Thorton Wilder, the author of “Our Town” writes:
“I want you to try and remember what it was like to have been very young.
And particularly the days when you were first in love; when you were like a person sleepwalking, and you didn’t quite see the street you were in, and didn’t quite hear everything that was said to you.
You’re just a little bit crazy. Will you remember that, please”?
I’m returning from a block party street reunion – a street I moved away from forty-one years ago this November. I spent my first ten years there. They were the most important formative years, and I learned the rules of life from some special characters. It’s a unique family gathering in an untraditional way. The last one was in 2015. It is a proverbial time vault experience.
I grew up on McKinley Avenue in the Village of Kenmore in the Town of Tonawanda, New York. I still have dreams about that old, red four-bedroom house when I dream. Canopied by old trees and lined with charming colonials and Victorian century houses, it was an idyllic town. I don’t make that statement lightly. Everything we needed was within walking distance of a ten-block radius; the “Village Green”, schools, stores, banks, churches, the library and the firehouse could be accessed. I kid you not, the family doctor, Dr. Jones, was at the end of our street and still made house calls in those days.
The 1970s were reconciling with the tumult and turbulent days of the 1960s. It was a time of political corruption with Watergate and war in Vietnam, but Flag Days were honored and Memorial Day was equally patriotic and regaled in red, white and blue with well-attended parades and proud, civic-minded marchers down Delaware Ave. We have the videos to prove it.
We were protected by our communal service to grow into our understanding, to work, learn and play. People looked out for one another. The Baby Boom Generation was in full swing and there was never a shortage of kids to hang out or grab a pick up game of “Strike Out” at Kenmore Junior High or touch football in the street. We had yearly block parties that started in the afternoon and carried into the night.
It was a street that mourned the loss of children as well, my first encounters with death. The pain of such loss was buffeted by unconditional love and support with meal trains and many a night sorting through pain on porches.
Reunion attendees could name every family in every single house on the block. The old timers could go back fifty or sixty years. In those days, parents knew their kids were safe, as neighbors accounted for one another and kids bonded. We may have teased and played one another in good fun, but no one was going to mess with someone from the street without attending to an alpha male or two who had our backs from “rival” streets.
As I walked the old neighborhood, it felt as if very little changed. Many of the trees are gone, but I sat at the foot of the tree that was home base for “Hide and Seek” and pick ups for games or just milling around. I looked left and pictured my ten-year old self walking the alleys and bounding down the street with a twenty-five cent bottle of Coke or gummy Red Hot Dollars and other “penny candy” from Kenmore Meats and Grocers; the store we affectionately called “Joe’s”. I spent enough time there to remember the crags and nooks of that tree, an old friend I hadn’t seen in a long time. The small seat of roots magically carved by nature could still fit my frame.
For a moment, I could feel the presence of my history and the still timeless moment of radiant bliss. Maybe it was a glimpse of something “eternal” that Thorton Wilder mentions in his play. It’s that thing that can be unlocked by each one of us and is accessed when the safe of memory is opened. It’s a safe that is locked away in the bones of being. Its value is certainty measured in the oneness with others’ common experience in place.
My vault is sealed by my recognition that we have all struggled in life with challenges, but we have all risen and come out of it alright. We are still here. We still remember a tune of goodness. We arrive at the precious strains of life that something good comes from struggle and just being with one another to ride out the challenge. We are not alone in our struggle. The ones we bonded with in the trenches of life are still holding down the fort, still there for us.
When the poetry of time kisses the face of familiarity, something sincere is born. The character of the town that offered to shape our moments transforms us. The people that gave us solace, laughter, thoughtfulness and loving insight stay with us whether dead or alive.
In the play “Our Town” Emily begs for one more chance to literally go back in time to relive a day from her childhood to experience its greatness.
I don’t need to literally go back in time to relive the moment as Emily did in Wilder’s play. While I live and breathe and have my being, the moments walk with me. A moment in time is present and yours for the opening. Just open the vault of reminiscence and take a walk in the old neighborhood.
spirit beat 
HI Bill, What a beautiful essay that rings with heart and truth. Thanks old friend. I’m glad that we too bonded in the trenches of life in another neighborhood and at another school long ago but that is still with me as though it were yesterday. Ben
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Thanks, Ben! What a kind note. I appreciate the times we had at Parma and beyond. I cannot believe where the time has gone. Treasure these moments. We’re truly blessed. I look forward to more good days ahead.
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Wonderful article Bill. I grew up on Warren Avenue in the Village. You transformed me back to my 10 year old self for a little while. What great times and memories I have of growing up in Kenmore. Thank You!
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Thanks, Vincent! I remember Warren well. Beautiful neighborhood. My uncle lived on Wardman. I believe you were around the corner from there. I’m glad it brought you back. It was a special place. Thanks for reading and your kind words.
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You have captured the essence of the extraordinary privilege of growing up feeling safe and loved by many within our community. I know it shaped me into a caring trusting person, unafraid to grow, share, love and take risks.
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Thanks for your note! I appreciate that. It’s so true. The places shape who we are in such profound ways. Too many people have experienced the opposite. There is so much work to be done to help others find that place of safety and security. A literal place of goodness can heal as it forms an identity.
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Hi Bill, thank you for sharing your walk down memory lane. I too have 31 years of life, love, laughter and tears on the street of McKinley. My children were born there and every blade of grass on our front lawn holds their footprints. It was a place where neighbors came to your rescue, sat on front porches, and doors were always open to welcome you in. Thank you for sharing your heart as I shared mine during the reunion and may the memories of McKinley never die. Only God holds the future but he also held our past as neighbors came together one more time to share stories that once held us together in the first place. God bless you Bill in all your endeavors and keep touching lives with all your incredible stories.
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Ceil, This is beautiful!!! It was so nice to see you at the reunion. It really was an extended family. I’m glad you like the piece. I wrote it from my heart. “God is good.” The blessings of being in the presence of supreme kindness and heartfelt expressions of unity is beyond words. Thank you.
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Billy Klein!! I remember that big red house on McKinley, many good times there!! Do you remember when my four brothers and I spent a week at your house during the blizzard of 77? Your poor mother, nine kids!!! stuck in the house! Our dads out doing whatever they were doing and my mom was in Florida visiting a relative. Kenmore was a special place to grow up, memories kids now a days will never know but we’ll never forget. Hope you and your family are well. ❤️
Sheila Holler (Green)
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Hey, Shelia! I remember it well. We had great times with your family. Your dad was a great friend of my dad’s. I remember your mom and dad well. John and I had classes together at Washington. Please give your family my best. Thanks for reading and reaching out.
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What a touching and heart warming history. I grew up on Argonne one street over and shared many of the same memories. Joe’s and penny candy as well as Keiner’s with the three sisters. Memorial Day brought back running to the Municipal Building to collect the hot shells from the 21 gun salute! Officer Kenny Walker, the “bread man”, and the other street vendors, as well as the Shoe Repair, Woolworths, and Your Host restaurants also ring in memories of that simple time. Thanks for you story which brought back so many of mine!
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Wonderful! Thanks for sharing here, Jeffrey. There were some great people on your street. Jack Korns butted right up against my friend’s house and we’d take the alley to get to Joe’s. I remember going to the fire hall for “Fire Prevention Week” and snagging all the goodies like flyers and pamphlets and suckers… I remember sneaking under the fence at Crosby Field for the football games only to be busted by a cop who used to do the same thing. Hahahaha… Never forget those old stomping grounds.
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I thought sneaking under the fence and crawling through the grass from Colvin no one could see me. Apparently being up in the stands meant EVERYONE could see me. Officer Kenny Walker knew me much better than he should have back then. You’ve touched off a recollection of so many incredible memories!
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I too was transformed back to 10 years old. I wasn’t in the village, but in between Kenmore West and Hoover on Willowbreeze. When you mentioned Dr. Jones I immediately could smell his office/house as I waited in the front (waiting) room to be called back to that office with the glass cabinets holding what I dreaded was a shot! Thanks for sharing – brought back so many memories.
Sue (Castle) Seitler
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Sue, Dr. Jones was such a great man! I’ll never forget that white house with the great porch and the fence around it.They were right on the corner of Delaware and McKinley. His office, I think, was in the back of the house. I remember visiting with him on his porch when he was confined to a wheelchair and he would share stories with us. Mrs. Jones was so kind to us as well. She always had something for us — cookies or little treats. There were doctors’ offices all along Delaware Rd. and the doctor on the other side of the street had a dog that to my imagination appeared to be a Rottweiler but may have just been a German Shepherd of some sort. I remember running past his house for fear of our lives as the dog’s chain went right to the sidewalk. We had some menacing dogs on that street, but that’s for another article.
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