WILKES-BARRE — Dairy farmer Max Yasgur stood on the stage at Woodstock in 1969 and addressed the huge crowd.
It was Aug. 17, 1969, and Max looked at and marveled that half a million young people “can get together and have three days of fun and music, and have nothing but fun and music.”
On a much smaller scale, the 22nd annual Plymouth Alive Kielbasa Festival will be held Friday and Saturday, Aug. 7-8 — providing two days of fun, music, and great food. Main Street will be packed with vendors and patrons as my hometown celebrates that wonderful Polish sausage and much more.
As the saying goes, you may be able to take the kid out of Plymouth, but you can never take the Plymouth out of the kid.
That certainly is the case with me — Plymouth is where I grew up and learned about life.
Where I learned about success and failure — about love and heartbreak. About the difference between right and wrong. About trust and doubt. About how it takes a village to raise a child.
Yet we have learned to live. We have learned to succeed. We have learned to disappoint and be disappointed.
But for two days in August, I can return to the homeland — to the place I call the center of the universe — and look at buildings, faces, and spaces and remember where I came from and who guided me from there to here, back to there again.
That’s why I love the Kielbasa Festival.
Don’t get me wrong, the kielbasa at the 22nd annual Plymouth Kielbasa Festival will be great. Especially with horseradish.
But for me, it’s being there, in my hometown, and looking around and remembering the way it used to be.
So when I walk up and down Main Street, I travel back in time — seeing the still-remaining buildings as they were when I was a kid.
For instance:
I see Joe’s Pizza — the birthplace of the Grotto Pizza empire. I remember walking in, and the floor was slanted downward, and then it inclined to the counter. A pizza and a Coke cost a buck.
I see Mitchell Plessett’s Men’s Store, where Mr. Plessett displayed shirts and pants on tables in perfectly aligned rows, separated by color and size. And Mr. Plessett was always helpful with a smile.
I see Oscar Hacker’s Market, the fresh produce, and perfectly stocked shelves. We also had an A&P Market on Center Avenue, where at the end of each check-out lane was a Five O’Clock Coffee grinder machine that neatly packed the ground coffee in a bag and sealed it.
I see Cas Matus’ newsstand and pool hall, where we played pool and pinball and grabbed a soda while we looked at magazines like Sports Illustrated and Sport, and comic books.
I see Al Wasley’s Jewelry Store, an elegant store that offered fine jewelry and specialty items that were always placed in beautiful packages and wrapped with a bow.
I see Shawnee TV, where we purchased our first color TV — an RCA that replaced our 19-inch Admiral black-and-white. We kept the rabbit ears, and I was the remote control that would switch to the four channels we had back then.
I see Golden Quality Ice Cream, where we would get a CMP, a banana split, a cone, or a milkshake.
I see Rea & Derick Drug Store, where we sat at the counter or a booth and ordered a cherry or vanilla Coke, and maybe ordered a burger and fries.
I see Ben Franklin 5 & 10, where Mr. & Mrs. B. stocked just about everything. We would walk up and down every aisle until we were told to purchase something or leave.
I see Dwyer’s Lunch, where they had two bowling lanes and pin-boys. Later in life, we would stop for “sober-up soup” — it was delicious.
I see Bill Goldstein’s Hardware, which remains open under new ownership. They still have everything you would need to fix anything in your home.
I see the Shawnee Theater, where we watched Saturday matinees and took our first dates, and sometimes tried to sneak up to the balcony.
I see Plymouth Little League with its hand-painted wooden fence that featured town businesses. Past left field was Bill Sera’s candy story — delicious.
I see Huber Field and its amazing wall. This is where many football games were won and where the band, majorettes, and cheerleaders gave it their all to support the team before an always-capacity crowd.
I see Plymouth High School & Junior High School, two red-brick fortresses connected by a second-story bridge. I see our teachers, wearing suits and ties and dresses, and I see that glorious campus of winding sidewalks and shade trees. Check out the picture attached.
I see —and hear — Coach John “Snoggy” Mergo, the legendary coach of football, basketball, and baseball, who won numerous games and championships. “Next gang!” he would shout. And he taught us health, unless it was a nice, sunny day and we snuck out to the field to play softball. “Boylee, check and see if the Big Boss is coming down the hall.”
All these memories rushed through my head every time I’m in Plymouth, taking me back to the days of a busy downtown that had plenty to offer and plenty of people to patronize. It was Downtown USA — Main Street America.
This was a hometown with good people, neighborhood schools, plenty of churches, school spirit, red and black school colors, “Shawnee Against the World,” cool cars with engines revving, parking meters to lean on, Friday night football, Saturday night fun, quiet Sundays, neighborhoods with unlocked doors and friendly faces.
All in a town where everybody knew your name.
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Reach Bill O’Boyle at 570-991-6118 or on Twitter @TLBillOBoyle.