Community Rewind: In the Neighborhood

By Edward M. Spivack, Guest Blogger

In 1962, my parents and I moved into a new house in Lower Merion, near Akiba Hebrew Academy and a property of some greenhouses.

It was a new street in a new neighborhood of newly built homes.  Most of the families had children (and some more to come) and there was a wide range of ages.  

A couple of the backyards were larger than the others, so sometimes we would use those for playing, but most of the time the “playground” was the street, which didn’t have much traffic.  It was our football field, soccer field, baseball field, hocky rink — especially big in the 1970s when the Philadelphia Flyers were winning Stanley Cups left and right — and more.  

Each house had a young cherry tree in front (with beautiful pink blossoms in the spring!) near the curb and at the end of the street the homes were arranged in a kind of a circle, which made it convenient to be our baseball diamond, with the trees being first base, second base and third base.  Home plate was a water access cover in the street.

It would have been too hazardous (for the houses) to use baseballs or softballs, so we played with tennis balls or sometimes wiffle balls.  I was the oldest in the usual group and occasionally I’d hit a tennis ball onto the roof of a house and it would bounce down back onto a lawn.  (Never broke any windows!)

Most of the fathers were working full time (as far as I know) but my father was fortunate enough to be able to make his own work schedule which allowed him more time with his family.  He had patience and taught many of the children on the street how to ride a bike.  

There was a family across the street consisting of elderly parents and two sisters.  Knowing he was a very skilled “do-it-yourselfer,” they called him occasionally if something wasn’t working.  He’d go over with his toolbox and take a look; if it was something he couldn’t fix, he’d usually be able to diagnose the problem and tell them what was needed so they’d know when they called a repairman. 

Eventually, since all the kids played together, many of the families on the street became part of a new “family.”  At one point, both mothers on either side of us were pregnant at the same time.  I remember them talking together in front of our house, under the cherry tree, talking about “carrying low” or “carrying high.”  I was old enough to know what that meant but it didn’t matter, since it didn’t apply to me. 

When I was around ten years old or so, I heard a commotion in my neighbor’s backyard.  I went over and found out the neighbors had locked themselves out of the house — meanwhile, through the kitchen window (right side of photo) they could see their young son sitting at the kitchen table in a high chair, picking up dishes and enjoying throwing them down and breaking them!  The mother was frantic! 

Fortunately, one of the small dining room windows high up was unlocked (left side of photo) and I was just the right size and somewhat responsible, so the father lifted me up so I could push open the window and he held me so I could crawl in and unlock the door.  

When I got inside I looked over and the baby was having a great time smashing dishes, but I opened the kitchen door so the parents could get back inside and make sure he was okay.  The mother was thrilled and I was hero for the day!