Page 96 - WhyAsInY

Why (as in yaverbaum)
did not swim there. Swimming occurred only at camp. In the summer, the City of New York would open fire hydrants on very hot days so that children could frolic in the spray. I recall liking to do that at the play- ground, where there was also a small kiddie pool that, thankfully, was filled with fresh water (for the most part). But I’ve just digressed from my digression.
When autumn arrived, the streets would be lined with piles of leaves, which may have been picked up by the Sanitation Department but more likely were burned in place (emitting a special smell that I can still recall), something that is no longer permitted. Before they were picked up or burned, the piles presented a wonderful opportunity for jumping into backward for a soft and actually comforting landing— or for pushing your friends into. The only risk was the fact that the orange, red, and yellow leaves also provided a useful target for neigh- borhood dogs.
When winter was upon us and softball was not available, we adjusted by testing our aim and timing, not just by throwing snowballs at each other, but by throwing them at moving targets: first, trolley cars; then, buses; and, at all times, just plain old automobiles making their way down Ocean Avenue. This was terrific fun, except when my friend Wayne Stern managed somehow to put his projectile through the front window of a moving taxicab. Unfortunately, the driver was not amused; he pulled over, stopped his car, got out, and commenced to run toward us in a threatening fashion, yelling some words that I had only recently learned. Wayne and I split up and managed to evade the attack, but we clearly learned something in the nature of a memorable lesson.
And then, spring would be on its way, and our thoughts would turn to softball again. The absolutely best thing that could happen in antici- pation of the fresh season was the acquisition of a new baseball glove. My dad got me my first fielder’s mitt—it was a Rawlings PMM Stan Musial model—and he taught me how to “break it in”: to soften it and, in a procedure that is less necessary with today’s gloves, give it a good pocket. (My prior glove, a first baseman’s mitt—I was a lefty, remem- ber—came with a pocket already in place.) The new glove was oiled, a
• 78 •