Summer in the 50’s

Now days, in many places, neighbors are isolated from one another.  Air conditions, televisions, video games, backyard pools can all keep families away from one another and from their neighbors.  Back in the ’50’s, when I was growing up, we’d always be around each other: we didn’t have much choice. We were a family of eight kids, in addition to our parents, in a three bedroom Chicago bungalow – – before video games, before air conditioners, heck, even before TV – – so there really wasn’t anywhere to go to escape.

If we did escape it was mostly outside, especially in the summertime.  On any warm sunny day you’d find all the kids on the block running around, the old men watering lawns or cutting the grass, the moms hanging out clothes and visiting across hedges and the dads walking to or from the bus stop.

Without TV or video games, we kids found our entertainment with each other.  And there were a lot of kids on our block to do that with (there were eight in our family alone and twelve in the Mair family across the street. And that doesn’t count all the other families with seven or fewer kids).  So we never lacked for anyone to keep us occupied.  We didn’t text or even use the doorbell.  By 9am on a summer’s day you could hear some kid yelling outside a friend’s house a long drawn out, “Yo-o-o- Ju-u-d-d-dy!” on the top of their lungs.  That was the call to come out and play.  If Judy was home she’d come running out.  If not, her mom or dad or sibling wouldn’t bother coming to the door they’d just yell back, “not home” or “can’t come out.”  There was a lot of yelling in our neighborhood.

Once out, we kids would sit on the curb and decide what to do. Sometimes we’d walk to Murray Park and play on the swings or we’d play all sorts of imaginative games in the big prairie on Ashland Avenue.  My friend Linda Hinkel and I loved badminton and would play it right in the middle of Marshfield Avenue.  We didn’t have a net so we used the manhole cover as an imaginary net.  I remember one day when we were playing our birdie went down the sewer.  It was our only birdie and we were devastated.  Mr. Mair, who had been sitting on his porch watching the game, got his four-year old son, “Pinky” (Pinky because he had red hair of course) and held the poor child upside down by his ankles several feet into the sewer to retrieve the lost birdie.  Although I thought it would scar him for life, Pinky went on the graduate from Harvard Law School and is now a very successful attorney in Boston.

Another game we liked was softball.  If we weren’t playing in the prairie, we’d play on the four corners of 73rd and Marshfield with an old beat-up softball owned by the Carlin brothers.  The northeast corner would be home plate, the northwest corner first base, and so on.  Since there weren’t many cars back then we could get in quite a few innings without interruption. Those that weren’t up or “in the field” would sit on the curb or on Burke’s front steps to watch, or more often, make catcalls at those up at bat.

Summer evenings were a wonderful back then. We’d always be out after dinner playing hide and seek and catching lightning bugs. By then our dad’s would be home from work and many would be sitting out front in lawn chairs or taking a stroll to get some air.

We were a multigenerational neighborhood … grandparents lived with many of us or we with them.  One of my fondest memories is watching my grandpa Kelly and old Mr. Brown who lived next door (both old country Irishmen) standing out front watering their respective lawns and talking.  I know now that old country Irishmen have the gift of gab and these two men certainly did.  They’d be out there all morning discussing all sorts of world events.  At the same time white-haired Mrs. Brown was usually in the backyard hanging clothes and visiting with my grandma Kelly who would be tending to her beautiful garden.  I especially remember her lush bridal wreath bushes falling over with the weight of their lovely white flowers.

A Bit of History  The first generation of the Kelly and the Brown’s came from the west the Ireland and settled in Chicago at the beginning of the 20^th century. They happened to buy homes next door to one another and became friends. The Browns (Pete & Agnes) lived at 7313 and had two daughters; the Kelly’s (Patrick & Hannah)lived at 7311 and had one daughter.

 When Patrick & Hannah’s daughter, Eileen, married Art Murphy and started to have children, the Kelly’s added an attic flat and moved upstairs so the young family could have a nice home in which to raise their family.

When Pete & Agnes’s daughter, also Agnes, got married and started a family her parents did the same: added an attic flat to their home and Agnes and her husband Tom Duffy moved into the first floor.

Agnes & Tom Duffy’s eldest daughter, also Agnes, was born six weeks before me. We grew up together, went to school together, were good friends and share all sorts of memories. We lost touch for awhile (not surprising as she moved to Ireland!) but we have reconnected . . . which was easy to do not only because of our shared memories of 73^rd & Marshfield and St. Justin’s, but because I believe we both realize that our lives are intertwined with the stories of our parents and our grandparents.

All in all, looking back, I think the 50’s was a good time to be a kid. A bus trip to the Museum of Science and Industry or Rainbow Beach was a big deal. Or we’d walk several miles – – usually laughing and fooling around the entire way – – to swim lessons at Harper High School or to swim at Gage Park (with a stop at the corner store for penny candy). Or we’d bike to Marquette Park and try to catch minnows with a Dixie cup or just lay in the grass under a tree and daydream. There was a lot of time to daydream and I think that was a good thing