The Joy of Penny Candy

Remember how the corner store had that magical smell of red licorice and malt balls?

Yes, I could actually smell it when I walked through the door. All the neighborhood stores had the same sweet inviting aroma of chewy goodness and chocolatey bliss. It was a sweet mixture that greeted me as I stepped inside and the little bell jingled behind me.

Hardly a day went by when I wasn't passing by the corner store, stopping in, or dreaming of it. Delicacies like Bazooka bubble gum, Tootsie Pops, Smarties, Mexican Hats, Tootsie Rolls, Licorice Pipes and red licorice whips only cost a penny. Even those wonderful chewy "Kits" taffys cost a penny; some items like candy necklaces were three cents as were Necco Wafers until they eventually rose to a nickel.

There was such a wide variety to choose from it made it difficult to choose at times. I usually had my favorites that I always relied on, but my general rule of thumb was: the more chewy, the longer lasting. Storekeepers, I'm sure, grew bored at watching me trying to decide on what to spend my eleven or twelve cents on.

I can recall on chilly fall mornings, my friends and I used to stop by the corner store to load up on red and black licorice whips, Tootsie Rolls and big grape gumballs. Those grape gumballs were the best, and I can still taste them to this day!

Plastic Monster Figures

One of my favorite memories is collecting these wonderful Universal Studios plastic monster figures. These or any plastic dime store figures were among my favorite possessions. I really loved these creepy figures issued by Marx toys. For years my memory has deluded me into believing they came in different neon colors. However, I now believe what I'm truly remembering are the orange color they were issued in. These figures came in other colors as well such as tan, green and blue, but my first ones were the orange collection

First ones, you ask? Oh yes, I had to have them in different colors! Next to my Aurora Monster Models, these were my favorite things to collect. Monsters, in any medium besides movies or TV, were in short supply, and worthy of gathering. I even tried painting some of them like I did my models, but being a horrible young model painter and builder, the end result was disastrous.

These plastic figures cost ten cents apiece and could be found at just about any variety store. The closest one to us was Newberry's at Eastport Plaza. They had a basement level that housed the toy section, household furnishings and pet shop. In a bin, these colorful figures were stacked with a ten-cent price stamped on the bottom of the plastic base.

I also collected the 5-inch army men along with a few plastic German soldiers for the same price.

Stingray Bikes

You at least needed a crescent wrench (Why'd they ever call it a crescent wrench, anyway?) Nevermind; Let's talk about the coolest bike ever to emerge from the 60's: The Schwinn Stingray. You needed a crescent wrench to adjust the handle bars to move them forward, or backward; you also needed one to adjust the seat to a dangerous downward slope, or a cocky upward angle. In truth, you needed a crescent wrench for just about everything on this great bike. Okay, I'm done talking about crescent wrenches.

Now I'm on to phase II: daredevil stunts on the coolest bike ever to emerge from the 60's. As spring is just around the corner, I'm reminded of the greatest days of being on two wheels. We all know that bikes were meant for more than just riding. They were meant for tight spin-outs, wheelies, jumping on homemade ramps, racing with cars, and riding without hands. Even at a young age, I always had a hard time staying away from stupid feats of physical prowess that usually consorted with danger, mishaps and blood.

Band-Aids, gauze and the white medical tape (the kind strong enough to hold car bumpers together) were all staples in our household medicine cabinet. It was on those gnarly asphalt, or graveled roads where our dreams of glorious victory resided; in the medicine cabinet was where the agony of defeat lay. Guys like Steve McQueen, James Bond or The Man from U.N.C.L.E. were my idols; if death-defying danger was good enough for them, surely it was good enough for us regular guys on the block. Dangerous stunts and great feats of daredevil agility were common activities for me and the guys on my block.

Enter phase III: showing off in front of girls. Showing off was a daily event if girls were around. The more dangerous, wild, fast or life-endangering, the better it was if they were watching. Girls were often deliberately aloof; therefore, any hint of recognition was a positive sign. Getting their attention without "getting their attention" was probably the most difficult feat of all - far more difficult than our daring stunts. Brilliant acts of stupidity were usually best accomplished on a bike when girls were watching.

I've had some nasty bike accidents growing up, many of those I walked away unscathed. For the most part, I always felt I deserved some blood; something worthy of putting the gauze and white cement tape to. After all, if I decided to ride off the end of a concrete chunk in a construction lot, fall face first into the dirt, I deserved a little blood! Often these "Bloodless" accidents led us guys to believe that perhaps, like The Green Lantern, Batman, or The Flash, we were actually invincible.

Thus, being invincible, bigger and better feats of idiocy were in order. I've seen other kids do things on bikes that should be written on their headstones by now, yet they survived. However, there was the case of young David from across the street who took a header over the handle bars and knocked out his front tooth. That incident was pretty much a wake up call for a lot of us guys as there was lots of blood.

I've had my share of decent falls-blood included-but all said and done, bike riding was the best thing ever, and riding with friends was as good as it got.

Aurora Monster Models

When I was a kid growing up in the early 60's the name "Aurora" was more than just a brand name on a cardboard box; it was the first true chapter of my life. "The Hunchback of Notre Dame" was the first kit I purchased and it changed my life forever. For ninety-eight cents, one could purchase these marvelous kits from store shelves across America. The sum sounds like nothing now, but in 1963, ninety-eight cents was a small fortune.

It was in the fall of that year that my ceaseless love affair with Aurora models began. I remember the chilly east winds, and occasional blasts of rain that kept us prisoner inside. The latter days of November were a frigid prelude to the coming winter. Newer and more exciting variations of indoor fun were in short supply. Boredom was my new nemesis and became the biggest threat to my sanity. I was eight years old and in the process of negotiating the third grade. On this blustery November day, I had the opportunity to visit our local Pay N’ Save store at Eastport Plaza.

During this period we kids had a standing allowance of two dollars a month, and I’d already spent the most of mine. As I browsed the toy shelves, I came across a section with model cars. On a shelf above the cars were a series of absolutely incredible monster models! I never saw anything like them in my entire life. That first encounter was like a scene from an old movie complete with the sounds of a heavenly choir and singular rays of sunlight shining only on these magnificent boxes.

I'd never imagined that anything like them could have possibly existed. What genius could have been responsible for such wonder? They were altogether beautiful, haunting and they stirred my emotions. I was in the midst of a renaissance of plastic model marvel. Each box featured a stirring image of the creature inside rendered in plastic and entombed in cellophane.

The muffled rattling of plastic pieces like old bones in a cardboard crypt were far too beautiful for eight-year old comprehension. The sound was a mysterious symphony to my ears. The look of each box, with its narrow design and strikingly rendered artwork was alluring. The magnificent artful portraits of the creatures inside were testimonials to the beauty of models and the sheer ecstasy of monsters.

The paintings that adorned these boxed and wrapped coffins were beyond mortal description. They were vivid and colorful. The artwork kept me spellbound and terrified all at once! I remember that one was almost better than the next, and the fact that there were so many of them, was beyond the sublime. The coming New Year promised to be a great one, with all of my future allowances already spent. Mom fiddled with her accounts in order to wrangle model glue and paints as well.

I remember really loving the instruction sheets. They were an experience all their own. The drawings were far different from the paintings on the boxes. They resembled the actual model pieces more than the box art did. I also really enjoyed the fact that they gave a paragraph of history about the monster that was being assembled.There was a black and white reproduction of the box art. This seemed natural, for a good majority of the world--especially on television--seemed black and white.

I eventually collected them all. Over the years, throughout the sixties and into the early seventies, I re-bought these kits just to build them again. As the boxes rested on my dresser, the images bore themselves like tapeworms into the recesses of my memories. To this day they remain one the most respected and revered kits in the history of plastic models, and fetch reasonably high prices for originals. Though the originals have been extinct since the seventies, replicas are issued and re-issued for random short releases. The Aurora legend indeed lives on forever.

As for me, the Aurora legend was never more profound, or full of reverent beauty, as it was on that cold November day in 1963.

Boy + Girl = Best Friends

It was around early fall when most of us kids in the neighborhood had finally quit singing the words:"I'm 'enery the eighth I am", and concentrated on another year at school. 1965 was a profound summer for me. In a kid's world something is always going on, something new and different, but 1965 was the turning point.

In late September I had a special friend named Christine. Everyone called her Christy. At the time I didn't really know her as a special friend; it took me awhile to understand the friendship. We both were in the fifth grade, and she was a tomboyish girl who mostly took interest in games that boys played. She didn't care for playing army, or with army men, nor did she like playing with dolls. Christy's interests were in sports, mysteries, monsters, and adventure.

I noticed that some of the other girls weren't as friendly with her undoubtedly owing to her tomboyish ways. She was also taller than most of them which I'm sure didn't help. Christy and I got off to a fast start thanks to her aggressive cut-to-the-chase personality. Slowly, we headed toward that clumsy boyfriend-girlfriend stage in the guise of being ordinary day-to-day friends. Nothing was spoken between us about our "special friendship"; it merely existed and remained unspoken. The "girlfriend/boyfriend" stage was a slippery slope, and a general rule of thumb among us kids was that it was best not to tread that terrain unless one was absolutely sure of his/her footing.

Christy still had her group, and I had mine, but when our collective groups called it quits for the day, we found each other to be far more dependable and entertaining. What I hadn't realized was that I was learning a new joy in life, and that was the joy of diversity. It came clear to me that not all of my friends needed to be boys! Better yet, if we were to accidentally slip into that boyfriend-girlfriend void where -countless ships and planes have disappeared into its mighty vortex - then it was best to be alone with each other in its inception.

Amazingly, Christy had far more stamina than my guy friends. She wouldn't quit when games got hard, or if good TV shows were on. One day, while playing baseball, Christy slid into second base with shorts on and skinned her thigh pretty bad. Aside from yelling in pain, she never complained about it. When I say "skinned her thigh", in a kid's perspective it was like a major injury. It was a bang-up job where any one of my guy friends probably would have gone running for home. Christy just kept going.

In her own manner, Christy was far more interesting than most of my guy friends, and often more inventive. She could be unpredictable in her sense of adventure which I liked tremendously. Her honesty really threw me for a loop; she didn't make up whopper stories, but rather told the truth. What we had in common the most were games like football, baseball, daredevil bike riding, skateboarding, monsters, adventures, and music. At the time, we'd both pretty much agreed that aside from "Mr.Tambourine Man" by The Byrds, and The Beach Boys'"California Girls", "(I Can't Get No) Satisfaction" by The Rolling Stones was probably the greatest song of that summer.

My favorite story about Christy is about a special hiding place in a small grove of trees that crested a steep dirt hill. During this time, I lived on the corner of 88th and Cora Street. Our house was bordered by two dead end streets. Cora Street concluded with three metal posts planted in the dirt. These posts prevented cars from trying to negotiate the severe dirt hill that served as a shortcut to Eastport Plaza (the shopping Mecca of Southeast Portland.)

The hill led down to the back side of Eastport Plaza, and was fraught with peril, pot holes, prehistoric wheel ruts, relic rocks and dried dirt. It was steep, and led downward toward the left side of the Albertson's Store where we all bought our candy and ice cream cones. The hill was a neighborhood shortcut, and along the sides grew tall weeds and smaller groups of trees that seemed to pop up at random. In the baking summer heat, these trees provided marvelous canopies of shade.

As summer turned to fall, and September merged with October, the weather was beginning to cool. Evenings actually required long sleeves, and the sun set much earlier than it had before. One particular night, when it was very dark, and we'd been playing outside for about an hour, Christy and I decided to explore the hill hoping to find some new mystery. The street lights cast a blue-green glow on the mottled asphalt, and the fall air was a bit cooler than normal. If I tried hard, I could exhale a puff of air and see a faint fog of breath in the night.

Yellow light from the windows of neighboring houses showed activity inside. People acted out their lives in the silent pantomime as we sneaked about in the night, walking down toward the dead end of the hill. Sometimes television sets flickered white and blue, while other times, people sat at tables as neighbor moms labored in kitchens. Everything was so mysterious and adventurous! You could step into the shadow of a tree, even under the cool glow of the street light, and be basically invisible. It was just like acting out an episode of The Man from U.N.C.L.E., or playing James Bond on a school night.

Christy and I were walking down the hill when we heard voices. They were guys' voices-older than ours-and getting closer. We ducked into our hiding place and squirreled ourselves away into the low brush. The voices were close now, and approaching the area where we were hiding. Suddenly they emerged. I wasn't sure who they all were, but I could tell that some were members of the Marshall High School football team. They stopped not too far away from us, just out of the street lamp glow. Lighting cigarettes, they huffed, puffed, and talked tough. They enjoyed their vocabulary of expletives, and more than likely talked about whom they were going to "pound" next, and other high school guy things that didn't matter to us.

Even in the more carefree days of the sixties, it was always best stay away from the high school kids in the dark. Needless to say, we were both quite scared, and stayed hidden while they hung out briefly. At times they felt so close that we could reach out and grab a pant leg or two, and often we wondered if they would see us through the leaves of the low branches. I think we both held our breaths until the moment they actually decided to move on.

In the dark we huddled together. I could see netted shadows of tree branches and leaves on Christy's face. Obviously, my face was likewise obscured by nature's camoflage. They continued smoking their cigarettes, and talking tougher. We listened, cashing in on every sentence, every plan, and watching them spout with facial expressions marked by a dour mix of tough and cool. Suddenly, one of the shorter guys moved closer under the street light; I recognized him. He was the big brother of one of the boys in my class. Finally, they ground their cigarette butts into the dirt and moved on, their voices and laughter fading into the safe distance.

They never did know we were there, and we had secret valuable information that could be used against these muscle-heads if we wanted. It was great to have that kind of power over them. Opportunities like that rarely visited. Though we did nothing about it, and told no one, the excitement of it all was extraordinary. Better yet was the fact that we swore a pact to keep it all secret. That evening, we continued to play hide and seek, and secret agent games in the dark until our parents called us in for the night.

Eventually, my family moved and I never saw her again. We did have our own fun that could never be measured by feats of strength, daring, pre-adolescent stupidity, or reckless adventure. It was nice that she could break the "girl" mold that so estranged me from the opposite sex when growing up. It was even better to have that short, but true friendship that was unique, and to this day, almost incomparable.

Requiem for a Record Player

It all started with a record player; not a grand stereo, or even a superb hi-fi, but a small Ward's Airline record player with a clunky tone arm and tinny speaker. This was the vessel that soared my musical education to newer, and unexplored heights. Cheap, yes, but to me it sounded great, and it's what mom could afford. Just about every hit single, or entire album that was popular in the 60's eventually made it to this little turntable with the plush felt covering.

I had one of these around the earliest months of 1963 until it finally died around 1967. Being a reliable little bugger, my parents got me another one for Christmas of 1968. They also got me The Beatles' "Revolver" LP to test it out with. I can remember great moments in my room playing records over and over again. As the winter rain fell against the window, fantastic songs from the Fab Four were spinning on that old Airline record player.

Remember taping pennies, or a nickel on the tone arm to keep the needle from skipping? Better yet, remember having to buy a replacement needle? The diamond was mounted on a little L-shaped slab of plastic, and in the late 60's, I think it cost around Seven dollars. It was also great fun to turn my favorite song into an "Alvin and the Chipmunks" rendition by simply adjusting the speeds to 45 or 78 rpm.

I really loved my old record player, and it lasted clear up into high school. I finally got a portable stereo on my sixteenth birthday, but the best songs, and best memories are still coming through loud and clear on that cheap little speaker.

Summer Evenings, Playing Outside til Dark

Summer evenings were just as great as the days. For one thing, they were cooler-perhaps not by much-but not as scorching as the late afternoon hours. We could play on the streets even when the sun went down. I can recall playing hide and seek or riding shirtless and free under the pale green glow of a neighborhood street light. Parents sat out on porches and neighbors actually talked to each other. Sometimes they came over and shared a porch.

Neighborhood games would get organized once the sun began to dip. "Tag" was always a favorite, but "Hide and Seek" was always the most heralded game. Life was safer then; kids could wander on their own, often several blocks from the house, and were perfectly safe. "Hide and Seek" was an indelibly popular night time game because hiding places in the dark were so much easier to find. Many times you could move to different hiding spots if you sneak around quietly enough. The most fun was lunging out and scaring someone to death. If you could cause a coronary, you had a good game of hide and seek going.

It was also fun to add a bit of excitement to the game with a few monster stories. These made the dark hiding places less appealing. Of course us guys were tough and weren't afraid of monsters, so it was fun to scare the girls. The most challenging aspect of the game was finding a place to hide that your friends, parents, or even the National Guard could not find you. I liked hiding in places like trees, the roof of the house, or under the car. Besides being a game, Hide and Seek was pure adventure, and it was never more fun than it was on a hot summer evening.

I can still hear a small army of kids yelling from the street corner, or black and white television shows blaring from sets indoors. I can recall a great summer night watching Ozzie and Harriet through a neighbor's screen door while sitting on their porch with their kids. Ice cream, watermelon and ice cold bottles of pop were popular treats. Yes, summer evenings were just as wonderful as the days, and to me now, they are so missed.

Monster Cards: A Nickel's Worth of Fun

I used to collect these wonderful monster cards. There were no collector items as exciting to me as my monster cards. Beatle cards were a close second, but they could never capture the awesome majesty of my monsters! Trading cards was a commonplace event in my neighborhood. Kids on the block wanted to trade just about anything for my monster cards, but I never would. There was no parting with these, unless, of course, I ended with a real dud, or a one that I didn't like.

The one thing I did not like about a lot of the monster cards were the comical quotes at the bottom. These bubble gum companies had no right to make these incredibly wonderful and terrifying creatures into a comedy routine! What if the Wolf Man was hiding in their garage, or the Fiend Without a Face flying brain creatures were hovering over their beds at night? Would the comical quotes then come so fast? I thought not. I was a kid who took his monsters pretty darned seriously.

The majority of these cards depicted movies that I hadn't seen yet. This only made them all the more enticing and precious to me. Many of these great drive-in horror classics didn't make their way to our local TV screens until later. 1964 was the year that I saw a few of these great movies as they began to slowly trickle in across our air waves. These super cool monster cards came in packs of four or five, with a flat square of bubble gum all for a nickel!

I also loved the flat, chalky feel of the bubble gum slab as I crammed the whole thing into my mouth. Few flavors in the world could compare to bubble gum; it was a miraculous flavor dreamed up by scientists in secret laboratories whose only mad desire in life was to please us kids. Accompanied by five detailed cards of amazing monsters, I had to consider it all a nickel well spent!