Christmas in the 1950s

In some ways, but certainly not all, my family bore some resemblance to the Parker family of Jean Shepard's classic A Christmas Story. One needs only to view the above picture of me, circa 1957, to see shades of Ralphie. Our family did not have a leg lamp, however. To my mother and father's eternal credit. But we were weird in our own way, as are all families.

Christmas 1957. I had it in my head that I wanted a policeman's uniform. I have no idea why, but that's what I wanted. Somehow, my mother found one for me, and I was so excited. When school reopened, I wore it to school. During recess, some kid hurled a snowball at me and knocked my hat off. It was a message, and I never wore it again, at least in public.

Christmas morning was very much the same for many years. Waking our parents up very early, waiting for my father to get his camera ready. We had to wait for the formal pictures of the tree and then the family before we could tear into the presents. Once we did, we would make short order of the pile below the tree.

I'm in the red pajamas - this picture if probably from 1959 or so. My little brother Brian holds the gun - he's a killer until this day and I'm still wary of him when he has a weapon.

I remember lots of train sets - the video games of their time.

Yes, this looks like my family. Once we were six, now we are four.

Thanks to my brother Brian for patiently scanning these old 35mm slides.

Gathering to Remember Liz Donovan

May 23 would have been my sister Liz' 64th birthday. My plan was, of course, to in someway use the classic Beatles song from Sgt. Pepper to tease her without mercy - she was, after all, my older sister. Well, who knows - if heaven is by some remote possibility a lot of Beatles music then I am OK with the afterlife....

Liz' husband Joe brought some of her ashes to Ontario to mark the occasion nearly six months after she sadly passed away. Earlier in the day he went alone to my father's grave at the church cemetery to fulfill one of her last wishes and bury them at the site.

A lot of my favorite family members made the trip to Ontario to say goodbye to Liz, which would have pleased her immensely. I know she would have enjoyed being there, but I guess in many ways she was.

Liz' husband Joe Masellis, brothers Tom and Brian, nephew Harrison

My Mom's friend Ida, Mom, Aunt Charlotte, Liz' friend Mary Gwen

Our Mom - turns 93 this year

Cousin George Zarolinski and Joe

Cousins Mike Donovan, Bill and George Zarolinski

Joe, Tom, Harrison, and Kim & Brian

Our old family clock. For countless years it was on a shelf above my father's chair. It still has a faint odor of nicotine from the endless cigarettes he smoked.

Time has come today.

Ontario NY - My Back Pages

Now main streets whitewashed windows and vacant stores

Seems like there ain't nobody wants to come down here no more
They're closing down the textile mill across the railroad tracks
Foreman says these jobs are going boys
and they ain't coming back to your hometown
- Bruce Springsteen, My Hometown

Above is a shot looking East on Main Street in Ontario, NY - my home town. Growing up there, in the 1950s and 60s, the town was fairly vibrant, even though the highway had already bypassed Main Street and the flight of local business had slowly begun. When I was young, Main Street Ontario had a bank, a drugstore, a five and dime, a shoe store, an appliance store, a Western Auto store, a magazine and sundry store, post office, soda fountain, a grocery, and more. Now, just the bank and a few other ragged stores remain.

The golf course, just south of Main Street still exists, though it is no longer a private club and appears to be going through more uncertainty. Above is the view from the first tee. Except for a day or two picking cherries at around age 12, this is the first place I ever worked - as a caddy in the early 1960s. Loops were hard to come by, but I was always hopeful.

During the summer of 1967, when I was 16, I had my first real job (which shows up on my annual social security statement) at the former restaurant above, the name of which I've completely forgotten. I was a dishwasher and it was tough work, especially cleaning up the breakfast dishes with remains of hardened eggs. I remember a lot of great songs on the restaurant juke box, and having a crush on the boss' daughter. It was, after all, The Summer of Love.

Later, I worked above at the former Waterman and Sons fruit company. Here sweet cherries were dumped into vats of sulfur dioxide brine to be completely bleached and then turned into maraschino cherries. We ate a lot of cherries to pass the time and to this day, I can't eat cherries.

During the summer of 1968 I worked at the cold storage in Ontario. We packed frozen food and about the only thing I remember is that it was cold in there...

My second summer during college I was a security guard at the Ginna Nuclear plant in Ontario. It was easy work, and though the facility had been open for several years, I was the first guard to ever properly execute an emergency drill - we were poorly trained and paid - but admit that I saw the managers sneaking around in the bushes and thus had some idea that a drill was about to take place. Small wonder that some years later the plant experienced a leak of radioactive steam. I hope security has improved.



Remains of the abandoned "Hojack Line" which ran less than a mile from our house. I used to love hearing the trains at night. The last commercial train ran through Ontario in 1978. There were some attempts to use the tracks for tourist purposes in later years, but I believe that no trains have gone down these tracks in many years. At least they remain and one can hope that a new economy based on efficient energy usage might bring the trains back.

The old paint mill ruins. As a kid I used to come here often. It was used to make paint from the red iron ore that is found in abundance on the area. In the 1800s, ore was mined commercially in Ontario and except for the water-filled beds scattered around the town, this old mill is about the only remaining evidence. Faint traces of the "Class of 63" painted on the tower that year still are visible.