Confession or Tattle? Chapter 1

Confession or Tattle?

Chapter 1

It's 1961. I'm 10 and a bad boy. I've taken up smoking along with two or three of my friends on Dayton Ave (I won't name you, you know who you are - this is a confession, not a tattle). It started when we got caught by Pops riding our bikes through the foundry on Main Street. Our punishment was 30 minutes of lecturing while he held our bikes hostage.

But, old Pops was a marshmallow at heart and finally let us go. He offered to pay us a dime if we went to the drugstore down the street and bought him a pack of Swisher Sweets (they were a quarter, then). Every day. Of course, he had to call ahead to okay it with the cashier.

Didn't take us too long to figure out that we had enough money, every 3 days, to buy a pack of those Sweets for ourselves. To this day I'm not sure how we convinced the clerk to let us buy two packs instead of one, but we were cute kids and that probably had a lot to do with it.

A couple weeks later, we convinced the clerk that Pops had taken up menthols and we graduated from the little cigars to Salems. It wasn't much longer before we were into Marlboros and unfiltered Camels. I would, later on, switch to Pall Mall reds cuz that's what my parents smoked. You'll figure out why later.

Mini-Confession

That tablet dispenser in the entrance hall of the foundry? It ain't really candy. They are salt tablets. Never knew that if you ate too many of them you would pee blood until we convinced another one of our friends they tasted best if you ate them by the handful. Sorry, Lee.

Anyways! I had the perfect hiding place for my smokes and matches. I thought. The forced hot air furnace had a fresh air duct under my bed with a ledge covered by a decorative grate. Under my bed. Who would ever think to look there?

Who? Why, Grandma Hedglin, of course! She came from Clarks Summit one day to help my Mom with spring cleaning. Dismantled my bed. Pulled up the grate. Took me by surprise when I got home. So, I used the only story I could come up with.

Finally - the Confession

"They aren't mine. I'm holding them for a friend."
Hey, it's been over 50 years. There must be a statute of limitations, right? So, when they asked me who they belonged to (answer or be grounded for life), I threw the other bad boy on Dayton Ave under the bus. Sorry. Johnny, but I really did hate being grounded. That was probably the only time my Mom ever called your house. No, wait, there was that bb gun/copperhead incident, too.

Pops and the clerk eventually caught on and we lost our best source. Guess that explains why I had to switch to Pall Mall reds. But, I quit smoking several years ago. Cold Turkey. Haven't looked back. Have to define my body type as bulbous, now, but my lungs are cleaner any way.

Whew! There's probably actually about 15 confessions in this one story. And a couple left out, too, believe me.

Still to Come

"The Tough Girls of Hallstead" (or "The Girls That Broke My Heart" or vice-versa - Not!), "The Art of Dodging Trains and Flattening Pennies" and "Why You Should Never Tie Two Cat's Tails Together" (ok, that's a tattle better left untold, I guess).

Ya'll come back now, ya heah?