Life in the 1950's

I attended a Crime Prevention seminar last month and heard from law enforcement persons a common theme: Wouldn't it be nice if we could have the society today that we had in the 1950's? Most of the people saying that were not even born in the 1950's.

What was different about the '50's?

The gangs were more like those in Westside Story. Kind of unsophisticated and nowhere near as violent as they are today. I belonged to a couple of "gangs".. I believe I've mentioned this before, but I joined a "North End New Bedford, Massachusetts" gang in order to play "street football." All we did was get together to play in the streets or to talk about girls. I only played in one game.

The night before the game, the "gang" came together to discuss a problem. One of our members was "beaten up" by a member of the "gang" we were going to play on the next day. We shook hands and vowed to slaughter that team to avenge the beating. They "skunked" us! As I nursed the bruises and cuts all over my body, I decided that a gang life was not for me.

Unfortunately, I still thought that I might become a great football player. So, since I was a Freshman in High School, I asked to join the Junior Varsity football team. On the first day of practice scrimmage, I donned my protective gear and ran out on the field. You might have said that I was "bright-eyed and bushy-tailed".. ready to show the world that I was a natural in this sport.

On this day, the Junior Varsity was having an honor bestowed upon them: the captain of the first team was going to show us some great moves. The captain's name was Bobby Watkins and he later became "All American" at Ohio State. (A friend of mine in the service came from Ohio, and was thrilled that I came from the same town as his hero, Bobby Watkins.)

Captain Watkins was, I believe, 5'8" and weighed 280 pounds of solid muscle. (He was "built like a 'fridgerator" as Jim Croce might have said.) Anyway, in the first 2 minutes of the scrimmage, Bobby hit me dead on. Suddenly, my madulla oblongada (sp?) must have come to life.. I said to myself: "To hell with this! A person could get killed." I picked up my mangled body and slinked off the field, never to be heard of by anyone connected with football ever again.

Since I try to make something good out of every experience, I was able to do so this time as well. I realized that even though I no longer was a member of the Junior Varsity.. I could use their initials to good advantage. "JV" Every time there was a New Bedford High School game at Sargeant Field, I would tell the ticket taker: "JV" and he would wave me in without paying. This was certainly not dishonest because "JV" was my initials.

While we are still talking about the '50's and initials, let me tell you what I feel is an amazing story. While attending Boston University, I traveled in a car pool to Boston every day for a year with a friend with the initials PM. (Now I am going to tell what is probably still a secret, but I will not tell the person's real name and maybe that will be ok.)

Under his real name (P.M.), this guy had a radio show each evening from 5 to 7 pm in New Bedford, Massachusetts. At the end of his show at 7 pm, he would quickly drive the 10 miles to Fall River, Massachusetts, where he did another radio show from 8 to 10 pm, under the name Paul Mills (P.M.). The people in New Bedford did not know that he was the same person broadcasting in Fall River.. in fact, he even had a rivalry going between the two shows, and still listeners did not catch on.

Forty years later, after I had been long gone from Massachusetts, I returned for my 40th High School reunion. P.M. was there and we talked. I found out something even more amazing about him. At the same time that he was broadcasting as two separate people from two different cities in Massachusetts, he was somehow squeezing in another two hours a day on an Attleboro, Massachusetts radio station. (Under a different P.M. name!) This guy was and is truly amazing. I wish that I had had more time to talk to him; I"m sure he has other interesting things that he has done with his life.

Another of my friends in the '50's opened a "coffee shop" in New Bedford. (Was that what they were called?) It was in a run-down store-front building. Strong coffee was served and folk songs were sung and stand-up comedians performed. No drugs! No female b
elittling joking! Hardly any profanity. It sure was a gentler time then.

And guess what.. you could walk down any street in my home town without being bothered, mugged or killed.

Parents backed up teachers.

The police walked a "beat" and were friendly towards the people in the neighborhood.

A cup of coffee or a small glass of beer cost 5 cents. I would put a $1 on the bar of the Buttonwood Grill and me and my grandfather would sit there for hours sipping our beer and sharing some of the 20 glasses with friends. (Even with Charlie Wilcox, but that is another story that needs to be told.)

Evenings, I liked to stop at Portuguese bars, have a beer and listen to fados.

Gasoline cost 18 cents a gallon.

I earned $1 per hour at the YMCA.

Life was so much simpler then. Or maybe I'm living in a dream world because I am now an old man.

(Oh.. I forgot about the other gang I was in. It was a very small group.. One day I went to meet with the guys and a new person was there to talk to us. He was a big fat guy, and he took an instant dislike to me. He said that he did not want me there, but my friends talked him into my staying. He talked to us mainly about how we could make it to the "big time" by robbing gas stations and small "mom and pop" stores. Huh? What was this guy talking about? This was not something that I wanted to get involved in. I was definately not an angel, but I did not want to become a "big time" or even a "small time" hood. So, in the middle of this guy's spiel, I got up and walked out, never to return.

I later learned that this guy spent a lot of time in jail, became a "hit man" and later squealed on his buddies. He was given a new identity, which lasted a little while.. but his "buddies" found him and "rubbed him out.") But the "rub-out" was in the '70's, not the idyllic '50's.