Extracted from YO, I 'MEMBER DAT - TWO!

by Joseph A. Sbaraglia Jr. Copyright (c) 1997 All Rights Reserved. 

    I awoke early one morning to the sound of silence. In this utter silence I thought I heard a sound from outside my window. It resembled the clip-clop of the milkman's horse. This sound stirred up some very strong memories. It brought to mind the sound of the milk bottles clanking in his carrier as he walked to our house to deliver the milk.

    This started a flow of other sounds and memories of growing up in South Philadelphia that I could not turn off. In my mind, I could hear these sounds and see these images again. Wishful thinking I guess.

    A newspaper blowing along with the wind reminded me of the rustle of the leaves in the sycamore tree outside our home. The tree was cut down long ago and the sidewalk re cemented.

    I remember the rackety-coo of pigeons scratching for food that a neighbor fed regularly. After he passed away, no one fed the pigeons in our neighborhood. I wonder why not?

    Street vendors made sounds that flashed through my mind. I heard the clank of the waffle man's bell alerting the kids of his presence.

    John, the ragman, announced his coming with a lusty baritone call - Raaag-Man! It was the signal for those with rags to sell to come out and negotiate a deal with him. On Wednesdays and Fridays, the fishmonger's call of Freeeeesh Fiiiiish - gave the ladies ideas for dinner.

    Fruits and vegetables were announced with gusto by the hucksters and his call changed with the available produce. The knife sharpener and the umbrella man called out their specialty as they walked through the neighborhood.

    When the peanut vendor roamed the neighborhood, he did not need much of a call. The aroma of his fresh roasted peanuts was enough of a signal to cause a mouth-watering sensation.

    How can I describe the sound made by an ice pick as it cut through a block of ice? The iceman surgically cut the exact size needed out of a huge block of ice and delivered it -- on his shoulder -- into the home. We kids then got a chance to collect some of the ice chips from his wagon to suck on and cool off.

    The clatter of coal rushing down the coal chute into the coal bin of our home was a noisy affair.

    A shovel's rasping scrape meant - either coal was going into the furnace or snow was being removed from the sidewalk.

    When the church bells rang out it meant, it was either twelve o'clock noon or six P.M. At seven twenty-five A.M. and seven-thirty A.M. the huge steam whistle announced the start of workday at the Philadelphia Navy Yard.

    I heard the sound of the rain on the roof and thought of the summer days, which were ruined because of rain. We survived though by reading, playing a board game, listening to the radio or actually talking to one another.

    The kids playing in the street always yelled for us to come out and play with them. The games we played were not too noisy. But the giggling, screams of delight or minor disputes caused by the game were all memorable sounds.

    We knew the postal carrier by his two rings of the doorbell. He made two mail deliveries a day. Mom's wind chimes were made from flattened spoons. They tinkled in the gentle breeze.

    Roller skates with metal wheels rasping over the rough sidewalks made a happy sound. The cry of - Oley-oley-cats in freeeeee - meant someone just got to home base in a game of hide and go seek.

    Ship fog horns and the plaintive wail of a distant train whistle generated a curiosity of - where were they going to or where were they coming from?

I remember these sounds now. What I don't remember is when did I stop hearing them? These sounds of long ago are sweet memories. Although a touch of nostalgia can't cure today's problems, memories are a welcome bit of cheer.