One of the things I was most thankful for growing up in the city were the alleys at the rear and side of my row home. In the '60s, alleys were pretty much used for everything except parking. I don't remember ever seeing parked cars in our alleys.
In the late '50s and most of the sixties, vendors would use the alleys to hawk their wares. I can't tell you how many Saturday mornings I was awakened to the sound of horseshoes on asphalt accompanied by a voice yelling "TOPSOIL!" as loudly as humanly possible.
The horse and cart vendors would usually appear on Saturday mornings selling either topsoil or vegetables. I could understand vegetables, but I could never quite figure out why anyone would spend money on dirt. We certainly had plenty of it in our neighborhood. Maybe I was just upset at being woken up by dirt salesmen.
The good vendors would start showing up around dinner time. The Good Humor Man (who, by the way, always seemed pissed-off), was usually the first to arrive. Then came the snow ball truck followed by the Mister Softee Truck. For some reason, I always felt bad for the guy driving that truck (their cherry sundaes were great though).
With the exception of the pissed-off Good Humor man, they weren't always regular. So if, for example, you decided to pass on the fudgesicle, toasted almond bar, strawberry shortcake bar, or popsicle, you were taking your chances. Many a summer day I waited in silence for the soothing Mister Softee loudpeaker chords of 'Old MacDonald Had a Farm' that never came.
The alleys served another purpose for the kids in our neighborhood. They were makeshift playgrounds. All you needed on a summer day, to start up a game of handball, was three or more kids, an alley, and a pinkie.
Speaking of pinkies, was there ever a more versatile toy? You could play handball with one, use them for batting practice, or step ball. In a group, at least one of us, at all times, had a pinkie on his person.
No one ever complained when, at least 15 or 20 times a game, the pinkie ended up in someone's yard. We'd just hop the fence and retrieve it. Adults were a lot more tolerent back then of kids running around in their gardens.
We'd even play hopscotch in those alleys, using chalk to draw the board, and the rubber heel off one of my father's shoes.
On cold winter nights, we would splash buckets of water down our alley's slight incline and allow it to freeze over. The resulting ice slide provided hours of breakneck fun. As good natured as the neighborhood adults were, I do seem to remember that the ice flows, where they put out the morning trash, caused ill tempers.
Whenever we walked to any friend's house in those days, we always used the alleys for the commute. Back doors were used much more frequently than the front.
Of course alleys are still around today. A couple of years ago, I revisited the alley on my childhood block and was shocked to see many cars parked along it's sides. What a sacrilege!
