[LISTEN] American Chronicles Episode 9 – I Figured I’d See You Later

“I FIGURED I’D SEE YOU LATER”

© 2015 John C. Merino

I use to be able to tell, by the sound, what coin fell out of my pocket. I just dropped a quarter and thought it was a dime.

….and the dime reminded me of swimming at Dufferin Islands……..just above the Horseshoe Falls in Niagara Falls, Ontario.

The islands were each half the size of your backyard. Some were even smaller…….the water was………maybe 4 feet deep……in a tributary of the Niagara River not 300 yards above the Canadian Falls, fed from escarpment streams and springs. Today many of the hotels and casino’s sit above them.

Back then when I was 10 or so….and during the summer months and certainly before 9-11…….. I would ride my Stingray Bike across the Rainbow Bridge. 10 cents in the turnstile slot gained you access and you crossed in to Canada. The Border Patrol would wave you on. No questions asked.

Underneath the bridge in those days, on the Canadian side, was a Penny Arcade. We’d have our dimes for tolls and rolls of pennies tucked in our white elastic gym socks. The arcade machines were the pre-curser of today’s video arcades.

A roll of pennies would buy you a couple hours of games…..and with the tickets you’d win; you could trade for a slushy or bag of marbles, or just save them up. A pocket knife was 500 tickets. That took 10 or 12 rolls of pennies………….and that was if you were good at the games. You could have bought the knife cheaper.

At the islands, kids from 10-18 years old were swimming. On any given day……..20 or 30 filled the shore line……bikes locked to trees and each other.

The best islands seemed reserved for teenage make-out artists………you didn’t dare land there. The boys with slicked back hair…………..Pompadoured and Brillcreamed and………….the girls younger than they said they were.

We’d splash around, wonder how the “cool” guys got their hair to do that, and comment that “kissing girls is such a waste of time.”

It was good to be 10.

We didn’t always cross the bridge. Sometimes on Saturday, when there was a new triple feature at the Strand or Cataract Theaters…….(the show started at 11:00 AM)……..we’d ride the bus from Pine Avenue to Falls Street. Twenty-five (25) cents got you there. The transfer to get back home was seven (7) cents. The show was fifty cents, and a coke and candy-bar came with it.

“Pa”, I said. “Can I get money for the show and bus”? He’d give me $.75 cents. Three quarters. That was that. I could ride downtown and get in to the show.

Add it up. I could get downtown, see the movies………that was that. Getting back home was always an adventure.

Discarded pop bottles brought $.2 cents and if I was lucky, the tourists had thrown them away………some in the bushes of the state park by the American Falls, some in the garbage cans. I walked home on occasion, while the guys rode the bus……..some 20 blocks.

I asked my father years later why he didn’t just give me a buck, so expenses were covered.

“I figured I’d see you later”, he’d say.

It made me resilient. I still return all my bottles. They’re a nickel now.

I had lunch with my father……..well in to his 80’s…….at least three (3X) times a week for fourteen (14) years after he retired. I was then in my 40’s and 50’s.

We’d talk about the day’s news and the obituaries in the Niagara Gazette……………

……………and I don’t care who died. If their name ended in a vowel, he’d say….”he was a bag man for the boys”.

By my calculations……….and after 14 years of lunch dates, I’d say there were no less than 654 bag men that had died during that period……….obviously, a coveted career track.

A “Bag Man” was the guy who delivered and picked up the money and betting slips. I remember most, their Banlon Shirts, San-Sa-Belt pants and pointy shoes.

They all drove Cadillac’s. Black. Polished. Nothing to throw a snowball at if you didn’t want a boot in the ass…………..and in spite of their pointy shoes, they’d always catch at least one (1) kid………….driving him home, playing the tough guy all the while, dropping you off a couple houses away from your front door with a warning and a growl.

Like the boys at Dufferin Islands, the scent of Brillcream in their hair was pungent.

My mother bought me a tube of the stuff when I was 13 or so. I asked for it.

I stood in front of my dresser mirror, fingered it through my hair……..…waving and bending………….until I thought I looked like Fabian. My nose was bigger than the rest of my face. Thank God, I’ve put on weight since then.

When I walked downstairs for diner and sat at the kitchen table my father burst into a laugh I can still hear. My kid brother said I looked cooool……….my mother………….biting her lip, told my father to “Stop It”.

We had pork chops………….completely burnt on one side. My brother went to the garage during the meal………………got a hacksaw……………and pretended to cut the chops.

The laughs…………….louder than my hair evoked…………..are a moment……….in childhood…….I’ll never forget.

I saw a Stingray Bike at a garage sale not long ago………and sat on it.

Memories…………pedaling……….to keep up with the older guys…………and the scent of Brillcream filled my head. In a simple moment of recollection………I was crossing the Rainbow Bridge again.

You know. When I think about it………..a quarter dropped from your pocket, doesn’t really sound like a dime.

I’m John Merino…….and this is: “American Chronicles”.