Main Street – February 12, 1948

By Morris Rote-Rosen

Snap shots on a winter Saturday afternoon ... A technicolor panorama in a continuous stream of pedestrians and motor vehicles ... The sky, light blue overhead, the sun shining bright, the snow-white coated streets and walks ... Vari-colored brick buildings ... A moving line of plaid coated and colored scarfed boys and girls ... The marble white building ... Orange shaded gasoline station .. Pea-green depot building ... The flag at the top of the post office pole ... The revolving red, white and blue barber shop sign.

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The old woman from the country, in below zero weather, dressed with a blanket coat, wearing men's high overshoes, home made wool mittens, and a fur cap made out of an old fashioned winter bear robe, pulled down over her ears ... Children, waiting noisily and impatiently, for the theater doors to open for the matinee ... One boy pointing to a poster, shouts: "Indians! Oh, boy!" ... And a mob of youngsters surge around him, eyes popping at the heroic men, riding at a gallop, dressed in their feathers and armed with bows and arrows ... "Ain't that something?" shouts one of the hero worshippers.

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Hugh Morgan Evans, hands in pocket, walking with Millie Patrick Williams, mumbles something under his breath about "a darn cold day" ... Dogs being shunned away from the theater doors, unwilling to leave their pals who hurry inside for a warm afternoon's entertainment ... William B. Edwards, rubbing his ears, heading for the round table at Stevens and Price to listen to the wise men ... The change of tempo among pedestrians --some walk, some shuffle, others quick-step or run to escape the wrath of the extreme cold ... While a boy with a bag full of spinach and lettuce stands stull unmindful of it all.

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News boys with their empty news paper bags rushing to spend part of their earnings in a local candy store ... Dark sun glasses more in evidence than at a beach resort ... Automobiles, skis attached to the tops, traveling east out of the village ... Sleds parked on porches, for a well received rest ... Harley Morehouse unloading his son Jimmy, and his nephew Jimmy Billy, for the afternoon matinee ... Snow plows hurrying on special calls can be seen going in different directions ... While automobiles are stalled and refuse to warm up with the thermometer pointing to below zero weather.

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Clyde Williams, cold or warm, who never wears a hat and whose lick hair comb is a good ad for any brand of hair tonic ... Skaters making their way to the rink ... Sensible girls waring slacks and dungarees in comfort while their bare-legged sisters shiver ... Harold Scott, feeling sorry for "Tubby", Charles Rovell's dog, opens the barber shop door for him ... But, the little boy, unmindful of the cold, enjoys licking his overflowing ice cream cone as if it were the 4th of July ... Says John Corey, "This is an old fashioned winter, ain't it?"

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Harry Cross, with the western pulp magazine tucked under his arm, ready for an afternoon's relaxation beside the fireplace ... High school basketball players, passing by, faces patched with adhesive tape, marks of the week's basketball game ... Paul Pelton, serious and deep in thought, walks with his head down and passes friends without speaking ... Catherine Jones, her red hair glistening in the bright sun, like so many golden strands ... Albert Daly with a sack of flour under his arm for the kitchen's cupboard ... Jane Grastorf always on the run and when she doesn't run she skips a bundle of energy.

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Bobby Murphy and Buddy Bailey, inseparable cousins like the three musketeers, "all for one and one for all," sharing their bag of pop corn ... "Jimmy" Fragnoli, an ex-soldier, wearing an ex-sailor's jacket market LST 30 ... Martin McHenry, completing his shopping, folds is newspaper under his arm and is ready to return home ... An encouraging note, on one of the coldest days of the year, comes from over the Glen Reynolds Music Mart amplifier in the form of: "the flowers of spring, the robins they sing" ... Which brings hope, even in a snow covered country, of a change for the better, sooner or later.

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The two little daughters of Mr. and Mrs. Sandles George, report a robin, in the rear of their home, which is corroborated by their parents ... And there are several bluejays on the apple tree of Dr. W. S. Bennett, looking for some one to throw out a crust of bread ... Jack Huyck commencing to feel the winter chill after shivering in it for several months, says: "I ought to go to Florida." and after a moment's thought says: "Maybe I will." The Mettowee river, in winter's grip, as solid as the Arctic ocean ... Not a sign of an opening anywhere.

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Then we meet up with Stuart Park, whom we haven't seen since the Wells carnival which now seems like a long, long time ago. Stuart is on a two-county rent control board in Vermont state and the subject turns to the discussion of real estate and the inflationary prices paid for it during the past year because of the shortage of housing ... And not far behind him is our friend, of many years standing, Edgar Park. His subject invariably turns to fishing. "If I had some one to cut holes for me I would fish through the ice," said Edgar. And we recollect the time, when we followed him on the ice and we found more fish holes on Lake St. Catherine than can be blown open by an atomic bomb. And all cut by Edgar.

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With Edgar Park around, his good wife, Mae, couldn't be too fair away. A Granville man comes up and asks: "Isn't that Mae Leffingwell? I used to know her when she was one of the best looking girls in Granville." Just then Mrs. Park happened to turn around and the man remarked: "Few gray hairs, but still good looking" ... A few minutes on the street, most any day of the week, brings unbounded pleasure as we meet old friends and new ones. A few remarks are passed, all of them pleasant and one can go home and sit down with the thoughts that this is a good world with a lot of good people in it which makes life a pleasure and worth living.

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We always appreciate one's service to our community and the men and women who give of their time and energy to the American way of life by being useful to others. These men and women go along about their unselfish service, taking their places in line when called upon in a good cause. We thought of it when we saw Edward Goldberg, making his rounds on the street, to solicit funds which would help some crippled child to walk. Ed is just one of them who rate a salute and a thanks.

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We were stopped by Truman Temple and Fred Allen to be given the information that they are planning a get-together of those who remember the Blizzard of 1888. They would like to know how many there are among the survivors of the older generation who remember the blizzard. They will get together on March 12, the anniversary date of the blizzard of blizzards, and swap remembrances with those who remember what happened, and to recount their personal experiences. Come on old timers, let us hear from you.

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Reprinted 1/26/1994