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Features
August 1, 2003
Lately, every time I go to my local fitness
center for a workout, somebody complains to
me about the weather. Not about it being too
hot or too humid but about it being too cold
or too cloudy! You're probably thinking these
people are crazy, right? Well, not really. I
think it's just that some of us are so conditioned
to complaining about the weather that, even
when we experience a prolonged period of fabulous
weather like Newfoundland and Labrador has been,
we still feel the need to complain. We just
can't help it. Anyway, these encounters got
me thinking about summer in general...summer
weather, summer vacations, and summers past...Mmmm...summers
past...
I remember when I was a kid, after school finished
in June the summer seemed to stretch out in
front of me like a great lush carpet that went
on forever. It represented a time of freedom,
having fun outdoors, and lots of summer treats
like ice cream, popsicles, custard cones and
soda pop. There was a lot more space to have
fun in in St. John's back then. It seemed like
practically everyone had some sort of field
behind their house. My friend Neil Hicks had
a field behind his on Golf Avenue. We'd play
ball in that field and sometimes we'd pretend
we were soldiers in battle. One of our favorite
television shows as kids was about WW II. It
was called Combat and starred Vic Morrow as
Sgt. Chip Saunders. More than one hot summer
afternoon I pretended to be Sgt. Saunders leading
K Company on a mission to flush out Germans
from the villages of France. We'd root out those
nasty so-and-so's, even if certain members of
our little band of warriors did not seem as
convincing as others.
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Vic Morrow as Sgt.
Saunders
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You see, I always felt our game of Combat
could have been much more realistic if my fellow
soldiers had put a little more effort into certain
aspects of the game. For example, sometimes
we had to play dead. There's no point pretending
to shoot one another, if certain designated
persons don't also pretend to be killed. The
quality of my playmates' acting performances
when pretending to be shot always bothered me.
Clutching the chest and shouting, "Eeeoouch,
I'm shot!", never worked for me. When it
was my turn to 'take a hit', I preferred to
employ the Stanislavski Method. That is to say,
I would draw upon some trauma I had already
experienced in my young life (an ingrown toe
nail perhaps) and use that painful memory to
help me be a convincing dying soldier. Picture
it. The shocked look. The glazed eyes. The limp
drop to the ground. The gurgled breath and,
finally, the piece de resistance...the death
rattle! Vic would have been proud of me. However,
despite my efforts to coach my co-horts a la
Lee Strasberg, I had to concede that neither
Neil nor my other buddies would ever make it
to the Actors Studio. Such is life. Some got
it. Some don't.
Picnics are another great summer memory of
mine. Does anybody go on picnics anymore? When
I was really young I remember my Mom and my
Aunt Jean would take me and my cousin Debbie
to Bowring Park for a picnic. It was an adventure.
We'd be up early in the morning to get things
ready. Food had to be packed (usually tin chicken
and potted meat sandwiches) and other things
like swim trunks, Coppertone suntan lotion,
towels, and a picnic blanket. Then it was off
to the bus stop to wait for the West Loop. The
bus ride seemed to take forever. It was like
a drive to the country because the park in those
days was on the edge of the city and away from
heavily residential areas.
Once we arrived, our first destination was
the swimming pool, not the chlorinated bathtub
they have now but the old pool in the Waterford
River. It was located in a portion of the river
close to the tennis courts. It was dammed so
the water would pool and make a great place
to swim. At least, we thought it was great.
The banks of the river would be lined with hundreds
of people. There was a canteen area on the south
side of the river, an outdoor shower, and lifeguard
chairs. The pool always seemed to be alive with
color and people splashing and laughing and
screaming. Just listen...Can you hear it?...I
can.
I always envied the boys who had inflated inner
tubes to float around on. Having one of those
tubes was a real status symbol for a kid. Youngsters
who had them floated around on that river like
some kind of swimming royalty. Imagine feeling
deprived because you didn't have your own inner
tube! The closest I ever came to feeling a little
more equal to these princes of the piscine was
when I got one of those wrap-around plastic
duck floats that you blew-up yourself. God.
How humiliating.
After the swim we would head for the Duck Pond.
I loved seeing the ducks and swans, and rowboats;
but the real attraction here was the Peter Pan
sculpture. I would comb every inch of it looking
for an extra rabbit or mouse that I may have
missed on an earlier trip. It was and still
is something magical for a child, I think. But,
that whole area was different then. It was much
more natural looking. Even though the pond was
man-made, it still looked like it had been there
since Cabot. The original designer had intended
it that way. (I wish the folks who handled the
recent re-development of the pond had taken
a page from his book. In my view there is far
too much rock and not enough grass. Not only
that, but the area around Peter Pan is all rock
and very uncomfortable for walking.
As well, I would think it is somewhat of a
hazard for elderly folk who might be a tad unsteady
on their feet.) By the way, did you know that
every one of the thousands of trees in New York's
Central Park, each single tree, was planted
in a specific spot according to a master plan
drawn by the park's brilliant designer. He wanted
them planted so they looked as though God had
put them there. And that's what he achieved.
You would never say that Central Park was anything
other than a natural forest that happened to
have been turned into a park.
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Duck Pond, 1960's
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The final stop before heading back home on
the bus was the Bungalow lawn. We'd spread out
our blanket beneath a tree and sit down for
a lunch of sandwiches made from our cheap canned
meats. We'd have bottles of Keep-Kool orange
and lime soda to wash it down, followed by an
ice cream cone dessert from the Bungalow canteen.
It wasn't much but it tasted like manna from
heaven to me. We'd end our park sojourn by lying
back on the grass and watching all the other
parents and children doing pretty much the same
as us...enjoying some quality time in a beautiful
park on a beautiful summer's day. After all,
it's one of the reasons we are here isn't it?
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