Melville by Stuart McCallum

It is about two years since I originally wrote about my experiences growing up in Melville. As I reread my earlier comments, I see that there may be a bit more to recount. So, I will attempt to travel back to a time when the world was new to me, the old and new were locked in the timeless embrace of change, and a sleepy little place named Melville would feel the relentless press of post war expansion.

One of my earliest memories is of a rare day in May/June at the Melville School. I was under six years of age. It seemed that the whole community had gathered at the front of the school (now the Melville Library) to enjoy a show put on by the students assembled on the building's front steps. I could see my sister, Pat, among them. My brother Paul, wearing the identifying sash of the Safety Patrol, manned his position on Sweet Hollow Road, watching for those crossing from the field on the other side of the street which served as an impromptu parking lot. That field would soon become the site of the Sunquam School.

This was one of those exceptional days which only come at that time of year when the earth is renewing itself, life is bursting forth in its endless reaffirmation; rebirth and life's promise are palpable. Apple blossoms, daffodils, blue sky, pussy willows, forsythia, newly leafed trees, delicate greens, brilliant yellows, girls in pastels, Old Glory high on the white pole, rippling against the blue.

The students of the Melville School, now assembled in a choir-like formation on the steps, suddenly burst forth with "June is busting out all over," in a rousing rendition of that most joyous of songs. It was, and remains, one of the high points of my life. Uplifted, carried by the angelic voices of children, singing the praises of the miracles around us, this memory remains as vivid as ever.

This, and similar settings are closest to my experience of growing up in Melville, the connections between the old and the new, the reality of change, the inevitability of a sort of Manifest Destiny, Long Island style.

Opportunity was there for the ambitious. Handy's Hideaway, the Mecca for the youths of the 50's in Melville, siphoned most of my spending money. Sundaes, ice cream sodas, etc, ate up most of it. I had a Newsday route for a few years, which made me financially solvent, but far from a big spender. Bottle collecting was an early-learned survival technique among the young. Two cents return deposit on a small bottle, or a whopping five cents on a quart sized bottle. Whenever money was short, the search for discarded beer and soda bottles along the road usually turned up something. I recall crawling on my belly into and under a sticker bush to retrieve the prize of three quart sized Rheingold beer bottles, worth a hefty fifteen cents.

The McCallum Project was a source of steady, if not easy money. My father, who oversaw the ongoing reconstruction project of the family home on Old Country Road, which consisted of bringing a circa 1865 house into the mid twentieth century, had a standing offer: chipping bricks at a penny apiece.

Having decided that the old brick chimney which ran up the center of the house had to be removed, he set about demolishing the ancient thing. This produced literally tons of loose bricks. Always a prudent man, never wasteful, he put aside the old bricks for use at a later date. After-all, used brick was expensive to buy. So, there was a designated spot off to the side of the property where all the old brick was piled. Mortar clung to these old bricks

in varying states of adhesion and shape. To be of any future use, these relics from the past had to be clean. Therefore, whenever the need for cash arose, or simply out of boredom, my brother or I would take up hammer and chisel, increasing the clean brick pile and diminishing the mortar clumped pile. The front steps to the old house are made of those recycled bricks. My father, my brother, and I all had a hand in that.

Stately old maple trees line a portion of Old Country Road, from Walt Whitman Road to Sweet Hollow Road. I have always wondered how they came to be there. Obviously planted, but by whom, and when? One of them stood in our front yard. This was a formidable tree. An avid tree climber, I never attempted to scale this sentinel from the past. Was it out of respect for its dignity and age, or simply that there were no low branches to start from? That tree is gone now, but in a sense, lives on in my memory, heart, and work.

A walk down this tree lined road on a hot summer day offers cool relief from the heat and humidity. In those days, air conditioning was rare. People still managed the oppressive summer weather in simpler ways. Slow down, drink cool water, wear light clothing, sit and listen to the sounds of birds overhead, walk in the shade of these trees. Today, cars line up and down this road during evening rush hour. Their occupants, sealed inside, air conditioning going, music pumping - detached. The trees remain, witnesses to change, from nineteenth century country life to today's suburban sprawl. Where once a farm boy reveled in the dirt squishing up between his toes, these trees were there. Many remain, though severely cut back to accommodate modern imperatives. The swamp maple that stood on McCallum's front yard was removed some years ago. I never did violate its noble stature by climbing it.

Mulvey's gas station, built by Mr. Mulvey himself, still stands, with his son, Jim, continuing to observe the passing scene. The old firehouse is now a tire store facing Walt Whitman Road. Tires and alignments where Santa gave out presents long ago. Fredrick's Restaurant, formerly Handy's Hidaway, the echoes of "Yellow Rose of Texas" still faintly heard, outlived the Clock Tavern, directly across the street. Further up, where Schnieder's Deli used to be, just past Howeisner's Stand on the right, remains the Cities Service Station building, now a deli. The new firehouse on Sweet Hollow Road dominates the area now. Traffic is heavy. Vacant lots are few. A walk past the Sunquam School, past Carl Deitenbach's house, my old friend who still lives there, brings us to Old Country Road once more.

The intersection of Sweet Hollow Road and Old Country Road was the location of the church we attended in those bygone days. It was moved from this location some twenty years ago, to a more bucolic setting a bit further west. Ahead is the Melville Cemetery, built in 1812. Along this stretch remain some of the woods I remember from my youth.

As of this writing, Mom & Dad are still living in the old house, surrounded by supportive, caring, wonderful neighbors. Fran & Allison Kerr are dear friends, going back nearly fifty years. Change continues. I have many many more memories of "Old Melville."