Growing Up In Oswego in the 1950s {Part 2} By Michael J Colasurdo In our recent journey back to the 50s we acknowledged the strong character of the people of Oswego, New York. How the wholesome characters of this small town have more respect for their neighbors than those of big city dwellers and how that small town character and honesty is passed on from generation to generation. I believe this to be true and a great advantage to small towns such as our, it instills pride that assist in an environment of honesty and trust amongst the people. This is embedded in the fiber of their makeup and this is why people who grow up in this community have the feeling of strong ties with their neighbors and their community. No matter where the people of Oswego may journey they will always considered Oswego their home. In the 1950s we just had fun growing up! There were no computers; the schools didn’t have an abundance of overweight children because we would be on the run from morning to night. We did physical things like climbing trees, riding bicycles, playing sports and games of physical activity. We swam and ran. In the winter we built snowmen and snow forts in the shape of castles. Our friends across the street would do the same and there would be snowball wars between them that would last for hours. We went sledding and tobogganing at Fall Brook, the Country Club and down Van Buren street hill, the scariest by far was sliding down the very steep and bumpy Lake St bank where W. 6th St. met Lake St. not in the road, down the bank that if you made it to the bottom {which was a great feat and rare} you were sent flying high in the air over the snow bank at the boat house road while the other kids would jump up in down and applauding the exceptional ride on cardboard boxes we would flatten out an hold the front edge up toboggan style or the far more dangerous piece of tin siding we would take from our Kankie tree house next to the boat houses. It was amazing no one ever got seriously hurt on Lake St. in the winter. We just went outside and found ways to have excitement and fun. There were the great circuses that would come to town and after a parade to announce their anticipated arrival that led them through town on Bridge St. to Otis Field where they would set up their massive tent where there was the enormous net backstop on the Otis Field baseball diamond that housed the cement in ground dugouts where my cousin Ronnie Verdoleva and his team the Rich Field Aces would play and I as young boy watching their every move and fantasizing about the day I would run proudly on to this great field. These were big name circuses that came to Oswego; there was Barnum and Bailey that came every summer. We would sit on the wooden planked stands that were far overdue for another coat of gray paint; they rested on the green metal frames that would bite you if you moved too quickly. We would eat cotton candy, peanuts and popcorn and sodas in cardboard containers that the venders would deliver as they move so quickly through stands of the massive tent that sheltered the big three rings in the center as we watched the multiple acts taking place in all three rings at the same time. The tent was a city block long and high enough to cover the high wire acts and the great trapeze artist The Flying Guyana’s. There was the enormous BOOM from the cannon that sent a man into flight across the entire arena and into the net under the Flying Guyana’s who were nothing less than super human as they would fly through the air as they tumbled and landed safely into each other’s grasp with absolute precision to the gasping sound from the crowd far below. The elephants and the beautiful Arabian horses that would dance and trot around the arena with grace and instep to the circus band with their colorful uniforms and big hats that sat in front of the stands. There was everyone’s favorite the unbelievable lion and tiger trainer that sent a chill up my spine every time he would crack his long and mighty whip that cracked the air so sharply you would get bit by the bench every time it made you jump. There were so many exciting things happening all at one time we didn’t know where to look first. The entire town would turn out for this great event on a Saturday evening and it was an annual social event. The price was just 50 cents for two hours of thrills and chills and after the Sunday afternoon matinee the next day they were packed up and gone even fastest than they arrived. The only reminders that they had even been there were the scattered empty popcorn boxes, soft drink cups and the paper holders for the cotton candy. They simply vanished like ghosts in the night. There was the great blizzard snow storm of 1958 that dropped record amounts of snow in record breaking temperatures in record breaking time. It was 8:00 AM on a Saturday and I was already out the door on my way to the Capital Bowling alleys on the second floor over Richaels paint store on West First St. I arrived just as my good friend Jerry Altamonda Jrs. Dad Jerry Altamonda Sr. who was the manager of the Capital Bowling Allies had just opened the double glass doors that led to the long stairway to the bowling allies. It had been snowing very steadily the whole way but not unusually hard or uncommon. As the morning progressed I soon noticed out the big windows that there was no visibility and it was coming down fast and furious. At the age of twelve I knew my mother would be getting concerned as mothers do, so at about 11:00 AM I donned my heavy hooded coat, gloves and hat, I said goodbye to Mr. Altamonda and I headed out the heavy metal door and down the stairs to the double glass doors that fortunately opened inward because the snow by now was now over two feet high against the doors. I drudged through the snow as it was getting harder to take each step. My house was five city blocks away which under normal weather conditions would take me no more than ten or twelve minutes. According to my Timex watch it was now 12:30 and I had been struggling for 90 minutes and I was now at the corner of West 3rd and Van Buren a half block from my home however I could not see my house as the snow was falling so heavily you could only see a few inches past your face. The snow was now up to my waist and I was panting like an overheated puppy with each step that burned my lungs with the dropping temperatures. I continued my track and finally reached my destination where my mother was in hysterics… She announced in her panicked voice: I called the bowling alley at a little past 11:00 and Mr. Altamonda said you had just left at11:00 o’clock and I have been worried sick. I said its ok mom but it was a very hard trip. There was so much snow on roof tops people would pay us $20.00 to $50.00 {a lot of money in those days} to shovel off their roofs. Our house had a coal furnace in the cellar that Dad tended to meticulously throughout the winter to keep our house warm. The temperatures had already dropped far below freezing and many of our relatives had made their way to our house after the mighty snow plows and the huge city snow blower that could eat its way through twenty foot drifts cleared a few of the main arteries and my dad, my brothers, my uncle and I had shoveled our long driveway so many times as the snow just kept on falling and we would pile the snow so high we could no longer reach the top of the pile. Our relatives had come to stay because they had heated their houses with gas and all the gas lines had frozen and they had no heat. We had cousins, aunts and uncles sleeping everywhere. It was however a winter wonderland for the children, we built a castle with tunnels out in that massive snow pile in front of our house that would have made old British royalties envious. It was an adventure that lasted several days however the memories have lasted a lifetime; it was the great snow blizzard of the winter of 1958. Our house being just two hundred yards from the lake and our love for the water mom purchased a speed boat for summer boating and water skiing, my brothers and I had become very good on water ski’s over the years. We had learned how to ski at very early ages as we would go to my dad’s bosses beautiful camp at Hatch Lake in the Adirondacks for a week every summer for as long as I can remember. At the camp there was a grand old heavy wood power boat that would pull one skier and that is where we first learned to ski at very young ages. So when mom purchased the eighteen foot fiberglass hulled speedboat powered by a fifty horse outboard motor we had already been water skiing for years. The beautiful new blue and white craft was very powerful and fast and just great for pulling two skiers. We would go water skiing everyday in the summer, of course the task was always finding ways to fill the gas tank everyday but we somehow always managed to find ways to support our boating and skiing addiction which mom would contribute to far more than she would have liked I am sure but we only went to her as a last resort and we didnt really ask we just sat on the front porch with long faces and the next thing she would hand us the $2.00 it took to fill the six gallon gas tank. The frowns turned to smiles and joy as we all kissed her and headed for the gas station on our bikes with the gas tank in toe in the red flyer and in less than 30 minutes we were on the water with the wind blowing our hair as we sped across the waters of Lake Ontario with skiers jumping wakes in tow. We would normally be out in the neighborhood at the crack of dawn mowing lawns and doing odd jobs mostly for the widows of the flats who were without husbands or sons to cut their grass or manicure their rose bushes or weed their flower beds. My youngest brother Frankie after entering his early teens would ski all day long with his two inseparable buddies Freddy Casteldo and Bobby {Weasel} Weaver and they all became excellent skiers. I being older and a more experienced skier would teach the younger boy’s different skiing techniques and they we pick them up immediately which always made me proud. One afternoon I went down to Wright’s Landing as the three were just pulling in to the doc and they asked if I wanted to ski and I said yes. I was wearing a sport coat and tie as I had just come from a wedding reception. Frank said common and get in the boat I have an extra swim suit and I said no as I was bending over to roll up my pants legs, still wearing the tie and coat. I said I’ll just start form the ramp which was made up of dirt, small pebbles and cinders where the boats were put into the water. The three young boys in the boat laughed as they had never seen this starting approach before and certainly not with coat and tie. They threw me the tow line as I stepped into the single ski front boot. I then directed the boys to go full throttle on the gas and off we went as I slid immediately across the top of the water dragging my right foot for balance and we were off as the boys and all the bystanders laughed at the skier in a sport coat, tie and pants fling across the water sending up roaster tails 12 feet high as he carved his ski into the water with every traversing turn over the glass like surface of the harbor water. We made our way past the coal trestle and up the river and circled around at the Chart Room where the customers sitting on the patio applauded in laughter as the well dressed shier. I continued to lean far to the sides throwing up the huge roaster tails of water from beneath the single ski. I signaled to the boys in the boat to circle back close to the Wrights Landing doc where we had first started. When they circled back by the doc I was on the far side of the boat from the landing ramp and I cut swiftly across the wake doubling my speed that was sufficient to get me to dry land, after crossing the wake of the boat, I let go of the tow line as shot across the water and quickly slowed as I neared the ramp where I stepped out of the ski and on to the ramp as the ski and I came to a stop in three inches of water at the ramp which I had timed the distance and speed perfectly and without ever getting in the water or my clothes wet. I rolled down my still dry pants put on my socks and shoes and I left as the young boys in the boat just shook their heads in laughter. I came home a few hours later that day to find young brother Frank and his friends already home much to my surprise. Frank was applying an ointment to his friend Bobby Weaver {Weasel} who was all scraped and imbedded with cinders from his head to his toes. I looked at him as Frank laughingly said he tried to do what you did and had a too much speed and went tumbling head over heels up the ramp. Those boys were something else and like I have said before could find the humor in anything including Weasels crash and burn in the cinders. The three of them including Weasel kept on laughing about it as they gave me the complete details of the event and they just could not stop from laughing at the sight they had imbedded in their minds of Weasel tumbling head over heels up the ramp. Weasel himself kept laughing with them and the story still brings a smile to my face whenever it comes to mind. They could always find the humor in even the worst situations... How I love those young good looking rough and tumble boys. In the winter there were the evening trips after dinner to the Kingsford Park School ice skating rink which was a good distance from West 3rd and Lake however it was necessary because we loved the whips. We would join hands and make a long line for a whip and the person at the end of the whip would pick up great speeds as we circled and he would be sent flying at breakneck speeds into the snow banks that surrounded the rink. This was great fun and we would point and laugh at the whipped kids that ended up in the snow banks each and every time. At 8:30 pm we would change our skates to shoes and boots and it would always have such a funny feeling after being on single blade skates for a few hours and being aware of keeping our balance. Then we would make the long journey that seemed much longer in the cold and as tired as we always were. We would arrive home by the mandatory curfew hour of 9:00pm and after a cup of hot chocolate with baby marshmallows and some Oreo cookies that mom would always have ready for our arrival and a hot bath we would get in bed and be asleep in minutes if not seconds dreaming of the great fun whipping at KPS ice skating rink. There was the new crave for guitars in the neighborhood that of course came with the popularity of the king Elvis Presley and the rock and roll music. We had David Rebeor who was older by years as he was already married and he lived across the street from our house on the corner of W. 3rd and van Buren. David was the greatest guitar player I ever meet. He played with grace and he was the first guitarist every band went after and he played with all the big name rock and roll bands in the area. I would sit on his porch and listen to him play in the evening when he wasn’t playing with the band. Next door was big Billy Musacchio and a block up Third Street there was Jimmy Losurdo and Jackie Conley who all three would become very accomplished guitarist themselves. They would practice on their front porches and once in a while they would gather on Conley’s front porch with their amplifiers that could be heard throughout the evening in the neighborhood. I remember Jimmy Losurdo’s parents purchasing him a Les Paul Jr. guitar that I was in awe off. I had seen it on display at Grosses music shop where mom had purchased my first guitar. I was also a guitar enthusiast for just a short time during that period and I remember thinking what a wonderful gift from his parents as the cost was the equal to most men’s pay for a month at that time. However Jimmy’s handsome father Jim Sr. and his beautiful wife Mary who were wonderful people and the parents to an only child saw the great potential and talent young Jimmy possessed early on with his rapid growth at the Gross music studios that the very talented Dave Rebeor taught guitar lessons at. Jimmy and Jack would play with all the great Oswego rock and roll bands over the coming years after thousands of hours of practice. Billy played with orchestras and some rock and roll which he loved. There were many others of that era that became excellent guitarist at the time; there was of course the legendary Sammy Domicola, Buddy Murray, Richard Hillman. They were all products of the 50s and were all very, very good and they made their living playing guitars throughout their entire lifetimes. Many of them are still entertaining to this very day as rock and roll has survived the ages and I would assume it will until the last baby boomer is gone and perhaps even longer, it was the music of a generation and more. There were new fads in the 50s and 60s, the hula hoop most notably and there was the slinky that could be seen dropping from step to step on every kid’s front porch. The hula hoop took over the streets of the USA. I can remember the girls swinging them around there skinny waist for hours at a time with the least bit of effort or thought. Of course it was easy to do when your waist was far smaller than your hips which in those days most were. These where just some of the reasons kids would stay fit and the hula hoop was a prime example. The boys had the Wiffle Ball which was first on the scene as the Bloop Ball then Wiffle ball came out with a stronger and better ball and came with a plastic Whiffel ball bat that the company sold millions of. I had so much fun pitching those plastic balls because you could make them, curve, rise, in shoot and dance to the point where they were where very challenging for the batter to hit. There was our annual family reunion event at Fair Haven every summer when each and every family would show up for a day of family, cook out, games and the beach. The food was delicious and endless; we played games and went swimming all day. I was so disappointed when after some years passed and attendance was declining the parents just decided to stop having them and I never understood why because we had such great times at the these family picnics. It is my personal opinion that family traditions should be maintained and passed on from generation to generation and a record be kept in family photo albums. The Great Discovery – On top of Van Buren St. Hill a few blocks west there was a wooded area covering a full city block. It was bordered on the south by Van Buren St., on the north by Duer, the east by W. 8 St. and on the west by Ontario St.. The complete block was all woods with high trees. In later years they would build Sylvan Glenn Apts. on the W. 8 th St. side. This was the area where our battle ground for our war games took place. The German force was always led by Billy Gunther, Billy was always armed with a large heave wood gun that the story was his father had sent home from the war while he was fighting in Europe during WWll but we would have to have Billy verify that story, but the gun was long and heavy and Billy was the original Rambo, a fearless soldier that would climb a tree and wait for his foe to come within striking distance and he would leap from the tree with a blood curdling scream and pounce on his pray. I was one of his victims and I have to admit I wasn’t crazy about the experience; however it was a war game. One day when we were at war in our private woods I was near the NW corner by Ontario St. and Duer St.. As I moved around the dense brush I discovered a small cave in the side of a small hill that led to an underground tunnel. This was an amazing major discovery and demanded immediate exploration. As I crawled into the small cave I saw that the passage way down the tunnel had been blocked off with a thick brick and cement wall. This was a major setback however did calm my nerves as I was all alone in an unexplored cave and I had no idea what awaited me in its depths. I would now collect my friends by calling for a “time out” from the war game. I summoned the gang to come quickly to see what I had discovered. This cave was a new and exciting discovery that brought a great challenge with the mysterious wall that blocked exploration. As we entered the mouth of this small cave entrance with my new partners in this discovery, I was confronted by the some serious questions... Why was this cave here? Was this a secret tunnel going to the bowels of Castle school just a few blocks away that may have been used for transporting slaves en route to Canada? Was there another fort we didn’t know about that was close by or was once right here over this cave entrance? Did the tunnel go down over the hill and under the river to Fort Ontario? Was it a stash for pirates to hide their bounties? The possibilities were endless and we had to find out at all cost. It was now getting late in the day so we decided to meet at my house early the next morning for dad had all the tools we would need in our barn to break through this brick and cement wall. However, that was a sleepless night of tossing and turning considering the caves possibilities and my growing number of possibilities and the one thought that would not leave my sleep deprived mind was the very strong possibility of a thousand skeletons on the other side of the wall that would forbid any strangers to enter. The next morning bright and early as planned the gang turned up and we loaded my Flyer wagon with pick axes, hammers and chisels and we were off to our new discovery and task at hand. Upon arrival at our destiny the impact of what we were about to do could have serious consequences even life threatening possibilities. This was getting more nerve racking by the minute. There was a reason “why” this cave was forbidding entrance and someone went to great measures to block its path. However, why didn’t they fill the cave with dirt? To this day my greatest regret is that we never even attempted to knock that barrier down, however it did seem to be the smartest decision at the time not to pursue it. As a child motivated by adventurous curiosity, the smart decision was rarely if ever chosen however on this day a new experience was discovered and we did elect as a group to walk away for fear of unwanted consequences that might be regretted for a lifetime. Admittedly, it was a rare intelligent decision made by our gang… however the cave and the unanswered questions have lingered in my mind forever. There was a small baseball diamond behind Castle School that by the time I was eleven I was hitting home runs on top of the school and as much as the towering drives pleased me they were the great frustration to everyone else playing because the ball would never come down from the roof of the old castle and would always be the cause for the end of our game as we never had more than one baseball at any one time... ever! The baseballs we played day in and day out with would always end up being covered with sticky electrical tape to keep the strings of the ball from unraveling. On this particular day after launching another ball to the unforgiving roof and never to be seen again, I decided that I knocked them up there so it was up to me to get them down. I would climb on top of the tin roof that sheltered the fire escape on the north side of the castle that went up to the roof of the three story castle. I climbed the wire fence on the side of the fire escape to get on top of the tin roof that led to the top of the very high roof unless gravity would betray me and sent me sliding down the steep incline of the tin roof first. In no time, I was on top of the shaky tin roof and soon on top of Castle school and there must have been a dozen baseballs lying all over the concaved roof. As I started collecting and throwing the balls to my friends below that now started cheering and applauding with great excitement for this would be the very first time we would ever have more than one baseball at one time to play with. Unfortunately, their enthusiasm would soon be turned to disappointment when after picking up the barrage of balls I had just tossed from the roof they discovered they were all water logged and as heavy as a rock its size... my younger brother Tyrone looking for a bright side to end the story said: well at least you’ll never hit any of these balls back on top of the school as everyone laughed and no one including myself ever did. When you look back at the simplicity of our youth it was a wondrous time. We had the freedom to do whatever we wanted and the adventurous nature that was usually required to do it. If for some reason a policeman ever had to show up due to our actions they never wanted to make a big deal of it. They listened to our story of how we ended up in front of them. After all they were sworn to “Protect and Serve” and they lived by that creed… not what seems like today’s police motto of ‘intimidate and abuse” so whatever the problem was… the solution was to take us home to be confronted by our parents which usually ended in being grounded for a day or two and that was the end of it. I am certain that is why the people of Oswego and that era have much greater respect for their neighbors and live simpler, happier, longer and far more fruitful and fulfilled lives. My roots are deep in Oswego… and although I have lived in many large cities and traveled the world I can assure you that I and everyone else that ever grew up in Oswego will always think of Oswego as home no matter where they live or for how long they are away. I myself will testify to this. It is my wish that the readers of these short stories of my youth can use them to relate in some ways to their own childhood memories growing up in Oswego no matter what generation you are from and it opens the flood gates of our own personal wondrous memories that will bring daily smiles that will light up your face, knowing that growing up in this small community is as much a part of your character as you yourself are. I have had a much fulfilled life, I can easily attribute this directly to my development as a child when I was GROWING UP IN OSWEGO IN THE 1950S. Respectfully, Michael J Colasurdo {A Proud Native Son} Mike Colasurdo has also published a web site about the amazing history of Oswego, New York that has over 300 pictures and an abundance of exciting reads about historical information published by many accredited researchers and authors. I believe anyone with Oswego roots will greatly enjoy the experience this web site has to offer. VISIT: oswego-history
Posted on: Tue, 14 Oct 2014 05:25:21 +0000
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