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WILKES-BARRE — Growing up in Plymouth was the best of times. I’ve talked about this before, but my neighborhood was like nearly every neighborhood back then — friendly people, lots of kids, and the aroma of awesome home-cooked meals emanating from every kitchen window and back door.
Like most people who grew up in the 50s and 60s, we wouldn’t trade those times for anything.
And growing up was a constant challenge, but we all got through it. During those years, we never thought much about what we would become when we became adults. We were having way too much fun.
We would play baseball, football, basketball, stickball, stocking ball, tag, hide and seek, up-against (with a rubber ball against a wall) and much more.
We would climb cherry trees, find a solid branch and pick the ripe cherries and eat them right there on that branch. We had plum trees, peach trees, grape vines and apple trees. We also had gardens with juicy tomatoes, delicious cucumbers, and even chestnut trees to roast chestnuts over an open fire. And we walked to school every day, up hill both ways, and in snow up to our waists. Remember?
We had Mister Softee, Dairy Dan, the produce truck, the bakery truck and the rag man. We had corner stores with fresh meats and penny candy and brand new drinks like Yoo Hoo and Kickapoo Joy Juice. We had Tastykakes and Moon Pies and orange drink. We flipped baseball cards, never even thinking that Mickey Mantle, Willie Mays and Sandy Koufax would be so valuable one day.
We played Strat-O-Matic, Tudor Electric Football, Monopoly, Parcheesi, 500 Rummy, and Checkers. We had fun all the time. And we played outside too.
We went on hikes into the woods and swam in dams and we played Wiffle Ball in the backyard. We even learned to play musical instruments and formed bands because we were all as good as John, Paul, George and Ringo.
Like I said, the future was way off — we wasted zero time thinking about it. We lived for the moment.
And then we finished school, got married, moved away, leaving those halcyon days far behind. But the circle of life is just that — a circle that is always connected.
Ron Hillard and I have been friends since we were in grade school. We played Little League and Teeners’ League together. This was in addition to our fierce rivalry on the grade school basketball court. Back then, Central School, Franklin Street School and Vine Street School played each other in hoops. Central, I must say, was dominant.
Franklin Street (Hillard’s squad) had full uniforms. How they got them and who paid for them remains a mystery to this day. At Central, we played in white T-shirts and various colored shorts. But Central teams were really good. In fact, we won the elementary school title. Hillard will argue this, but I have the newspaper clippings to prove it. He says it’s a misprint.
For the past 15 years, Hillard has been quietly operating the Hope Center, a free health clinic on Main Street in Luzerne. The clinic offers free medical, legal, dental and eye care, plus free counseling and free chiropractic care. All who “work” at the Hope Center are volunteers. Anyone without insurance can receive care.
Recently, the Hope Center purchased a building next door — the former Salerno’s Cafe. One day, it will be called The Hope House and it will provide care for mothers in crisis and children who receive little love and direction at home. Senior women without families will be provided volunteer advocates to help with life’s problems. Also, after-school care and employment education will be offered, as will temporary housing for homeless people.
It’s a really needed service for many people who need help.
And it’s a long way since those elementary school basketball games and Little League no-hitters.
A couple of weeks ago, two other Wyoming Valley West 1968 classmates of Hillard — Deidre Miller Kaminski and Nita Wright Sarnak — put on a dance at the Swoyersville American Legion and raised more than $3,000 for this new venture.
It’s all about that circle of life — that never-ending connection.
Their example is one we all should emulate.
