Snapshots in Time: As I Recall It

By Eugene J. McArdle

There are many reasons for someone to put words to paper. Mine, may not be different from anyone else. I like to tell stories of things that have happened to me or stories that have been told to me, that I thought interesting. This book could not cover every thing.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Trafford Publishing
• Release date: Oct 17, 2013
• ISBN: 9781490710778

Eugene J. McArdle

Mr. McArdle was born in Jersey City, New Jersey. Served in the US Navy during the Korean war. Worked 35 years for NJ Bell Telephone Company. Presently lives in Cedar Knolls, New Jersey with his wife Mary Lou, his wife of 55 years, has three sons and six grandchildren.

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© Copyright 2013 Eugene J. McArdle.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the written prior permission of the author.

ISBN: 978-1-4907-1078-5 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4907-1077-8 (e)

Trafford rev. 09/28/2013

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Contents

Korea

County Village Neighbor

Railroad Bridge

Beaver Dam Creek 1970

Albie Mozowski Story

US Navy—Tours of Duty

Freddie Day

Tipped Ship

Dave Varick

Old Man English

Benrus Citation Wristwatch

London, England

Germany

Sweden

Ezzie Orts

Return to Ezzie Orts

Trinidad, 1954

Shoe Shine Boy—Body Guard

NJ Bell Strike

Lucky Wells, Morro Castle, Puerto Rico

Ships Party—Philadelphia

Schaefer Brewery

Bill Pullis & the Polock

Jimmy Frey

Post Office Job

The Cat

Hoboken Shipyard Job

Green Copies

The Rum Runner

The Floater

Mom’s Birthday Speech Oct 1988

Kevin’s run

Tom Dunne and the 49 Plymouth

Destroyer Base San Diego Calif. 1952

Camp Columbus

Boston

Little Annie

The Blonde, The Brunette and The Red Convertible

Tangerine

The Door

160 SIP Avenue

The Coat Sleeve

Shorts Detective Agency

Telephone Stories

Ocean City

The Swede

Cliffside Park Office

Hanover Sewage Plant

Runaway Kid

Sim’s Delicatessen

Close Encounters

Acceptance

Felines

Captain Video

Hollywood

Mucci

Bayley Ellard High School Bingo

Reylet’s

3rd Sex

Hudson River Run

Hospital Ward

Macy the Electrician

Story of Whittie

The Beau Revarge Cuontry Club

The Things We Do

Shore Patrol

Short Story-Billy Reed

Mary the Barber

The Phantom Shitter

Trolley Cars

What A Child Sees

Shopping

Snow

Bergen C.O. (Central Office)

The Kid

Kevin and the Rat

Main Bearing

Missing Kid

Nastalgia

Custer’ Last Stand

Emma’s Heart

Flag Town Ghost

Forty-Nine Ford

Pumis Stone

Ryan

Sean

Glen Lara

Harry Ohrmiston

Hypothermia at the Artic Circle

I Wish I was Eighteen Again

Boats-Cars-Jobs

Cars

Changes

Crying Kid

41 Winfield Avenue

Bad Dog

Beatrice Cantoli

Billy Herbert

Frame man for bell telephone co.

How am I Doing?

Custer’s Last Stand

Sean

Crying Kid

Killer Conrad

Grammar School

Bride for a Day

Gus and the Batteries

Pigeons

Telly Savalus

Fired God

Grammer School #2

Kidnapped

Building Equipment Mechanic / Bem

Mr. Dillard

Swimming in San Juan

Shoes

How Do You Know: How You Are Doing?

The Dream

MOON LIGHTING

Railroad Job

Pompton Lakes C.O.

Puerto Rican Vacation

The Milk Run to Belmar

Frank Garret in Korea

I dedicate this book to my father Eugene Aloysius Mc Ardle, a great father, a great man, but a man of few words. He never talked about himself. What I know of his youth, I got from his friends, Joe Walsh and John Riley. So because his children know very little of his earlier exploits, I want my children to have some knowledge of mine, these stories I call SNAP SHOTS IN TIME OR AS I RECALL IT!

Korea

July 1950—The North Koreans crossed the 38th parallel, thus invading South Korea. All 18 year olds had registered for the Draft, me included. It was War. Knowing that I had to go, and because of stories that were told to us in the carpentry class. This by Navy Commander, US Navy Reserves, Don Lacy, known to us as Mr. Lacey. Several of us went to Newark and joined the US Navy. There was myself, Frank Short and Frank Solan, Jim Mc Cabe. Frank Short worked a deal and went into the Reserves, which was a 2-year stint. He spent his 2 years in Bayonne on the Boxing team after a short stay on a D.E. I met Frank Solan at the Destroyer Base in San Diego, California. He had completed his Class A school and shipped out 2 weeks ahead of me. That was in 1952.

When I completed my schooling, which was Engineman training, Diesel, Gas & Refrigeration, the Billets, were posted—Billets being ships available to choose from. There were 60 members, in this class, that was just completed. I was #17, and therefore had a choice of any post I wanted, after 16 choices, had been made. The majority of ships available were of the Mine Sweeper type. These are small ships there were used to clear the harbors (of mines) placed by the enemy, to keep our ships out of their harbors. The War was not going in our favor and the harbors had to be cleared of mines, to get more troops ashore. Many of the Mine Sweepers were being blown up, with a loss of 90 men each. I had been familiar with seven people already killed there, in Korea and many others who returned to civilian life, were wounded or nuts.

With all the new Mine Sweepers on the billet board, I figured they needed more cannon fodder. I had been in California for six months now—had been to LA, Hollywood, Mexico and places in between. Made my choice after weighing the options and chose a Sub tender on the East Coast, USS Tutawiler, therefore my have saved my own life for a while. Being the junior man, when I came aboard, my first assignment was to mess cooking duty or KP, as it is commonly known. I did Five weeks of this. Up at five am. Set up—clean up—Break Down, now its 9 pm. (Long days, very little time for your self) Got out to the E M Club, on occasion. One day, the Master of Arms addresses us at muster and asks if there were any volunteers to go to the Persian Gulf. I had no idea where that was, but I had enough KP and volunteered. Next day I am on the San Pablo heading for New London, Connecticut and another adventure.

County Village Neighbor

On August 6, 1969, I was working for NJ Bell as a Staff Assistant at 540 Broad Street, Newark. This was the day Son #3 was born—Name of David. I was home from work after much haggling with my superiors. I was the new man at this assignment, and someone else had the week I needed.

Mary Lou was up at Christ Hospital on Palisades Avenue, delivering David or Bunkie as he was called for a while. Dan #1 and Kevin #2 were playing down the street. We lived at 56 Sycamore Road in a section of NJ called County Village. A tight little community approximately 200 houses, many of them attached town houses. Dan used to walk across the street to his friend Steve Gallo’s house and together they would go to the school and attend Cub Scout meetings. Next door to Steve, same front porch (town houses) was a Jewish family. The Dad was a good guy, a downtown Jew. His wife was a real schmuck. Her nephew, about 11 years old, would come to visit. He would see Dan and Steve in their Cub Scout uniforms, make fun of them, and employ bullying tactics. This was going on for some time. Dan would tell me about it and I would advise him on how to handle the problem. However, the kid was too big.

On the day of Dave’s birth, Kevin came running into the house to tell me that this bully was beating on Dan again. When Dan came home, he had chain link fence marks on his face. At this point, I looked up their telephone number and placed a call. The kid’s mother answered the phone pleasantly. I explained to her that her darling son was a bully and should be curbed, by her or her husband, or eventually she would be bringing him comic books and candy bars every Sunday while he was in jail. She gave me the we must learn to love and live together in this world story. At this point I told her that if he touched my son again, that I would bring my nephew who was a #1 juvenile delinquent up to Jersey City, pay him to beat her little darling to a pulp and throw him through her picture window. Now I have her attention. She says you cannot talk to me like that etc. etc. etc. No more love and live song. I then told her that when her husband comes home from work to send him over to my house, 56 Sycamore Road, that the name is McArdle, and that I would punch his nose right through his head.

Next Friday, Dan meets Steve to go to Cub Scouts and the bully is there with his cousin. Cousin says, There’s Dan why don’t you punch him? The bully says, I can’t. If I touch him again my father will kill me. End of Bad Guy.

Railroad Bridge

From the 6th grade classroom at PS #30, located on Sea view Avenue in Jersey City, you can look out the windows and see the Railroad Bridge that crosses over the Newark Bay from Newark to the Bayonne-Jersey City line. A long level bridge runs about twelve (12) feet over the water. With a drawbridge in the center that opens for the tall ships. This of course was before the turnpike bridge and the train crash that eventually closed the railroad line that ran between Elizabeth, through Linden, then over the bay into Bayonne to New York.

Two years before, I was attending St. Paul’s Roman Catholic School located on, Old Bergen Road and Greenville Avenue. As most city kids did, as soon as the warm weather came, we would be shedding our clothes and jumping into the Newark Bay. There was a sandy beach just under the railroad bridge that made for a nice wading area. Under the bridge near one of the support columns, the water was 6 to 8 feet deep. Someone had tied a rope off the bridge structure and we could play Tarzan. You could swing out into an open space and let go, hit the water, swim back, get the rope and do it again.

What one had to be concerned with was what was under the water. Picture this. Years and years of sewage from the houses and factories dumping sewage, sludge, etc., as well as oil spills from boats and ships. This built up a slimy bottom under the water. The build up was about 12 inches deep and very sticky; you could walk in it but it was difficult to lift your legs. Therefore, you did your best to stay away from the bottom. If you were familiar with the situation, it presented no problem.

This particular day there was a new kid with us. Of course, he wanted to participate in the jungle game. Tarzan movies were the rage at this time. The kid’s name was Artie Violet. He was in my class and lived about a block from where I lived at 218 Linden Avenue. We had been swinging and jumping for some time and Artie was ready. Of course, we told him that as he hit the water to start swimming to the top and head for the shore. All that was needed was to doggie paddle. Do not go down to the bottom! Out he went, he let go, hit the water and did not come back up. Artie was stuck in the mud and drowned. Highway Route 440 ran about 100 yards from where we were swimming. Someone hailed a Dugan Bread Truck, the driver known to us as Jimmy Dugan, He dove into the water where we directed him and pulled Artie from the water. We got the hell out of there as we felt it was our fault. We watched as the ambulance and police cars did their thing, but we stayed out of the way.

The Wake was held at Harold Routh’s Funeral Home, just up from the church and school. The entire 5th grade was assembled, and marched in a single line in front of the coffin to pay our respects.

I have to say it took me many years to get over the death of Arthur Violet and to understand that I did not kill him. I do not know about the other kids, but I never told anyone about my part in his demise. God Bless

Beaver Dam Creek 1970

In 1968, Marylou and I purchased a small bungalow in Point Pleasant, NJ. This was to get the kids out of the city (Jersey City) for the summer. (Cost at that time was $6,000) This was a very nice area. We were close to the Point Pleasant Canal for fishing. The property owners had a club, which included a small sandy beach, clubhouse, kid’s park etc. In addition, a bulk headed area for keeping boats. At that time all, the boats were small, 12-16 footers just banging together. The club dues covered the boat dock cost. George Campbell, Helen’s husband, told me about a person he knew that was selling a small boat for $150. This boat was just what I could use at that time. It was an early fiberglass, made of both wood and fiberglass. It had two cockpits; the rear you could steer and control the 15hp outboard motor, the front was for passengers. I used to put Danny and Kevin in the front area and we would explore all the waterways.

This particular day started out warm and sunny and we were all the way up Beaver Dam Creek looking around. The water was calm. Without any warning, a very large dark cloud headed our way. I told the boys to hang on tight and headed for home. This dark cloud opened up and poured down rain, the wind started to blow and the water got rough. Kevin got a little nervous and started to panic. We were traveling as fast as the boat could go. Danny put his arms around Kevin to calm him and said, Don’t worry, Kevin. Dad will get us home. (Ages 10 and 7)

Albie Mozowski Story

Back in the forties and fifties, the Hudson River was a beautiful thing. In those days, from March until September, all the neighborhood boys used it for some of our recreation. We swam in it, while pushing the sewage—toilet paper & turds aside, and from the docks, we fished.

This one particular day, I was with one of the guys, Albie Mozowski, fishing. We had rods and reels, and were fishing for what, were called Tommie Cods (a small fish about 8 inches long). You needed quite a few to make a meal. Both Albie and I had the same kind of rod, were using the same kind of bait, and stood next to each other. Albie pulled in one fish after the other. I pulled in nothing. I asked Albie to changed places with me; he did. Same thing, he kept catching fish. I asked him to change rods with me; he did. Same thing, he kept pulling in fish. At the end of the day, he had maybe 20 to my two.

It was at this time I learned that some people are just luckier than others are.

US Navy—Tours of Duty

May 1952—White Hall Street in Manhattan dropped off by Dad in AM. He worked at 44 Broad Street, Dow Jones. The place was full I would say hundreds of men. The Master at Arms addresses the congregation and tells us that Bambridge and, Great Lakes were full. They wanted volunteers to go to San Diego, California. One hundred and ninety-nine others and myself from the, New York area volunteered. Left that night by Pullman cars and headed west. The trip took 5 days. (Interesting events) These train cars converted the seats into beds; you see them in the old movies. We stopped in Chicago for 3 hours, and toured the area around the train station. We went to a burlesque theater (last of its kind). When we got to the Rocky Mountains, they added 2 steam locomotives to the train to get us over the mountains. Very high and very narrow; you could look out of the rattling windows and not see the bottom of the mountains.

We arrived in sunny San Diego, (beautiful), from there to the camp in the desert. We gave up civilian clothes and the hair on our heads for Navy gear. Interestingly, after the hair cuts, you could not recognize the friends that you just spent 5 days and nights traveling. All of a sudden, everyone had barn door ears and large noses.

We spent 14 weeks in Boot Camp; seven in the desert, and seven in a civilized camp, training and learning the Navy way. After graduation, I went to Class ‘A’ School at the Destroyer Base in San Diego, to learn Diesel, Gas Engines & Refrigeration. Out of 100 people, I came out #17, and got to pick my next duty assignment. (See Korea)

Freddie Day

In your life’s experience, you meet many interesting people—the kind that stand out in a crowd. One of the jobs I had after leaving the Navy was for the Armour Meat Company. I was a Bologna Salesman—made great money. The way it worked is as follows: there are about a dozen men in a group, each having their own Route. We covered the metro area from Harlem, Joe Ferraro, Staten Island, Scotch Plains, Jersey City, Manhattan, etc. Starting time was 5 am. The Plant was located in Jersey City on the end of Erie Street, and Observer Highway, at the Hoboken line. The one in Hoboken was a warehouse with a loading dock. Each man would back his truck up to the dock, and his day’s load would be waiting for him. Your order was left with the dispatcher when you came in at night.

Each route carried different supplies, depending on the customers. Harlem was hog mars, chitlins and, packaged meats; Roxy Theater in Manhattan had their specialties. Scotch Plains had lots of pork chops and pork meats. Brooklyn had whatever sold there, and on and on. Beside the 13 regular men with given routes, there were two fill-in people. I was a fill-in. What that meant was you rode with each salesperson to learn his route, and then you could actually run his route when he was off or on vacation. Therefore, each guy knew the other guy’s