Oxford Village: In the Fifties / Volume 1

By William “Sparky” Poore

Some good things happened in a mostly unheard of neighborhood, way back in the nineteen fifties. Likewise, some bad things happened in this same neighborhood. I know: I was there. To have viewed life [both the good and the bad] transpiring through the eyes of a child was my good fortune; to be able to express memories through rhyme and rhythm is my blessing . . . and this book, my proud testimony.
This book is an assortment of understandings and misunderstandings; of being almost grown-up . . . and not so grown-up. It can teach you how to play some well known street games . . . and maybe why some street games should be neither well known nor taught.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Jan 28, 2003
• ISBN: 9781462839070

William “Sparky” Poore

William Sparky Poore was born in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, in 1948, approximately 3 miles from the Oxford Village. In addition to his work as a poet and short story writer, he is also a singer, drummer, pool shark, and avid golfer. He has written many how-to manuals and care and maintenance review and instruction references on various equipment aboard U.S. Navy ships, along with on-site trackside report columns for BMX racing. Sparky lives with his wife, Susie, two dogs and three cats in Collings Lakes, New Jersey, approximately sixty miles from the Oxford Village.

Book preview

THE KEENIES, COOLIES

AND NIFTIES

OF THE OXFORD VILLAGE

IN THE FIFTIES

Volume 1

William Sparky Poore

Copyright © 2002 by William Sparky Poore.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any

orm or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording,

or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing

from the copyright owner.

This book was printed in the United States of America.

To order additional copies of this book, contact:

Xlibris Corporation

1-888-795-4274

www.Xlibris.com

[e-mail]

16963

Contents

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

ABOUTTHEBOOK

INTRODUCTION

MUSICAL HISTORY PASSED ME BY NOT OLD ENOUGH TO UNDERSTAND WHY

THE GREAT TOOTHPICK CONFLICT: WAS IT CHEWED, SWALLOWED, OR FLICKED

TOSSING THE BAT TO GET COOL OR BE SLOP MADE THE SIDES ALWAYS FAIR AND THE FUN NEVER STOP

DOWN THE TRACKS AND THROUGH THE WEEDS YOU COULD GET LOST IN THE MILE HIGH REEDS

OUR VILLAGE GAVE US GAMES TO PLAY HANDBALL AT THE SQUARE, ON ANY DAY

OVER THE HILL KEPT HANDBALL FAIR WHEN BIGGER GUYS OUTGREW THE SQUARE

WE COULD WHILE AWAY THE DAY, PLAYING POM-POM-POOL-A-WAY

MAYHEM AND POM-POM-POOL-A-WAY THEN ALONG CAME CUZ THAT INDELIBLE DAY

WE PLAYED WIREBALL BETWEEN THE TELEPOLES GREAT CATCHES, TUMBLES, DIVES AND ROLLS

THE GREATEST CATCH OF THE CENTURY MAGIC WHAT THAT DAY MEANT TO ME

BIG GUYS, BIG GIRLS, AND A SUPER, TOO. THE MARTY PARTY AND THE COAT OF BLUE

CHRISTMAS BELLS AND CHIMES AND NOISE BEING GOOD BROUGHT THE SOUND OF TOYS

US GUYS IN THE VILLAGE KNEW WE WERE SPECIAL TO SANTA, TOO.

SOMETHING CHILDISH UP MY SLEEVE ON MY FIRST GROWN-UP CHRISTMAS EVE

DEDICATION

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

GLOSSARY

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

THE OXFORD VILLAGE OFFICE

WHERE THE MUSIC DIED FOR THE BIG GUYS

WE SAT WITH TOOTHPICKS IN OUR FACES

THE SQUARE AND THE LIGHT

OVER THE HILL

THE HILL, STEPS, LIGHT, AND THE SQUARE

THE GUIDE WIRE THAT CLOBBERED CUZ

THE SQUARE STILL HAS WIREBALL WIRES

THE GRADE BESIDE THE SQUARE

DOWN THE RAMP

THE OFFICE BASEMENT ENTRANCE

THE CHIMNEYS SANTA COULDN’T FIT DOWN

1012 STEVENS TERRACE: SECOND DOOR IN

ELIZA T. POORE, CIRCA 1943

ABOUTTHEBOOK

From 1954 through 1960, a mostly unheard of neighborhood existed in northeast Philadelphia. You may have heard stories about better-known communities such as Olney, Kensington, South Philly, Frankford, and so many others. But references to the Oxford Village remain few and far between, existing unattached to its surroundings, and seemingly dissociated by its financially isolated location. Being bordered by a cemetery, Naval Depot, and the desolate acreage behind the old Sears building probably aided in the segregation of this seldom spoken of part of town.

Philadelphia is just that kind of city: one neighborhood after another, each with its own identity, flaws, and pride. To hear someone from any particular place talk about their home, you may think this person came from the best spot on Earth. Yet, to discuss the same region with someone else raised a short ten blocks away, you may get the feeling that same place needs to be imploded and rebuilt, along with its residents.

This book tells tales of life in a not so much talked about project-like community in the era of the late fifties. This life was a crafted storybook, charactered by a bunch of boys (they called themselves US GUYS) who ran roughshod and hell-bent for leather across its pages. This book ranges from the wide-eyed innocence of their fifth year of living, through to the maturing wants and needs as blossoming twelve year olds. Mischievous in presence, yet harmless in result, they were all the fun things you might imagine about a young boy’s fancy, occurring in one of the best-kept secrets in Philadelphia.

From the games they played, to their holiday rituals, through both the frolic and turmoil of their young lives, this book flips but a few turning pages in time. To have viewed life [both the good and the bad] through the eyes of a child in this setting, at this time, was the author’s good fortune. To be able to express memories through rhyme and rhythm is his blessing . . . and this book, a proud testimony.

This book is an assortment of knowing, and of wondering; of being almost grown-up, and still growing up. It can teach you how to play some well-known street games . . . and you may learn why some street games should be neither well known nor taught.

US GUYS were the garrison knights in their castles; the charging cavalry on horseback; the faithful blood brothers on their reservation. Return with us, now, to those thrill-filled years of yesterday . . . the Oxford Village in the nifty fifties.

missing image file

The OXFORD VILLAGE OFFICE of today. In the fifties: no air conditioner, No screening, and no small railings.

INTRODUCTION

Through the daze of my youth to the maze of my now

I’ve heard people boastfully say

How friend filled, tall-tailed and memory laden

Life was in their younger day.

They brag of remembering the heart and soul

Of times past, both happy and sad;

Of folks loved and hated; of those hardly known,

And the influences each one has had.

Their friends were the funniest; their enemies the deadliest,

Way back in their good old days.

How simplified—silly—the acts they recall

As they rerun their childhood plays.

When I hear folks say how their pasts used to be,

I’m amazed at how listeners feel:

Like it was something special; no one actually lived it—

It’s all too contrived to be real.

Did you make it all up? Did you dream up a dream?

Did it really all happen that way?

Well, I come from a place where those dreams were for real—

And that’s what I’m here to say.

Can you remember your wondering years,

When you wandered through right and wrong ways?

I mirror them still; images of good times,

Reflected in a tranquil haze.

For there was a place my reminiscence still

Compares it’s today to back then:

Parents raised you, teachers taught you,

girls sought to be women—

Young boys strove to act like real men.

Take the N or the W up Oxford Avenue;

You can walk, or just ride a bike.

Turn left on Benner or Algon Avenue,

Or walk on the grass, if you like.

You’ll see walls and windows, parking lots, curbs and trees,

Neatly arranged in many a row.

Two hundred homes that was and still is

The OXFORD VILLAGE I know.

This abode of my past still bears the same look

As it did in the times I’ll describe,

When US GUYS of the fifties ruled their own reservation;

Blood brothers in their own private tribe.

It was neighborhood living and good neighbors giving;

Made-up games played out in the street:

Wireball, Boxball, Jailbreak, Kick-The-Can—

Pom-Pom-Pool-A-Way was hard to beat.

Creamsickles, Bomb-pops, Fudjickles, Pez—

Ice-pops turned lips purple, red or blue.

Jack-N-Jill and Good Humor, cheese on burgers—no charge . . .

Pizza still had tomato sauce, too.

Walking 5 miles to school before BUSING was needed;

Whole families at one table each night.

Just one phone in the kitchen; just three channels on T.V.—

No lawsuits if you got in a fight.

Most kids were no problem, but if you made some trouble,

Any VILLAGE mom could [and would] scold you:

We’ll call a Red Car! They’ll throw you in SHALLCROSS!—

Well, at least that’s what some moms