chris parlin

I am the oldest of the 4th generation.  I write this to show what Silver Bay was like in the 1950’s from the perspective of a child. 

 

Going to the Bay

 

When I was young, we spent 2-3 weeks in the summer at Silver Bay.  My father would come home from work mid-afternoon.  (Since Tim was not born until 1957, he is not part of this chapter).  Neither the NY Thruway nor the Northway had been built, so the trip from Englewood, NJ took 8 hours through the Hudson Valley on Route 9W to Albany and then Route 9N to the Bay. 

 

I have no memories of my first 2 summers (1950 and 1951 -- when I was 6 and 18 months old), but many after that.  Until we were 5 or 6, Rob and I would fall asleep during the trip.  My father would carry each of us to the room in the Big House on the bottom floor nearest the path down to the beach.  I would start to gain consciousness around sunrise.  Usually, the whirr of an outboard motor and the strong smell of pine led me to open my eyes, where I would see the water-stained “beaver board” ceiling (I have no idea what it is really called).  My first day at Silver Bay had begun. 

 

 

My Days

 

Grandma had set hours for meals – breakfast at 8, lunch at 12 and dinner at 6.  Being late was not an option.  After breakfast, on Mondays through Saturdays Mr. Bolton would take Rob and I to the Silver Bay Association for children’s programs – Wee Woozles for 3–6-year-olds, Woozles for 6–9-year-olds and Chippies for 9–12 year olds.  Sundays were for church.  I found many of the sermons boring and too long, and I maintain a strong dislike for Lutheran and Episcopal hymns to this day. 

 

The Wee Woozle yard was north of the store, from the long torn-down Adams Cottage to the stream.  Three sides were fenced, but the stream was not.  My most memorable escapade was when Artie Mielke and I climbed into the then-dry stream bed, walked downstream through the culvert under the road and popped on out the other side.  Artie and I were very pleased with ourselves -- the leaders and our parents quite a bit less so.  I do not recall the punishment but am sure it was unnecessarily draconian. 

 

Woozles were much less eventful.  All I can remember is interminable kickball games.  Chippies were much more to my liking, particularly picnic lunches and overnights on Big O’Dell Island.  Picnics were civil affairs, but overnights were anything but.  We whooped and hollered all over the Island and were very mischievous.  I choose not to set out in writing particulars of the antics in which I participated, but if you would like to hear some of the details, ask me when we are on the dock. 

 

Afternoons were spent on the dock, in the water and on the raft.  Every day but Sunday we would play from about 12:30 to 4 and 4:15 to 5:45. The break at 4 was for Aunt Ruth’s tea.  We put up with the tea so we could have a cookie that Nancy made (more if no one were looking).  On Sundays Grandma’s rules prohibited swimming before 2.  Card playing and in general anything fun was verboten all day. 

 

I cannot recall what we usually did after dinner. I do have vivid memories, though, of the overnights Rob and I spent in the large war surplus tent that was somewhere in the then-wooded area near where Angie’s and my house is now.  We would fortify ourselves with snacks, and apparently made quite a bit of noise.  Grandma had a megaphone.  She would stand on the dining porch and would sternly call “boys, boys”.  She would continue that we were making too much noise and that it was late, so we should be quiet and go to sleep.  There was only one thing to do – pipe down at once. 

 

In this way several summers pleasantly passed. 

 

The Rutland Fair

 

Every year in late August the entire family including Nancy would spend a day at the fair in

Rutland, Vermont.  Except for one event, these days do not stand out.  However, one

summer all of us were walking by a carnival game called “ring the bell”.  It was a lever connected

to a vertical column with a weight.  A bell was at the top.  The object was to hit the lever with a

sledgehammer hard enough so the weight would be pushed to the top of the column and ring the

bell.  As we passed by, the carnie spotted Nancy, knew a good thing when he saw it and called out

“hey Mammy” (these were the pre-race sensitive days) “show these farm boys how to do this”. 

 Nancy took the sledgehammer and pounded it mightily on the lever.  The weight soared and rang

 the bell. The carnie then dared the onlookers to match this feat.  Several paid their money to try

 but none succeeded.  All of us left the fair very proud of Nancy. 

 

The Trip Home

 

All good things must come to an end, and on Labor Day we would drive back to Englewood.  This

return trip always took longer than 8 hours because we had to stop or were rerouted by Labor Day

parades in many of the towns and villages in the Hudson Valley.  Generally, it was a boring trip,

but there was one exception,  On the south side of Tongue Mountain at one of the sharp

corners near the top we saw two elephants walking north over the Mountain.  They were

followed by a sorry-looking circus truck that obviously had been unable to climb the grade.  To

 say we were surprised is a monumental understatement.

 

Summer was over.  The school year began.  Silver Bay was just a memory – for the time being.

As spring became summer, though, our thoughts again turned to the Bay.  We knew that another

great vacation awaited us. 

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