time to leave

it's time to leave Brackenridge and move to Espyville Station, Pa. on Pymatuning lake. Pop. 220.  The gone post office was someone's sun porch. The word station was added because it was by railroad tracks.  Otherwise, we just called it Espyville.  Today, it is a part of Linesville, another pimple on the map.
But before leaving the "Valley," I had three friends that I would consider to be "close.  Terry Huet and his family moved into their grandfather's old framed house while they built a country home on 10 acre's.  I spent a couple overnight's in their new home; once in the summer and then to sled ride in the winter. I was absolutely amazed how many stars are visible minus city lights. Allen had a moth collection and they would turn a spotlight on out back at night to attract them.  I just could not believe how BIG a lunar moth is-about a 6" wing span with the ends shaped like comma's. Mr. Huet was a big brass for his company and weighed at least 280 lbs., compared to his 90 lb. wife.  When they (and we) moved, I never saw or spoke with Terry again.One quirk about the family: NO TV was allowed in the house or rock and roll music played.  Classical music was turned on at 6 Am and played non stop till bed time.  They moved out of state because his dad died in his 40's:( Our favorite activity was playing next door at the Thompson cement block company.  We would rearrange the blocks to make forts and also stack them behind the Legion as steps so we could go on the roof.  Why? to throw water balloons at the Bingo players as they left the building every Tuesday night. Then we would race to hide in our club house and no one thought to look inside because, after all, it was an old chicken coop.  Naturally, the cement company did not appreciate us rearranging their stacks of cement blocks and would put them back-which made us mad cause we would have to redo everything again and again.
Second friend-Oddie(sic) Meyers.  Never new his real first name. His dad was police chief and the second floor of his garage was a complete darkroom set up. His dad also died suddenly while in his prime and Oddie showed me how a darkroom works.  His mom became a barber, setup in the basement-also in the basement, in a 3' steel tub was a 3', 3 leg alligator which belonged to his younger brother, who could easily be on Animal Planet. The tub was covered with a sheet and if you lifted it up, the 'gator would loudly hiss at you, with breath that could wilt a flower.  It would always escape, nstinctively finding the river.  Some one would always bring it back because it was the only 3 legged alligator in town.  When he ordered a small monkey(ads were in all the comic books-19.95, mom had enough when it tore up the house Back then, there were no government programs to help single mom''s.  After the money collected during the funeral, she had to find a way to feed her kids. Back to the darkroom. When I saw my first photographs coming to life, I was hooked, and photography was a way of life for me. In college, I always wore a faded camel color sports-like jacket, and my 35mm camera was ALWAYS HUNG OVER MY LEFT SHOULDER.  I became the college photographer for public relations, the school newspaper and the yearbook.  I was the highest paid student employee.  The college provided everything, including the darkroom, and I was paid 1.00/picture, even if they only used 2 and I printed 50.  My second year, at Christmas break, I went home with more than 400 dollars-which in 1966, was a lot of money.  Of course it had other perks: I just showed my press pass and got into everything free-lectures, concerts, ball games And I did spend a lot of time beforehand learning my skill: I took a photography course from NYI-New York Institute of Photography, and my school gold and blue pin was always on my lapel. I built my own dark room at my parents house in the basement and subscribed to "Popular Photography" magazine since it had tons of ads of where to buy supplies.  Mom never liked the mag because at times it had photo's of girls who could be wearing more.  When I would come home from HS class and it arrived in the mail, she would inform me that my "slut' magazine came today.Back in the 60's/70's everything was done in black and white and the film had to go through a lengthy process, compared with the point and shoot camera's of today: take the picture, put the SD card in your computer, photo shop if necessary, and hit the "print" button.  I think I spent more time in the school's darkroom than the classrooms. I had several favorite photo's that I will relate later and also my last of three friends, Stephie Bednariak.  He lived about a half a block from St. Joe's, above the family grocery store.  He always smiled and made "shrines" of the Virgin Mary, putting the statue inside a decorated shoe box. The nuns had contests. He had a mental birth defect and 3 days after we moved to Pymatuning Lake, my mother came into the drive-in and said Aunt Margie just called and said Stevie died. Her next statement hurt me: "You don't want to go back for the funeral. do you?"  In other words. she needed me more to work and didn't want to be inconvenienced.  Yes, I did want to go back and say, "good-bye.' But I said nothing.  Years later his older sister would see me and I know she wondered why I was not there at the service. A quick side note: Granddad smoked non filtered, Camel brand cigarettes, which I mentioned before. He kept his carton of them in a metal drawer beneath the kitchen sink.  It was almost impossible to open that drawer without it's loud screech, waking the neighborhood.  But on a warm, dark evening, when granddad and grandma were in the living room, I would sneak in by opening the back, kitchen,  screen door.  With all the will at my command, I would manage to get the drawer open and "borrow" a pack of 20 cigarettes.  After accomplishing our sinful deed, we would run to the Tarentum stadium.  Terry would stand at one end and I the other, beneath the metal seats it total darkness.  WE WOULD THEN EACH SMOKE ten cigarettes each, one after the other, keeping far away from one another as not to have our clothes smell of smoke.  It's a wonder we didn't die of nicotine poison right then.  Next thing: chew a big wad of double-bubble chewing gum to freshen our breath.  Then, when it was soft enough(the stuff was always hard as a brick, we would rub it all over our face to eliminate any last trace of sin. Across the street was Sam Curusso's Pizza Shop.  Sam had a day job and sold pizza by the slice or by the pie in the evening's. His pizza sucked, but it did the job we wanted it to do Cost" 10 cents/ slice. We would both eat two slices and sprinkle hot peppers on top as an added assurance our folks could not tell what we just did. Burned like blazes, but it worked.  Sam was also a great chess player and would always set up a game as we ate-we never won. Sad ending-he died in his thirties. Probably from drinking Allegheny River water. Coming soon: the Master's of making candy, especially at Easter-a closely guarded skill they brought from Europe.  There is not a brand of candy made today that would equal it's texture, variety, and flavors.
PS-IT WAS NOT MY INTENTION TO OFFEND ANYONE WITH YESTERDAY'S ENTRY.  JUST FEELING "DOWN' AT NOT BEING ABLE TO SEE, WRITE, AND WORK. the BIGGEST PROBLEM, ACCORDING TO TO NEURO OPTHOMOLOGIST TODAY, IS I CAN'T GET MY EYES TO CONVERGE(WORK IN HARMONY. He said I probably had it all my life, but now it is getting worse.I want some new "genes." And the seconded biggest problem was a flat tire coming home on I-74 in the Van.  There goes $218.00 in a heartbeat.  A good Samaritan gave me a ride home as I stood there in braces, holding a cane.  She refused compensation and said, "just pass it on."-help someone I see who needs help.