vividly recall actually diving - belly smackers - into that pool, over and over again, my belly slapping down on that vinyl draped square of asphalt. There are pictures!
Were I to return today (and I should) I'm certain the yard is a modest affair. To the eyes of this little boy it was huge. There was a huge tree, likely a maple just past and to the right of the driveway. It was full of squirrels and birds. The picnic table and charcoal grill were always nearby, always shaded so nicely by the tree. As vivid memories go, the great tree provides one or two or three.
One was an initial visit by the Katz family. Nancy Katz - Aunt TT to us kids - was Joanie's big sister. She, her husband Sam and their children, Ruth and David, lived in Atlantic City, NJ, another locale which would provide for some special vacations. David Katz was reasonably close to me in age so naturally we would spend time together. He was rather excitable and apparently had never before encountered a squirrel. On this visit as we tramped about in the back yard, squirrels were running about high in the branches above. Their sound, hardly noticed by me, startled David to no end. I explained what these animals were. He seemed not to believe me. The look in his eyes, simultaneous with the sounds of the movements above, made it clear that he feared an attack. As I laughed, he ran screaming back into the house.
That same tree, via an attached 2 X 6 served as one anchor for the clothes line. The clothes line worked very well to hold up Danny Donovan's Army tent, used from time to time for sleep outs. The tree also proved wide enough and strong enough for our big iron school bell. Yes, an honest to goodness school bell. Identical to those bells with frame, pulley system and rope seen up in the roof lines of one room school houses from the past. Its function at the Ringwood home on Steel Street had no educational purpose. It was our l 950's version of the cell phone_. When it was time to assemble at home, usually for dinner, someone was directed to "ring the bell", and we did. Its peal could be heard throughout and beyond the block all through the Y-field playground as far as Swift Street. We all knew and understood its meaning as did all the other neighbors. I laugh to picture myself sitting on the playground bench waiting my turn at tether ball, Nancy playing jacks at a nearby picnic table, Patty swinging on the swing set. Consistent with the sound we'd begin our run or bike ride home to the chorus of other playground chums serenading us with ... "Ringwood’s ... it's time for dinner".
In the northeast corner of our yard there was a small wooden storage type structure. We called it "the shed house". Why, I don't know, but there is some vague memory spiking in my head suggesting that it was the place we'd be taken for a whipping when bad. No such event ever took place. The lawn mower and other tools were kept inside. It was not a place for play. It did serve as my one and only test of the jumping attributes associated via television commercials for "P.F. Flyers" - a new brand of canvas sneakers (all sneakers were canvas). In the commercial, a cartoon like figure laced on a pair of P.F. Flyers and promptly jumped over a single-story building. Yes, it's true. I tried. More pain. Then again, I was the same kid taking full repetitive belly dives into ten inches of water on a driveway surface!!
At the southeast corner, there was a tired little swing set. I suspect its presence predated our moved into the house. There were other similar swing sets in most of the adjoining yards. With a huge municipal playground - The Y-Field - just down the street and consuming half of the entire city block, we did not much need a swing set.
My memories of that yard are many and they are vivid. First and foremost is "The Wall". Famous when built and infamous after we moved (given that it fell over). The wall was a concrete block/brick structure built completely by my Dad, Red Ringwood. I watched with true fascination as Dad threw himself into this construction project. The cement was mixed at the end of the driveway. A spade shovel pierced the bags of cement powder. The ex-marine dumped the bag into a wheel barrel, mixed in water from the garden hose and stirred the contents into a thick gray mud. Back and forth I'd walk with my Dad to and from the center of the yard where he had laid out this concrete wall dividing our back yard into two distinct sections. It served as the framing for his garden of roses. Under no circumstance could I have been of any help to Dad on this project. No doubt I talked his ear off. No doubt Joanie was busy with a baby or two and probably carrying another. Knowing the satisfaction I feel when completing labor intensive
projects in my own beautiful yard, I choose to source it all back to "the Wall" and my Dad mixing cement, troweling it into place as the concrete blocks were positioned, trimming the top and sidewalks with red brick, digging the flower bed, planting the roses and enjoying their beauty, fragrance and velveteen feel. For us kids the wall was much, much more. A place to traverse across the top, to crouch behind at hide and seek, a spot to
spread towels while we ran through the water sprinkler, a bleacher for spectators while we played football games. I liked "the Wall". It yielded fun for kids and fresh cut roses for Mom. When we heard that it fell over, I laughed. Dad had not sunk it down into the subsurface. Imagine. It just sat there for years resting on its own weight on level ground.
The house itself was our interior playground. A large window from the living room looked out onto the porch. The front door opened into an open room with an open stairway to the second floor and partially opened ceiling. From the second-floor hallway, you could look down over the rail to that entry room below.
This room from below was particularly useful for tossing things up high. The best device for tossing would be a nylon stocking stuffed with a sock or two. The funnier memory is of the nylon stockings. Apparently, their usefulness as ladies hose was over. From that point, each nylon had graduated to stocking caps worn each night by the girls, pulled over their heads to hold their curlers in place. Quite the site. Again, there are pictures. These were our pre-histories, well in advance of hairdryers and curling irons. That same two story area is also the site of an evening (actually a few minutes) of terror. One evening Mom and Dad were out, likely entertaining clients. We were being watched by a baby-sitter. I think it was one of the "Duffy" girls from down the street. It might have been one of the "Zentner" girls (wow, they were pretty) from around the block. In any event, Nancy, Patty and I were pulled from our beds and our sleep by visiting boy fiends and girlfriends. They dangled us over the second-floor handrail. We just screamed in fear. It felt like a lifetime. I suspect it was a matter of seconds and while I feared a long drop were they to let me go, in reality it was probably a few feet. Mom and Dad were informed the next day. I have no memory of any repercussions. I wonder if we were believed.
Forward of that open entry area with the stairs, was a hallway to the left of which was the mud room, side door out to the driveway and stairs down into the basement. Subject to confirmation from Joan, I have the sense that there was a matching servant's stairwell leading down into the kitchen.
During the Ringwood tenure at 59 Steel Street there were two kitchens. Sadly, my memory fails me with details as to the set-up when we first moved in. I believe it was one large room with a modest extension in the back to the right for laundry. All I am certain of is the presence of a back door leading out to the yard. That back door disappeared with the remodeling project.
Joanie and Red " modernized" the kitchen creating a work area divided from the eating area. Cabinets were new as were appliances. Windows for each section lined the wall on the north giving a view of the driveway and our next-door neighbor. (Her house was yellow. It had a beautiful stainedglass window and the roof line on our side grew the largest, longest and most dangerous icicles every winter).
My recall of kitchen activity on Steel Street is also lacking. There must have been many a noisy meal, time talking with Mom and helping with chores. I cannot pull them from the gigabytes of my brain. Hopefully sister Nancy can add some greater color. What I have to offer is limited. At Christmas time, Mom or Dad often seemed to have one of those hard candy wreaths. Attached to the wreath was a small scissors. It hung in the kitchen. During that holiday season and prior to bed there was a trip to the wreath for a sweet. Just one. I preferred the red/white mint. Last recall is during the remodeling project. It seemed as if the carpenters were always there when I woke up. Was I in school? Was it during the summer? Can't recall. What does remain are two smells - fresh sawed wood, and tangerines from the lunch box of the builder, Mr Netti. He shared, and I've always loved tangerines on three levels; size, skin and flavor. They were smaller than oranges and fit well in my hand. The tangerine skin was gently adherent to the fruit beneath. It was easy to pierce open without risking puncture into the body of the fruit. Soon you learned how to peel it off in a single section. Your reward was a circle of fruit wedges easy to divide with a flavor forever special to my taste buds.
From the back of the kitchen to the south side of the house were the remaining two rooms on the first floor - dining room and living room. There were no doors, just wide-open entries. Windows lined the south wall of each room giving us a view of the goings on next door where "The Nodzo's lived. For me the dining room was no more than a pass through to get quickly to the kitchen. The living room was where we spent time in play; spent time watching T.V., spent time ripping open gifts at Christmas, spent time during birthday parties, spent time with friends and relatives. I suspect much of my living room time was spent on the floor. This would explain how and why I remember no details of furnishing other than the rug. It was large, gray rectangle hook-rug. squares, with lines and shapes in maroon, yellow and blue. I stared at these shapes. Their geometry and repetition intrigued and please me. Could this be why art and architecture seems to be in my blood?
So, what happened in that living room during my tenure? I watched "The Ed Sullivan Show" and recall my parents watching a racy show entitled "Peyton Place". Football was on during winter weekends, golf in the summer. There is my Dad leaping out of his chair as a guy named Arnold Palmer, with knees locked together into his rather unique putting stance, dropped a putt to win again. There I am handing thirty-five cents over to my Dad (he took it too!!) having lost my bet that Jim Brown and the Cleveland Browns would beat the NY Giants.
Tom and I enjoyed playing "astronaut" in that room. I'd be John Glenn, He' d be Scott Carpenter. A comer up to the wall was our space capsule. My father' s folded caps out of his marine uniforms were worn on our heads once in orbit. I favored the tan lined cap leaving the dark scratchy wool cap to Tom. Otherwise, for blast off, football helmets were mandatory. Picture the scene, our backs on the floor, our legs resting up the wall line, towels behind each head, counting down… 10, 9, 8, … to blast-off. Mom must have loved this. All I know is that Tom and I orbited earth more times than any of the real astronauts.
I can see "Hannah", Grandpa John's second wife, sitting in a chair near the living room windows talking to my Mom, her left arm fully extended and being tugged by her husband. He wanted to leave. Hannah just kept talking. I was so amazed that she did not realize that Grandpa John wanted to leave.
I can see the Christmas tree each year loaded with ornaments, many of them paste and paper creations from time and labor at Holy Family School. The tinsel was heavy. Did I hear correctly that this tinsel was actually lead based? All I know is that we saved it for re-use every year. Then there were the gifts. It seemed as if there were hundreds of boxes. I was certain that there could not possibly be a Christmas tree anywhere surrounded by so many mysteries beneath wrapping paper. An entire chapter can and will be devoted to favorite birthday and Christmas gifts. We were very lucky children come Christmas.
Upstairs there were four bedrooms, one rather small, and one bathroom. Did they fill quickly! Naturally Mom and Dad had one. It was at the southeast comer. Mine was in the middle; the girls were at the other end. Tom roomed with me. We had bunk beds.
They were great with individual shelves at each headrest, and a ladder. With regularity, we transformed that bunk bed into a houseboat floating off into many a great afternoon adventure. More often than not my room had a baby crib with a new brother for roommate number three. In this room, I figured out that part of my erector set which involved a motorized elevator (the beginning and end of my engineering career). This same room was the scene of tantrums thrown by me for reasons long lost to recall. Somehow, my boot (yes, I had cowboy boots) flew into and through my window. The remainder of my day and night was spent alone sitting in the corner.
The three girls all slept in one room. Amazing! One evening I snuck into their room and hid in the closet. When they were all settled and quietly chatting before sleep came upon them I made my move. Initially I slowly pushed open the door an inch or two. Just enough to be seen and heard. One of the girls went silent in mid-sentence. The others were clearly seized in silence. You know the rest. I jump out, they scream, I laugh, Mom and Dad verbally direct me back to bed.
The little room was a small bed and another baby crib. This was Jacks' room. Imagine. All those brains in such a tiny room.
What' s left of our kingdom is attic and basement, both unfinished. There were great plans to convert the attic into living space for all us boys. I was excited. It sounded like a series of planned sleeping areas almost like locker rooms and the rest a huge open shared area. We envisioned full blown football and baseball in that wide-open space. It did not come to be as we moved to the 16 room house on Owasco Street.
