Friends

Harry Shadel

Harry was one of my best friends. He had a 1949 red Ford convertible that wasn’t in the best of shape and Harry had no money to fix it up. The car was missing a few hub caps and I remember my mother saying "Don’t ride in Harry’s car, the wheels are going to fall off his car." This was because she could see the lug nuts! The convertible top, originally equipped with a motor to open and close it, had long since stopped working. We had to manually operate it but I never gave it a second thought. I also remember the battery wouldn’t hold a charge. Harry always parked it so it would be facing in the direction of a downhill. We would push it to get it started moving down the hill, jump in and Harry would pop the clutch and we were off and running! Harry didn’t have much money for gas either. I remember going out to a gas station in the Altamont and buying 50 cents worth. Now back then gas was probably 25 to 30 cents a gallon. I didn’t take a lot of trips in his car but I did go to the Bloomsburg Fair with him once, sans apple cider!

Once Harry was asked to drive Mrs. Shadel’s car, a little two-door coupe, down to the store so she could get home. I went along for the ride. Harry couldn’t stand the way his mother drove – very slow and overly cautious – maybe not in her mind, but in Harry’s, it was painful to ride with her. Mrs. Shadle wanted to drive her own car back because she couldn’t stand the way Harry drove – too fast and without caution! Anyhow, once we passed the old Hi-Way Drive-In Theater, the hill to Frackville was dead ahead. Mrs. Shadel kept going about 25 mph as she always did, and Harry was having a conniption. "Mom, you have to drive faster to get a running start to get up the hill" he said. She would have nothing to do with that and we proceeded up the hill at a slow speed. Of course we quickly lost any semblance of "speed" and after down shifting, we went so slow you could almost walk faster. Maybe not, but it seemed like it then.

Although Harry was one year older than me we remained friends until the end. He joined the Navy, and like me, he couldn’t wait to get discharged. One of my favorite pictures is of both of us standing in front of our house all dressed in our uniforms. The funny thing is, Harry is in his Summer whites and I was in my Winter blues!

Every time I returned to town I’d be sure to look him up. Harry drove truck like my father and they shared a few experiences so Dad kept me informed on what was going on in his life. Harry died a few years ago. I miss him.

Bea Davis
 
When we first moved from Ashland to Frackville I was about two years old. The first house we lived in was the house at 140 South Second Street, right next door to the Davis home. My sister and Bea became good friends and are still in touch to this day. 

Bea and I were also friends and I tell everyone that this picture is one of me and my first girl friend.

I did not recall this next story happening but Bea told me about it at a recent reunion and my sister confirmed it. We were playing in the back yard and there was an electric wire that was pretty low between the Davis and McNalis, house. The grass was wet and apparently I grabbed it and couldn’t let go. My brother Jim grabbed my shoulder and he stuck to me. It isn’t clear how many more grabbed on before we were able to break the circuit and we all fell on the ground. My sister doesn’t  remember who all was hurt but my brother had his hands burned. We were all pretty lucky.

George Hoffman
 
One of my earliest friends was George Hoffman. He live about a block and a half down Second street. We played together a lot. I remember going down to his back porch early in the morning and  instead of knocking I’d yell “George, can you come out to play?”  He was a little on the mischievous side and I went right along with him. I can’t remember why we wanted some matches once but we had no money and decided to lift them from a grocery store. I’m pretty certain they wouldn’t have sold them to us anyhow. I still have a guilt trip about this but never told anyone, ever. 

Part of the Anthony family split off from the small store on our block. They opened in a store that I think was an IGA. It was on Oak Street between Third Street and Fourth Street. We walked in and started walking the aisles looking for matches. We found them  and I put a small box in my pocket. We proceeded to walk out of the store but must have looked guilty as sin because I had my hands in my pockets. We got outside the door and George Anthony came up to the window, he knocked on it and asked us to come back inside. Our goose was cooked for sure. I discovered I had a hole in my pants pocket and was able to push the matches our and down my pants leg so they landed on the sidewalk outside the store. We went back inside and George said “What do you have in your pockets?” I was really lucky that day because in my other pocket I have a rubber ball we were playing catch with earlier. I took the ball out and showed it to him. He seemed satisfied but I think he knew we were up to no good. We went back outside, picked up the matches and ran as fast as we could. These are the little things you do growing up and feel sorry for later in life. Sorry George!

We remained good friends up to third grade. George’s father took a new job and the family moved to Levittown. I never saw him again. 
 
Louis
 
St. John’s Polish National Church was at the corner of Second and Oak Streets. The priest’s son was named Louis. I can’t remember their last name. After George Hoffman and his family moved I became good friends with Louis. We played for hours in their back yard next to the alley. We made up games and had a really good time. Once again, my best friend and his family moved when his father was transferred to another church.

John Sabol
 
John lived down the street next to Frank Prenetta’s house. His nick name was “Sib” and he lived with his father and older brother. They had a grapevine in the back yard next to the garage. I remember crawling up and sitting on the roof of the garage gorging on grapes.
John had a BB gun which was absolutely forbidden in our house. I couldn’t even tell my parents I was playing with one. We would go in the basement and set up bottles and cans for target practice.
 
Brother

When I was born my older sister Shirley always said “That’s my brother” when asked who I was. The nickname Brother stuck with me among close friends and family for many years. I was well into my 30s before my parents called me Glenn and frankly, it sounded kind of odd. Bea Davis said she didn’t realize that my name wasn’t brother until we started school!

To be continued:  Other friends and stories to be added later.