By Bill OBoyle [email protected]
WILKES-BARRE — So I hopped in the Way Back Machine the other day and I went shopping for back to school clothes.
Yeah man, back to The Hub and American Clothing and Robert Hall, man. And of course Fowler Dick and Walker — the Boston Store. Even Sears in the Gateway Shopping Center and across Route 11 to Bergman’s in the Narrows Shopping Center.
Mom and I were sure to hit them all and pick up just about everything I would need for the coming school year.
Tan jeans, man. Mousetrap shoes, man, Shirts with socks to match you know, man, light blue shirt and socks, dark blue shirt and socks, yellow shirt and yes, yellow socks, And throw in a few argyle socks and a belt and, of course, new underwear and we’re done.
No sweaters, man, none. Maybe a new jacket and winter coat.
This was a full day’s worth of shopping. We would first go “over town” to the city and make the usual stops. Then off to Robert Hall and the Route 11 shopping centers on the way back to the homeland.
This was the annual pilgrimage. Gotta look good for school, man.
On the Monday before school started, all the guys in the neighborhood would walk down Orchard Street to Chet Sterowski’s house for our haircuts — we call a plicky, or crew cut. Chet would give us some waxy stuff to make the front stick up.
Now we were ready for another school year.
As I have written before, my very first day of school was not as planned — in fact, it was somewhat traumatic.
To say I was a spoiled only child would be very accurate and under-stated. And being an only child, I got what I wanted most of the time. Sometimes within reason, sometimes not.
For instance, many times I asked for and enjoyed ice cream for breakfast. Not every day, but once in a while. It was so good, with chocolate syrup drizzled over the top and whipped cream. Not exactly the breakfast of champions.
So you can understand why I fought going off to school for that fateful first time.
There was no way I wanted to leave my house. Why would I want to leave a life where the most difficult decision for me to make was what time to go outside to play? And while in the house, it was TV. All the cartoons and kids’ shows. School? Not me. I liked it right where I was. School was for losers.
My mother literally dragged me up Reynolds Street, through Balita’s yard to the back wall of the Nottingham Street School. As we approached, I could hear the sound of kids running and screaming and having fun. My first glimpse over the wall opened my eyes — hey, this isn’t so bad, I thought. All my pals are here and they’re running around and playing.
I ran around to the front of the school and took off to the left, running with no real purpose, just to be part of this crazy scene. As I approached the back left corner of the school, unbeknownst to me, a kid was running around the opposite side of the school with a rock in his hand.
As the kid turned the corner, he threw the rock just as I turned the opposite corner, hitting me square in the head. I woke up in the nurse’s office with a bandaged bump on my head and my mom standing over me.
Fast forward to the second day of first grade.
If my mother thought it was difficult getting me to school that first morning, the next day would only be worse. Why would I want to return to a place where I was knocked out?
But go back, I did. I was a star in Miss Shovlin’s first-grade class, which shared the same room with the second grade class. I never got less than an A in my first six years, except for a “D” in penmanship in fifth grade.
My first year of school was the last year for Nottingham Street School.
But today I recall those days shopping for school clothes with my mom. On the way back to Plymouth, we would always stop at Mitchell Plessett’s Men’s Store on East Main Street It was a routine. Mr. Plessett was a real gentleman who too great pride in his store. I remember how he placed everything on tables in neat rows and all were clearly marked for size and price.
This was the mindset back then. Going back to school was a big deal that we actually looked forward to — my mom would welcome the time to do more cleaning, baking, cooking, while kids would want to resume friendships with classmates, perhaps meet new ones and, of course, get to know our new teachers.
We also wanted to learn. We wanted to do homework, write book reports and play sports.
But we totally did enjoy the in-school experience.
Do they still sell mousetrap shoes?
Reach Bill O’Boyle at 570-991-6118 or on Twitter @TLBillOBoyle, or email at [email protected]