Youngwood Memories 1950s: Outside

Billy K. back yard of 200 Depot St. in approx. 1948

A door in the dining room of my grandparent’s house at 200 Depot St. in Youngwood led to the back porch, and a set of wooden steps down to the back yard.  I have mixed memories about that porch.  Perhaps it was an addition, or it was torn down, enlarged and reconstructed, or maybe just repainted, but in any case, by summer 1950 it was as it would remain.

Me and my grandfather, Ignazio Severini, in
back yard, on my First Communion in 1954

  At the foot of the steps was a cement island with the pump to a well, and a water faucet attached.  I seem to recall that water came out of it to use in the garden, though I can’t vouch for the source of that water.

 Near the pump and the house was a kind of flower garden. There was a small backyard and to the right a long vegetable garden. It got progressively smaller over the years, but at one time there were tomato plants and other vegetables.  There might have been a grape trellis over part of it as well. 

Directly behind this little yard (with a tree that flowered in summer) was a sandstone building, used as a garage.  It seemed to be someone else’s property,  or rented by someone else.  Thinking back on it, it seemed to be a pretty old building.

 I must have pulled my red wagon around the sidewalks bordering the yard, and played in the yard itself.  But I have more specific memories of the front porch.

On the front stoop: Susan Severini in front,
Kathy Kowinski, me holding Shirley
Severini, with Debbie K. hiding

 During larger family gatherings or even my family’s visits in warmer weather, one of my grandparents might accompany us outside.  In summer we would sit on the glider on the front porch.  My grandmother, Gioconda Severini, would occasionally sit with a few of us on the front steps.  I remember sitting there with her in the late afternoon, watching the parade of cars from the Robertshaw plant come down Second Street and turn onto Depot Street.

 My grandfather, Ignazio Severini, perhaps along with my grandmother and other adults would walk with us up across Third Street to get ice cream.  On other occasions my grandfather might take the children present who were deemed old enough on a walk down Depot Street and across the forbidden railroad tracks to the cement bridge over the creek on the other side.

 But I spent enough time in Youngwood over the years of my childhood to do some limited roaming and exploring, either on my own or with my sister Kathy. There were some set borders: First Street to Third Street, and only on the same side of Depot Street as the house at 200.  There was also a time limit.  A fire whistle blew at 7 p.m. every evening, and we had to be back by then.  If not, we were told, “Jonesy” would get us. 

“Jonesy” was long-time Youngwood Chief of Police Henry E. Jones.  He wore a tight uniform and a wide-brimmed hat with a chinstrap, like that of the state police, and drove the town’s only police cruiser.  (There’s a photo of him in the 1949 Youngwood anniversary book.)  I remember seeing him only once.  I was absorbed in something on the sidewalk and looked up to see that stern face under that hat watching me from the driver’s seat of his idling cruiser.  I immediately took off running back to 200 Depot St.

The Big Snow of Nov. 1950 on Depot
St. Note sign across the street for
Ange Miller's beauty shop.

 But before 7 p.m., there were interesting spaces to explore.  Even the areas right around the house were intriguing.  There was a narrow passage and sidewalk between the house and Shoaf’s brick house next door.  Both seemed very tall and massive, and the narrow walk seemed dark most of the time.  The space between the Severini house and the Bizub house on the other side was much narrower and weedy, blocked off at both ends by wooden fences.

 Beyond the backyard and garage, the stone sidewalk led to an alley.  This alley ran the length of Depot Street between First and Third.  On the one side were the backs of houses on Depot Street, as well as the back of the A & B Club (I seem to remember back stairs), with some houses also on the other side. 

 Directly behind 200 Depot across the alley was a house where Kathy and I often saw a woman sitting on the shaded porch or walking, carrying a baby with an enormous head.  She told us that it was because he was older than he looked, but couldn’t talk or walk, because of a disease or condition.  We looked for him and talked to him, hoping that one day he would respond, but he never did. We may have asked for him once after he’d died.

 There were other children in the neighborhood.  I remember a brother and sister down Depot Street, and there was Jimmy Falcon up the street at the Mari’s. I seem to remember he had a brother Kenny, or maybe there was a Kenny elsewhere on this block of Depot Street. 

 When my cousin Dick Wheatley visited from Maryland, we would listen for trains and run down the street to watch them.  At the time, the transition from steam engines to diesel engines was underway—and it was the streamlined diesels that most excited us.  We called them “giant hoss,” after a remark that Dick’s father Bill Wheatley seemed to regret making.

 First Street was a boundary, but sometimes the temptation of the railroad was too strong.  Once Dick and I crossed the tracks, looked down towards the Roundhouse, and even peered into the inside of a caboose on a siding.  But we didn’t press our luck. Jonesy was never far away.